Holmecide Part 2

Sherlock

I can't bloody see. Why can't I see? Oh Hell! I must be dead. I've died. Typical. I've died. I'm floating, just a stream of conscience. No need for sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell. But I can smell. And hear. Everything is muffled, but I can hear. I can smell, taste. I can't see. Am I blind. Shut up Sherlock. Maybe if you listened you would know where you are! Right. Good advice. Now take it. I lay as still as possible, sniffing the air. Disinfectant, the perfume of a woman standing next to me, blood. Oh God. Hospital. Has to be.

"He's going to be fine. From what I can gather, he protected you from the blast very well."

"It's only natural though. He is much bigger then me." John. It's John's voice. What happened Sherlock? Put it all together. Right. You save John and the bomb went off anyway. You tried to shield John, it worked, for the most part and then he got torn away in the blast. He's not dead, and neither are you. So at least that's good.

"I don't know how long he'll be sedated."

"It's alright. I'd just like to be here when he gets up."

"You'll have to tell him." What the Hell are they talking about? Tell me what.

"I know." Why does John sound upset? "I just wish I knew how he will react." There is some shifting,

"I know doctor, I know." Time to intervene I think.

"John." I try to reach out but end up knocking something over. It falls to the floor. "John?" The man starts next to me,

"Sherlock! You're awake."

"Why does my mouth feel dry?" I feel a glass being pressed to my lips and cool water flows into my parched mouth. Relief. I hold my hand up to alert him to stop. He reacts quickly, pulling the glass away.

"Better?"
"Much. Now what do you have to tell me?" John shifts beside me. Oh God. It must be bad. "No, wait, before you tell me, why can't I see?" He shifts uncomfortably again,

"That's the thing Sherlock."

"Oh Hell. Just tell me already. You're sweating." John grips my hand.

"Sherlock. Um-"

"Get on with it!"

"You're blind." I sit up. No, that's not right.

"Stop it John, that's not funny!" I try to touch my eyes, bandages. I can't see, and now I know why.

"Sherlock. I wish I was joking. Something is wrong with your eyes."

"Well thanks for the update. As if I couldn't work that out myself."

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Shut up." I'm thinking. How can I fix this? I can't be blind. I use my eyes for everything. They are the most useful thing next to my brain. It's how I find everything out. Everything. I feel John's hand on my shoulder,

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Does Mycroft know?"

"About your eyes?"

"Obviously."

"Not that I am aware. He came by and saw you. Talked to the nurses, but they never said anything about your eyes."

"Well he'll find out soon enough." Oh God. This is awful. Why me! Why?

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Me? Yeah I'm fine. What about you?"

"A few scrapes and bruises, but other then that, nothing. Nothing much."

"Good. Good."

"It's all thanks to you." At least he's grateful. At least he's okay.

"Good."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all. John. I can't see! I can't do anything now. John! Help me! I'm helpless! I can't do anything. Oh God. "John?"

"What Sherlock?"

"Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it Sherlock."

"Will you shoot me please?" Please, just do it. I can't live like this. Not without my sight.

"Sherlock, you had better be joking." He sounds hurt. I grab for his lapels, I have to make him understand,

"JOHN! Shut up and listen to me. Without my sight, I'm nothing. I can't function. I would rather be dead. I would rather be dead. Do you understand?" He puts his hands over mine, brushing them off his shirt.

"Sherlock, listen. You just have to work through this. You just have to deal." I sit back heavily. He doesn't understand. No one ever does.

"John, can I feel?"

"What?"

"Can I feel my eyes? Will you take my bandage off so I can feel?" I feel him sigh,

"Sherlock, I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

"John. Please. If you won't put me out of my misery, at least give me something interesting." He sighs again before leaning over me and fumbling with my head and bandages. I feel them fall away from my face, I still can't see. Oh God. I hear John take a sharp breath. Oh God. It must be bad. Gingerly I start to feel my face, scar tissue and it hurts. It stings. Oh God. There are my eyes. I can't see.

"Sherlock, are you okay? Be honest." He wants me to tell the truth.

"No."

"I'm sorry." He puts a hand on my shoulder and I shrug him off.

"It's not your fault."

"It might be."

"It's not. I can't bloody see anything. And I can't function. I can't- I can't do anything. I'm useless and it's just horrible. I can't see. I can't work. My brain is going to rot. I'm going to waste away."

"Sherlock. There is something I should probably tell you."

"If it's that I'm a lost cause, don't bother. I already know."

"No Sherlock. You might actually be able to get your sight back." I sit up again. Seriously? I could get my sight back?

"Why didn't you mention this earlier!"

"I don't know Sherlock! You never gave me time to talk!"

"When will I get my sight back!"

