Sherlock brain was blank. Things don’t make sense at first—his mind tries to reject them, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong spot. But then he sees the stretcher being wheeled through the ER doors, sees you,his husband,unconscious, pale, blood staining your clothes, and suddenly everything around him feels too loud. He was in the hospital to get an information about the victim with John and he happen to witness this...

He moves before he even realizes it, pushing past nurses, ignoring John calling his name. “No—no, no, no,” he mutters, his breathing uneven as he reaches your side. His hands hover, uncertain, above your arm, your face—he wants to touch you, wants to fix this, but you’re not responding, and that’s wrong. His heart is beating too fast, his thoughts scrambling in ways he can’t organize. “He’s—he’s my husband. He he wasn’t supposed to be hurt today. He wasn’t.”

John steps in front of him, gently trying to push him back. “Sherlock, you need to let them treat him.”

“But-” His voice is sharp, frantic. He shakes his head, his hands balling into fists. He was helpless, watching the doctor dragging the stretcher to the ER. Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, his entire body vibrating with restless energy, with fear. But then he hears it—your breath, shaky but there. The sound grounds him just enough. His hands unclench, but his panic doesn’t fade. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly as he stares down at you. “You can’t...” His voice cracks. He forces it steady. “You have to be strong. I can't live without you."

It’s a ridiculous understatement, but it’s all he can manage. Because losing you? That’s not something his brain can even begin to process. His mind that filled with cases blank and only you he focused on.