Sherlock's Point of View
My head was groggy. I tried to clear it, but the drug hadn't fully worn off yet. I opened my eyes and squinted at the bright light above me. My head flopped to the side. Someone steadied my head with their hand and faced it upwards again. There was a silhouette above me. My mind was frantically trying to figure out something about the person in front of me, but I couldn't. I started to panic. My brain wasn't working properly-
"Sherlock!" The figure breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock? I thought as I sat up. The person sat up with me. My head was spinning. "Thank god you're okay!" I blinked and the black dots disappeared from my vision.
A confused look glanced across my face. "Who the heck are you?" The man sitting in front of me had short grey hair and brown eyes. That's all I could see. I couldn't deduce anything. I shook my head slowly, again trying to clear it.
"Really funny, Sherlock. We'd better be off," he said hauling me up. I pushed him away and took a few steps back.
"Get off of me." I snarled. I could feel my brain starting to subside, to give up hope that it would ever be able to think again. I grabbed his jacket and lifted him off of the floor and slammed him onto the wall behind him. His legs flailed about, kicking me, but I just stood there, feeling nothing. He punched me in the face. I bared my teeth at him. "Who are you and where am I?"
He hesitated with a dubious look on his face. I slammed him again on the wall. "How about we calm down a little-" Slam. "Alright! Sherlock, I'm your flat mate, John…"
John's Point of View
I stared into Sherlock's flaming brown eyes. His pupils were really dilated. My brain automatically kicked into a state of medical analysis. "Were you drugged, Sherlock?"
He dropped me and walked away. His hands ruffled his hair and started pulling in frustration. "I can't think." He muttered over and over to himself.
An idea flashed into my head. "What can you deduce about me?" I questioned. He half-turned back, and I thought my idea had worked and cleared his mind. But then he glared at me from under his locks.
"I can't deduce anything." He growled at me. I gasped in shock. What? He turned away again and started to run through the car park. In my shocked state, I stood, watching his coat flare out behind him for a second, before I ran after him.
As we broke out into the open air, Sherlock stopped and looked around. "The flat is this way-" I began, but he ran off in the other direction. I sighed and followed. He could have been drugged, or maybe he was hit? I tried to discern a bump under his curly hair, but I couldn't see one. Concussion? I thought, but then knocked the thought aside. He was running… although he did look slightly unbalanced. Amnesia seemed more appropriate. He didn't know who I was, and didn't remember how to observe anything, so it was possible, and being hit was seeming more likely. I didn't even know how he deduced things, so I couldn't help him at all in that area.
As my feet pounded along the ground, all I could think was I've got to get him to Mycroft.