The first thing he felt was the pain.
It erupted from his head, creating a rippling sensation down his body and making him gasp for breath. His lungs were burning and he frantically clawed at his throat, desperate to take in a deep breath, but it was useless.
There was something soft and warm pressed against him. He held on to it tightly, trying to ground himself, but he couldn't discern what it was. Everything was fuzzy and the pain in his head only made it all the more difficult to understand what was going on.
He could feel heat all around him and hear the screeching yell of sirens and people. Through the haze of his own thoughts he heard someone shout don't move them but then he felt the darkness wrap itself around him again.
The next thing he knew something was being enclosed around his neck. There were hands gently touching him and he felt something rigid underneath him. The warmth was gone and he tried to protest, but his one feeble attempt was cut off by a bout of coughing which left him clutching at his chest and wheezing.
His eyes closed and his fists clenched as he felt the ground drop out from beneath him. The combination of the noise, the bright lights and the pain was too much and he tried to shut everything out. He needed to figure out what was going on but his brain failed to work out anything beyond pain pain pain.
When the sickening motion finally settled he felt hands working at him again, the cold latex again his skin, a light shining into his eyes, the pinprick of a needle on his arm. He moaned and tried to swat the hands away but it was useless. He could hear voices around him, comforting him, grounding him, but he still couldn't make out the words.
Something was pulled over his face and he was ready to protest when suddenly he could breathe. The relief was so immense that he instantly felt all his muscles relax. There were a blissful few moments when the heat was gone, the noise was muffled and the pain was slowly fading from his body but he still felt anxious. There was something missing, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He just knew that he needed it. Whatever it was, he needed it.
There were a few seconds when he heard the noise outside clearly again and felt a slight dip before it was muffled once more. The fog in his mind was slowly lifting and now that the pain and the noise weren't as overwhelming he risked opening his eyes and what he saw brought a whole other level of relief with it.
John.
There it was. Exactly what he needed. John Watson. His John, safe and sound right next to him.
He watched as John reached his hand out slowly towards him and lightly stroked Sherlock's forehead, the gesture bringing a heaving sigh of relief with it.
A small, tight smile appeared on John's face and he tried to reciprocate it, but the comfort of having him there and the pull of unconsciousness was too strong and so Sherlock drifted off once again.