After that first case, I started taking on more. I didn't go out as often as I used to since I still had to take care of John. He was very excited about the idea of getting his hearing back so we talked some more to Mycroft to get details. It didn't take long before the morning of the operation had come. It was a bit of a struggle to get John out of the flat as he hadn't left since his return, but we managed.

The operation seemed to take forever. Mycroft made snide comments about my wearing a hole in the floor with my pacing, but I ignored him. Finally the doctor came out and told us it had gone well and John would be up within the hour. I quickly went to John's side to wait impatiently.

It's an interesting fact that there really is an amazing amount of sound almost everywhere you go. Especially in the middle of a city like London. There are constantly sirens going off, horns blaring, cars speeding, people yelling, etc. You get used to it, though, when you hear it every day. It's background noise and doesn't affect you.

When John woke up, his eyes fluttered blearily for a moment before snapping open wide. He clapped his hands over his ears and started thrashing. I was completely taken off guard. Luckily, I regained my senses quickly and wrapped my arms around him as if he were having a PTSD attack. Mycroft must have heard the tussle, as I heard him burst through the door. I ignored him, though. John needed me.

Slowly, John started to relax. Then he tensed again, this time with some force, and pushed himself out of my arms. I let him, watching him carefully as his jaw visibly tensed and relaxed several times before he met my gaze with a shuddering exhale.

"Sh-Sherlock?" he said in a whisper. I grinned as I saw his eyes brighten at the sound of his own voice.

"Hello, John, " I said lowly. He looked up to my gaze again, eyes wide and bright.

"Good heavens, has your voice always been that low?"

I chuckled. "Since puberty."

John smiled back, a bit weakly, and looked around, eyes lingering on the window. "London's always been this loud, hasn't it?"

"Yes."

John nodded shakily, steeling himself up. "I'll get used to it, I suppose."

I smiled. The pride that was welling up inside of me was actually surprising. John was figuratively letting go of my hand. He was walking out on his own. He was doing so well and I was shocked by how proud of him I was.

"Yes," I said, leaning forward to give him a quick kiss. "You will."

Sound

Noise

Too much sound

I can't think

Loud

Noise

Sound

Stop

I can't think!

Arms, strong, familiar, Sherlock

Breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe

Slowly things start coming back to me. With great effort, I force all of those sirens, horns, and yelling to the background and focus, focus on Sherlock. I'm fine, I'm past this point, this point of not being able to even form sentences in my own thoughts. I'm better.

And I can hear.

I pull myself out of Sherlock's arms. I need to do this on my own. I can do this on my own, I know I can. I'm better. It's been so long since... everything, I can do this. I'm better. Finally, I look up to Sherlock.

"Sh-" I can hear my voice! "Sherlock?"

"Hello, John."

My heart jumps into my throat for a moment as I stare at Sherlock. I can hear him! That's Sherlock's voice! That beautiful, rich, deep tone...

"Good heavens, has your voice always been that low?" I ask because it had surprised me. Maybe it just seems different because it's been so long. Or because we're romantically together? I don't know. It seems deeper, though. And then, damn, that chuckle...

"Since puberty."

I let out a laugh, but it's weak and we both know it. I look around. It's still so incredibly loud. I find the window, where all of that noise is coming from, and stare at it uneasily. "London's always been this loud, hasn't it?" I ask quietly.

There's a short beat, then: "Yes."

I nod. I can do this. It'll be fine. I can do this. I can do this. "I'll get used to it, I suppose."

"Yes," Sherlock says, kissing me chastely. "You will."

And I will. I know I will. I have to. For Sherlock. Because he's done so much and I can see how excited he is, every time I make an improvement. It's like he's getting little bits of who I used to be back. I wonder if he realizes I'll never really be that same person. Not after... everything. I can't. But I can try. I can get close. I will. For Sherlock.

Because I don't think I could handle his disappointment if I didn't.

A/N: Okay, I've been getting a few questions about what happened, exactly, to John. Sadly, I don't believe that story will ever be told. For one, John has blocked out most of it. For another, the stuff he does remember, he is not going to tell Sherlock about because it's still too fresh and too hard and too nightmarish.

In that case, I will just tell you that Moriarty locked him up in a soundproof room (one of those that swallows sound so that, even if you talk, the sound of your voice just doesn't exist-these rooms are real, they exist, it's terrifying). After letting John slowly lose his sanity there, Moriarty blasted him with sound, which is what ruined his hearing. The operation in this chapter is purely based on my own imagination: I have no idea if something like this would work for a situation like this. I hope no one knows, because that would mean it's happened. Which is not okay.

Anyway, I hope this answers your questions. Other questions I've been getting, I'm going to continue to not answer... because they will be answered in the next few chapters.

I love reviewers and live for constructive criticism!