Sherlock hears the movements and the tell-tale sound of the chain clambering against the ground and the other rings. He knows John's reaching for him, so he's unsurprised when he feels his friend's hand touch him. Damp and cool and shaking. The effort just to do that much exerting on him.

His teeth clamp tightly shut as he listens to John's accounts of his injuries. John's bleeding a lot, not enough to bleed out and die. That's great for now, but water comes scarce in this place. With Sherlock's fever, he can't afford to not drink his share, but he'll refuse it so John drinks up, anyway. He's just as stubborn as he ever has been and this is something he won't back down from. He'll keep his mouth shut so their captor can't hear his thoughts on the matter and so John can't get ready to argue.

Whatever instrument they'd used on John's foot must have been a precise one. Metal and gauged in order to get at those smaller phalanx bones. And, John hadn't needed to tell him that it would limit his mobility for him to think of it.

"Careful," Sherlock tells John in a voice that's much softer than the abrasive tone he'd been using before. Thoughtful, yet still seething. Don't take it out on John. He doesn't deserve it. "Your cuts and burns. Where are they?" he asks, because it's something more to consider. It will make it less likely for him to accidentally infect his friend.