Disclaimer; I do not own anything.

First I must formally apologise for being so late on updating. So here it goes...I'M SO SORRY!
I have been so busy writing and editing and Holidays that I forgot to post!

Also, may I just say that I am fully aware that this probably sucks and I'm very, very sorry. I've been trying to edit it and get rid of any and all errors, but I got fed up and just decided to post it. I'm not fully satisfied with it, but I won't keep you waiting. Please forgive me.

But I do plan on re-editing the entire fic when I'm finished. But for now, here it is!

"Try it again."

Sherlock frowned and pushed the indented papers aside.

John shoved them back his way.
"Sherlock..." he warned in his 'military voice'.

Sherlock growled and ran his finger over the little bumps on the paper.
"'Cat?'"

John sighed. The word was 'lips'.
"No."

He collected the papers and put them back in their binder and hid it under Sherlock's desk so he wouldn't find them later and tear them apart and/or burn them again.

"You're not even trying anymore." he accused.

Sherlock scowled.
"I know how to read."

"Evidently not Braille."

"I don't need it!" Sherlock insisted.

John sighed and ran a hand through his short blonde hair.
"Your brother told you; it was either this or therapy of some sort. You're lucky you got off easy with this! Goodness only knows what you would have been if you were forced through therapy! Besides, doctors say this is actually a good coping technique. They say it helps you come to terms with your condition, however long it lasts-"

"It's coming back." Sherlock murmured defiantly.

John sighed and put his head in his hands.
"It's been a month, Sherlock."

A month. A month of treatments, migraines, pills, eye drops and unwanted sympathy and yet his eyesight was still at a 0%. It was supposed to be over by now. Sherlock was completely enraged. And worst of all, he had developed a new symptom; denial. John tried to be optimistic, but the odds were slowly turning against him.

"I'm not learning Braille without reason when I could be working in my case-"

"It's not without reason, Sherlock. It's because you need to learn how to read. We don't know how long this is going to last now. So you may as well try and get used to it."

"No!" Sherlock snapped. He couldn't take this any more! "I am not someone who is willing to have other people lead me down the street when I want to go out! I am not someone who is satisfied with listening to descriptions of things I could see myself! What kind of detective is BLIND?"

John sighed.
"For now, you."

Though he knew John didn't mean it as an insult, Sherlock scowled and stood to his feet, grabbing that bloody cane he hated so much and walking to the door.

John followed him.
"You can't just leave, Sherlock!"

"Can't I?"

He closed the door in John's face.

oOoOo

Sherlock made his way through Saint Bart's, keeping his cane in front of him.

Molly Hooper ran into him coming out of the doorway.

"Oh! Sherlock! Didn't see you there! Um...sorry," she picked his cane off of the floor along with the papers that had been in her hands. She raised an eyebrow as she passed the cane back to him.

"Have you been sneaking evidence again?" she asked flirtatiously.

Sherlock frowned.
"No."

Molly looked at Sherlock, eyebrow raised. She had known be had been caught in a bombing. But he was supposed to be uninjured. Using a cane, the scowl on his face, the way his eyes looked right past her. Well, in a different way than usual. Most of the time he just looks past her to ignore her. But he looks more like he can't see at all...and his pupils...
She quickly put two and two together.

"Oh...gosh. I am so, so sorry."

Sherlock but his lip angrily, reminded yet again of his condition, the one thing he came here to escape from.

"You wanna go to the lab? Usual chair?" Molly asked, attempting to change subject.

Sherlock nodded.
"Yes please." he held out his elbow and allowed Molly to hook her arm awkwardly around his and she politely led him to where he wanted to go.

She helped him to a stool and he sat down.
"Do you...do you need anything? I would be happy to give it to you."

"Coffee. Black, two sugars."

"Yes. Yes...Alright."

Sherlock sat there in the cold of the room, feeling around the desk for his usual microscope. He couldn't find anything but slides. He rolled his eyes. It's not like he could see them anyway.

He could smell coffee. Molly had returned.
"Here you go." she handed him the coffee and sat down in the seat beside him.

He thanked her and took the coffee, the cup warming his fingertips.

Molly cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear.
"So...if you don't mind me asking—I don't want to be rude or anything; just curious...what—Um...what are you doing here?"

Sherlock sipped his coffee, the warmth feeling good on his throat.
"I came here to investigate a case. MY case, I suppose. I need to find my bomber."

