Chapter Text
“What’s gotten into you?” John hurried to keep up with his companion, stumbling along the carpeted floor of the hotel corridor. “Where are we going?”
“To arrest him." Sherlock strode out quickly, heading towards the stairwell in the hope that the criminal and murderer was in his office on the ground floor. Sherlock had decided to put the pair of them up for the night, a quaint oriental hotel in the heart of china town. The owner was wanted on suspicion of murder but had eluded police so far, Sherlock had scoffed at the useless excuses Lestrade has given for the police investigation. He hoped to be able to snoop around a little, so booking an overnight room with his best friend seemed the most logical idea. How Sherlock had managed to book, check in and snoop around without being detected John would never know but It hadn’t taken long at all. Barely the evening had passed and they'd found out the suspect had indeed murdered his wife with a machete, the prize possession was on display downstairs in the Chinese restaurant. There was no need for a nights stay now, just to simply arrest the man.
The detective stopped dead for a moment, John could hear him smacking his lips in a not so Sherlockian way. “You alright?” The doctor came to a stop beside his friend and watched at him visibly swallow hard.
“It’s too quiet, where are all the guests?” he shot back, question ignored.
“It is nearly 11 at night, I expect most of them are out or in bed. Did you want me to call Lestrade?” John rummaged in his coat to fish out his phone. "He's working late."
“No point.” The detective replied, waving his hand off to disregard the question, “If he comes in with the yard all guns blazing then we stand no chance of catching a confession."
John sighed loudly, taking just a second to admire the Chinese décor of the corridor. “So you’re doing the usual thing, confront a violent criminal and nearly get yourself killed?”
“No.” Sherlock smirked and continued on, rounding on the stairwell and hitting the call button of the lift.
"Are you sure your alright?" John frowned when he watched his friend prodding at his face. "Your looking a bit peaky."
The detective didn't answer immediately and as the lift pinged its arrival he turned quickly and violently heaved into a nearby flower pot.
"Okay." John stepped back and placed a hand on his friends back, rubbing it gently. "Let's head back to the room and get you sorted."
"No." Sherlock croaked, standing straight again, "get the lift." He pointed with his gloved hand at the metal doors beginning to close. John ignored the request, only to have the detective shove past him and stop the thing from closing.
"Are you sure...?"
"You didn't have tea did you?" Sherlock's voice was hoarse and not it's usually baritone boom.
"What?" John pressed the ground floor button inside and the doors clunked shut behind him.
"Well?" The detective cried, voice raising to a higher pitch, "did you?"
"No." John eyed his friend, a small line of concern etching itself into his forehead, a light sheen of sweat had appeared just below his flat mates hairline and upper lip, perhaps just a case of food poisoning John mused.
"Good." Sherlock inhale sharply and gulped again.
"What's wrong?" The doctors instincts were starting to kick in, the look in the detective's eyes told him something wasn't quite right here.
The taller man did not have a chance to answer when the lift gave an almighty crunch, juddering to a stop to the sound of grating metal, the light inside flickered and then returned.
"Great!" John pressed the ground floor button again but nothing happened, looking up he could see the digital display flashing between the digits zero and one. He tapped at the door opening button to no avail. "Son of a..." He swore under his breath and looked back to Sherlock quickly, to find him leaning heavily on the wall, his head tilted back as he huffed in a couple of deep breaths. "Are you going to spew again?" He asked.
"No." Sherlock smiled grimly, "I don't think so."
Something in his friends voice started to send dread into the doctor, what was he not telling him?
John growled audibly and pushed hard on the emergency call button. For what seemed like several minutes it's flashed on and off and just when the man was about to push it again a crackling sounded over the intercom.
"Hello?"
"Hello Dr Watson." A thick accented Chinese voice appeared on the other end.
"How do you know my name?" John's voice rose, though he knew there was little point in shouting.
"You and Mr Holmes are very special guests here today. Did you enjoy the complimentary tea?"
John's eyes widened in horror at the sudden realisation and the detective voice echoed in his head. 'Did you drink the tea'. He turned back to his friend to see him gulp hard again. Sherlock's eyes had widened a little, his pupils had dilated considerably and if John didn't know him better he'd have said his friend had been shooting up with seven percent solution again.
"John." Sherlock's voice wavered, it was weaker than it even had been only moments ago.
"Jesus." The doctor cursed, he looked back to the built in microphone. "What did you do?"
