Sherlock usually approached consciousness slowly after a seizure, but this time was different. He was trapped and tied down, and that prompted a burst of adrenaline, allowing him to think clearly and struggle against his bonds.
"Mr Holmes, stop," someone pleaded. "We're trying to help you."
Sherlock could have laughed. Hardly.
"Get off of me," he snapped. "I'm fine. I don't need this. Stop being ridiculous." Paramedics. Ambulance. Saved, his mind tried to tell him, but fight or flight instinct took over.
Despite the hands trying to hold him down, he managed to undo the straps that were tying him to the stretcher. He undid the spinal collar and threw it away, disgusted at the memory of wearing it.
He surveyed the scene. He was at the spot where he'd pulled over. The truck was still sitting there, the driver's door open.
"John!" he called, struggling to stand up. He didn't see John.
Gladstone barked behind him. He spun, nearly falling over as he did. Gladstone was sitting next to John, who was on a stretcher being tended to by paramedics.
"He was drugged," he called more weakly.
He stumbled, and hands led him back to the stretcher.
"I'm fine," he snapped.
"Sherlock!" a voice bellowed.
He groaned.
"A little bit late Detective Inspector."
Lestrade smirked at him. "You seemed to do fine on your own. Now lay down. You just had a seizure, and somehow ended up face first in the road. I know you don't want to go to the hospital, but John is going, and this way you get there with him."
Sherlock scowled, but allowed himself to be strapped back down. He insisted the stretcher be raised to a sitting position, and he only glared at Lestrade as yet another shock blanket was draped over him.
Gladstone appeared at his side, now that she knew John was in good hands, and that Sherlock was content with his care. He loved that she knew to do that, to check on John. It was probably more out of concern for Sherlock, since he would feel it was necessary to rush over to John and see if he was alright. Sherlock didn't care if he passed out or not, as long as he could ensure John was safe.
He may also have been slightly tired.
"Second," he said suddenly.
"What?" one of the paramedics asked.
"Not you," Sherlock said, waving him away.
Lestrade raised an eyebrow. "Second? What?"
Sherlock sighed at him.
"Second seizure?" he asked.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Must have been the stress of being kidnapped." He spat the words out, aiming for Lestrade.
"Hey!" he protested. "I just only found out. For some reason, I get alerted whenever an emergency services call is made regarding people of your and John's descriptions."
He looked upset, and Sherlock couldn't help but laugh.
"Mycroft," he muttered under his breath and the stretcher was loaded in the ambulance.
"What are you doing?" he asked, eyeing Lestrade as he climbed in after.
Lestrade frowned. "Taking care of you of course. John's still unconscious and I can trust him to behave on his own. You? Nope."
Gladstone nuzzled the DI's leg affectionately.
"Stop it Lestrade, she's working," he said bitterly as they began moving.
Lestrade only laughed.
The sway of the ambulance as they rolled through the country roads and the soft touch of Gladstone's fur must have lulled Sherlock to sleep.