Molly sighed.
"I'm sorry. I can't help you there. No other reports of bombings or bomb victims in the past month. There usually isn't much of a body to left to perform a proper autopsy when it comes to bombing. Oh, gosh...that's horrible...I'm so stupid...sorry. But...you may be interested in what I'm working on-"

Sherlock stood to his feet.
"Show me."

"Dead violinist. Lilith Angelina. Poor woman. Died of an undetected growth in her brain. Bruising on the right side of her neck. She was talented. Came in a few weeks ago. Her chart said that she had family waiting for the body. We waited and waited for family or friends to claim the body and bury it, but apparently no takers. She had a donor card and we checked her organs and then her paperwork got lost, so we kept her here a bit longer than usual. We were about to send her off when I thought you would be interested."

Molly saw Sherlock's face light up when she said this.
"Violinist?" he asked.

Molly nodded as she zipped the body bag closed.
"Mmm-hmm. She died right after playing her last show. Beautiful piece. You, um, told me you play the violin...or at least you mentioned it once before..."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"Yes...?"

Molly tucked her hair behind her ear.
"Well...um...I was wondering..."

Sherlock was terribly Impatient.
"Yes?"

Molly swallowed.
"Yes. Um...I don't know much about music but...she had a lot of calluses...she practiced a lot...and according to her website she had excellent skill. She was a professional. She has a few demo's and I know you like music-"

Sherlock sighed.
"Are you going to let me hear it or not?"

Molly froze for a moment.
"Oh. Oh! Yes! Yes, of course!"

She pulled out a laptop and looked up the victim's name.

After a few clicks of the mouse, silence fell. But then, after a few moments, the most beautiful music filled the room. It flowed rhythmically in Sherlock's ears, circling and bouncing off the walls. His fingers moved to the notes he was hearing, playing along with the song with his arms at his sides.

"What was her name again?" Sherlock asked after the demo was finished.

Molly looked down at the chart on the table.
"Lilith Angelina." she spelled it out for him.

Sherlock nodded.
"Thank you Molly. This is exactly what I needed."

He took his cane an stood to his feet, smiling once Molly's way.

"Should I...do you need me to walk you out? Well, you got in here on your own I'm sure your perfectly capable of going out on your own...but would you like it if I went with you? I've got some time left before my break ends." Molly suggested.

Sherlock shook his head.
"No. I need you to finish your work. I have things to do. Goodnight, Molly."

He smiled as he shut the door behind himself.

Molly waved and smiled. But when he left she frowned and pulled out her bagged lunch and did her best to speed eat, trying to make up lost time from her break and preparing to work once more.

Sherlock slowly made his way up the stairs and opened the door to flat 221B.

John was inside, sitting by the fireplace, phone to his ear. His leg was starting to ache as he tapped it against the floor in worry and impatience.
And then he heard Sherlock's footsteps pass behind his chair.

"Sherlock!" he called out, trying to get his attention. Sherlock paid him no mind and continued to walk off.

John rolled his eyes and stood, following after him.
"Sherlock!"

He stood in the doorway, arms at his sides, hands clenched into fist.
"Where the bloody heck did you go?"

Sherlock smiled, taking off his scarf.
"Where else? I met Molly at Bart's."

John sighed and scratched his ear.
"You couldn't have at least told me? I was about to call Lestrade when you came in!"

Sherlock scoffed.
"Please John. I may be a blind man but I am not a child."

John pulled a hand through his hair.
"That doesn't mean you have the right to storm out. You had me worried."

Sherlock took off his gloves and his coat and hung them on the back of his door, allowing John to guiding him back into the living room.
"I was, and am, perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

John swallowed.
"Just...Don't do that again. You almost gave me a heart attack."

Sherlock sighed, sitting down in front of the fireplace, staring at his violin.
"Your concern is flattering but unnecessary. Now please stop mother henning me. It's rather annoying."

John rolled his eyes and sat down in the chair opposite to him, watching as Sherlock pulled out his violin case and say it on his lap.

There were moments when John almost swore Sherlock was definitely going to pick it up this time, but he never did.

oOoOo

It was another day of stress at the clinic and John had been sent home early. Between sitting awkwardly in a chair on the computer all night, uselessly searching for those blasted pictures again, and working all day at the surgery, his back felt like it might break and shatter into a billion pieces if he leaned over. He walked up the stairs, stopping to moan at each one, when he heard the music.

Violin music.

Sherlock had finally picked up that instrument.
John practically ran up the rest of the stairs and opened the door to find Sherlock standing beside the window as if looking out at the street below, violin at his chin. It truly was a beautiful melody, but it seemed sad and depressing.

"What brought this on?" John asked.

