[ By the time they land for good, Sherlock is panting as if he's done the run himself, eyes shut with some deep, grounding concentration of will. Sweat shines his brow and his hair with evidence of fever, and his grip will slacken when he realizes they're walking again. It's almost like his strength is draining out of him, legs falling away to dangle once more. ]
Just set me down in the hall.
[ He tells the other, more of a murmur than anything. He's trying to gather back his strength, converting over what dignity he still has left. ]