[ His eyes come open when there's an impact against his chest, but his blue gaze is bleary for a while. Even a great mind can be dulled by sleep deprivation, and all his does for a while is snag little bits of information about his current surroundings and churn them through like water through a sieve. Floors green. Marble, no, linoleum, no, tempura... He sleeps.
Whether Kisame intends to or not, he swings Sherlock when he jogs along. That's a little less hard to ignore, and after a while he can realize that this is not, not normal. Things should not be whizzing right by his face like this. Is that the edge of a sandal? Kisame will feel a splay of fingers across his back, one hand making it as far up as his high collar before it catches and falls limp from exertion. ]