Sherlock smiled, his eyes closed as he stroked his violin.
"I can see."

John gasped.
"What?"

"It's only 10%, give or take. But I can see."

It was official. He could see his hand in front of his face. His eyes couldn't focus on anything yet. It was all just a blur of grey and black, so it did not count as actually seeing, but it was something. It wasn't...nothing.

"That...That's...Wow...Um...Sherlock..."

John was in shock. Sherlock was finally recovering. But now his odds were slowly turning against him.

"Um...you...you mind if I..?"

Sherlock put his violin down momentarily.
"Please do."

John grabbed his medical bag and walked over as his friends eyelids split open.

In between the blackness that bound his eyes there was a tiny spot of grey that seemed to be moving. It was mostly colours and shapes.

"Can you see that?" John asked as he slowly waved his hand in front of Sherlock's face. Sherlock's light blue-green eyes followed the movement ever so slightly.

Sherlock nodded.
"Yes."

John watched his friend's pupils reaction to his penlight and tested his reaction time to snapping.
"Alright. Well...this is good news! But you seriously need to go to the doctor. You need to be properly re-examined. I don't have everything I need to test you here. I'm afraid optometry is not my specialty."

Sherlock scowled.
"I'm busy."

John scoffed.
"Doing what?"

Sherlock picked up his violin again and began playing the same melody, over and over.
"Thinking."

John raised an eyebrow. He must really be in a good mood.
"What are you working on? I could help."

Sherlock sighed, striking the strings back and forth, back and forth, the melody unwinding at his fingertips.
"Lilith Angelina."

John raised an eyebrow.
"OK. And who might that be?"

Sherlock was focused on the music.
"A woman..."

John rolled his eyes.
"I think I understood that much."

Sherlock's fingers stopped suddenly, eyes snapping open with a mostly-blind death glare.
"She's a woman. A woman Molly brought to my attention last night."

John nodded. Must be a victim. Molly rarely associated herself with living people, so much so that her social skills were nearing the level of Sherlock's.
"How did she die?"

Sherlock took a cloth and stroked his horsehair bow clean.
"Brain failure."

John picked up the chart on the table.
"Brain failure? Why are you investigating a natural causes case?"

"Something is wrong. Off."

John raised an eyebrow as he read the rest of the chart.

A musician. That would make sense, John thought to himself.
Age: 20. Gosh. She was so young.

He looked down to see footnotes scribbled in Molly's handwriting (or at least he thought it was Molly, for whoever wrote this used a magenta ink pen and had a really girly font)

Died of abnormal enlargement in the left side of the brain. No medical records of any types of problems in her medical history chart. Probably undetected. A lot of bruises and marks around the right hand side of her neck, formed at least 24 hours before death. The more I look at it the stranger it seems.

You left your riding crop in the morgue again last time you came. I'll be here if you want to pick it up

Molly XO

John (Thankful to be reassured of Molly's handwriting) licked his lips and scratched his ear. 'Undetected'. That would make sense. But what about the bruises? Definitely odd.

"Do you need me to read this out to you?"

Sherlock nodded.
"Yes. That would help."

John cleared his throat.
"Um...apparently some sort of enlargement and bleeding in brain, discovered postmortem."

Sherlock grunted in reply.

"Um...twenty years old, no bad health, no nothing. Very into her work. Calluses on her right hand-"

"Yes. It comes from being a violinist." Sherlock mumbled, mostly to himself as he rubbed his fingers together as if proving his point.

John raised an eyebrow.
"Uh-huh. Well...there were some sort of bruises on the right side of the neck-"

"Bruises on the side did the neck, formed at least 24 hours before death, probably caused by the neck rest of her violin. By why would she put her violin on her shoulder hard enough to give herself a bruise?"

John cleared his throat and scratched his ear.
"Have you already read this?"

Was his sight that good already?

Sherlock sighed and ran a hand through his curls.
"More or less. Molly read some of it to me. Mrs. Hudson read some out loud under her breath."

John raised an eyebrow.
"Well, that's all. Oh, and you left your riding crop at the morgue last time you went."

Sherlock nodded.
"Hmmm? Sure. Sounds nice."

"Are you even listening to me anymore?"

"Just tea, thanks."

John nodded and put the papers down on the coffee table.
"Yeah. Alright. Well, call me when you need a pen or something. I'm taking a nap. I need some shut eye."

He walked silently to his room, hoping to at least get half an hours sleep.

AN/Yeah, still not satisfied with this. Sorry.
Will put up next chapter soon!