A short laugh could be heard on the intercom. "Perhaps Mr Holmes can fill you in. That is, if his voice is still working. I'm sure he has deduced it by now, what a shame he didn't work it out before he poisoned himself."
John was struck silent for a moment, he turned back to his friend, grasping Sherlock's upper arms he pulled him straighter so they were facing each other. "What's happening?" He commanded, "what are your symptoms? Talk to me!"
"M... Fine." The detective gulped back and for a moment looked like he was going to heave again.
John inhaled deeply to calm himself. "What did you ingest?"
Silence.
"Sherlock, talk to me. Right now!"
"TTX." Sherlock croaked, he smacked his lips together and John could see his friend hands were lightly trembling.
"Which is?"
"Tetrodotoxin." The detective inhaled with clear effort. "Neurotoxin." He gurgled and then gulped again, a small amount saliva escaped his friends lax mouth and dribbled down his pale cheek. John didn't think twice and mopped it up with his sleeve.
"And what exactly does it do?" John was familiar with neurotoxins to an extent, but didn't have a comprehensive detail on every one, that was something Sherlock was good at storing in his genius brain. Whatever this was, it was not good.
"Paralysis. Mouth. Throat. Respiration." Sherlock tried to speak but only managed a few breathy words, a useless noise passed his lips. "John." He sucked in another breath.
"Christ." The doctors voice hitched up a pitch and he struggled to remain calm, they're predicament only just beginning to set in.
"John. Please do calm down." He managed better this time.
"Calm down!" The blogger clenched his hands into white tipped fists. "We are stuck in a lift at the mercy of a bloody killer and you've just ingested a deadly toxin and are about to asphyxiate to death. I really don't think now is the time to be telling me to calm down do you?"
Sherlock groaned, he opened his mouth to speak but nothing of use or comprehendible passed his lips.
"Sounds like somethings almost got his tongue already." The murderer was on the end of the line again, his jovial voice was making anger rise up in the blogger.
"Open the doors, now!" John shouted.
"I don't think so doctor." The blogger could hear the smile on his face. "Not a chance. I'm going to sit here and watch the great Sherlock Holmes die slowly. Watch as he suffocates on his own vomit and then stops breathing when his diaphragm becomes paralysed, all while he remains conscious of the whole thing. If he's lucky he might seizure and lose consciousness. But then again..." There came a short sigh. "I was hoping that you'd be doing the same my good doctor, but oh well, death will come for you too, eventually. And besides, I get to watch the pantomime of you valiantly trying to save your friend's worthless life, or is it your lover like the papers say, this will be amusing."
Sherlock's eyes glared at the intercom, if looks could kill, John was sure the small panel of metal holding the internal communications would have imploded right there and then. The detective pushed John away, he hammered at the intercom with a fist and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing but air rushed passed his vocal chords with a feeble low moan. He turned to the doors, yanking wildly at the divide but they refused to budge a millimetre.
"Now now, Mr Holmes, I would preserve your strength if I were you. I'd say you don't have that many minutes now before you lose the use of your arms and legs." A cackling laugh sounded again.
"Fuck you!" John shouted and quickly turned away from the control panel, turning his full attention to his friend.
Sherlock was trembling lightly, he had his back up against the doors again, leaning heavily as if he didn't trust his own shaking legs. His face was now white making his huge pupils stand out even more against the stark pallor. John was surprised how quickly his health had deteriorated from less than five minutes ago.
"Right." John said calmly. "On the floor with you." He could see his friend trying to protest.
"I'm fine." Came a snide but weak reply.
"Don't you dare." John cried. "You are not fine, and you know it."
Sherlock's eyes watched the doctor as he pulled gently at his arms causing his lanky figure tip off balance. John gently pushed his own weight against his friend to steady his decent to the carpeted floor of the posh elevator. "Easy now." The doctor kept a hand behind his best friends head cradling it from any potential collision with the floor. "Alright?"
Sherlock actually rolled his eyes in response, making John smile slightly. The man tried to open his mouth, a short gurgle sounded followed by a "just peachy." Barely audible.
"Please stop trying to talk." John looked at him grimly, loosening his friends shirt collar and removing his scarf to make his neck less constricted, though he knew ultimately it wouldn't change the outcome. He pushed his friend gently onto his side, already becoming mindful that Sherlock's swallow and gag reflex was likely to be disappearing if his vocal use was anything to go by.
"Jhn..." So subtle the doctor hardly heard it.
"Don't speak." John bent low over his friends face and took the detective's pulse, happy it was strong and regular. He used the scarf to mop up more drool escaping from Sherlock's mouth, it was pooling on the carpet and spreading, must have been a reaction to the toxin, John stored this information for later.
