A/N: This is short but a bit dark. Enjoy anyway, I don't own Sherlock.
His fists slam against the durable glass with no avail. He's screaming, screaming wildly and with every part of him. Tears mingle with blood in a pink stream that falls down his pale face. His voice is growing hoarse, but he can't stop. Screaming is the only option left.
This is what they wanted. He's giving his captors exactly what they hoped for - a way to break him. Never mind the headache, the knife wound to his side, the burnt flesh of his arm and the blood streaming in his eyes. They have found exactly what will tear him down, and he is powerless to stop it. But he is forced to watch, unable to tear himself away for even a second.
On the other side of the glass, his own face and voice is mirrored in the other man's inaudible scream. Blood is fogging the windows, painting the walls, and staining the floors, but this means nothing. They are screaming for each other, despite the pain it took to draw a breath, because losing one another is worse than death. They have built up too much to lose it. Not like this.
But they are aware. Their hope is dwindling with each scream and each panicked heartbeat, replaced by the increasing dread of the inevitable. There is no way out now. They knew it from the start - they knew it might end up like this, but they hadn't thought… If they'd died, they'd imagined themselves dying together. If they were together, it would be alright. Pain would be suffered silently, and they would let themselves die for the cause.
This is far from the reality. They can see one another, dark eyes meeting incredibly intense grey-blue ones, but they cannot say anything. Even their ability to communicate silently is not enough. He wants so badly to break through the glass wall, to be able to touch his friend, if only for one last time. Because they're not getting out of this. It's clear now.
They were dead from the moment they walked in.