A/N Sorry that I missed a couple of days!

Thanks to linguisticRenegade, glambertcello, MapleleafCameo, tkilyle, Orchfan, johnsarmylady, total-animal-lover, and Motaku1235

Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.

LXXIII. I Can't

"Sherlock," John mumbles, the name thick like cotton in his mouth through the haze of the drugs. His shoulder throbs numbly, burning chills radiating out from the puncture point, where the needle delivered the chemicals into his system. He can feel them inside of him now, coursing untamed through his veins, squeezing around his heart and tightening his throat. He can barely see the room before him, all the shapes doubled up and darkened by the undefined shadows that haunt his vision.

"Sherlock…"

"John," he replies, and his voice is like a brass bell, clanging and clashing against the inside of John's skull, so that he has to clench his teeth when aches spread out like ripples along his forehead and temples. Everything is shaking now, and his legs are made of jelly, weak, trembling pillars that collapse all too easily underneath him. Briefly, he can feel the cold ground under his palms, but then the bones in his arms melt and he's on the floor, half of his face paralyzed with the concrete's ice.

"Hold on." The words somehow manage to sink into his mind, broken fragments from his ears managing to piece themselves back together, however unevenly. Damn… it. Can't the stupid man see that it's impossible to hold on? Even as this concept crosses through his attention, he realizes that he's been letting go of the physical world, and he desperately gathers it back to him, can suddenly feel strong hands on his arms and back, cupping the side of his chin.

"It's just a drug, understand?" Sherlock whispers, mouth moving harshly against his ear. "It's not going to hurt you, not really… they just wanted an easy escape…"

"They got… away…?" He doesn't know if the words reach his lips or not, but they burn ferociously in his mind, fighting their way out into the air.

"Don't worry about that. I'm here now, I'm going to get you out of here. You did amazing, John, I should have known that there were too many of them for you… hold on, now, just hold on…"

Can't… he said that it was alright, though, that whatever it is poisoning John's veins and stomach and brain is nothing more than some sort of sedative, it won't hurt him… so it can't hurt to slip off, surely not.

He lets go slowly, and Sherlock doesn't protest, just releases a small, exceedingly gentle sigh, which is the last thing John hears as he releases his hold on reality.