When Sherlock arrived at the dungeons he knew enough to know that there was only going to be one prisoner down here. They had no other crimes committed in the past month, no long term guests; he knew that if the guards left then they would truly be alone. The stone corridor lead down to rows upon rows of empty cells, one of them wasn't empty; however, one contained the love of his life. The guards got up from where they sat, brandishing their spears and lowering them to stop Sherlock from passing.
"Let me through." Sherlock demanded, not in the mood to play games with people on his payroll.
"Victor said no one is to pass, not even the king." One of the guards insisted, hiding behind their helmet.
"And since when did you take orders from a meager traveler over your own king? Let me pass." Sherlock demanded, standing firm and glaring at them, trying to remind them who they really served.
"He said that you'd be unstable, make decisions based off of your heart and not your brain. He said that if we let you pass we'd be putting you in danger." The other insisted.
"Well then, gentlemen, today is your day then. You get to put your king in danger. Step aside, and leave us." Sherlock demanded.
"We can't do that your majesty, surely you'd understand?" the first guard insisted. Sherlock couldn't see their eyes; he couldn't see the humanity behind the iron mask.
"If you stand there I will not only fire the both of you but make sure you both can never find work again. You will make no income and you will grow no food, and eventually you, along with your family, will starve to death in the cold." Sherlock demanded. "Let me pass and we don't have to resort to such desperate measures." There was a bit of a silence, obviously the men didn't know what to do when faced with such a gruesome decision.
"I won't go near him, he won't harm me. Just let me have a private word with our prisoner. What am I going to do? Free him? I have no keys. He can't kill me and I can't free him, what is there to worry about?" Sherlock wondered, trying to stay as calm as he could. Finally the guards lowered their spears, deciding that it was in everyone's best interest to give the king what he wanted.
"Ten minutes, that's all we'll give you." They decided, stepping aside. Sherlock nodded his thanks and walked into the corridor, waiting for the guards to close the doors before returning to his naturally frantic state.
"John?" Sherlock called, jogging down the cell block in search of the only occupied cell. He ran past so many he thought he might have missed one; he was only looking for one. They all had straw beds in the corners, buckets for bathrooms, chains on the walls in case of violent prisoners. But no John.
"Sherlock?" asked a weak voice from the very back of the corridor, John's hands clutching at the bars as he pulled himself to his feet. Sherlock put on a burst of speed, racing towards the cell that held John Watson. He was in the back, dressed in a disgusting white night gown, a large red stain shining from the top of his normally golden hair. Sherlock stopped in front of the cell, putting his hands on the bars desperately, right over top of John's bruised hands.
"What have they done to you?" Sherlock whispered, running his fingers over John's wrists lovingly.
"What are you doing here, this is madness Sherlock!" John insisted, pulling his hands away and stepping away from the bars.
"It's not madness John; I know what they made you do." Sherlock insisted.
"You don't know anything Sherlock." John growled. Sherlock took a step back in shock, expecting John to start blabbing about how this had all been orchestrated by a higher power, how he had no choice.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock breathed.
"There's nothing you can do to justify my actions, however desperate you are. I tried to kill you, FOR GOD'S SAKE SHERLOCK I TRIED TO KILL YOU!" John yelled, grabbing the empty bucket from the ground and throwing it at the stone wall in anger. It did nothing but bounce harmlessly off, and John fell to his knees, falling against the wall himself and breathing heavily.
"But it wasn't you, I know John, I know that you would never do such a thing unless you had to." Sherlock insisted, trying to step closer dispute the bars that separated them. John shook his head, hiding his face in his hands as if he couldn't stand to discuss such a thing.
"I'm a criminal Sherlock, somehow you must see that. I'm a villain." He whispered.
"You're not." Sherlock said flatly, shaking the bars in anger. "You're not."
"And what has Victor told you, huh? How much have you believed him? You came down here for a reason Sherlock, to get answers, to try to tell yourself that this wasn't me, that somehow someone framed me. I can't tell you the truth Sherlock, I can't...they'll kill them." John whispered. Sherlock was silent, watching as tears slid slowly down John's face in the darkness.
"Who will kill them? Who is them?" Sherlock insisted desperately, not knowing why John wouldn't just answer him.
"What does it matter Sherlock? Someone, they have my family, they said that...that if I didn't kill you then they'd kill my family." John insisted.
