Chapter 1

Summary: John Watson left to serve his country a healthy and happy man. Now, after only year of service, he returns with a bum shoulder and leg, sick… and he's blind. Non-slash.

I wrote this for a prompt that I found in a Forum here on FanFiction and couldn't get it out of my head. It was original and I thought that I could write something pretty good for it. (Maybe). This is dedicated to Agent ERA for the fantastic idea!

I have no knowledge or experience with the matters in Afghanistan or any medical procedures that are followed while in the army. If you see any errors in what I wrote then please tell me so that I may correct it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or anything, ACD or BBC.

John Watson didn't regret much in his life. He didn't regret leaving his reasonably good life in England to go serve overseas in the Army. He didn't regret the risks that he had put himself through to save his comrades. He didn't regret that he shot men to save his own life. What he did regret was not paying close enough attention to his surroundings on that one fateful day.

It was mid-afternoon and the sun wasn't as hot as it had been. The shooting had been going on for a couple of hours and John was kept on his toes by the frantic calls for a medic among the fighting soldiers. He had just finished treating a young British soldier that had been shot three times in his leg and was taking a short break. The young man's condition was stable but it was unlikely that he would live with all the blood he had lost. John's break was cut short by cries up in the front line.

Heaving himself up, feeling slightly more refreshed, John rushed over to a couple of men who gestured slightly in front of them. John could see from here that the downed soldier was a fellow Army doctor who had been shot trying to get to another casualty.

The soldier in John made him check that the coast was clear before he dashed out, keeping a low profile to the ground, hands clasped around his medical bag and revolver. He dived into a shallow ditch just as the firing started up again and crawled over to the pale doctor. John's patient was breathing but only just, the crimson red that was staining his uniform around the wound was dripping on to the sandy earth. John grabbed a cloth from his kit and pressed down firmly on the doctor's right side. He whimpered slightly but otherwise didn't give any indication that it was painful. Quickly tying the makeshift bandage across the man's abdomen, John began dragging him across the ground towards the relative safety of the other troops.

The gun fire was still rocketing on above his head and John made sure to stay as low to the ground as possible. His patient was still rapidly losing blood and it would probably almost take nothing short of a miracle to save his life. John estimated that he had about six minutes before he was gone for good. Staring back the way he had come, John realized that his previous route would take far too long and his patient would definitely perish. The only way that John could go and perhaps stand a chance was over the flat turf that separated him from the main body of soldiers.

It was a reckless choice and John knew it. The open ground would make him an easy target to hit and there was little cover for him to hide behind. Even without a patient, he would stand little chance at making it across the sixty meter dash that he would have to overcome. It was near suicide but he had no choice.

Waiting for a break in the fire, John heaved his considerably lighter patient over his right shoulder and began to run. He could hear the whistling of the bullets as they flew past him and embedded themselves in the sun-baked earth, narrowly missing the two of them. Soldiers from both sides were shouting. Some to urge him on, others ordering him to be shot. Something exploded behind him. Hand grenade. He had halved the distance already and was almost to safety when something ripped through his left shoulder and he collapsed. The man he was carrying fell on top of him, bending his right leg at in impossible angle until it snapped. John was hardly aware of the scream that forced itself passed his lips as waves of nearly unbearable pain coursed through him. It was pain beyond imagining and yet it seemed so real. It seemed freeing and liberating and John just wanted to give in to it and leave all his pain and suffering behind.

He wanted to die. He wanted to die. He wanted to die. And yet… John felt like he had some other purpose that he had to fulfill. Something that told him that his life wasn't over. That he NEEDED to live because somewhere, something, someone was calling to him to live, to fight, to win.

John coughed, his throat dry and aching but nothing compared to his shoulder and leg. Now that John had the will to fight, he managed to push away the pain and clear his mind just enough to assess his injuries. His leg was crooked and bent sideways and it would seem as if he had broken both bones in his lower leg. The bones in his shoulder must be at least broken in several places and the bullet must have narrowly missed his heart.

Someone was kneeling down beside him, frantic fingers pressing down firmly on the heavily bleeding wound. John weakly opened his eyes and stared up at the man who was trying to save him. It wasn't even a medic but a soldier that he had once brought back from the dead. John managed a smile that probably turned out to be more of a grimace.

"Repaying the favour?" He said, attempting to make light of the situation, while the man began to drag him across the desert sand. Black spots began to appear in his vision and the pain began to dull. He was overcome by dizziness and nearly passed out but managed to fight it a little longer. Something exploded next to him in a cloud of cream-like pallor and the man who was dragging John began to pull even harder. John couldn't fully understand what was going on with his pain addled brain and frankly didn't think that he could be in any more danger then he already was. His eyes were beginning to grow heavy but he forced them to stay open. They protested and began to water until John finally let his eyelids close.

Then as he was slipping away into unconsciousness, John felt a burning sensation in his mouth and nose and smelt something that reminded him faintly of mustard…

The first thing that struck John when he regained consciousness was how dark it was. If it wasn't for the people talking on the other side of, what he guessed, was a hospital bed, he would have thought that he was still asleep. There was a heavy bandage over his right leg and his shoulder was swabbed to the point that it nearly touched his ear. There was a piece of cloth covering his eyes and John just wanted to tear it off and see what had happened for himself. The pain was still there and it continued to punish his nerves until John just wanted to sit up and scream and shout and hook up more morphine to dull it. The injuries that he had suffered were beginning to get more agonizing then at the time he had first got them.

He coughed once, trying to get one of the doctors attention, but it seemed that they were all either busy or unable to hear him. He coughed again and raised his arm. This seemed to get someone's attention and soon there were footsteps stopping beside his bed.

"What is it, sir?" It was a relatively young voice that shook slightly and John decided that he couldn't have been in the Army long and that he was probably ranked below him.

"What…" His voice was unusually rough and dry and it was hard to push the words past his throat and through into his mouth. "What happened?" He tried again. The doctor beside him began to fidget, as if debating what to tell him,

"Well… You were shot. In the shoulder, and when you fell you broke your leg." The report was delivered swiftly and efficiently and seemed to be the complete truth, but John knew that there was something else.

"Rank?"

"Corporal, sir."

"Well I happen to be a Captain, but I'm sure that you know that already.

"Yes sir."

"And that I happen to also be a doctor?

"Yes sir.

"Well then Corporal, what are you leaving out?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Do not lie to a senior officer Corporal, I am ordering you. What. Is. Wrong?" John sat up slightly and reached out blindly and managed to grabbed the man's wrist. "Tell me."

"Sir…" He began rather weakly. "You're blind."

John let the man go and sank back on to the bed, not paying attention to what the doctor was saying and only focusing on the last two words that had been spoken to him. Blind. Blind. Blind.

He was blind.

Once again, I am no expert and so things may be horrendously wrong! Please tell me if you notice something. And finally… REVIEW!