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."

"I never said you couldn't John-"

"Then stop treating me like I'm going to hurt myself every time I fucking breathe!"

"I just don't want to-"

"Don't want to what Sherlock?"

"I don't want to hurt you anymore!" The air between them became thick and Sherlock fought to breathe. The hurt on John's face grew and Sherlock couldn't stand to see it anymore.

He ran from the flat, stumbling on the stairs and falling into the street.

He stayed away for three days, staying at Bart's through the day and Mycroft's spare flat at night. John called him several times, but he ignored each one.

After four days, Sherlock was starting to ache without his blogger, but he refused to go home. He had upset John, and wasn't ready to go home to find his doctor gone for good.

It was late on the fourth night when someone knocked at the door of Mycroft's spare flat. Sherlock cautiously opened the door, wishing he had John and his gun. The only people who knew where he was were Mycroft and Lestrade.

His heart stopped when he opened the door.

John stood on the other side of the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he bounced on his toes.

"Oh good, this is the right place." John's smile already started mending the cracks in Sherlock's heart. "Was a little worried I read it wrong, you know, being half blind and all." Sherlock's stomach churned and he moved to shut the door, but it's path was blocked by John's foot. "Relax, it's a joke."

"It isn't funny John."

"I thought it was." There was an awkward silence for a while, Sherlock wanting nothing more than for John to leave so he wouldn't get hurt anymore. "You going to let me in?"

"No."

"Huh, see I figured you'd say that, that's why I brought a book and snacks. I'm not leaving until you let me in, so either you let me in now, or I sit out here until you change your mind." The stubbornness in John's eyes told Sherlock the man wasn't bluffing, so he reluctantly stepped aside. John nodded and walked into the flat, scanning the modest sitting room.

"I'm assuming Mycroft informed you of my location?"

"Nope. I found you myself." Sherlock couldn't contain his shock. "Come on, I was in the army. I may have gotten shot in the head, but you do know the bullet missed the important part, right?" Sherlock flinched, and John stepped closer. "I got you something." John reached into his back pocket and pushed a small box into Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock was flooded with confusion when he opened the box.

Resting in the box was a black eye patch, made of an expensive looking leather with a silk back.

"Mycroft told me once you used to love pirates." John's voice was soft, but Sherlock could hear the pain in his words. "I was hoping that maybe, if I looked like a pirate, you might not feel nauseous whenever you look at me." Sherlock's heart broke at those words, and he found himself blinking away tears.

"John, I-"

"Don't try to deny it Sherlock, I can see it. Every time you look at me, I can see-" John's breath caught in his throat and he coughed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can see how upset you get when you see this bloody scar." Sherlock could hear the tears in his friend's voice and a wave of pain crashed over his heart.

In his attempt to stop himself from hurting John, he had only caused John more pain.

He reached for John and pulled his friend close, tucking the shorter man's head under his chin and holding him tight. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and returned the embrace.

"I want you back Sherlock." John whispered into his chest, tilting his chin up to meet Sherlock's eyes. "I want you to come home." Sherlock nodded, he wanted to go home too. John moved his hand up to the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him down for a kiss, which Sherlock returned timidly.

"I'm so sorry John. This is all my fault-"

"You think?"

"John."

"Sorry, continue."

"She was my sister. I should have seen her coming. I'm smarter than that, I should have stopped her-" John cut him off with another kiss, this one deeper than the last.

"No. No, you stop that. This wasn't your fault Sherlock. She blindsided us, all of us." John kept pressing kisses to Sherlock's face and lips, slowly relaxing the tense detective. "You saved my life Sherlock. If you hadn't shown up when you did, I wouldn't be here." Sherlock's breath caught as he felt John nuzzling against his neck. "You saved me. So many times." John whispered against his skin. "Please come home. I don't like being in that flat without you. I keep thinking those limbs in the fridge are going to crawl out and attack me." Sherlock laughed, taking John's face in his hands and kissing him lightly.

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, but I'm your idiot." Sherlock chuckled lightly and reached for the gift John had given him.

"I don't need you to look like a pirate to love you, John. I just need you to exist." John blushed and grinned up at Sherlock as the detective started plucking at the gauze covering the wound on John's face. His throat tightened when the scar was uncovered, and he felt another flash of pain, but he brushed it aside and slipped the new patch in place.

"Arrgh Matey!" John growled, pulling a laugh from Sherlock. "Am I a pretty pirate?" Sherlock took John's face in his hands and smiled fondly at the shorter man.

"Stunning." Sherlock kissed the other man again, licking gently into his mouth and pulling a soft moan from John. "But you're entirely too clean for a pirate."

"Oh, I can assure you Mr. Holmes, I can get plenty dirty real fast." Sherlock blushed and kissed the laugh from John's lips.

"Let's go home John."

"Unless you'd rather stay here, maybe send Mycroft some pictures, thanking him for letting you use the flat?" John winked and waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Sherlock laugh again. He kissed John, pushing at the shorter man's coat and sliding it off his shoulders.

"That sounds like a positively dreadful scandal. I love it." John laughed and let out a yelp of shocked glee as Sherlock knocked him onto the sofa.