"Moriarty?" Sherlock guessed.
"So much more than just Moriarty Sherlock, there is so much you don't understand. Your kingdom, your power, your pride, I told you before you kissed me; I told you that if you loved me you'd lose it all. This is you, losing it all." John muttered.
"I haven't lost anything John, not until sunrise tomorrow." Sherlock defended. "And I won't lose anything after that again."
"Why do you insist on this love Sherlock? Why do you need to defend it so much? Yes, alright, we kissed, we had fun, you loved me, I loved you, but I tried to kill you, what does it matter that we loved each other?" John argued.
"It all matters John, it's the only thing that matters to me anymore. I need you John, it wasn't just love, it was destiny." Sherlock insisted. John looked up at him in defeat, his normally sparkly brown eyes cold with grief.
"You're going to have to watch me burn." He muttered. His words were like daggers in Sherlock's already mutilated heart, Sherlock didn't want to hear this, he couldn't hear this.
"I can help you, I'm the king!" Sherlock insisted desperately. "Let me help you!"
"I'm sorry Sherlock, but I can't give you enough evidence to free me without endangering my family. I weighted the odds before I came to your room tonight, and I decided that your life, and my life, they're not worth the lives of my family. I have parents too Sherlock, I have a sister. They'll die because of your selfishness." John muttered hopelessly.
"I want this for you, for both of us. Surely you don't want to die?" Sherlock whispered.
"Oh course I don't." John muttered, his voice cracking hopelessly. "But what choice do I have?"
"You can let me help you John. I forgive you, I know that you did what you had to do and if I could save you by letting you kill me then I would, you know I would. This wasn't just love, John. It never has been." Sherlock insisted. John sighed heavily, puling himself to his feet and walking slowly over to where Sherlock stood. He stood away from the bars, watching as Sherlock's hands gripped tighter over the rusted metal bars.
"What would you do?" John wondered. "To protect me and my family?"
"We could inform my mother, Victor, Mycroft, everyone that you're innocent, that you didn't want to do this. We can tell them the truth. And then we can spread the word that you had died, that we did burn you when in fact you're alive. We can go rescue your parents from the Moriartys and everything can be alright." Sherlock insisted.
"They'll never believe us; they'll never think I'm innocent." John said flatly.
"It's worth a shot John." Sherlock insisted, trying to press his face closer to the bars. John walked closer, placing his hands over top of Sherlock's so that their skin overlapped once more. Sherlock still felt that shock of electricity, that sign that there was still love between them both.
"You're not scared of me?" John wondered cautiously.
"Of course not, John, never." Sherlock insisted. "I was heartbroken, I thought...I thought that you had never loved me."
"I do." John assured. "I may have lied to you about so many things, but I have never lied to you about that."
"I knew it." Sherlock breathed, braving a small smile on his hopeful face. John smiled back, that soft, familiar face that Sherlock missed so much. "I'm not going to let you die."
"I know." John assured, stepping even closer and pressing the smallest of kisses onto Sherlock's lips, the best he could manage between bars. Sherlock was so relieved he could almost cry, John still loved him, he still cared.
"You're to burn at sunrise." Sherlock whispered fearfully, pulling away ever so slightly.
"That gives you plenty of time to prove my innocence." John assured.
"Yes, I will, you know that I will." Sherlock agreed with another smile. John pressed his forehead to the bars hopefully, taking deep, worried breaths.
"I'm so sorry Sherlock, I'm sorry about all of this." He whispered. Sherlock shook his head, he ran his fingers overtop of John's hands anxiously, not wanting John to blame himself for any of this.
"It's not your fault." Sherlock assured.
"They think it is. You did, for a time." John pointed out. Sherlock sighed heavily, pressing a reassuring kiss to John's forehead.
"I forgive you." He assured softly. Suddenly the doors flung open at the end of the hall, echoing across the empty jail cells. There was a parade of people, mostly soldiers, led by Victor, in all of his dark glory, holding what looked like a white cloth. Sherlock stepped back uneasily, casting a nervous look to John.
"Victor, what are you doing?" Sherlock demanded. John backed away from the bars, as if worried they had come for him. But Victor stepped closer to Sherlock, holding the white rag as if it were some sort of weapon. Sherlock couldn't help but fear Victor, who was looking powerful yet angry, flanked by ten or more guards.
