It's difficult to concentrate, to focus on Watson being there, but slipping away again seems increasingly impossible. Probably that's good, except he'd like to relax, like to shut out these confusing sensations that only make his head hurt worse. The cloth is cool, refreshing, and he needs it all over his body, it seems like. It makes it a little easier to ground himself, and he licks his lips, a little inexpertly, licking away the excess liquid.

"Watson," he tries, and he furrows his brow, rallying himself together. This is important; he needs to verify this, and he struggles to find the words as he brings his hand up again to touch lightly at his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"