"I don't know Sherlock. I don't know."

"Oh thank God! John! You're a life saver! When can we go back to the flat? I want to talk with Yorik." John laughs,

"Sherlock you still can't see."

"SO?"

"So how will you maneuver around the flat!"

"I know the flat. I know EVERY inch of the flat. How many stairs are there?"

"I don't know!"

"Eleven total. Eight, then you turn to your left and head up another four. Easy. I have memorized the flat to the last detail."

"Are you sure Sherlock?"

"I just want to get my sight back John. That's all I want."

"Yeah."

"I guess you can't take anything for granted."

"No you can't."

"When can we get out of here?"

"I'll call the nurse." He stands up, "And Sherlock?"

"What John?"

"Thank you?"

"For what?"

"Saving me."

"Of course. It was my pleasure." He starts to leave, "And for the record, I wasn't having fun." I smile a little, knowing he can see it, even if I can't see that he's smiling too. Until I get my sight back, life is going to be a living Hell for the doctor, but he'll put up with it. It's his way. He'll cope, just like it's my way.

John

Thank God Sherlock's going to get his sight back. I don't know if I can deal with him being stupid, bored, and lazy forever. Thank God he's alright. He would have died. I would have died. Thank God for Sherlock Holmes. Once we get our feet back on the ground, and once we get settled, Sherlock'll only have one goal. Get back at Moriarty. He's going to get that son of a bitch until he bleeds from his eyes. Sherlock will do it, because Sherlock cares. Even if he acts like he doesn't, he cares. Thank God for that. My wrists have been fixed for the most part, for the most part. And I am ready to take on a cranky, grumpy Sherlock. Thank God. Thank God for Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock

1 day after the explosion

"John, when you said I will get my sight back, when did that mean?" He sighs,

"How many times Sherlock?"

"Until I can see."

"I don't know. Eyes are delicate things." I sigh. Again. He obviously doesn't want me to get better. I lean back on the couch, feeling for the pillow. Not there. John must have taken it.

"John. Did you take my pillow?"

"It's not yours Sherlock."

"I was using it."

"No you weren't." I sigh loudly again. Jerk. He sounds so tired too. Poor sod. Inside I smile. He knew what he was signing up for. He could have left me in the hospital. He has too big of a heart. I stand up, feeling bored, I can't get on the computer, or watch TV. I can't see. Sighing some more I maneuver myself around my boxes of things toward the kitchen. I run into a box, stubbing my toe pretty bad.

"JOHN!" I bellow. He's moved my boxes.

"What Sherlock?"

"You've moved a box in my way. Which way? Left of right?" I hear him move in his chair to look at me,

"Left two steps and then straight. Almost there." I nod and follow his instructions. Good old John.

"John."

"What?"

"I want to go out."

"You can't see."

"I know, I'm just sick of being bored and caught up in the flat." He sighs before getting up and putting his coat on.

"You'll have to hold on to me Sherlock. We don't want you getting lost."

"Not at all." He helps me with my coat and I flounce down the stairs. This is going to be fun. See how well I know London.

"Sherlock, wait up." I pause at the door and turn back toward the stairs. The last stair squeaks and I open the door. He holds his arm out for me, and grudgingly I grip his elbow as he leads me out, closing the door behind him.

"This is childish."

"You're blind Sherlock."

"I know London like the back of my hand."

"Which you can't see."

"Good point..." He leads me down a street and hails a cab. He covers my ears as he whispers a destination into the cabby's ear. He stuffs me inside the cab and off we go. I hate being blind. It sucks so bad. But for John's sake, I try to make it seem like I'm happy, like I don't care. Like maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and look in the mirror at the scars on my face. John said most of them will go away, but some of them will be there forever. They might fade, but they'll always be there. I've always wanted a scar on my face. It adds character I think. I just wish I could see it. I sigh and John turns toward me,

"Are you okay?"

"What?"

"You. Are you alright?"

"Yeah." The cab stops. John helps me out of the cab,

"Where are we?" I smile. Too easy.

"Bart's, obvious." He laughs as I take his arm again. He leads me into the building,

"Thought this might cheer you up. You've been moping. Again."

"What? Me? Moping. As if." John laughs,

"Oh you might try to fool me, but really? It doesn't work Sherlock. You aren't happy. I can tell. The way you groan all day and get angry at the silliest things. Really Sherlock, you might think you're clever, but sometimes you are really careless. You aren't sleeping in your own bed anymore, you're camping out on the couch, and you talk to Yorik more then me now. You're obviously peeved about not being able to see." I sigh, I underestimated him. Don't do that Sherlock, bad news.

"Right, so maybe I am a little pissed at not being able to see, but still, I was doing good."

