After the bomb, everything basically changed for everyone.
The school had lock downs every week, and every teacher had to be certified in resuscitation. Detectives from not only the city, but the government as well, came to question those involved (or those present). The few students who did pass away had a ceremony devoted to their lives, and the ones still in the hospital were celebrated seperately.
But those aren't the changed lives being mentioned.
It was Sherlock Holmes a sometimes highly, sometimes poorly thought of high school student. His life that changed. It was John Hamish Watson's life that deteriorated and was waiting for its jump start, something about the bomb going off flicking a switch on inside of him. It was Molly Hooper's school life that began filling in, her choices being made.
And mummy Holmes, and daddy Holmes... big brother Mycroft... New-to-town Counselor Lestrade... Everyone.
Not because of the bomb, no. The bomb going off just happens to cause the minor detail that runs rampant and destroys and builds those lives.
Sherlock was blinded.
When the coppers and firefighters came upon the scene, they faced the hole dented into the brick school, and kids everywhere devastated and too shocked to make a noise. The fires left behind where scattered but small flames, so most of the men could focus on the kids and teachers if any.
That's when they found Sherlock.
His upper half was bent back, going through the roof of the basement while his other half was being crushed above by rubble, his left foot barely noticable. Wedged in the hole in the ground, his slightly conscious self could only sway. Nothing was in his line of vision, he couldn't even comprehend that he was hanging a floor above the cemented basement.
As the fighters began lifting him slowly, one wrong move and he'd be stuck again, the crowdistic gasps of the students gathering grew louder. If anyone would have died, it should have been Sherlock. He was closest to the bomb, he was right 'there'.
It wasn't the blood or slacked posture of Sherlock's body as the firemen draped him in their arms, no, it was the fact that Sherlock seemed to never need help. Help in a sense other than solving a riddle or puzzle... Sherlock Holmes was reknown for being smarter than this.
Mycroft wouldn't visit him in the hospital, Sherlock had no known friends either, so his mum was the only one at his side while father worked. Even the school soon forgot him while he recovered. News reports accounted for three deaths and twenty wounded, when it was really twenty-one. The pictures the school soon produced around the school of the victims never held Sherlock's face. Now and again a teacher would see Sherlock was missing from class and remember, but what good does that do?
Then comes therapy. When he was able enough to walk again, therapy began and school was on the agenda. The therapists told him not to focus on the pain, his foot being slightly mangled still, but instead on his other senses hightening. "It would come in handy" They would say.
But Sherlock didn't listen. He did other things besides realize that the blind don't see black, because there is literally nothing to his eyes anymore, it's like he doesn't have eyes at all. His mind runs on the smell of things, the smell of his food waking him up in the morning, the sound of the doctor's feet on the different flooring, the feel of cotton to wool. His favorite is taste as of now.
Therapy was going slow, Sherlock didn't care for his providers so whenever they wrote down progress they'd leave huge gaps on their notepads. They didn't know that it was his mind that was getting the therapy.
Coming home helped though. Sherlock didn't need his stick to poke things around the house because he could easily roam around the tight and large corners before when it'd be four in the morning and he'd be too lazy to open his eyes. For a brief moment, he considered being homeschooled for the benefits.
Benefits like knowing where you're going, being away from the common idiot (students his age), and easier time concentrating. But something told him that'd be the easy way out. If he was going to stuggle with this, struggle learning without sight, stuggle with yet another social issue, he might as well face it directly.
So, yes, Sherlock Holmes readied himself for his first day of school as handicapped. In his mind he was constantly going through which class is which and what turn is what. It helped, he convinced his mother he didn't need a seeing eye.