Disclaimer- I do not own Sherlock.

Chapter Two

After questioning, poking, and prodding for over two hours, both doctors, Doctor Clark and Doctor Jameson left to Clark had been a female, mid-thirties. Doctor Jameson was male, he sounded around sixty. Sherlock had tried to deduce more, but there wasn't much he could do just by the sound of their voices. Now, his sight wasn't the thing he was most worried about never getting back. It was the work that he really wanted. John entered the room, his footsteps moving slowly.

"Is everything okay in here?"

Sherlock nodded towards the direction of the voice, "Tedious, but okay."

"The doctors said that you were cooperating remarkably well. They're coming to a conclusion right now."

"I just want to go home, John."

"I know Sherlock. So do I. I'll work on it."

"Sherlock, we bring some bad news," one of them started after they reentered the room. "We believe that when your head was hit, the occipital lobe was affected, causing a type of blindness where you only have light perception. Based on other cases like yours, we believe it's incurable."

"Are you sure?" asked John.

"Positive."

Sherlock put his head in his hands while John placed a hand on his shoulder. His throat closed up, but Sherlock knew that the doctors were expecting tears, and Sherlock wasn't going to give them. He had to stay strong.

The doctor began speaking again, "I know it-"

"Shut up!" yelled Sherlock, who was past the tipping point, "You just informed me that I'm permanently blind, and now you're going to say, 'Don't worry Sherlock. You can live a perfectly normal life even if you're blind.' But I don't want a normal life. I want my life!"

John stepped in before Sherlock could re-start his rant. "It's been a long day for both of us. We're going back to the flat, we can discuss this in the morning."

"Of course," said the doctor, faltering, "we shouldn't have been so insensitive. How about 10 o'clock?"

"Done."

Sherlock and John sat in silence during the cab ride home. When they entered the flat, John started making tea while Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," began John.

"Thanks for the sympathy," Sherlock said sarcastically.

John delivered a warm mug of tea into Sherlock's hands. He sipped it. Chamomile.

"If I could trade places with you, I would. If there's anything you need me to do, just say it."

"Not right now, thanks."

They continued talking about mundane things, and Sherlock knew that it was Johns way of showing him that he was there, until John's phone rang. He answered it and said, "Thank you, Mycroft, for doing all that . . . Yeah, we're at the flat, but we'll be back to discuss care in the morning . . . yeah, at 10 . . . We'll see you there."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked when John finished.

"Mhm...he'll meet us at St. Bart's tomorrow morning. You should get some rest, it's almost 2:30 A.M." John led Sherlock to his bedroom and helped him brush his teeth, change, get dressed and climb into bed. ."Good night, Sherlock." John sounded resigned, and it was then that Sherlock knew that he couldn't ask John to do this. He had to let him go.

"Good night, John."

Sherlock woke up at 8:30 the next morning. He opened his eyes, but saw nothing, and then remembered. He was blind. He entered the shower and did his best to wash. When Sherlock finished, he faced the task of choosing clothes.

I can dress myself, he thought, it can't be that hard.

Sherlock lumbered to his closet and chose a suit and a shirt, put them on, and hoped for the best.

"Glad to see you're up. Coffee?" John said as Sherlock entered the room.

"Yes."

"You got dressed, too! Of course you still have impeccable fashion sense without sight."

"I didn't think that you'd appreciate it if I came out wearing a towel. What would the neighbors think?" mocked Sherlock, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Sherlock could tell that John was smiling, his voice sounded like it was stifling back a laugh, and remembered how nice the simple action of smiling could be.

"What did I end up choosing?"

"Black suit, midnight blue shirt. Very nice."

They both drank their coffee, taking their time, but not saying much. That was one of the things Sherlock liked best about John, he didn't press for conversation all the time. Sometimes it was okay for them to just be quiet.

"Well, it's ten now, so we'd better get going. We can hail a cab."

"Mycroft will be there, yes?"

"Uh-huh," confirmed John.

"What about . . . Mother? Don't they usually have immediate family members at these kinds of things?"

"Mycroft said he wouldn't tell her until you're ready," assured John. He handed Sherlock his coat and scarf, then ushered him down stairs to the street, where a car was waiting.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?" the driver asked.

"That's us," answered John, "did Mycroft send you?"

"Yes, I'm supposed to take you to St. Bart's, correct?"

Sherlock answered this time. "Yes, and we're in a bit of a rush." John opened the door and hurried Sherlock in. "Very kind of my brother to send a cab," he remarked dryly. "I love knowing that he thinks that I can't take care of myself."

"He's just worried," John defended weakly.

"Well he can stick his nose elsewhere."

When they arrived at the hospital, the doctors from yesterday were talking amongst themselves with hushed voices. A pair of arms enveloped Sherlock into a hug, startling him. He did not reciprocate the gesture.

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice rang out. "I already made sure that John would be able to stay during this meeting. Given that he's your flatmate, he is the most logical person to have here. If there's anything you need from me, let me know."

"I need you to let go of me," hissed Sherlock, and much to his surprise, Mycroft released him and walked him into the room where the others were waiting. Dr. Clark sat them all down at a table and began talking. "Sherlock, we understand that you are in a hard situation, to be thrown into this in the middle of your life, but we want you to know, we will do everything we can to make this easier. You will be able to adapt to this new lifestyle." Sherlock rolled his eyes; this was beginning to sound like one of the commercials that were on John's favorite telly station. And you can become a fully functioning blind person in just 30 days or less, otherwise you get your money back!

"There are some things that can make living easier at first. For starters, you can practice going to places you visit often, like the grocery or the library."

Sherlock sighed. Dr. Clark's speech began to blur together until he heard, "Here is something we highly suggest using, a red and white cane. It's the international symbol of blindness, you know."

"No," refused Sherlock flatly.. "Those canes are horrible. Whenever you see someone using one, you're instantly filled with pity and guilt, like you shouldn't be able to see either. And if you bump into with someone with a cane like that, you become sickly sweet. People don't look at the person behind the cane, they look at the disability."

"Sherlock," Mycroft warned in his you're-being-difficult-voice. "At least think about it."

"I already did. And the answer's no."

"What about a cane that wasn't red and white?" suggested John. "Would that be better?"

"Mildly. If I found one I liked. But no dog. I'm not letting an animal with less intelligence than a small child lead me into oncoming traffic."

"How about Braille? Do you want to learn?" asked Mycroft.

"Yes. You know how I feel about reading."

The conversation went on, and eventually it was decided that Sherlock would get a new computer, phone and learn Braille with a tutor. Mycroft would support both John and Sherlock financially while they got things figured out, so that John could take time off work. One of the doctors suggested hiring someone to teach Sherlock how to travel around, but Sherlock refused that too.

"I don't need a complete stranger telling me how to live my life," Sherlock had said. After the meeting was over, Sherlock took John aside and said what had been bothering him since last night. "I understand if you're having second thoughts about sharing a flat. If you feel this is too much for you, I completely understand. You can leave. Get a new flat if you want, but I can't ask you to do all of this for me."

"You think I want to abandon you?" gasped John, "Do you really believe I would do that."

"It's just so much work. I don't want to put that on you."

"Sherlock, I would never leave you like this. Not ever. You need me, and quite frankly, I still need you. Don't suggest that I leave again, okay?"

"Okay."

A/N- Thank you for reading! I'm going to try to be posting chapter about once a week. Hope you like it!