A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! So I've talked about this theory before in my OneShot 'Something Was Wrong.' where John was shot by Eurus and lost his eye. This is kind of a what happened after he came home after losing his eye. It's not tied to 'Something Was Wrong' but it follows the same theory. Enjoy<3
No matter how much John insisted that nothing had changed, Sherlock knew everything was different.
Eurus had shot him, she had tried to kill John and damned near succeeded. Now, he was less one eye and it was all Sherlock's fault. If only he hadn't been so stupid. If only he had seen her coming. There were so many if only's floating around his head, he could barely see straight.
John wound up giving Rosie to Harry and Clara to raise. 221B was no place for a baby, and John wasn't stable enough to handle her. His sister had wanted a baby since she had gotten clean, and now she had one. Even with the baby gone, nothing was the same.
John's first day home, he burned his hand while trying to make tea. He had missed the cup while pouring the boiling water and it got on his hand. There had been cursing and a broken coffee pot, but John insisted that he was fine and didn't need help.
Then he ran into a door frame. The same door frame that he spent so many hours leaning against while Sherlock was working. He laughed it off, but Sherlock had to leave the room so John wouldn't see the tears of guilt that fell.
After the third time John ran into something, Sherlock started watching his friend closely. He discretely moved furniture and guided John through doorways as inconspicuously as possible.
He hesitated when he was near John. How could the man ever forgive him? He had gone through so much because of Sherlock, and for some unknown reason, he was still there.
One morning, Sherlock was shaken awake by John, the blogger's grinning face nearly making him smile in turn until the sight of the gauze still over his eye turned his stomach.
"Come on Sleeping Beauty, Lestrade called. We got a case."
"I-I- sleeping- what?" Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his eyes and stretching. "A case?"
"Yeah, Greg swears it at least a seven. Get up and get ready. I told him we'd be there in an hour." John hurried out of the room, narrowly avoiding the doorway in his excitement. Sherlock would have laughed if he wasn't so concerned.
The case turned out to be way too easy, not even a four, and John and Sherlock were stumbling up the steps to their flat by nightfall. They were laughing about something stupid, like the old days, Sherlock almost forgetting about John's injury until the man tripped over the coffee table on his way to his chair.
Sherlock was instantly by his side, helping him to his feet and spewing a list of concerned questions.
"Sherlock-"
"Are you hurt? Do you need anything? Oh God, I'm so sorry John-" He froze when John pulled himself out of Sherlock's grip roughly. "J-John-"
"Why are you sorry?" Sherlock froze, he hadn't planned on apologizing out loud. John couldn't know what he was thinking. He would leave and Sherlock couldn't handle that again. "I tripped, you have nothing to be sorry for."
"I-I should have moved the coffee table-"
"You already moved it." Sherlock's breath caught when he saw the hurt on John's face. He knew. Of course he knew. John was brilliant. "Last week. Same day you moved my chair and that stack of books I had been bugging you to move for years." John's fists were clenched tightly at his sides and he was breathing raggedly. "I'm not made of glass Sherlock, I can take care of myself."
