Trois Mousquetaires Parte I
This is for you, because I promised you one with "tres mosqueteros y sin el hombre y su mujer"...and I speak French not Spanish...I know not to trust Google Translate, but I hope the meaning comes out okay.
Bearing the heel of his palms into the sockets, Sherlock massaged his eyes roughly trying to drive out the excruciating pain.
"Sherlock,"John tried to wrestle his hands away, but the man shrunk from the touch,"Don't! You are only making it worse. Stop. It won't help."
"No John! Leave me alone, yes it does. Rubbing helps. I don't care if it makes it worse, it's not like it'll ever get any better." He laughed scornfully, tilted his head back, and stumbled backwards to lean on the cool brick wall. Sometimes the orientation of his head took the pressure off the painful points. It really was a nuisance, and this wasn't the the first time the blinding pain stuck him whilst on a crime scene.
It slowed him down considerably... Stupid transport failure.
... Blinding pain...well it certainly does live up to its name...
"Sherlock, here. Move to your left a bit, there isn't debris there. Slide your back against the wall to sit on the cement blocks." The doctor gently guided his friend to rest against the wall giving him some sort of bearing amidst a cluttered crime scene.
Lestrade had long already sent all the extra personnel to wait by the cars and begin preliminary paperwork the moment Sherlock started to become agitated. No one wanted an audience when compromised, and no one dislikes uncalled for audiences more that Sherlock. Lestrade knew, so he took initiative to prevent injury to his friend's well-being and protect his personal life from being the source of lunchtime gossip. The cruel lunchtime gossip of the Yard ranged from one end of the specturm to the other on things that were trivial to down-right highly classified.
"Here mate," Lestrade produced a wet kerchief from his shirt breast pocket after dabbing some water on it, "The coolness will help." He applied the cloth over Sherlock's face and looked to John for what else they should do to help, to which the doctor mumbled to "just wait it out".
Slowly by slowly the pain started regressing and Sherlock was able to focus on something other than the burning pain. The coolness of the cloth help distract his mind from trying to focus on anything specific. Even with a face still contorted in a certain degree of discomfort, Sherlock tried to sit straight, but was held back by two firm hands- one from each of his friends crouched beside him.
"No. Stay. Just rest. There is no rush." Lestrade ordered in a whisper, "Wait a bit longer."
This pain Sherlock frequently experienced was of unknown origin or cause, but happened all of a sudden started to presented itself. So, it needed to be examined, thus, unwillingly he visited several highly recommended ones in the specialised profession of eye diseases from a list provided by his "brother dear Mycroft". The various visits did not serve much benefit to either party; one side ended up terribly upset and insulted whilst the other party was angry for not receiving a clear solution to the problem or a means to rectify it. Many ocular specialists pinned the pain origin as some place on the links between the eyeball to the rest of the internal cranial organs.
Like you're of any use to me!? Even I know that and I am merely a humble and lowly graduate chemist with an interest in human anatomy/physiology. Why did I even bother waste time with your "expert opinion"?
Sherlock remembered being called in for post-examination diagnoses one time and listened to the specialist explain the diagnosis in his accented English with traces of Asian pronunciations, "Due to the your present steady decline of perceivable, the signals between eye and brain are not communicating effectively. Therefore, this lack of message relays..."
Sherlock zoned out nearly immediately, the specialist was just like all his colleges who rambled on in some watered-down version of the medical diagnoses, but Sherlock stayed for John's sake because the dear doctor understood the unspoken words in the medical jargon the specialist tried to cleverly hide. The two doctors were engrossed in deep conversation about the details of advancing science and medicine so much so that he didn't want to drag John away from that.
In truth there wasn't anything to hide at all. There really wasn't a definite cause nor solution to the problem. It was just an unfortunate circumstance that came upon Sherlock ever since he was a mere zygote**.
After spending another ten minuets reclining against the wall, Sherlock attempted to move again and was welcomed with two strong arms hoisting him upright instead of pinning him down.
"Steady on mate," Lestrade cautioned as he held fast to Sherlock's shoulder. "Bit dizzy?"
The man grunted, so John interpreted as "No" and asked the next question, "Want to finish the case now or later?"
"What?" his head suddenly jerked up and stared straight ahead with words just rolling off his lips in lightening speed, "Sorry, was thinking. Were you talking? I heard noises. I tend to zone out if they're dull noises. We're still at the crime scene. I've solved it. Sorry, got a bit carried away. Had to file everything away in my Mind Palace. Did you have a question?"
Rolling his eyes sarcastically, John patted his friend on the back, "Good to have you back with us again, though I don't miss your pointed jabs. Could work on that, you know? Be a little nicer?"
"So you DO know the criminal? By jove, that is wonderful. Care to enlighten us mere mortals? Be much obliged if you did so good sir," Lestrade mocked with false airs causing his two companions to snicker ungracefully loud.
"You're terrible at pretending Greg,"John quipped and gave him a manly punch on the arm, "Nice acting though. But seriously, Sherlock. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine. Do stop fussing over me. It's not as if that inconvenient occurance was the first you two ever witnessed. It was the gardener. Just look at the layout! Can't you see exactly were he tread and how he thought 'how clever' he was to scuff up the area and make it look confusing." Sherlock gestured in the general direction of victim and of the debris strewn in complete disarray.
"Wow! How could you see that Sherlock," John wondered with such amazement, "I didn't even finish describing the track marks all over the wood and concrete before you were otherwise occupied. How could you have known what the scene looked like?"
Sherlock smiled.
John smiled.
Lestrade was speechless.
Sherlock smiled, a genuine smile that reached his whole face, and even though blind, his eyes still were just as expressive if he had sight. It was a rare occasion for the man to display such an amount of true, raw and completely honest sentiment. For John and Lestrade to both be recipients of it only proved the friendship of the three even stronger, as true expression was only saved for the ones he trusted most.
"You didn't need to finish, I solved the case before you started describing the other half of the room. John. If I can solve a case without knowing the majority of the scene that lays at my feet, then what might you deduce as the reason for my success? I'll leave you to ponder that."
He smiled again, only this time it was a cryptic one.
"I solves cases for a living John, now it's your turn. Solve it and you'll understand everything perfectly." With those final words, Sherlock latched on to his anchor and followed the doctor out to the circle of officers milling around. Lestrade walked in sync with Sherlock's deliberate steps. He castted sideways glances at John, the two holding an entire conversation with their eyes. The DI too wore a cryptic smile, but would not say why when John cocked his head with confusion.
"I know the answer Sherlock," he whispered into the taller man's ear,"I won't tell him. You should do that, if he doesn't guess it. Don't leave him wondering. The answer's too good to keep secret."
"Don't worry. He will deduce the answer soon enough. I am certain of it."
A-N:
***Please read Chapter 11 "His Mind Palace" to understand the reference of Sherlock congenital condition to becoming blind as an adult found in "In Whose Eyes?".
This is a plot bunny that came to mind one day after I went back to read Chapter 5 of this story "Change is Good" when trying to expand the plot of the present multi-chapter story I'm writing, "Watching Over Each Other". I link my writing across stories, so. Each chapter in this story stands alone, but can also be read to have more understanding on a particular subject discussed in another multi-chapter story.
This one-shot is a reference to Sherlock's self-experimentation on his eyeballs, and his comment about surgery. (Chapter 5, this story)
(Well as everyone knows, he prefers to take eyeballs in his morning tea along side milk...finding out he would be best man) Hehe!
Part II to come soon.