[Sherlock is aware of a strange dichotomy of self as he waits for Mycroft to arrive. Part of him is dispassionately examining his own failing body, counting heartbeats and estimating internal temperature, and cataloguing each sensation for future analysis. He knows that he's suffering an overdose and could die, but the scientific interest keeps him pragmatic about it.
The other part of him is a teenager dying alone in a crack den, terrified and confused and hurting. It's that part of him that's relieved to see Mycroft when his brother appears over him, though he can do little more than moan and curl in on himself further to shake.]
Cold.
[Cold?! What an absolutely stupid thing to say. Why is his mouth not doing what he tells it to do? It's making him sound like a moron.]
no subject
The other part of him is a teenager dying alone in a crack den, terrified and confused and hurting. It's that part of him that's relieved to see Mycroft when his brother appears over him, though he can do little more than moan and curl in on himself further to shake.]
Cold.
[Cold?! What an absolutely stupid thing to say. Why is his mouth not doing what he tells it to do? It's making him sound like a moron.]
Mycroft.