Sherlock was quiet for most of the journey.
He'd found John's hand at the bottom of the stairs, and hadn't let go of it since. The paramedics had let him ride with them, assuming, like most did, that they were a couple.
"John?" Sherlock rasped.
"What?" he asked, moving in closer to hear over the sirens.
Sherlock tried to slip the oxygen mask off, but his arms couldn't seem to make it to his face. John tipped it to the side for him. "What's the date?"
John frowned. Sherlock was worrying about the date at a time like this?
"The date?" he repeated.
Sherlock nodded.
"I'm not exactly sure. It's after midnight though, so that makes it October... tenth? I think."
Sherlock's face fell slightly, but he nodded.
John slipped the oxygen mask back on his face, and Sherlock closed his eyes.
Doctor Rosalind was waiting for them.
She left John for a moment to brief the A&E doctors, then returned to speak with him.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have told you to go to A&E right away, and not wait until the appointment."
John shook his head. "He wouldn't have gone. It's not your fault. You know how stubborn he is. If anything, it's my fault for not noticing. He practically let me carry him to bed."
John grimaced, knowing how that probably sounded. He was rather beyond caring at this point though.
Doctor Rosalind wisely chose to not comment, and instead spoke about Sherlock's treatment.
"They're working to stop the bleeding, and to figure out what's causing it. There are a number of causes, AIDS related and otherwise, but considering everything else, it's likely one of three things." She ticked them off on her fingers as she spoke. "Pneumonia, TB, or Kaposi's lesions in his lungs or trachea."
John exhaled. "None of which are very good."
"No," she agreed. "Not particularly."
John nodded and slumped into the chair.
Doctor Rosalind left shortly after to check on Sherlock, but John barely noticed her go. He was too busy counting days, measuring symptoms, and estimating.
She returned shortly after to tell him that Sherlock had been sedated, and taken for a chest x-ray. He'd had labs drawn, and was stable for the time being, a blood transfusion making up for the loss that had ended up largely on his pillow, but partially on John.
A fact which she reminded him about.
"You're still covered in blood John," she said gently.
John had forgotten about that. He'd told Mrs Hudson to take off her bloody clothes, but had disregarded himself.
"Right," he said. He glanced at the bags he'd brought with him. He'd packed a change of clothes for himself, right?
"Do you want a scrub shirt to wear for now?"
John nodded. That sounded a lot easier.
She returned a moment later with a blue scrub shirt and tossed it to him.
"I suppose this jumper's a bio-hazard now," he sighed. "Sherlock will be pleased. He always said it was an atrocity."
Doctor Rosalind snickered.
"I don't suppose he planned it like this, but one can never be sure..." He sighed again. "Thank you."
She nodded, and slipped out again, promising to return when there were results.