Looking back, John couldn't quite remember the next few weeks, or anyways not the details. He recalled a flurry of hand motions, what felt like almost nonstop sign language. It started out simple, with him making very basic sentences, until Sherlock made fun of him for speaking in baby talk. After that, if John didn't know a word, he looked it up. As much as he hated to admit it, he learned much faster after that - not that he would say that to Sherlock of course. His ego was swollen enough as it was, John figured.

Harry came to visit him for a day a month after it had happened. She brought a bottle with her, and by the end of the day she was fairly drunk and had to be taken home, but she showed up, which John honestly hadn't expected. It turned out that Harry knew some sign language ("I had a girlfriend that had a brother that was deaf like you, Johnny, picked it up when he came to stay with us") and although she was no expert she was able to converse with John, sort of - enough. Anyways, she was able to make herself understood.

It took John a very long time to even begin to adjust to not being able to hear. The loss of such a major sense so suddenly was almost crippling, worse than when he'd been shot even, and he certainly wouldn't have gotten over it without Sherlock's help. He didn't know how to say how much it meant to him afterwards to have Sherlock there to drag him to Speedy's when he hadn't left the apartment in a while and help him learn to do the simplest things again, from crossing the road without listening to just figuring out when the kettle was ready without being able to hear it whistle.

Eventually he could get around London day to day without too much trouble. He hadn't gone back to the clinic, of course. He honestly doubted he ever would. How could he do his job without being able to talk to the patient?

He expressed that to Sherlock on one of his darker days, when he felt useless and crippled and empty. Sherlock was not impressed.

"You can still talk, John. It's not like communication on your side is a problem," he said with a somewhat dismissive flick of his hands. "Think."

"Of what?" John had signed. "It's no good to be able to talk to them if they can't talk back."

"As ever, you are not thinking. It's not that far of a leap from speaking to lip reading. You just need to be more attentive." Thus began John's education in lip reading, which was surprisingly easy. There were more than a few embarrassing errors in the bringing but John picked it up quickly. He even learned to order for himself again, which really was an accomplishment. It's the small things that count in the end.