Sherlock thinks it incredibly unfair that John has a seizure when drugged.

Truthfully, Sherlock recognized that John would now be able to understand how Sherlock felt afterwards, but he'd never have wished this on him, because it was horrible to be on the other side.

Sherlock didn't like being helpless. He didn't like not knowing what to do. And he hated when John was off.

And this was by far the most 'off' he'd ever seen him.

They'd been chasing down a criminal who'd been responsible for a double homicide during what appeared to be a home invasion last week. Of course, it wasn't actually a home invasion, just staged as such to cover up an assassination.

Sherlock had called Lestrade, just like he was supposed to, and it was hardly his fault they were so slow in showing up. The man was going to get away, so Sherlock and Gladstone covered the front of the building and John went around to cover the back, to keep him from escaping or at the very least, to be able to know which way he runs off in.

Sherlock and Gladstone were prowling around the front, Sherlock madly pressing buttons on his phone, urging Lestrade to hurry up while Gladstone walked around, nose pressed to the ground. It was only when Gladstone's ear perked up that Sherlock felt something was off. Footsteps were running towards him, and based on the sound, they did not belong to John. Gladstone confirmed this by growling as the running man emerged from the shadows, not from inside the building, but from around back.

Sherlock's heart sank. John. What happened to John? He would never just... let him go without a chase or something. What did he do?

Sherlock would have chased after the man and beat the answer out of him was it not for Gladstone whining, reminding him of his friend, perhaps lying injured or unconscious.

Firing a text off to Lestrade, informing him of the subject's movements, while running, Sherlock quickly spotted John lying on the pavement near the rear door.

"John!" Sherlock called, panic evident in his voice. Gladstone made it to John just before Sherlock did and nosed at his face, causing him to stir. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Not dead. Excellent start.

He knelt down next to John, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him gently.

"John,"he called again, waiting for some sort of response. Anything really.

He stuck two fingers to the side of his neck. Pulse was strong and steady, although increased, possibly due to the adrenaline of the fight that may have taken place.

"John," he insisted.

John finally opened his eyes and peered at Sherlock blurrily.

"She'lock?" he mumbled.

"Yes. John, what did he do to you?"

John blinked again before replying. "Drugged me," he slurred, holding out his arm for Sherlock to see the tiny puncture wound.

Drugged him, drugged him... no drugs were found in the bodies of the victims, so either they were so rare that we didn't test for them or this is something new. But which?

"John, do you know what it was?"

John shook his head, eyes drifting closed.

Sherlock slapped his cheeks. "No John," he ordered. "Stay with me. Was it insulin?"

A shake.

"Paralytic?"

A shrug.

"A narcotic?"

A shake.

"A sedative?"

A shrug.

John's eyes closed again, and despite yelling at him and slapping him, Sherlock could not awaken John. He texted Lestrade again, ordering him to get an ambulance for John.

But John's pulse was still strong, he was still breathing, and Gladstone was sitting watch. Because it would be all Sherlock needed to have a seizure now.

But in a horrible twist of the fates, it was John who stiffened suddenly, alarming both Sherlock and Gladstone, neither of whom had seen this coming. Sherlock had just enough time to place John's head in his lap before he began jerking and flailing. Gladstone whined uneasily, obviously uncomfortably with the idea of her other favourite person having a seizure. Especially one that she couldn't see coming.

"It's not your fault," he informed Gladstone, who still looked quite morose, even after he said that.

Sherlock rolled John onto his side, motioning to Gladstone to move behind him like she'd been taught to do for Sherlock if he was ever alone during a seizure.

She begrudgingly did so, only after Sherlock fixed a glance on her.

Sherlock didn't hear the footsteps in the distance over the sound of John's limbs hitting the pavement, so didn't notice Lestrade had finally showed up until one of the flashlight beams found him.

He squinted into the beam and contemplated for half a second sending them all away, not wanting them to see John like this. But he soon realized that was not an option, and besides, it wasn't like they hadn't seen Sherlock do this dozens of times before.

But Lestrade must have been too far away to see anything clearly, because he called out to them.

"John? Is Sherlock having a seizure? Are you alright?" It wasn't until he'd jogged close enough to realize it was John who was seizing, not the other way around.

"Oh," he said, stopping in his tracks, eyes fixed on John.

"Nothing you haven't seen before, just a different person," Sherlock spat. "Where is the ambulance?"

Lestrade snapped back at Sherlock's words and knelt down next to him to cushion John's flailing arms. "Right behind us. What happened?"

And sure enough, the flashing lights of an ambulance soon became apparent to Sherlock, as well as two paramedics pushing a stretcher piled high with supplies.

There was a male and a female paramedic and Sherlock ignored the part of his brain that was trying to fire off deductions.

"He's been drugged, not sure what with, although we did determine it was not insulin or a narcotic. He's been seizing for a minute and a half and was groggy before that."

