He quickly pulled Sherlock from the bed, ignoring the fact that the tall man hit the floor quite hard. The doctor needed something flat and firm for his flatmate to lie on. Knowing that nothing else would help anymore, John took a deep breath and blew it into his friend's mouth – one, two – then started pressing his thorax almost violently – one, two, three…. Strangely enough John had to think of something that he had been taught at Barts: Sing "Staying alive…" and you have the appropriate speed for resuscitation. It was really ridiculous to be reminded of that while trying to save your flatmate and best friend's life!
"Don't you dare to just die under my hands, you bloody prat!" John barked.
John went on, the annoying melody of the BeeGees song in his subconscious,… give respiration: one, two… press: one, two, three, four….twenty-nine, thirty… He was soaked with sweat and exhausted, but John wouldn't let go of Sherlock. After a time that felt endless, Sherlock took a flat breath and the doctor sank back, now sitting on his lower legs and looking at the tall man.
"You scared me to death!" he scolded.
Although in the back of his brain John knew that giggling now was completely inappropriate, his relief tried to find an outlet.
After a brief moment of letting his emotions take control of him, his doctor mode kicked in again and he checked Sherlock's vital signs. The heartbeat was still very slow, the breathing flat, but at least he was alive! John knew that what had just happened was very likely to happen again if the bradycardia wouldn't go away.
John let his fingers at Sherlock's pulse, just in case of any change and tried to think. Wha… - like what, water, was, war, want,… and many other words. Far too many! Smell and fish made sense in a way, if Sherlock had indeed meant that the contents of the container smelled of fish, but even of that John wasn't sure.
"Fish, fish, fish, fish…. John, THINK!"
Somehow the doctor had a faint feeling that in the farthest part of his mind he did have an idea, and that a bell had already started ringing there. It was something, however, that he knew from a completely different context, another life, he felt.
All of a sudden, Sherlock went into convulsions again. It only lasted seconds and then he was motionless. John had lost the carotid artery and when he found it again the pulse he felt was extremely weak and suddenly gone.
"No, SHERLOCK!" he yelled, starting resuscitation once again, yet knowing that this time it needed a miracle to be successful. The doctor's eyes swam and a teardrop made its way down on Sherlock's chest. The crying man blew air into his friend's mouth, pressed and blew and pressed and blew, not knowing if there was any chance of bringing Sherlock back to life.