Disclaimer- Sherlock belongs to the BBC. The poem was written by John Milton.
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide,
Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, least he returning chide,
Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,
I fondly ask; But patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts, who best
Bear his milde yoak, they serve him best, his State
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and waite.
-On His Blindness, John Milton
Chapter One
Sherlock and John were in a deserted alleyway, looking for the house of the criminal of the latest case. "That one," Sherlock pointed at a large, gray house.
"How do you know?"
"Well, since we believe that he's a CEO, he would have a large salary, and this is the only house that fits with that. The house is far bigger than the others in the neighborhood, and has a much bigger yard. Also, his car is parked outside. He drove it away from the crime scene, which was caught on tape." Sherlock chuckled. "But," he added, "it looks like there's nobody home and he left a first floor window open. Tsk, tsk. Not a highly trained criminal, is he?"
"You want us to break into his house?" John asked, aghast.
"Could be dangerous." Sherlock winked. "Shall we?"
"Let's get this over with."
Inside the house it was dark, decorated with stark and modern furniture. Sherlock picked up a photograph off the mantelpiece. "Dark hair, around six feet, wiry. Fits our profile."
He saw John nod at him. "Here's a picture of him at work. It's him."
Sherlock heard a floorboard creak and turned around. The CEO stood there, with a cricket bat aiming at John's head. "John!" Sherlock called, but it was no use, the man had already struck. Next, he turned to Sherlock and struck him in the back of the head as well. Sherlock felt himself fall as everything went dark.
Sherlock woke up, or at least he thought he woke up. He wasn't quite sure. He couldn't see much, except for patches of dark and light. He closed and opened his eyes again, and gave his eyes a chance to adjust. It was the same. No details, no shapes, no objects. Nothing. Then Sherlock remembered what had been happening before he had been knocked out. "John?" he called out, hoping to sound confident, but instead feeling like a lost child, searching for his mother. "John? Where are you?"
"I'm right here, Sherlock. Right next to you." His voice sounded close, within arms reach, but Sherlock's hands were tied behind his back.
He felt his throat close up as he asked, "Where are we?"
"Looks like a basement. I kicked the man in the head, so he's knocked out, but not for long. He'll probably wake up soon. I can't get the rope off my wrists though. Look around."
"I can't," Sherlock whispered, "I don't know why, but I can barely see at all. Only a bit of light."
"What?"
"I can't see where we are. I can only see light and dark. That's it. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to get out of here, and I don't know what happened."
"We'll get out of here," John said, but he didn't sound positive. "I'll scoot my chair towards yours and I'll untie you, then you can untie me. We'll get you to a hospital. They can figure out what's happened. They can fix it." Sherlock heard the scraping of wood against concrete as John moved and then began fumbling with his binds. They fell to the floor.
"Thanks," murmured Sherlock, feeling like a young child again, thanking mother for untying his shoelaces.
"Do you think you can handle untying me?"
"Yes. I may not be able to see, but I can still feel," Sherlock slid his fingers over the tangle and began working. It took him much longer than it had taken John, but eventually John's hands were free.
"Here, I'll untie the ones around your legs." John easily unbound them, and then began on his own.
Once they were both completely loose, John began giving orders to Sherlock. "There's a small window to the left of us. We can break it and escape through there." He grasped Sherlock's hand and guided him to where the window must have been. He heard the break of glass as John smashed the chair through the window. "You first."
Sherlock nodded, then climbed onto the chair and hoisted himself through gingerly, careful not to cut himself. Once he was safely on the ground above, he reached his hand down to pull John up. Now that they were both through, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and they ran.
"Taxi!" John called, running short of breath, "Taxi!" A car pulled up near them. "St. Barts," John panted. He opened the door and led Sherlock inside. The clicking of phone buttons and then, "Mycroft? We need attention at St. Barts. Sherlock's been hurt. We're in a cab now. " He paused. "I don't know what's wrong. His head got hit, and now he can't see. I never had to deal with anything like this in Afghanistan." He shook his head wearily and paused again, "A neurologist and an eye doctor would do. Thanks," he hung up the phone and sighed, "Mycroft says he'll be able to pull some strings and get a couple of specialists to see us right when we get there. So...you just...can't see?" He asked
"I can see light. Dark. Where the light is coming from. But other than that, no. Not since I woke up." Sherlock was starting to panic. What if his vision never came back? What if he couldn't work anymore? What if he wasn't extraordinary without his sight? The endless what-if's flowed through his head, each one terrifying him more than the next.
"Sherlock. Calm down. Everything is going to be fine. The doctors will know what they're dealing with." John grabbed his hand. John's hands felt rough and scarred, but warm, which was what Sherlock needed.
"Can we not talk? I need time to think."
"Of course, Sherlock."
They sat in silence for the rest of the cab ride, holding hands, waiting, until finally John said, "We're here."
A/N- Thanks to my Beta, allegrapf, I was able to publish this without too many grammatical errors. Also, her and I are challenging ourselves to write 50,000 words of fanfiction by next year, so if you want to check her profile out, that would be great. That's all, thanks for reading!
