John sighed, closing his eyes briefly as Sherlock sped off- it occurred to him briefly that the sight of his sprinting form disappearing into the jungle might be the last thing he ever saw of him, and it hurt like being shot and slashed up and everything else never had. He was going to have to do something about that fear- the fear of having to do this without him- it was damn near crippling. Vaguely, he wondered if Sherlock was struggling with the same thing, despite his protestations of sociopathy. Perhaps that was what this whole attempt to move their relationship in a romantic direction was all about...
Odd, what the mind focused on at times like this.
Idiotic, really.

"God I'm glad you're here," he murmured to Joan, offering her a slightly tense smile. He hoped he didn't have to tell her to try and keep Sherlock focused on other things by not dwelling on his injury. "It's not deep, but- it'll get infected so easily here- we'll have to... check it regularly. Don't let him do anything stupid, if it turns out-"