By The Hands of Sherlock Holmes

Hi people! This is my first ever "publish" writing, so please, tell me what you think. (Don't go easy on me just because I'm new. I want honest opinions.)

I do want to say one quick thing before you guys get started, I understand that in Britain they BSL (British Sign Language) but I will be using ASL (American Sign Langue) Because that is my language. I wrote this story because I myself am Deaf (hence the name DeafLord...) and I wanted to write a story using Deaf Themes. So, anyway, on with the story

I do not own Sherlock or any characters related. All right to the original creators.

(Unless stated otherwise, whenever John speaks out loud, he also signs. Thank you.)

Chapter 1

John sat in the silence. He had learned to enjoy the peaceful noiselessness. He hadn't heard any sound in a while now. It had been 13 months; 13 months of silence; 13 months out of the army. He had gone Deaf in Afghanistan when he was treating a patient. A screech bomb went off a 1/8 of a mile off and had managed to explode John and the other two people in the tent's ear drums. Now, he heard nothing. He had had to learn to read lips and use sign language to communicate, but no one he knew well had been willing to learned with him. He didn't have anyone to talk to, or at least anyone who would use his new language. Now, it was very difficult to hold a conversation, so he did his best to avoid them. That is why he was sitting on the park bench, watching all the families having an outing. He missed being able to go to the park as a kid to play with Harry. He missed a lot of things nowadays. He was thinking about his childhood when and old college friend, Mike Stamford, sat down beside him. He was obviously saying something, but John couldn't hear him.

"Hey. Sorry Mike. I can't hear you. I've lost my hearing." John said and signed. Mike's expression change to one of pity. He mouthed the words, "Sorry, mate." he sat there for a little bit, before pulling out a legal pad and pen. He began to write, "How did it happen?"

John took the pad and wrote about the war and the bomb and his life so far out of the army. He finished with the sentence, "I can't afford London on an Army pension." Mike smirked as he wrote, "You couldn't bear to be anywhere else though. Couldn't Harry help?"

John actually laughed, and replied, "Like that'll happen"

Mike shrugged and wrote, "Well, why not get a flat share or something?"

John laughed, though it was a sorrowful laugh, and replied, "Come on – who'd want me for a flat mate?" Mike looked stunned as he read that. He looked at John, then wrote, "You're the second person to say that to me today."

John didn't bother to write, "Who was the first?"

Sherlock was looking through his microscope, observing a new bacteria, when Mike Stamford entered the room, greeting Sherlock cheerfully. "I have already talked with this man today." He thought. "I had talked about wanting to get a flat mate but I don't think anyone would be willing to handle me. Me and my lab equipment, and my skull on the mantel, and my work. So, Mike must have found someone who was willing. Why else would he be back here again? Mike hadn't left his phone or anything."

All of these thoughts went through Sherlock's brain as fast as it took to blink. In that blink, a man had walked in behind Mike. "An army man, obviously. He has been injured." Sherlock thought. He continued to make deduction after deduction about this new person. He quite liked what he observed. He hadn't said a word since the men had entered. Suddenly he looked up from his germs, stared at John and said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Mike tried to stop Sherlock. He hadn't explained that John was Deaf, but John had simply smiled at Sherlock. He said as he signed, "Sorry, I can't hear you. I'm Deaf. Um...Here," He handed Sherlock his phone and said, "Type it up in the notepad."

John had thought that if this was the man Mike had thought was a good flat mate from him, then he might need to find someone else. He had assumed that Mike knew of a Deaf person who was in a similar predicament. He had been thinking to himself as Sherlock typed out, "Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?" John stared at Sherlock. How did he know he had been in war? "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?" He looked over to Mike, said, "Oh, you ... you told him about me?"

Mike shook him head has if to say, "Nope, not a word." He looked back at Sherlock who was typing quickly. Sherlock had tossed John's phone at him, and returned to his germs. It read, "I play the violin when I'm thinking. I assume that won't bother you, with your hearing impairment. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other." John looked at Sherlock, astonished, "Who said anything about flat mates?"

Sherlock had looked up with a look that said, "Really?" He grabbed the phone back and typed, "I did. I told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flat mate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

John looked up at the curly-haired man in front of him with disbelief on his face. "How did you know about Afghanistan?"

Sherlock hadn't answer. Instead he put on his scarf and pulled out his phone. He looked at it for a while, and then he looked over and smiled at John, making sure he had good eye contact and said, "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it.' He got up and walked to John. He stopped in front of him, again he made sure he had good eye contact before saying, "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash."

He turned to go, but was stopped by John asking, "Is that it?"

Sherlock turned around and established eye contact "Is what it?"

John looks flabbergasted, "We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat? We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

Sherlock looked at John for a moment, as if calculating something about the ex-soldier in front of him, then pulled out his phone and typed, "I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. I also know that you when Deaf in the military, because you use words like, 'Gotta' and 'Gonna', which are slang words. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He handed the phone to John and let him read.

John stared at the message and read it twice. This man is a genius. Either that or a stalker. John handed back the phone, still completely puzzled. As Sherlock took back his phone, he signed, "My name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221 B. Baker Street." With that and a wink, he left.

John turned to Mike and gave a small, almost hysterical laugh. This man was mad, but wonderful some how. He didn't know what was going to happen next, but he knew it would definitely be interesting.

Sorry for this being a short chapter. I know what it's like to read a story and then wait for weeks for the next chapter, so I will do my best to put up the next chapters every Wednesday, by 3:00 Mountain Time Zone. Please, review. I would love to know what you think. Questions? Comments? Snide Remarks? Let me know.

~Ciao for now, DeafLord28 ;)