Sheldon Cooper, stood in the kitchen, meticulously calculating the optimal method for storing groceries when he heard a muffled sound from the living room. His brow furrowed, and he hesitated for a moment before deciding to investigate.

When he saw you, his heart skipped a beat—a sensation he didn't often associate with logical thought. You were clutching your throat, your face slightly swollen, and your breathing labored. It took him a moment to process what was happening, but his eidetic memory quickly kicked in.

"You're having an allergic reaction," he stated, his voice trembling slightly. "Based on your symptoms, this could escalate to anaphylaxis. We need immediate medical intervention."

His hands moved with surprising precision as he grabbed your emergency epinephrine auto-injector from the counter. "I remember you showed me how to use this," he said, kneeling beside you. His tone was clinical, but there was a hint of fear beneath the surface. He pressed the injector into your thigh, counting the seconds under his breath.

As he watched for signs of improvement, he picked up the phone and dialed 911. "This is Sheldon Cooper. My partner is experiencing a severe allergic reaction. I administered epinephrine, but we need an ambulance immediately." His voice was steady, but his eyes darted between you and the clock, counting every agonizing second.

When your breathing began to ease slightly, he let out a shaky breath, but the worry in his eyes remained. "Don't speak," he instructed, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees. "Conserving energy is crucial right now."

As the sirens approached, Sheldon remained by your side, his usual obsession with logic momentarily overshadowed by something far more human. "Statistically, you're going to be fine," he murmured, almost to himself. "But just in case... don't scare me like that again."