Lift

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things.

Love & Hugs; Ari

Silence fell and John swore as the lift came to a juddering stop, shaking everyone's balance. The last thing he wanted to do on a Sunday afternoon was get stuck in a lift, in Scotland yard, with both Holmes brothers.

It might as well have been a personal nightmare of his; especially when Sherlock growled and began mashing the buttons on the control console, drawing a sigh from his brother.

"I'm sure it will be moving again in no time, Sherlock-" Mycroft drawled, pausing when the electronics powered down and the emergency lighting flickered on, illuminating the small metal box with harsh orange light that reflected sharply off the angles of Sherlock's features.

"Mycroft flicked a glance at his brother and must have seen far more than John could for the moment because he frowned, which seemed to John to be the most expression the doctor had ever seen on the face of the politician.

"Why don't you sit down, and we can all calmly wait for someone to-"

"Don't you dare say another word, the last time you spoke the whole situation got worse" Sherlock snarled, and John started paying attention, taking in the situation. Sherlock had been in a surprisingly good mood all morning, had even behaved in a cordial manner towards his brother, the sudden shift to sharply aggressive wasn't right. It usually took a slow build up before Sherlock would snap back into 'I'm a sociopath, and you don't deserve to share the same air as me'.

"Are you all right?"

The question earned John a sharp scoff, and glance that bordered on a glare. "perfectly, this is exactly what I want to be doing, trapped in here with no way to escape my irrational brother and bothersome flatmate, what could possibly be wrong?"

"Doctor Watson, may I recommend-"

"Your recommendations are useless My, why don't you just shut up!" Sherlock hissed, but John had been listening. Listening to what the detective was actually saying and not just the words he was speaking. The syntax he used suggested 'trapped' and the tone screeched of a defensive fear, and he instinctively moved a hand to Sherlock's arm, blinking as the man shied away from him, and immediately flushed in embarrassment.

Mycroft sighed once again and leant against the wall of the lift, his umbrella planted between his feet and he simply let his eyes track Sherlock's movements as he began to pace the small space between each wall, his fingers entwined together, John guessed, to stop him wringing his hands.

"You're claustrophobic" he murmured, earning another poisonous glare, and a growl

"Yes, since he was very young-"

"Shut UP MYCROFT!" Sherlock shouted, shaking his head and ignoring the winces around him when his voice bounced around the small space.

"Well pacing is not going to help" When the agitated man spun to snarl more words at the Doctor, John shoved him hard in the shoulders until his back was pressed against the far wall of the lift, and the wind was knocked out of his lungs. John smothered a smile as Sherlock attempted to argue, but couldn't get enough breath back to raise his voice, emitting what sounded like childish whines of complaint, and getting John to soften his guiding hands.

it took moments to push the man onto the floor of the lift, and guide his legs until they were pressed against his chest, forcing Sherlock into a small huddled form

"you're smaller like this" John whispered, his voice soft and barely audible to Mycroft, "it makes the room around you bigger, you're on the far wall... so there's more distance between your eyes and what they can see and the end of your vision... and now I want you to keep looking at me" he paused and a smile ghosted over his face when he realised those pale grey eyes hadn't yet left him, and they were so wide and open and naked with fear and trust that John couldn't stop a soft hand brushing over the mans cheek

"Keep looking at me, and just breath... I know it's boring, but your mind is occupied with this room, and it's size, but I want you to put that amazing mind to the task of dragging in oxygen at exactly the same time as me-"

John cut himself off when Sherlock knelt forward and wound his long arms around John's waist, snuggling into his chest like a small child, and burying his face in the Doctor's neck.

it only took him moments to realise that Sherlock was matching his breathing, and he let his own arms slide around Sherlock's slightly trembling body.

He didn't look at Mycroft, but he could practically feel the smirk on the mans face, confirmed when after a while he heard the consulting detective wrapped around him issue a soft command to his brother that simply consisted of;

"Shut up, My..."