"I wonder how long he has left before he stops breathing altogether?" A laugh. "How long will you be able to keep him alive?"
"Long enough for you to be in cuffs!" John retorted, he clenched his fists in anger and looked to his friend, watching very carefully for his chest movements. Sherlock's breathing hadn't changed, except perhaps a little faster than usual. "Hold on ok, just a bit longer, Lestrade is on his way." He whispered quietly, mindful that they were being watched.
Sherlock blinked several times to confirm his understanding.
John looked around the elevator, as if the small cube they were in would yield some sort of help or answers. There was little space, not even enough for his friend to stretch his legs out straight, Sherlock was simply curled on his side. John took a deep shaky inhale and tried not to think about there predicament right now, concentrate on the task at hand and hope to god the text to Lestrade had got the message across. He pulled his phone from his pocket briefly to find no signal, quite typical being in a small metal box, he left it on the floor.
Sherlock's eyes tracked John's every movement as he searched his pockets for anything useful. The detective watched on in wonder as John revealed from his Parker a notepad and pen, stethoscope, a pair of surgical gloves, an intravenous catheter, tape, swabs, pen torch, scissors and a tiny box, which Sherlock could only imagine contained emergency drugs.
"Right." John seemed to calm himself and he surveyed his best friend again, mopping up more drool leaking in a steady stream from the detective's mouth. He folded Sherlock's beloved scarf and gently wedged it under his cheek to catch more. He checked the detective's pulse and respiration, timing both, listened to his chest with a frown then shone the pen torch into his eyes much to the man's useless protests. Sherlock's hand tried to rise and bat the annoying light away but barely made it an inch from his side before shaking violently and falling back to his coat.
Happy (as he could be) with his check over John wrote his findings on his small notepad and looked at his watch. Not even five minutes since Lestrade must have received the text, he hoped to God the inspector was still on shift as he was supposed to be. He could make it here in a matter of minutes, Scotland Yard only being less than a mile away.
"They said you were a good doctor." The intercom sounded again. "Very thorough I must say."
John clenched his jaw and was about to reply when Sherlock's left shoe kicked out against the metal elevator side involuntarily. His brows furrowed and he curled a little inwards, groaning. John frowned and gently rubbed his best friends shoulder, biting his lip as he felt powerless to stop the oncoming barrage of shakes flowing through the detective's frame. He glanced at his watch again, exactly how long ago did they sit in the hotel room drinking tea? Perhaps 30 minutes, perhaps more. Sherlock had run off a lengthy deduction of the crime to John whilst sipping on the Chinese drink. John had declined the warm tea, never much of a fan of anything but a proper English brew. He swallowed back the rising lump in his throat, as time passed by Sherlock only grew closer to respiratory arrest and John watched his chest rise and fall with a little more effort than only minutes earlier.
"I'm enjoying this." A laugh sounded. "I can't wait to share the video online of the great Sherlock Holmes's death. Perhaps we could tell them it was a drug overdose, much more reasonable and believable way for a junkie to die."
John growled under his breath and then lost it. He pulled himself upright in a flash, bringing an arm round he punched the communication panel with so much force the metal bent in response. It did not stop the manic laugh from sounding. The doctor stepped back, breath hitching in short gasps of rage, he studied his bloodied and split knuckles and grimaced a little. In his spat of anger his pressed wildly at the door open button and then growled again, face turning red, teeth ground so tightly together his jaw hurt from the effort.
A low mumble from behind him then caused every last shred of anger fall from him, John turned to find Sherlock's pleading eyes looking at him, his lips were moving soundlessly in an attempt at speech.
"Please don't talk." John found himself back on his knees and taking another set of vitals. "Sorry." He added.
Sherlock let out an abhorrent moan and to John's absolute horror began to convulse, curling inwards his abdominal muscles visibly heaving. The doctor wasn't sure if his friend was trying to vomit, cough or simply trying to inhale a breath, but this wasn't normal seizure like activity.
"Take it easy." John gripped his friends upper arm, feeling completely useless, his heart now beginning to staccato in his chest with rising panic. Where the hell was Lestrade?! "Easy." He soothed, and for once Sherlock's eyes mirrored his own, wide and panicked, blown pupils making the sight all but more disturbing. The detective gurgled loudly and John turned him further over, gently extending his friends neck to try and maintain a patent clear airway, a small trickle of what John could only guess was meagre stomach contents spilled out onto his scarf.
