Pain.

Unnecessary pain.

Unwanted pain, filling every corner and fiber of my being. Grasping at my head, pulling me deeper into its clutches. I can feel people shaking me, hands pressed onto my stomach to stop the blood, and hands rearranging my broken, twisted limbs so I'm comfortable.

"Sherlock!"

One voice pulls through the hazy fog, calling my name, pulling me out. "Sherlock, stay with us. Stay awake!" It's that one voice that urges me to keep fighting. Fear tugs at me; why can't I place it? I should be able to place it, right then and there.

"Sherlock, it's going to be just fine."

There. Placed it. John Watson. Filed under W, in speech recognition.

I involuntarily groan as waves of pain wash over me, and mentally curse Moriarty. If I could speak past the cottony feeling in my mouth, I would be spewing profanities at that basterd, cursing his life, his very existence. A warm hand gently pushes my eyelid open, and I can see John, Lestrade, Donavan, and others I can't place at this moment.

"No concussion."

John's voice pushes through the fog again, clear and sharp. My eye falls shut again, and I struggle to control my breathing, erratic and painful. "Sherlock, can you hear me?" I give the faintest nod, my hands clenching as the tiny movement erupts with pain in my head; everything's tied to pain.

Stupid Moriarty, stupid people for letting themselves get caught, stupid everybody that's tied to this case. Stupid me. For falling for it. For letting my emotions get the best of me.

"We're taking you to the hospital. Okay?"

I blink once, squeezing my eyes against the bright, white lights above. Everything was going to be okay. I'd be back on my feet in a few months, depending on the extent of the injuries. But I was going to be back, solving cases, and annoying John.

I will be okay.