"Oh my god," John shook from his lips, covering his face with his hand momentarily as he kneaded the pads of his fingers over his eyes. Fear had jolted through him like he was a string of copper wire when Sherlock shouted his name, and he had awoken to the feeling of free-falling falling backward. Which, of course, he wasn't. The feeling passed in less than a second, and John was left tangled in his sheets with his heart beating about three times too fast.

"Shit, Sherlock," he breathed, sitting up in bed. "When are we leaving?"