"What?" Sherlock asked, stunned.

John swallowed as his eyes darted about almost desperately. "I can't see anything. I can't see you." As he spoke, Sherlock noticed that John was gripping the detective's sleeves, most likely in an attempt to ground himself.

"Alright." he said. "Just don't – don't panic." He looked around but there was no one nearby, and although he could hear Lestrade shouting their names, the DI didn't know exactly where they were.

Sherlock looked back at John, who was taking deep breaths and had his head tilted towards the ground. He removed the doctor's grip from one of his sleeves and squeezed his hand. "John, there's an ambulance around the corner, at the beginning of the driveway. I need to go and get some paramedics; I promise I'll only be a second–"

"Don't!" John said anxiously, then cleared his throat and said in a calmer tone, "Please don't."

Sherlock sighed, having predicted his reaction. He let go of his hand and tried to tug his other sleeve out of the doctor's grasp, but John wouldn't let go.

"John, I have to get help." he implored.

"Use your phone. Call Greg or something and tell him to bring the paramedics. Please, Sherlock, I–" He broke off, clearly not wanting to express his fear, but Sherlock could easily read the frightened expression on his face. The detective knew that were the positions reversed, he would be terrified at the prospect of not being able to see again.

Resolving to stay with John, Sherlock was about to dig in his pocket for his phone when he heard Lestrade's shouts closer than before.

"Over here!" the detective called whilst one of John's hands found his and gripped it tightly. Moments later Lestrade rounded the corner of the smouldering wreckage and jogged over to the pair kneeling next to it.

"Did you get what you bloody wanted?!" Lestrade shouted at Sherlock, anger crossing his face as he jogged over to them. "Risking your sodding life for a piece of jewellery! Of all the idiotic, stupid things you've done in the past, this one really takes the..." he trailed off as he realised that Sherlock wasn't reacting to him. Not that Sherlock didn't react to his other lectures, but this time he didn't look bored or uninterested. This time he looked concerned and worried, though it was hidden by a shoddy mask of indifference.

"What's happened?" he asked in a quieter tone, panting from running to them as his eyes raking over the pair for any serious injuries, but he could see none apart from shallow scrapes and cuts. John had his head bowed and was holding Sherlock's hand quite tightly and the detective himself had his free hand on John's arm.

"Sherlock?" he asked, "Tell me."

The detective turned to look at him. "Could you fetch some paramedics, please?" he said calmly. "John can't see."

"John can't – what?" Lestrade looked to John who was smiling grimly.

"Can't see a thing." he murmured.

"Oh God." The DI said to himself, spinning and sprinting as fast as he could back to what used to be the front of the house, where he knew fire officers, police officers and paramedics alike were gathered.

"I need paramedics!" he shouted as loudly as possible, running into view of everyone. "Paramedics with me now!" As he turned back towards Sherlock and John he spotted two medics rushing after him carrying a large first aid box. The three, with Lestrade ahead, ran to where the detective and doctor were waiting, and Sherlock looked up as they approached. The pair had gotten to their feet whilst Lestrade was gone, and now John took a minute step towards the brunette, most likely apprehensive of the thundering footsteps coming closer.

Sherlock led John forward, completely silent as the paramedics took charge of him; one shining a small torch in his eyes whilst another started to clean the soot and dried blood off his hands. Eventually they began to walk him back to the ambulance, talking to him quietly and reassuring him. John remained stoic, his lips pressed tightly together as he was led away. Lestrade and Sherlock exchanged a look before they brought up the rear on the journey back to the ambulance.


"What did the doctors say?" Lestrade asked, entering John's hospital room and addressing the ex-soldier sitting on the bed. Sherlock was perched in a chair next to him, remaining silent and twiddling with his fingers.

John shrugged, his gaze directed at the wall opposite him. "Only what I already thought. Particles got into my eyes and damaged the corneas, and it's going to take around 48 to 72 hours for my vision to return."

"So it's temporary." Lestrade checked, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

"Yeah, it's temporary. I've been prescribed eye drops to prevent infection, too." The doctor's voice remained perfectly stable as he spoke, not a hint of emotion in what he said.

"Are you okay?" the DI asked, looking from John to Sherlock, who was now tapping on his phone.

"Yes, I'm fine." John said, smiling in what Lestrade assumed was meant to be reassurance. "No lasting damage, so why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, y'know, back at the house you seemed pretty shaken–"

"I was caught off guard, that's all." John interrupted, trying to locate Lestrade and look at him directly but missing by a couple of inches. "I'm alright now, so no need to worry."

"Okay, great." Greg said, flashing a smile before realising John couldn't see it. He cleared his throat. "Er, Sherlock, step out here a sec." He watched Sherlock pause on his phone, before sighing, pocketing it, and standing up. He held the door open as the detective brushed past him, and he glanced back at John, who was now staring down at his lap.

"Back in a mo, John." he called, before closing the door and facing Sherlock.

"What were you doing on your phone?" he asked in a cool tone.

Sherlock frowned at him. "I don't believe that's any of your business."

"Right, yeah, it's not, except that if whatever you're doing is to do with Margaret Bailey's murder, forget it. You're off the case."

"What?" Sherlock asked sharply, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Don't make me repeat myself. You do as I say, and you are off the case."

Sherlock stepped closer to him, a menacing glint in his eye. "You can't tell me what I can and can't do. I need to solve this." he growled.

