Sherlock could feel himself falling, regressing. He knew he shouldn't his brain was trying to resist, but he was in John's arms, and John was whispering to him and running his hand through his hair and he was curled up as best he could in John's lap, drinking from him.

It was all too much.. "Mommy..." He whispered, the last little bit of his brain that was in the present hoping that John wouldn't mind.