Chapter 7


It was a heartbreaking yet heart-warming afternoon spent. During those hours spent diligently learning, a lengthy and emotionally-bottled conversation about the two hard at work learning Braille was being discussed between the Watsons' subtle expressions. Molly later realised the conversation was taking place and joined in with an occasional scowl or eyebrow raised. She learned quick not to move her head because Sherlock felt that slight movement and asked 'why did you move?' to which just made the three other faces in the room turn hot with embarrassment.

How do you tell your friend you're talking about him by taking advantage of his disadvantage? It felt wrong, like betraying his trust in you?


Later on that night whilst Sherlock was lost in musical thoughts with his Estella, John took the opportunity to ask what was weighing on his mind ever since he arrived. "So," he prompted and cleared his throat softly, "will you explain all of it to me, everything leading up to this point? I get the feeling Sherlock isn't too keen on talking about any of this unless it's just you alone," gesturing to the scattered materials on the kitchen table. Molly made tea quickly, and then conceded to explain the man's unusual behaviour to the Watsons.

Taking a deep breath Molly began her tale, "He went to the bookstore all by himself. Took a cab and disappeared for the whole afternoon without bothering to bring his mobile either. Thank goodness he was fine, I can't even imagine if something did happen to him. I noticed a bruised hand, well, just the knuckles. I suspect he was upset and punched something, and not the result of a fall…but what if, I mean the streets are crowded and hazardous things everywhere…" She scrubbed her face trying to rid the scary thought of Sherlock lying all alone injured in some unknown place with no one to help him. Mary patted Molly's hand, "Molly. Molly, it's alright. Don't think about it. It didn't happen; we will all have a good long chat with him to prevent it from this happening again, ok?"

The pathologist nodded, "Nearly gave me a heart attack when I walked in and couldn't find him anywhere. Should have seen the state we were in, trying to locate him, we don't have your acquired gift of "internal Sherlock-GPS" John, unfortunately. Took us a couple of very long hours trying to guess out where he might have gone. I searched high and low for him around this area, whilst Lestrade staked out at the Yard and Barts. The bookstore was last places we would have thought about. Would you have thought to look there?!"

Returning to a softer voice Molly continued, "Mrs. Hudson cornered him as soon as a he walked through the front door, and phone us announcing the good news of his return. Apparently, she gave him a good run-down because he looked absolutely and completely miserable by the time Lestrade and I showed up. We were barely five minutes away, so she must have said something powerful that finally went through to that strange mind of his." Her shoulders slumped over as Molly finished and sipped her tea dejectedly. "When would he learn not to act so wild? To act like a proper and mature adult."

Mary shrugged sadly.

John buried his face in his palms.

Molly sighed.

The conversation was trailing off, but so much more needed to be said. So much that wanted to be left unsaid, perhaps if it isn't mentioned- it isn't real…

John took one of the books and ran his fingers over the letters. "Braille, I should have known," he chastised himself. Why didn't I anticipate his actions, prevent all this? I mean, I didn't know he would readily accept this. I had thought about it, but he's been fighting every single form of change, even in the slightest, from the time I found out his prognosis. Medicine is of no help to him now, and he knows it so seeking their expertise on this at hospital is useless. He refuses to visit them. Getting his phone setting on the automated voice took some strong convincing from Lestrade and me, we had to mention over and over on just how important it was that he could understand text messages, especially about the cases."

Mary nodded solemnly, picking up where her husband left off, "Yes, when you're at works Molly, we two will drag Sherlock for an outing so he doesn't destroy the flat. That in itself is the lesser of two evils- in a manner of speaking. It saves him from getting too restless, but he refuses help. Doesn't really hit anything. We watch his steps carefully, but pedestrians who aren't paying attention throw him off balance. Yet, won't accept a helping hand. I'm relieved he finally confides in you now. It's better this way."

The young doctor agreed, "Yes, at last he does. He won't admit a word of it, but I know he's terrified. Who can say anything against him? I would be too."

Then Molly went on and explained more of Sherlock's behaviour prior to that huge fiasco, John felt worry building inside him. He knew better than to call out disabilities as hindrances and limitations to independence. The shoulder and leg held him back for quite a time, but that didn't mean being reckless when said limbs weren't in pain anymore. The soldier thought about his own history. At the time, the psychosomatic limp only limited his mobility; it didn't deprive him of freedom though. It was the same with Sherlock, his sight was fading, but only that part of him. He could foresee Sherlock getting himself killed over an insignificant incident (compared to something dangerous- given his line of work) merely because the man didn't know how to stay away from danger, but of course the pompous child would only claim, "Danger comes to me. It's not like I purposely go looking for it. Don't be so dull John."

There was a vast different between the two. Freedom and being reckless.

Sherlock would know the different; his friend would make sure he would before the next time he leaves the flat. The three in the kitchen set about making a list of things to straighten out with man in the other room.


As a united front, they placed themselves in their respective seats before John called his flatmate's attention, "Sherlock, please sit. We have something to discuss with you." Molly added, "please don't take this lightly."

Sherlock complied without uttering a word, laying Estella carefully across his lap.

"Yes? Obviously, it is a serious matter or the three of you wouldn't sit here so silently. I have a string of possible topics that might be discussed. Shall I list them, or will you tell me?" Sherlock scoffed at being forced into this discussion.

"Sherlock," Molly chided gently, "We only want to help and if we all agree to do things the same way, then everyone will benefit from it. Ok?"

He strummed an augmented fifth chord Estella.

Each person took a turn in describing how things would be handled in the future: what rules were set for going outside the flat, the organisation system around the flat to make sure every object would be returned to the designated place after use, what kind of experiments were acceptable to perform in the flat without breaking fire marshal regulations…. Later on, John and Mary described in detail the progress of moving into the upstairs flat, and made sure the consulting detective was welcome there at any time at any hour with the only condition of – under no circumstances are you ever allowed to pick the lock. He mulled it over and finally deemed it as, "an acceptable agreement." Molly spent her half of the discussion reassuring Sherlock that learning Braille wouldn't be a bother at all. "I've always wanted to learn a new language, and now I am. I'm willing Sherlock, I really will help you. Promise. We all will.

There were many tears of frustration and a bit of laughter before finally coming to agreement. At last when the first rays poked out from behind the curtains acceptable progress was made to everyone's benefit-Sherlock of course being the most.


A-N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always-comments (guest comments too!) ,follows,favourites make my day.

Thanks for reading!