"No you don't. You don't get to put this case over John. Not this time." Lestrade argued. "You're not on your own anymore, and you have to take responsibility for him."

"You can't tell me what I can and can't do, Lestrade."

"Damn right I can. You really need to drop the attitude, Sherlock, because your best friend has been temporarily blinded and it is your fault. And I swear, if you don't help him over the next few days so help me God, they will not find your body." By the time he had finished speaking Lestrade was inches away from the detective, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Am I understood?"

Sherlock stared at him for a long moment, before turning away and stepping back into John's hospital room. With a sigh, Lestrade followed him in.

"Do you know when you're going to be discharged?" he asked John, who nodded.

"They're going to put bandages over my eyes in a bit and then I'm being kept in overnight, just for observation." he said.

"Good, that means someone can take a look at you, Sherlock." the DI replied, smiling at Sherlock's glare.

"What?" John asked sharply. He looked to the right of his bed, where he guessed Sherlock to be. "Are your hurt?"

"I'm over here, John, on your left. And no, I am not hurt." he said, directing another glare at Lestrade.

"My bad, John, it's just scrapes and bruises." the DI explained.

"Good," John said, "The last thing Mrs Hudson needs are two cripples in her building, one of which would never stop complaining."

"I don't complain." Sherlock retorted.

"You're not a cripple." Lestrade added.

The doctor smiled tightly. "Just a joke."

"Just so long as you know." Lestrade said, turning to go. "I've got to get back to the Yard but I'll come by later, yeah?"

"Sure. See you then." The doctor replied monotonously.

Lestrade walked to the door, shooting Sherlock a glare on his way out. Moments later he was gone.

Sherlock looked back at John, who was laying back in his bed and staring at the ceiling.

"Do you want me to call Sarah? Tell her you can't come into work?"

John shrugged. "If you like."

"I will." The two lapsed into silence and the detective pulled out his phone. As far as he knew, nobody had recovered a piece of jewellery from the remains of the crime scene, but he couldn't be sure that Lestrade wasn't hiding it from him. He'd have to break into the evidence room at Scotland Yard later on and find out. And how dare Lestrade take him off the case! He was the only one who could solve this locked room mystery and the DI decided he wasn't needed? Just because he and John happened to be in a collapsing building and John got injured? It wasn't his fault the doctor was temporarily blind, he didn't have to follow him in, after all.

No, he thought, John's not to blame for this, Lestrade is. Of course, being taken off the case didn't mean he wasn't going to solve it. He certainly didn't need Lestrade's resources and he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. First, though, he had to find that piece of jewellery.

"You don't have to stay here, Sherlock." John commented, interrupting his thoughts.

"It's fine." the detective replied, and the two fell silent again.

While Sherlock sat in his chair, scheming, he couldn't help a little niggling thought at the back of his mind making itself known. What if it is my fault John's injured? Certainly, John went into the building to fetch him, and if he had listened to the doctor and just left then they wouldn't be in this scenario. Indeed, if he hadn't gone looking for the evidence in the first place, again, John would not be here in hospital. And losing one's vision – even if it was only temporary – was a devastating thing. Sherlock knew that if he had been blinded he would be overwhelmed, not to mention furious.

Furious… yes, he would be furious. Did that mean John blamed him? Was he angry at Sherlock for causing his temporary loss of sight? It would explain the cold and aloof manner he was displaying right now. He was dismissive of Lestrade earlier, and normally he made every effort to keep everyone happy, even if it was at his own expense. So yes, John was definitely angry at him.

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure what to do with this new information. He focused on John, who was still staring at the ceiling and tapping his leg with his right hand.

"Alright?" he asked.

"Yep." the doctor replied.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"S'up to you. There's not much to do here and I imagine you're bored."

"I'm not bored." Sherlock argued.

"You don't have to lie." John said in a strained voice. "Wouldn't you rather be solving the case?"

Sherlock remembered Lestrade's words. "Well yes, there's nothing I'd rather do, but there have been complications."

John sighed. "Yeah, I know."

The detective frowned. How did John know? Maybe Lestrade had mentioned it earlier when Sherlock was outside, on the phone to Mycroft. That blasted conversation in which his brother once again wanted to know unnecessary details about his life lasted long enough for Lestrade to hypothetically tell John that Sherlock was off the case. Even more reason to blame the DI for something the detective was well aware wasn't his fault. Nevertheless, he was angry.

"Just go, Sherlock. I don't want you to stay."

And that was a dismissal if ever he heard one. Sherlock felt his heart sink and he was glad John could not see his face as he realised that his theory that the doctor was angry at him was true.

"Alright, then. I'll come and pick you up tomorrow?"

"No, it's fine. I can get a cab." Another stab to his heart.

"Of course." Sherlock replied, maintaining a nonchalant voice. "In that case, I'll see you tomorrow at Baker Street." If he even wanted to come back to Baker Street. What if he was planning on moving out?

"Yeah, see you then."

"Goodbye." Sherlock moved towards the door, but before he left he took one final glance back. John had not, predictably, moved his gaze from the ceiling, and Sherlock was sure he could read discomfort on his face. Most likely wishing the detective would leave already. Well, he was not one to disappoint.

He changed his mind and stopped the door from slamming on his way out.

A/N: Thanks so much for all the reviews, faves & follows, I'm glad you're all enjoying it! More next week! x