"I'm sorry Sherlock, but we can't let you get in the way of what needs to be done." He insisted, stepping closer with the rag. Sherlock backed away from his grasp frantically, falling into the stone wall at the end of the cell block.
"Sherlock! Victor, wait!" John insisted desperately, slamming himself up against the bars helplessly.
"Don't do this Victor, there's still time, I know he's innocent!" Sherlock debated, but obviously Victor wouldn't hear it. He kept stepping closer, looking more snakelike than ever, a poisonous snake at that.
"We can't have you interfering, it's for the best, I'm sorry Sherlock." Victor insisted, grabbing Sherlock's arm with one hand and pulling him closer, wrapping his powerful arm around Sherlock's neck and shoving the white cloth into his face. Sherlock struggled uselessly, because every breath he took was working against him. The cloth was soaked in something, a chemical maybe, a poison, but as soon as he breathed it in he felt his muscles tire, he felt his energy exhausting until soon he was falling onto Victor's chest, the world fading into darkness as he heard John's helpless screams. 

John POV: "What have you done to him?" John demanded, slamming his hands against the bars until someone noticed him. Victor held Sherlock's motionless body to him, cradling Sherlock in his arms and looking extremely satisfied.
"He's unconscious, Mr. Watson, nothing to be afraid of." Victor assured.
"Don't touch him; don't do anything to him you disgusting, vile..." John's words were interrupted when a guard thrust the end of their spear into the cage, hitting John in the chest and sending him sprawling back in pain. Victor just laughed, picking Sherlock up easily and holding him in his arms, bridal style, walking closer to John's cage.
"I would never be so unprofessional, Mr. Watson. There will be a time, maybe, when I may be able to take your place, but we both know that day will come long after your ashes are scattered in the wind." Victor assured. John growled but stayed where he was, lying on the floor next to his bed of straw.
"Enjoy your night Mr. Watson, as it will be your last." Victor taunted, turning away from the cell with Sherlock's still body and carrying him down the corridor to who knows where. John couldn't bring himself to get up; he couldn't even bear the idea of defying anything, especially gravity. So he crawled into the straw and told himself that this was it. Sherlock had tried his best, he had attempted to save him, but he was gone now, he was unconscious, presumably until the morning. John couldn't do anything to save himself; he couldn't do anything to even try to prove that he was innocent. He hadn't been lying when he said that his family would die, he was certain that if that Adlers found out his life was spared they would send the word to Moriarty to kill his entire family in punishment. He couldn't give them up, but somehow he had to prove his innocence another way, someway that would save the lives of the entire Watson family. But there was nothing for him to do; there was nothing he could do. He was going to die, but in turn he was hopefully going to spare three innocent lives. So John lay in the hay and stared up at the empty ceiling, wishing for Sherlock to come and lay with him, wishing that they could just curl up together and breathe in synchrony, forgetting everything that had happened, forgetting everything that was going to happen, and forgetting everything that had to happen. All of this, all of these consequences, they were beyond John's control. He hadn't killed the king but he had still set the destruction of Lauriston kingdom into place. There would be war, there would be chaos. It would be family versus family, and the Adlers were the rats in the sinking ship, helping it go down from the inside. John wouldn't say a word against them, how could he? And he would burn right before the kingdom did. He felt horrible, an aching guilt devouring his insides as he tried to tell himself this was all for the best. But at least Sherlock forgave him; at least Sherlock hadn't believed in his betrayal for long.
"John, we have water for you." said a familiar voice from outside of the cage. John looked up hopeful, wanting to see Sherlock, conscious and well, standing outside of his cell. But instead it was Greg and Molly, standing together and both looking mournful.
"What are you two doing here?" John wondered, pulling himself to his feet and walking towards the bars. Greg didn't look nervous; neither of them did, as if they knew of John's innocence without the explanation.
"We're here to bring you water, I thought I made that clear." Greg pointed out. John looked at them suspiciously but took the cup through the bars, holding it to his trembling lips and taking a few desperate sips. It didn't taste fresh, but it was obviously all he was going to be provided with.
"They took Sherlock." He muttered.
"Yes, I know. It was under Mycroft's orders, they seem to think that he would be better off if he missed the entire production." Molly agreed, looking down in shame.
