[John forces his eyes open, forces himself to focus on Sherlock, his face, his voice over the tablet. Logic isn't an especially powerful defense against a panic attack, but here we are. Sherlock's never been terribly good with emotional outbursts. But if he just thinks of it like the lab, like Baskerville. Focus on Sherlock.
The doctor takes deep breaths, eyes fixed on his friend--a friend who is impossibly alive and real here, whom he needs to be ready and able to assist for any of the challenges of this place. It's a half a minute later that John's breathing starts to even out, some of the panic abates, or at least gets pushed further down inside of him to be dealt with later. He's a military doctor. None of this should faze him. It's just so many things all piled one atop the other.]
no subject
The doctor takes deep breaths, eyes fixed on his friend--a friend who is impossibly alive and real here, whom he needs to be ready and able to assist for any of the challenges of this place. It's a half a minute later that John's breathing starts to even out, some of the panic abates, or at least gets pushed further down inside of him to be dealt with later. He's a military doctor. None of this should faze him. It's just so many things all piled one atop the other.]
I'm okay.
[Said after a minute or two.]
I'm... I'm okay. Sorry.