Sherlock

I can't bloody see. Why can't I see? Oh Hell! I must be dead. I've died. Typical. I've died. I'm floating, just a stream of conscience. No need for sight, hearing, taste, touch, smell. But I can smell. And hear. Everything is muffled, but I can hear. I can smell, taste. I can't see. Am I blind. Shut up Sherlock. Maybe if you listened you would know where you are! Right. Good advice. Now take it. I lay as still as possible, sniffing the air. Disinfectant, the perfume of a woman standing next to me, blood. Oh God. Hospital. Has to be.

"He's going to be fine. From what I can gather, he protected you from the blast very well."

"It's only natural though. He is much bigger then me." John. It's John's voice. What happened Sherlock? Put it all together. Right. You save John and the bomb went off anyway. You tried to shield John, it worked, for the most part and then he got torn away in the blast. He's not dead, and neither are you. So at least that's good.

"I don't know how long he'll be sedated."

"It's alright. I'd just like to be here when he gets up."

"You'll have to tell him." What the Hell are they talking about? Tell me what.

"I know." Why does John sound upset? "I just wish I knew how he will react." There is some shifting,

"I know doctor, I know." Time to intervene I think.

"John." I try to reach out but end up knocking something over. It falls to the floor. "John?" The man starts next to me,

"Sherlock! You're awake."

"Why does my mouth feel dry?" I feel a glass being pressed to my lips and cool water flows into my parched mouth. Relief. I hold my hand up to alert him to stop. He reacts quickly, pulling the glass away.

"Better?"
"Much. Now what do you have to tell me?" John shifts beside me. Oh God. It must be bad. "No, wait, before you tell me, why can't I see?" He shifts uncomfortably again,

"That's the thing Sherlock."

"Oh Hell. Just tell me already. You're sweating." John grips my hand.

"Sherlock. Um-"

"Get on with it!"

"You're blind." I sit up. No, that's not right.

"Stop it John, that's not funny!" I try to touch my eyes, bandages. I can't see, and now I know why.

"Sherlock. I wish I was joking. Something is wrong with your eyes."

"Well thanks for the update. As if I couldn't work that out myself."

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Shut up." I'm thinking. How can I fix this? I can't be blind. I use my eyes for everything. They are the most useful thing next to my brain. It's how I find everything out. Everything. I feel John's hand on my shoulder,

"I'm sorry Sherlock."

"Does Mycroft know?"

"About your eyes?"

"Obviously."

"Not that I am aware. He came by and saw you. Talked to the nurses, but they never said anything about your eyes."

"Well he'll find out soon enough." Oh God. This is awful. Why me! Why?

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Me? Yeah I'm fine. What about you?"

"A few scrapes and bruises, but other then that, nothing. Nothing much."

"Good. Good."

"It's all thanks to you." At least he's grateful. At least he's okay.

"Good."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I'm not okay. I'm not okay at all. John. I can't see! I can't do anything now. John! Help me! I'm helpless! I can't do anything. Oh God. "John?"

"What Sherlock?"

"Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it Sherlock."

"Will you shoot me please?" Please, just do it. I can't live like this. Not without my sight.

"Sherlock, you had better be joking." He sounds hurt. I grab for his lapels, I have to make him understand,

"JOHN! Shut up and listen to me. Without my sight, I'm nothing. I can't function. I would rather be dead. I would rather be dead. Do you understand?" He puts his hands over mine, brushing them off his shirt.

"Sherlock, listen. You just have to work through this. You just have to deal." I sit back heavily. He doesn't understand. No one ever does.

"John, can I feel?"

"What?"

"Can I feel my eyes? Will you take my bandage off so I can feel?" I feel him sigh,

"Sherlock, I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

"John. Please. If you won't put me out of my misery, at least give me something interesting." He sighs again before leaning over me and fumbling with my head and bandages. I feel them fall away from my face, I still can't see. Oh God. I hear John take a sharp breath. Oh God. It must be bad. Gingerly I start to feel my face, scar tissue and it hurts. It stings. Oh God. There are my eyes. I can't see.

"Sherlock, are you okay? Be honest." He wants me to tell the truth.

"No."

"I'm sorry." He puts a hand on my shoulder and I shrug him off.

"It's not your fault."

"It might be."

"It's not. I can't bloody see anything. And I can't function. I can't- I can't do anything. I'm useless and it's just horrible. I can't see. I can't work. My brain is going to rot. I'm going to waste away."

"Sherlock. There is something I should probably tell you."

"If it's that I'm a lost cause, don't bother. I already know."

"No Sherlock. You might actually be able to get your sight back." I sit up again. Seriously? I could get my sight back?

"Why didn't you mention this earlier!"

"I don't know Sherlock! You never gave me time to talk!"

"When will I get my sight back!"

"I don't know Sherlock. I don't know."

"Oh thank God! John! You're a life saver! When can we go back to the flat? I want to talk with Yorik." John laughs,

"Sherlock you still can't see."

"SO?"

"So how will you maneuver around the flat!"

"I know the flat. I know EVERY inch of the flat. How many stairs are there?"

"I don't know!"

"Eleven total. Eight, then you turn to your left and head up another four. Easy. I have memorized the flat to the last detail."

"Are you sure Sherlock?"

"I just want to get my sight back John. That's all I want."

"Yeah."

"I guess you can't take anything for granted."

"No you can't."

"When can we get out of here?"

"I'll call the nurse." He stands up, "And Sherlock?"

"What John?"

"Thank you?"

"For what?"

"Saving me."

"Of course. It was my pleasure." He starts to leave, "And for the record, I wasn't having fun." I smile a little, knowing he can see it, even if I can't see that he's smiling too. Until I get my sight back, life is going to be a living Hell for the doctor, but he'll put up with it. It's his way. He'll cope, just like it's my way.

John

Thank God Sherlock's going to get his sight back. I don't know if I can deal with him being stupid, bored, and lazy forever. Thank God he's alright. He would have died. I would have died. Thank God for Sherlock Holmes. Once we get our feet back on the ground, and once we get settled, Sherlock'll only have one goal. Get back at Moriarty. He's going to get that son of a bitch until he bleeds from his eyes. Sherlock will do it, because Sherlock cares. Even if he acts like he doesn't, he cares. Thank God for that. My wrists have been fixed for the most part, for the most part. And I am ready to take on a cranky, grumpy Sherlock. Thank God. Thank God for Sherlock Holmes.

I think this is how I will leave it. I did leave it open so I could do a Part five in which we get a glimpse of a Sherlock Holmes who is blind, grumpy, and bitter. In part five I would probably give him his sight back.

I would like reviews on this, as well as if I should make a five parter, or not. Thanks so much for reading, and reviewing, keep up the good work.

Please review, I'm anxious for this one. First multipart fic that I've done in this set.

Thanks so much for reading.

Until Gallifrey is free,

Time Lord Victorious