The doctor consulted his watch quickly, counting by as he held his friend close to him, wishing the shakes would cease. Sherlock's accessory muscles in his neck started to strain, his mouth opening like a fish out of water and the edges of his lips began to tinge an awful shade of blue. John could almost feel himself shake too, his heart pounded as the seconds ticked by until finally after almost two minutes Sherlock's body began to relax a little, leaving only his arms and legs twitching slightly.
"Jesus." John placed two fingers on his best friends neck to find a racing rapid pulse. Sherlock still watched him, though now through heavy lids, pain etched into his face and knitted into his brow. His damp hair stuck in clumps to his forehead and John gently pushed them away from his grimaced eyes.
John paused, took a breath to collect himself and gathered his supplies back up which had been haphazardly strewn around by the commotion. "I need to get a line in you Sherlock," he said very slowly and deliberately. "Once help arrives we're going to need to give you some drugs to help you out with your breathing and the convulsions, do you understand?"
Sherlock only answered with whimper and a small strangled grasp. The detective bent inwards against whatever pain was coursing through his abdomen, he closed his eyes briefly against the agony.
"Right." John straightened himself, opened the intravenous catheter packet and then pulled one of Sherlock's hands to himself. The detective made no attempts at fighting him and this only served to worry John even further, if this was even possible right now.
Sherlock's veins were shocking, John cursed under his breath, it was clear his friends blood pressure was dropping and his peripherals were compensating. His hand was cold and pale, and the tremors running through it were not helpful. John swabbed the top of his flat mates hand and cursed a second time as he looked for a viable vessel. "Sharp scratch." John said pretty much out of habit rather than politeness. Sherlock didn't flinched all when John plunged the stylet into his vein and slid the plastic catheter off into it. He quickly placed a bung on to stop the bleeding and grabbing his tape to secure the device there. The tape was not the usual type for securing IV's in but he managed, wrapping it lightly around the entire of the detective's hand several times.
"John?"
The doctor could have cried at the sound of a familiar voice over the intercom. "Lestrade!" He almost shouted, "Mr Long."
"Reprimanded. Medic on the way. What happened, where are you, I can see you both on screen?" Greg's voice had an edge of panic in it.
"In the lift. Get this bloody thing open. Sherlock's dying here!"
"On it!"
The seriousness of his words started to sink in and the blogger let adrenalin course through his veins for a moment. It's was ok, Sherlock was not alone, he was here and he could deal with this. He just needed some kit and some drugs, his small box of adrenalin and morphine would do little to help him right now.
Sherlock let out another awful sounding strained groan and a pained gasp. The man pulled his head and chin back, straining to open up his paralysed airways.
"Easy." John carefully watched the detective's chest, noting the useless lack of intercostal movement and desperate abdominal strain to suck in a decent breath. Sherlock lips were turning pale and blue from lack of oxygen. John's stomach flipped in panic, they were running out of time.
"Lestrade, what's happening?" John shouted.
There was no answer. Sherlock's eyes fixed onto John's, a haze of saltwater was gathering in the detective's globes. "It's going to be ok." John smiled sadly, "just try to relax ok. If the medics aren't here in a few minutes I'm going to have to start breathing for you ok?"
Something in Sherlock's eyes told him all he needed to know, a sad but trusting gaze remained fixed on John's eyes, a tear escaped down his pale cheek, running down his nose and dripping to the floor. His mouth gaped with each useless inhale, barely moving air past his lips.
"Lestrade?!" John shouted again, not breaking eye contact.
"It's jammed." The inspector sounded, "we're on it but looks like he's jammed the mechanism. How long do we have?"
"We don't." John cried, assessing his friend in a matter of seconds, hypoxia was setting in, the detective's abdominal muscles barely trying anymore as his diaphragm began to fail. "I need medical kit here now."
"Medics are less than five minutes away."
"Too long." John whispered, he wiped up the saliva from his friends face and tried to clear his mouth quickly. He pushed the detective onto his back and gently pulled his head back. "I'm sorry Sherlock." He said before pinching his friends nose and sealing his lips over the detective's and breathing deeply into his lungs.
Sherlock's eyes had glazed a little, he stared listlessly at the ceiling while his friend ventilated him. The doctor hoped he wasn't lucid yet Sherlock remained aware of each and every warm breath John pushed into his lungs. The feeling was both frightening and a relief for his body screaming out for oxygen. John's phone had started a stopwatch, and the doctor timed each breath with accuracy, giving himself enough of a break to regain his own oxygen levels.
