A/N: I had to. I just. I had to.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters in Sherlock. Nor do I own Sherlock. I am not affiliated with the BBC or Steven Moffat. I'm only playing with them!
Sherlock looks at John. He's trying to say something without words. Moriarty is smirking. Come on John, THINK. John knows when Sherlock is trying to tell him something, but right now he can't think for the life of him what it is.
Then Sherlock looks at the water. And John understands. He's been a soldier long enough, taken enough courses in explosives survival, to know that when near an explosive and a body of water, to jump in the body of water.
But Sherlock can't make the shot and be in the pool at the same time. He's not formally trained in shooting. John is.
Somehow John's legs aren't weak anymore. Somehow John regains all his strength and then some because oh God Sherlock is planning on dying and letting me live. It's not right. No man left behind. John launches himself at Holmes. The gunfire is deafening and it's all John can do not to flash back to Afghanistan. He keeps save Sherlock in mind.
Apparently it's hard to hit moving targets. John and Sherlock are moving targets. Moriarty is as well, as John can see him legging it through the pool doors from the corner of his eye.
The jacket-bomb is not a moving target.
John and Sherlock hit the water just before the explosion. John can feel the heat. Part of the pool wall is ripped apart, and water begins to spill out into the catastrophe above the surface. Sherlock is struggling. John shoves him deeper, not caring if Sherlock passes out at this point, the main thing is, he's alive, he's moving, he's biting John. Oh. He can't breathe. He wasn't prepared for John's flying tackle. John has plenty of air. He can spare some.
This is going to be a lot more awkward than John had intended. Sherlock's getting weaker, not biting anymore, just faintly pawing at John's face.
John shuts his eyes momentarily, and then he presses his mouth to Sherlock's. Sherlock freezes. A piece of a changeroom falls into the pool.
You're an idiot, Sherlock, think for a second, John is snarling in his mind. Then Sherlock realizes and opens his mouth. John exhales as much as he thinks he can and then they both have air and it's not artificial respiration anymore.
The pool is falling down around them and John Watson is kissing Sherlock Holmes. Underwater.
It's Sherlock who breaks the kiss, breaks free from John, and struggles his way to the surface. John panics what if he doesn't make it what if the ceiling falls on him oh God oh no no no. Sherlock sticks his head back under the water, grins, and grabs hold of John's cardigan.
When John's head breaks the surface, he almost wants to go back underwater and stay there.
Half the pool is destroyed. Moriarty is gone. John looks at the place where he was sitting – a hole. He looks at where Sherlock was standing, pointing a gun at an explosive parka, ready to die – a chunk of wall is sitting there like it's lived there it's whole life and John is becoming slightly hysterical.
Sherlock looks at him.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock says. John gapes, gasps slightly for air. Sherlock is already swimming for the deck.
"Moriarty's...he's gone," John says, shakily, as he dogpaddles his way to the destruction. "I saw him running when I..." he trails off, unsure.
"When you tackled me into the pool," Sherlock finishes, now sitting on the deck, feet dangling in the pool like he doesn't want to leave the water.
"Yes, I saw as well."
John knows Sherlock's lying. Sherlock's not looking at John, he's become absolutely fascinated with a loose tile on the deck.
"Sherlock," John says. He's at the edge of the deck now, and he pulls himself up, carefully avoiding broken stones and glass, to sit next to Holmes.
Sherlock is still not looking at him.
John is starting to freak out. He's seen this before: near-death experiences causing detachment and sullenness in patients.
Sherlock is not a typical patient.
John looks once more at the destruction around them, and says, "We should probably leave. Soon. Before Lestrade arrives and decides you really are a psychopath."
When he looks back at the man sitting beside him, he finds Sherlock staring at him intently.
"...Yes," Sherlock says, and hastily gets to his feet. They clamber over rubble and glass.
Once outside, Sherlock resumes his interest in all things not-John. John resumes his interest in all things Sherlock-related.
It takes them two hours to walk home. Mrs Hudson is immensely unimpressed, but allows them entrance anyway.
As soon as John turns round from closing the door, Sherlock is in his face.
"That was not artificial respiration, John," he says, matter-of-factly.
"I – what?" John replies, taken aback by Sherlock's sudden verbosity.
"In the pool. It was not artificial respiration. It was – " Sherlock is, for the first time in John's experience with him, lost for words.
"It was artificial respiration. And stress. And I don't know, Sherlock, what do you want me to say?" he snaps. It's so late it's early, and he's tired and not in the mood to deal with Sherlock having a big gay freak-out.
To John's surprise, Sherlock does not have a big gay freak-out. Instead, he slams John against the door, and kisses him hard on the mouth. John tries to say "I take it you're not complaining then" but all that he manages is "mphpkfl" before Sherlock drags him to his bedroom.
John breaks things off with Sarah the next day.
Bugger normal. John has Sherlock.