He woke up to find an oxygen mask on his face, which he ripped off as soon as he could remember how to coordinate his arms.

He glared at the girl. What was her name?

Grace.

She only stared back at him. "Standard procedure," she told him. "Although I take it you're not one for doing things the standard way."

"No," Sherlock sighed.

She nodded, and Karl wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"How long?" he asked, eyeing Karl warily.

"Just under four minutes," she told him. "We didn't call an ambulance."

"S'good," Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes.

"We did call a cab though," she told him.

He opened one eye to glare at her. "What for?"

"You're not going to be able to make it back to your dorm on foot," she explained patiently. "Especially now." She gestured to him lying on the floor, probably looking as much like gelatin as he felt.

"Mm," he hummed.

"Let us know when you're ready to get up," Karl told him.

How about never?

Sherlock gave himself a few minutes for his head to clear, then sat up carefully as the dizzying sensation passed. No doubt his blood pressure was low as well, like usual, and getting up too fast would only cause him to pass out.

When he nodded at Karl, the boy pulled him to his feet. He had his backpack on again, which made Sherlock wonder what else he had hidden away in there. Grace had once again gathered up Sherlock's belongings and had shouldered her bag, which was smaller, but still suspiciously large.

He couldn't care enough to ask.

They made their way out to the street, where a cab was waiting for them. All three piled in for the short ride that was literally around the corner.

Sherlock felt ridiculous about it.

His eyes closed on the journey, but popped open as they arrived and he realized something.

"I don't have any money," he muttered.

"S'alright," Grace told him, handing a bill to the driver. She got out first and helped Sherlock to his feet, which were slightly steadier than before.

They made their way to his room, the three of them. Thankfully it was on the ground floor, since Sherlock wasn't sure he could manage stairs, and frankly, didn't want to try.

Grace unlocked the door and deposited Sherlock's belongings on his desk, which was thankfully free of dead things or dangerous chemicals.

Karl all but poured him into the bed. Sherlock ended up with the pillow mashed into his face, not bothered enough to fix it. He left the room, nodding at Sherlock and muttering something about feeling better.

Grace stood there and looked at him. He could feel it.

"Will you lay on your side in the recovery position, please," she asked.

Sherlock hummed.

"I'm going to move you into it then," she informed him.

He didn't protest as she manipulated limbs, leaving him laying on his side.

"Let yourself out," he muttered.

That she did.

Before drifting off to sleep, Sherlock wondered if she liked chemistry.

AN- Cochlea in Diem means screw the day, but it's debatable whether that would be the proper usage, considering it can also mean snail, or what I gathered was something curvy. It's rather colloquial, but I do what I want. Right? Yeah.