"Not really." He holds the door for me and I enter the lab.

"John, why did you bring me here? I can't see anything."

"Sherlock?" Molly. Shit. Now I know why John brought me here.

"Hello Molly."

"Are you alright?" She touches my arm and I flinch. Where did she come from. I don't like this, not one bit.

"No."

"I'm sorry Sherlock. Do you want to talk about it?" John laughs behind me, obviously he finds this funny. It's not. Not one bit.

"No Molly. There's nothing talking can do for it. I just hope the doctor over there knows what he's talking about when he said I'd get my sight back." The door behind me opens and John nearly jumps a foot behind me.

Hissing in my ear, "Sherlock." John whips me around.

"What?" Molly brushes past me,

"Jim! Hi!" I back pedal,

"John! Get me out, now." Molly turns, I can hear her feet on the ground, twisting to face me.

"Sherlock? What's wrong? It's only Jim." I'm at a loss for words, only Jim? Only Jim? Does this child know nothing about James Moriarty?

"John, what do I do?" I hiss quietly in his ear. He shakes his head and I feel a hand on my shoulder, not John's. Oh God. "What do you want?"

"You really are blind." His fake voice, fake Jim. Not Moriarty, Jim from I.T.

"Whatever you're doing stop it now." He drops his hand to his side,

"Wow. I'm sorry mate." Fake Jim, I have to pretend he's not Moriarty. For Molly's sake.

"Not exactly your fault is it?" A message. He nudges me, message received. Bastard.

"I heard about what happened to John. A concrete box. Wow. That's intense." John flinches next to me and Molly joins Jim, clutching his arm.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock. I'm sure you'll catch whoever did this to you." I nod,

"And believe me, when I do, he's going to pay in blood. A lot of it." Jim laughs, almost involuntarily and I can almost see Molly shooting him a look of confusion.

"Don't be too dramatic Sherlock." Oh God. How dull.

"Yes thank you Jim. John, would you be so kind as to take me away from this place. All I want to do is go back to the flat." John nods and leads me past Jim and Molly. Molly stumbles up behind me and taps my shoulder. Slowly I turn to face her, even if I can't see her.

"Do you want a coffee or anything Sherlock?" She sounds so hopeful. Wants me to stay here doesn't she?

"Black, two sugars, but only a small one." She nods and dashes out of the room. Oh God. Jim's still here. Moriarty is still here. He saunters up to me and John tenses behind me.

"I didn't mean to Sherlock. Really I didn't. You got in my way is all. I see you found your pet. How does it feel Sherlock? How does it feel to be helpless?" It sucks.

"Not too bad, because, actually, I'm not helpless, I'm just a little bit handicapped." Moriarty laughs and touches my face, I flinch backwards. Not being able to see is bad. Bad bad bad when Moriarty's around. He doesn't remove his fingers, and touches my scars, running his fingertips over them, "Stop it." He laughs again.

"Sorry Sherlock, I had no idea."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah I did. But now you see," he chuckles at his joke, "You can't do anything to me."

"Not right now, no. But soon, JIM, soon. You won't see the light of day again. You attack my friends, I push back hard, really hard. Most don't come back from that. Just ask-" He cuts me off,

"You going to let me bully you?"

"There's nothing I can do about it. And you aren't bullying, you're... gloating." He laughs and pokes at my eye, "Stop it."

"You know Sherlock, had I known you would go and get blind, I would never have stolen old Johnny boy. You're not nearly as much fun now. Bori-" He stops himself as Molly comes back with coffee for me.

"Thank you Molly." I say graciously as she pushes the mug into my hands. Jim backs off and I shoot him a sly smile behind Molly's back. He makes a face back. The coffee is black, and hot, and just how I like it, but, I'm not in the mood. I take a sip right as my phone goes off. Automatically, I reach into my pocket and answer, "Sherlock Holmes." It's Lestrade. He wants me to take a look at a case for him. I can't. Lestrade, don't you know I'm blind? "Sorry Lestrade. I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?"

"I can't see, detective inspector." Idiot. John grips my shoulder, trying to comfort me, "I'm blind." I can almost see Lestrade's jaw hit the floor. "I have been for two days now. Where have you been?"

"Where are you now? You aren't at the flat, we've been up there."

"It must be serious. I'm at Bart's why?"

"It's this case Sherlock."

"I can't help you." I hang up and stuff my phone in my pocket again. "I don't feel so good." I manage to croak out before falling to the floor.

John

Jim and Molly both look surprised. I mean it's not Sherlock's way to faint. Really. It must be the stress, that could be it. Or maybe the fact that being blind is starting to grow old. I think he tries to hide how he feels, but last night, I caught him. He was trying really hard not to cry, really hard. He was trying to fix something, but he had it all backwards and he couldn't see and he was frustrated, angry, and sad. I feel bad that I hadn't said anything, and just let him struggle with his emotions, but I don't want to get murdered in my sleep. Poor sod.