Over three minutes of this passed until John heard a grinding of metal behind him and the lifts doors forced open half way revealing a flustered looking Detective Inspector Lestrade.
"John." He smiled grimly, his head and shoulders were only visible, he was clearly standing on something as the rest of the doorway was taken up by the lift shaft walls, the thing really was jammed between two floors. "What's happening."
Sherlock's head and pupils slid weakly into a sideways glance at Greg and John gave him another lungful of air.
"He's paralysed." John inhaled shakily. "He's stopped breathing."
"Bloody hell John. What the hell happened?"
"Poisoned by a neurotoxin which has paralysed his diaphragm. Where are those medics?" He shot before inhaling and then giving his best friend another breath of life.
"Sounds like they've just arrived, hang on." Lestrade's face disappeared and within seconds it was replaced by a grey haired paramedic, a pair of large glasses pushed up his nose and a worried look on his face.
"What do you need?" He asked.
"Face mask and bag, suction, oxygen and intubation kit. I've already got a line in." John turned back to his friend, running a hand through black tangled curls, "help's here ok." He gave another breath.
The doctor received the Ambu bag first and quickly replaced his own manual breathing with the it, sealing the device over his friends mouth and nose and squeezing the bag to fill his lungs up. A handheld suction appeared. "Tubes and laryngoscope on the way." John could hear the medics murmured voices below.
John used the suction device to remove as much from Sherlock's mouth then and turned to find a small tray with all he needed to intubate his friend. He quickly gave another breath and then set to preparing the kit as he wanted.
"Anything we can do Doctor Watson?" A different medics face was in the doorway.
"Just want some oxygen once he's tubed, I should be fine. Thank you." John was well apt to dealing with emergency situations like this, except working on his friend was never easy. "How long until we get the lift down?" He asked, threading the tube with a stylet and then opening sterile lube and clicking on the laryngoscope.
"Working on it, they said they shouldn't be too much longer."
The doctor pulled Sherlock over by the top of his famous coat. letting his friend lay at an angle across the elevator so that he was now sat behind his head. He bent over him, giving him another breath before talking to him. "I need to place a tube in your airway." He said calmly, Sherlock's eyes remained slits but registered John with a blink. The tremors in his arms and legs worsened a little. "Please don't worry, I'm right here with you. It's going to feel odd, though I'm not sure how much feeling you have in your mouth and throat anymore I'll still give you some local anaesthetic. I'll be as quick as I can ok?"
John gave a couple of breaths of the Ambu bag before attempting intubation. He tilted his friends head back as far as he could, placing the bag and mask to the side and picking up the laryngoscope. The doctors heart jumped to his throat, he'd done this on hundreds of patients, but knew too well time was of the essence and this was his best friend, seemingly half conscious too. He gently pulled his friends mouth open and slid the scope along his tongue and down. Sherlock made no efforts to gag or move when he pushed deeper only confirming his suspicions that his entire mouth and throat were numbed from paralysis. John passed on the local block and sprayed the end of the tube with lidocaine instead. "Sorry Sherlock." He inwardly winced as he advanced the laryngoscope further still, pushing his friends epiglottis up to visualise his vocal chords. With quick and practiced moves he slid the tube in and safely through his friends larynx and into his trachea. He removed the scope and stylet quickly and connecting the bag to the end and giving the detective a lung full of air, his blue tinged lips doing nothing for John's mental wellbeing right now. The doctor gently inflated the cuff and then took his stethoscope up to listen to his best friends chest whilst ventilating. Happy the tube was in place he quickly tied it in before giving yet another breath. "All done." John looked sadly into his friends eyes only to find a sorrow filled glaze looking back at him. "I'm sorry Sherlock, but I had to."
"Oxygen." The younger medic rolled a small cylinder into the space and John accepted it gladly, wishing he could have some himself. He connected the tubing into the bag and began ventilating with the gas, happier now. Airway secure, now circulation.
Sherlock's heart rate was slightly elevated but steady, his carotid pulse was strong but John was not happy with his thready weak radial pulse. "Blood pressure and ECG?" He asked quickly. A small oscillometric blood pressure machine and cuff appeared almost immediately. He pulled it close to his friend and began to undo the Velcro cuff.
"I'm just going to take your blood pressure. Won't be long before were out of here."
"Not long." John heard Greg shout from below. "We've got a man heading up to the top to let the lift down manually."
