Sherlock Imagines

Underwater🌊John X Reader

Looking at the dreary, wet river is not exactly a sight to behold. You don't know why or how, but you feel the sudden urge to jump into it. It seems easy enough; just jump over the railing and into the fast- moving water. Although, the task isn't exactly easy.

Will anyone care? What will people say? Would anyone try to stop you? Does anyone care enough to visit your grave if your body is discovered? Would anyone regret making you feel the way you do? Will death come easily?

You aren't exactly sure, but there is only one way to discover the solution; jump. Simple, really. All you have to do is jump into the river and allow the current to pull you into the deep abyss of death.

You take a deep breath, standing just on the other side of the railing. You're going to do this; it's the only way to possibly know whether anyone truly cares. Your hands shake, as the sound of the rushing river reaches your ears.
Just jump. That's all that's left; to jump. You take in another deep breath, terrified that your plan may actually work. Will death be painless? There's only one way to find out; jumping.

You manoeuvre yourself so that the railing is behind you and the river is in front of you; all you have to do is jump. You shakily release your grip on the railing behind you, and leap into the river.

Seeing this go down, John jumps into action. He leaps over the railing, and looks for the sight of your head bobbing out of the water. He spots you a little further down. Keeping his grip on the railing, he moves down further and lowers himself into the water. He uses the edge of the bridge as a grip, and grabs your hand, just as it almost passes him by.

Jumping into the water was a sweet success to you. You feel the current pull you under, your lungs burning, pleading for you to take in oxygen. Water rushes into your mouth and lungs, burning like fire on its journey to drown you. Then, you feel something grab your hand and pull you up.

John manages to pull you out of the water. He pushes down firmly on your chest to rid your lungs of water. You splutter and choke, water pouring out of your mouth. You struggle for breath, mentally cursing whomever rescued you. John backs away, giving you room to breathe.

Weakened and wary, you lie back down and close your eyes, not caring to see your saviour. John gently lifts you up and walks you to a nearby bench. He sets you down, then pulls out his phone to dial an emergency number. When he's finished with the call, he sighs, looking at your sleeping form on the bench.

"Suicide is not the answer," he mutters. An ambulance pulls up, sirens blaring. A man and a young woman hop out and put your body into the back. John is handed a towel, which he gladly accepts.

************

When you wake up, the sounds and smells of a hospital fill your senses. You slowly peek your eyes open and look around. A man sits, slumped over, in the corner. He stirs slightly, then opens his eyes, whch immediately settle on you.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He doesn't know what to say; he just wants you to be okay. When you look at him expectantly, as if wondering why he rescued you, he sighs once again.

"Suicide isn't the solution to your problems, " he says slowly. It's your turn to sigh. You mutter an incoherent string of profanities, cursing every god out there for allowing you to live. Then, you tun to him.

"It may not be the solution, but it is a solution, " you retort. The man runs a hand over his face.

"I thought you might say that, which is why I'm telling you this; my best friend jumped off a building because he couldn't deal with people claiming him to be a fraud. Instead of proving to others that he is as real as possible, he commited suicide. He did not and will not ever be able to understand how I feel about it, because he was too selfish. He thought only of what death could get rid of, and not what it would create. Death creates sorrow," he says, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You regret jumping into the river. You feel sorry for this man. You sigh, and look down.

"Look, I'm sorry. It was selfish to think that nobody would be affected by my death. I'm sorry about your friend, too," you say. John nods, looking down go his lap. He desperately wants someone to hold him tightly and ease his pain and sorrow.

"Just don't do it again. Pretty girls like you should put up a fight, not give up," he says. You smile at him affectionately. Maybe jumping into the river isn't the solution, after all.