"Sorry guys, I guess Sherlock's had enough for today. I'll just take him home now. Molly, Jim." I nod at them as I try and gather Sherlock in my arms. He really should eat more. Jim leans down and tries to help, stuffing something into Sherlock's pocket and then backing off when I hiss at him.

"Well, I best be off. By Molly, John. Hope Sherlock gets better soon." He leaves as I stand up,

"Bye Molly, thanks for the coffee."

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

"I think so." I hope so. I make my way out of Bart's and hail a cab home. The cabby shoots me a look but says nothing as I try to put Sherlock into the back of the cab as gently as I could . The drive to the flat is a silent one, mostly because Sherlock was unconscious, but partly because I'm brooding. Poor Sherlock. I wish I could help him out with something or other. He's to damn proud to accept any kind of help though. He stirs next to me and I look over at him. He opens his sightless eyes,

"Where the Hell am I John? Wait. Don't tell me. We're in a cab. Did I faint?" I chuckle,

"Sherlock."

"What?"

"I think you need some honest sleep. You haven't slept since the explosion. Trust me, I know. I come downstairs, you might be laying on the couch, but you aren't asleep. I can tell. I am a doctor you know." He sighs and sits up.

"John. Make me better."

"What?"

"Make me see again."

"Sherlock I know it's hard for you, you can't see, you can't do your work, you're blind." He sucks in a fast breath of air. Touchy subject then. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine." He jumps out of the cab and takes the steps two at a time, as usual, throwing himself onto the couch, face to the pillows. Oh God. Another breakdown. He might actually break down now. Might actually cry. I can't deal with that. Not today.

Sherlock

Oh God. What am I going to do? I can't function. I'm useless, boring. I'm not even a person anymore. I can't move about without help, I'm crippled. Moriarty's won. I- I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn to look, only I can't see. I nearly cry. Why is life so difficult. What did I ever do to deserve something so horrible as this. I blink hard. It's John, he understands. I sit up and make room for him on the couch.

"John, when you got shot and you couldn't fight anymore, how did you feel?" John sits down next to me,

"I felt like someone should shoot me, put me out of my misery. I felt like I should go back and gun down that bastard that shot me, but I couldn't. Those doctor's understood, they couldn't let me leave. I felt like I should avenge my friends, like I should die at the same time. It was confusing."

"Ah. You understand then."

"And you understand why I can't." I nod. He knows what I was going to ask, and he can't.

"I'm sorry John."

"I'm sorry too Sherlock." I blink again. Why are my eyelids so heavy. Oh. That clever clever boy.

"Thanks John." I slur before my head hits the pillow. How had he managed that?

John

Finally, after hours of trying to trick him into taking some sort of sleeping pill, I'd managed it with Molly. I sent her a text, she pulled through. She cares about Sherlock, she wants him to get better. Thank goodness she actually listened to me. I sigh and get a blanket from Sherlock's bed, throwing it over him as he slept. Maybe when he gets up, he'll be happier. Maybe he'll be able to see. I doubt it, but maybe. I sit down in my usual chair, suddenly exhausted. I could use a nap myself. Don't do it John, don't close your eyes, you want to be awake when he gets up. No I don't... I just want... to... WAKE UP... Too late.

Sherlock

Several hours later

That clever clever boy. Text Molly ahead of time, make her do that. Oh that was clever. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. It hasn't changed a bit. Every single thing is in it's- Wait... I can see? I sit up, watching the flat come into focus. Oh yes! There's John, dozing in his chair. I CAN SEE!

"JOHN!" I shout, he'll hear me. He starts in his chair,

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong today my friend!" I stand up and pull him to his feet, hugging him tightly, "I CAN SEE AGAIN!"

"That's brilliant!"

"I know! I want to look now!" I dash off to the bathroom, mirror. Wow. That looks pretty bad. I study the lines on my face, the grooves, I shouldn't have been looking at the explosion when it happened. I touch my face curiously. What's wrong with this? Interesting. John comes up behind me, smiling.

"Glad you finally can see Sherlock. Honestly, do you know how hard you are when it comes to reasoning?"

"Yes indeed my friend. I can see though." I straighten my jacket and pull out my phone, Lestrade, time to inform him.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Lestrade, no time to sit here and be all happy when someone's died and Lestrade needs my help!" This is brilliant. I'll never take anything for granted again. Or Moriarty. Especially Moriarty. He's worse then I could ever have imagined. Lethal. And if I don't watch out, I'm going to get burned. Even more.