John stared, lips parted. That was definitely Sherlock, and that was definitely death. There was no way the bifurcated man on the screen could be the man standing in front of him, and probably no way either of them were Sherlock, come to think of it.
He fought off the urge to take a step further away from whatever he was sharing the room with furiously.

"I would... really like to wake up now," he said mostly to himself, his fingers balled in tight fists at his sides. "Look, I don't know what the hell is going on here, Sherlock, but you can't-- you can't tell me you've died, and stand there complaining about it. No. Doesn't work like that."