The paramedics nodded and got to work, the woman inserting an IV and injecting medication to stop the seizure and perhaps reverse whatever damage the drug was doing. The man put a mask on John's face and attached various wires to his chest and a probe on his finger.

And they managed to do all that while John was still thrashing around.

Sherlock was rather impressed.

A minute later, John's thrashing slowed and finally stopped. Sherlock wasn't sure if it was as a result of the drugs or just the seizure wearing itself down, but he was relieved either way. They loaded him on a stretcher and into the ambulance, where Sherlock followed. Gladstone of course on his trail. The paramedics exchanged a glance, the one opening his mouth to protest, but Sherlock cut him off with a glare.

"She is a service dog and must accompany me. She is extremely well behaved. Now go," he ordered.

It may have been the look on Sherlock's face, or perhaps Lestrade hovering behind him, badge at the ready, or perhaps they'd already been briefed on Sherlock, like there'd been a meeting for everyone in any medical field to inform them of The Sherlock Holmes.

Whatever the reason, he relented and off they went.

Sherlock knew Lestrade would follow in his police car, and it was only then he wondered if they'd caught the man who did this to John.

Hardly relevant at the moment. Nothing I can do from here, he figured, gripping John's hand as they sped off towards the hospital.

Sherlock waited anxiously by John's bedside for him to stir. He knew the man had been drugged, and had a seizure, but two hours was a long time to be out for, and frankly, was a little ridiculous.

Typical of John to be irksome. Gladstone wasn't much more patient than Sherlock was, pacing around John's room, occasionally nuzzling his hand that she could reach. It would be slobbery when he woke up, but Sherlock figured it would be a small price to pay.

But John was finally swimming towards consciousness, his eyelids fluttering and his limbs stirring. Finally, his eyes opened and he peered around, obviously confused.

His eyes landed on Sherlock.

"Sherlock? What happened..."

"You were drugged. And had a seizure. Fun times." Sherlock leaned in closer to John. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh," John moaned softly.

"What?" Sherlock asked urgently.

"I feel like crap."

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, I think you might."

"God, is this what you feel like every time?"

Sherlock nodded.

John sighed. "Well. I suppose it explains a lot."

"Like what?" Sherlock snapped.

"Mmm," John hummed.

"That's hardly an answer," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes.

"Tired," John offered as an excuse.

Sherlock snorted. "Please. Don't think I'll forget that little comment."

"Never," John muttered.

Sherlock's phone rang. He checked the caller ID before answering.

"It's Lestrade," he informed John as he got up to go to the hallway to answer the call.

He nodded. Gladstone went to get up but Sherlock pointed at John's bed, and she stayed.

"Lestrade?" Sherlock answered.

"Hey Sherlock. We managed to catch him. He hasn't confessed, but we have enough evidence to prosecute. How's John doing?"

Sherlock glanced at John through the window before replying. He was petting Gladstone, who had eagerly hopped up on the bed with him at the first sign of John giving in.

"He's conscious. Tired. There shouldn't be any lasting damage."

"Good. That's good."

"Yes," Sherlock said shortly.

They were both quiet for a moment.

"Must have been hard for you to see," Lestrade noted quietly.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but what was the point? Lestrade knew already.

"It was... unpleasant," he admitted.

Sherlock could hear Lestrade nodding.

"Well, now you both have a better understanding of what the other goes through."

"Is there something you're trying to say, or can I leave now?" Sherlock asked pointedly.

Lestrade chuckled. "No, that's it. Stay out of trouble."

Sherlock only replied with a huff before hanging up and returning to John's room.

Gladstone wagged her tail eagerly at him.

"Well?" John asked.

"They caught him. There's enough evidence to prosecute. Lestrade thinks this has been an excellent exercise in perspectives." Sherlock shrugged. "The usual."

"Hang on, what was that?"

Sherlock huffed. "Lestrade thinks it was an enlightening experience for you to have had a seizure and for me to have watched. And while it may be true, it's still one I'd rather not have had."

John pondered that for a moment, stroking Gladstone as he did.

"It was sort of unavoidable," he pointed out, "And I can't say it hasn't helped."

Sherlock huffed again. "Whatever."

John sighed. "It's not fair for me to always have to watch and not understand what you have to go through."

"Life isn't fair John," he snapped. "You can't honestly tell me you haven't figured that out yet."

John examined him. "No," he said carefully. "But that doesn't mean I have to be okay with it."

"I suppose you're correct in that sense," Sherlock replied. "But I still don't like it."

"Right," John confirmed.

"Right," Sherlock echoed.

They smiled at each other. Gladstone sighed in contentment.

All was well.

AN- In keeping with the theme for the series, the title is Latin for 'unfair'. This is the end of the Carpe Diem series, or at least until I get another plot bunny, or someone offers up an idea. I hope you enjoyed it.