The doctor gave a couple of breath and then pulled at his friends arm to extract it from his belstaff only to find his appendage ridged. He furrowed his brows in concern but tried again with no luck. "Sherlock?" He bent over his friends face. The detective's eyes were rolled unnaturally upwards, unseeing and glazed over. "Sherlock?" He patted his friend on the cheek, "hey now, what's happening?"
If at all possible the detective's eyes rolled further up and he arched his back, John knew exactly what was about to happen and he pulled his friend over onto his side well before the violent twitching began.
"He's having a seizure. 4mg of lorazepam now!" John bellowed through the open doors. He cradled the younger man's head gently as his flat mates body was completely overcome with brutal contractions. His legs kicked out aimlessly against the metal sending an awful crashing noise echoing around them, his arms spasming relentlessly. John could only support him until the drug arrived. He watched in unblinking terror as Sherlock clamped down on his ET tube, trapping the plastic and his tongue between his teeth. A new trickle of thick red frothy liquid made its way out of the detective's mouth and onto the doctors hands holding him steady. John wanted to vomit.
"Where's that bloody lorazepam!" He almost screamed, but kept his cool.
"Coming." A voice sounded.
Sherlock writhed, the toxin clearly coursing through his nervous system at full speed. John struggled to hold him steady as each convulsion seemed to overtake the man's body with more force, the doctor started worry. The detective's back arched again and he kicked out so violently John panicked that he was going do himself some real harm.
"Here." John turned to sweep the syringe up off the floor, he struggled to hold his friends hand still, finally resorting to placing a knee over his wrist to immobilise the limb while he plunged the contents of the syringe through the catheter and flushed it.
Sherlock's body began to relax almost immediately, the twitching easing, John guided him back onto his back, utilising the suction to remove the blood now filling up the detective's mouth. He checked the tube, happy it wasn't bitten through, though the same couldn't be said for the detective's lacerated tongue. He then gave a few breaths and listening with his stethoscope, cursing when bubbles and crackles could be heard, likely some aspiration during the seizure.
"Jesus Sherlock. Please don't do that again!" John peeled his friends now closed lids back and flicked the pen torch across his eyes, happy both pupils were reacting a little slowly yet otherwise normally.
"Lift coming down!" Lestrade shouted up to him.
John felt the elevator begin to descend slowly, he watched as the two paramedics and Lestrade came into view through the half wedged open doors and it finally came to a halt. One EMT stepped forwards the other disappearing and quickly reappearing with a trolly.
John ran off his handover, in full doctor mode. "Suspected oral ingestion of tetrodotoxin approximately..." He checked his watch, giving a breath to his friend "50 to 60 minutes ago." Where the hell had the time gone. "Vomited twice, paralysis of the mouth followed by limbs then respiratory arrest. Manually ventilated until you arrived then successfully intubated with an 8.5mm without local. Was mostly conscious throughout until he had a grand mal just now. All 4mg of lorazepam given. He may need more, he has a history of substance abuse." John's voice cracked at the last word.
"Thank you Doctor Watson, we'll take it from here." The more senior medic clamped a hand on the doctors shoulder and squeezed, he took the Ambu bag from his hand and began to ventilate again. "You've done great."
John bowed his head in acceptance, the adrenalin rush beginning to dwindle and catch up with him. He stepped up and back and watched both medics pick up his friend with some ease and move him swiftly to the trolly before beginning to hook him up to monitors. They pulled his great woollen coat from his shoulders and Lestrade gladly accepted it.
The younger medic loaded the oxygen onto the gurney and turned to the doctor. "We're heading to Barts." He began to follow his colleague who was already heading out with the detective.
"Be right behind." The inspector answered moving into the lift to meet the blogger.
John took one step forward and his knees gave way, Lestrade jumped quickly, grasping the man under his arms and lowering him to the floor below. "Whoa mate," he inhaled. "Take it easy."
"Just need a second." John waved him off and Greg pulled the belstaff out from his grasp, wrapping it around the doctors shoulders, knowing the familiar garment would be appreciated. John practically loved the thing as much as the daft detective did.
"Sure you do." The inspector sighed, "a bit two much fun for the both of you today by the looks of it. You look like you need a good cup of tea and a sleep for a week."
"No tea." John gulped back and dragged himself upright, pulling the soft woollen fabric tightly around himself. He would not be drinking tea for some time to come, that's for sure, Chinese or English.
"Come on then." Greg wrapped a hand around his friend. "I'll take us to the hospital, then maybe a coffee yeah?"
"Yeah." John murmured. "Coffee..."