Chapter Four

There was something clearly wrong with Sherlock, but what, John didn't know. He couldn't even begin to imagine what was going through that funny head of his flatmate's right now. His own mind was barely focussing, its thought process sluggish and his movements uncoordinated. He wanted to sleep, but (besides the obvious), he didn't want to fall asleep when something was so clearly wrong with Sherlock.

The sirens in the distance spoke to John that he would be able to sleep soon, and that all of this ruckus was going to go away before long.

Sherlock's shivering was intensifying at his side, his eyes scrunched together against what John assumed was pain. He wanted to demand to know where Sherlock was hurt, but he knew Sherlock wouldn't tell him and he'd just be wasting his breath.

John struggled with his jacket for a short moment, trying to blink away black spots and fighting the urge to vomit. When he finally managed to slip it off, he struggled to place it around Sherlock's shoulders.

Sherlock looked at him slowly. "What are you doing?"

"You're in shock."

"So are you."

John shrugged a bit.

They fell silent.

When the ambulance pulled up outside their scene of collision, their sirens were so loud that it made John want to cover his ears. However, he resisted, casting a concerned gaze at Sherlock, who had slumped even lower in his seat at the headache-exploding noise.

"You'll be fine..." John murmured.

"Naturally..." Sherlock's voice lacked his usual pompous tone. John was infinitely more worried, and infinitely more glad that the ambulance was here now.

It took infinitely too long for them to get the door off the cab.

He tried to tell them to go to Sherlock, to get him first, because something was the matter with him, and all John had was a broken nose and some whiplash and shock or something. But there was something more severely injured with Sherlock.

The EMTs did not listen to him.

"No, no, no, Sherlock," John babbled, trying to find his feet as they hauled him out of the car. "I can walk-" No more than saying that, he proved that he couldn't. The world swayed dangerously; he thought he was going to have to add a few scrapes and bruises due to falling onto the pavement, but he didn't fall. He did, however, give into the swirling sensation of the universe and the sickening feeling in his stomach, being violently sick for a few (too long) moments.

He heard multiple voices, although he only caught some of the snatches of the conversations around him.

"-shock, due to-"

"No doubt whiplash-"

"-the blood-"

"-pupils nonreactive-"

John squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blink away everyone's voices. Now that he didn't have the physical presence of Sherlock to focus on, he found consciousness hard to hang onto.

"Sh'lock," he muttered, blinking hard.

Somehow, he was getting strapped onto a gurney. He'd lost track of how that had happened.

"Your friend will be fine," a voice somewhere above him said.

John forced his eyes open again, looking around for the pale detective. He heard the slight intake of breath, a muffled groan that immediately attracted John's attention. Sherlock was out of the cab, but he was deathly pale in the split second that John spotted him.

He lost sight of him of them, but his heart was pounding quicker.

Sherlock didn't vocalize pain. Not until now.

Please, God, let him live... was the last thought in John's mind before he succumbed to the darkness.

I cannot take credit for the final thought. I read it in a fic once, fell in love with it.

Thanks!