The most beautiful sound John had ever heard was a certain consulting detective playing his violin. Sherlock could make him feel anything he wanted through the music. He could leave John aching with a wordless but mournful loss. He could make him want to stand up and move around. He could and did make John feel as though the world was spinning, just by moving his fingers and hands a certain way on a certain instrument. Sherlock Holmes, in short, was a master violinist who could draw out the most amazing music John could ever conceive.
When John lost his hearing, that was almost the first thing he thought of. The idea of never hearing that sound again was almost too much for him. The realization of how truly hard life would be for him didn't even hit until Sherlock mentioned that he would teach John to read lips so that he could get by a little better every day.
The way that he lost his hearing was terribly unsatisfying, to add insult to injury. He had lived through Afghanistan; he had literally chased the lowest of the low down the darkest parts of London for years before it happened. To lose it in such a manner as this was almost embarrassing.
One night he woke up on the floor, an intense feeling of terror overwhelming him, until he came to all the way and untangled himself from the sheets that tied him up. He didn't think much of the incident then, other than the nasty bump on his head, and it was easy enough to fall back to sleep, but the next morning was another story.
John woke up on April 18, 2013 completely deaf. He woke up to Sherlock hitting his forehead with a rather large book and almost jumping up and down in glee. Sherlock was saying something, he could see his lips moving excitedly, but he couldn't quite hear what. John sat up and rubbed his eyes and ears, supposing that he was still too half-asleep to hear.
A minute later, he realized he was deaf.
He tried saying Sherlock's name a few times, then a bit louder, until finally he was shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs in a complete panic and he still couldn't hear anything. He stumbled out of bed to where Sherlock was standing in the living room, staring at John and mid-violin solo. He couldn't hear the strings on the violin being plucked.
Sherlock's lips moved. He couldn't hear a word.
He ducked into the kitchen and grabbed a heavy metal pan, smacking his hand against it. His hand turned right and hurt quite a bit, but he still couldn't hear anything.
He started smacking his hand against the counter, the table, the wall, anything that should have made a sound when his hand hit it. And all the while, as he panicked and shouted and destroyed the kitchen,
John still couldn't hear anything.
Sherlock grabbed his hand just before he hit a glass, which was probably a good idea, but John didn't realize that in his terror and flailed at Sherlock. Sherlock dragged him over to the couch and dropped him on it, holding him down until John had calmed down a good deal. His lips moved again, and John was finally calm enough to say "I can't hear. I can't hear anything."