"He's only unconscious, right, he's not dead?" John wondered hopefully.
"Of course not, he's fine." Molly assured.
"Victor, don't let Victor get near him. Don't let him stay with him." John insisted.
"Why not, Victor's only here to help?" Molly wondered.
"He's in love with him as well, he stalks him. He was hiding in the closet, that's how he found us." John admitted. A collective shiver went down all of their spines as they processed that.
"In the closet? We were in there when you arrived, he wasn't in there then." Molly insisted.
"Apparently he was. He must've stationed himself there during dinner." John decided.
"Did he know you were coming over?" Greg wondered.
"I can't imagine how he could, unless Sherlock told him." John said with a shrug.
"That's disgusting." Molly decided.
"Victor's not alone with Sherlock, he's overseeing the...uh..." Greg put a hand to his mouth, not able to spit out the words without choking on them.
"Construction." John muttered. Greg nodded, looking away for a moment in horror.
"John we know you're innocent, we know you'd never do such a thing, so why did you?" Molly wondered.
"It's beyond me Molly, I can't say." John insisted. "They have my family."
"Who?" Greg wondered impatiently, obviously not hearing John the first time.
"I just said I can't say." John growled. Greg was silent, but he nodded. John stared down into the cup of murky water, seeing his dark reflection staring back.
"We're so sorry John, we're sorry this had to end so messily." Molly insisted.
"It's not over yet." John muttered.
"What is there to do? What can we possibly do to save you?" Greg wondered.
"Because we'll do it." Molly assured determinedly, and Greg nodded in approval.
"Just...live. For me." John decided, looking up at them in pity. "Protect Sherlock, make sure he's happy. Love each other; make sure Sherlock finds someone else to love. Kick Victor out, help Sherlock lead, avoid war. I may be dying but it doesn't mean my memory will die with me."
"What about your family?" Molly wondered, her voice cracking with emotion.
"I'm sure they'll find out, and when they do hopefully they'll be freed." John decided.
"We can help you John, please just let us." Greg insisted.
"I don't want to put anyone else in danger on my behalf. I'll happily burn Greg, if it means you're safe, and Molly's safe, and Sherlock's safe." John assured.
"Would you really have killed him?" Molly wondered. John let his head fall in shame, but nodded ever so slightly.
"I didn't realize that this was the preferable choice. I'm happy I was caught, because I would've never been able to live with the alternative." John decided. There was silence, and they all tried to imagine a world where John got away with the murder of Sherlock Holmes. It was a world none of them wanted to live in.
"Well then, John, I guess this is going to be goodbye." Greg decided, his voice very soft, as if he were trying to avoid crying.
"Ya mate, I guess it is." John agreed, looking up at Greg's grey eyes reassuringly. "I'll be alright."
"No you won't." Greg muttered, shaking his head and dropping his gaze. John thought he saw a tear fall from his eyes but he convinced himself it was just a trick of the light. Greg wouldn't cry, not on John's behalf.
"And Molly, just, be careful, alright? Look after them both, protect them. I know you're a lot stronger than you look." John assured. Molly forced a sad smile, not afraid to let her tears fall.
"I've never seen Sherlock happier than when he was with you. Thank you, for everything you've done for him." Molly muttered.
"It was my pleasure. It was never fake, none of it." John assured.
"I know." Molly assured. "No one could ever fake love that strong." John nodded, dropping his gaze as well, back to the rough stone floor at his feet.
"You two should get going." He decided.
"Yes, we should." Molly agreed, reaching down for Greg's hand and lacing their fingers together. That, if anything, was surely enough to lift his spirits just a bit.
"Goodbye John." Greg muttered sadly, letting Molly lead him off down the corridor, both of them doing their best to hide their tears.
"Bye Greg." John muttered, standing at the bars and staring at the spot where his two friends once stood, now long gone. The next time they would see John was when he went up in flames. John went back over to his makeshift bed, collapsing on top of the straw and staring once more into the darkness of the cell. There was a small window at the top, barred shut so that John couldn't use it for escaping, but he knew why it was there. It was designed so that the prisoners could see their death coming, so that they could watch as the darkness started to fade and the sunlight started to poke its way into the cell. It was designed for cases like this, when the prisoners' lives ended at sunrise.