John set his jaw, settling down with his back braced against the foot of the bed next to his friend. He pressed their foreheads together, pulling Sherlock against him so he was cradling the younger man, curled around him like it would somehow protect. He could feel the small spasms shivering through the lean body that felt far too thin in his arms.

"I am... so sorry I let this happen." Sherlock's scent surrounded him, and despite the desire to shake Sherlock violently, to keep him awake, to keep him alive, John stroked back the dark curls soothingly. If Sherlock didn't survive this, fading away in his sleep was far kinder then suffering through the drugs shutting down his system. And if John wanted to be anything at the moment to the man he was holding, it was kind.