Mute

Someone once asked me what my worst fear was. Most seven year old's worst fears are clowns or spiders or thunderstorms. My fear was a little bit different. My biggest fear was talking.

I've always been afraid to talk. Maybe because I'm scared I'll say the wrong thing. Maybe because I feel socially awkward. Maybe because I simply can'ttalk.

I've always been quiet; Mycroft says when I was a baby I rarely cried and by the time I was eleven months old I still hadn't said my first word, which caused my parents some concern. They'd sent me to all kinds of doctors and psychiatrists, wandering if I was deaf or had some kind of autism. All results came back negative. It seemed I just didn't like talking.

It wasn't as if I didn't want to talk; I literally couldn't. It got worse as I got older and started going to school or going out to dinner with my parents. Whenever teacher asked me a question or we were in a restaurant ordering, the sides of my mouth would twitch but no words would come out. My tongue would curl up to the back of my mouth, refusing to make a sound. I'd just sit there, wishing the floor would swallow me up. Mycroft said I looked like a scared rabbit. It used to annoy my teacher. It annoyed my father too. All the more reason for me to keep quiet.

Mother never got annoyed, she just worried about me. She even worried about me when she became sick. HIV I think it was, I'm not sure. But I still remember listening to the conversations she had with father about me as she lay in her sickbed.

"He's not well, I know it. They've missed something"

Father would always deny anything was wrong with me.

"I'm sure he's just going through a faze. He's shy. He'll grow out of it"

"No, it must be something. Social anxiety disorder, Aspergers, something"

Part of me wished something was wrong with me. That I was slightly Autistic or had a vocal condition which prevented me from speaking. At least that would give me an explanation for why I couldn't talk properly. School was the most difficult part; as you guessed I had few friends due to the fact I couldn't speak to them properly. I would spend most of my playground days experimenting. I'd steal items like sulphuric acid and calcium carbonate from the science labs and spend my lunchtimes mixing them together and pouring them down anthills. Not that much fun, but better than playing hopscotch with Sally Donovan.

But mother was getting worse. Father called me and Mycroft downstairs one evening and sat us down on the sofa. It didn't take a genius to deduct what he was going to say.

"It's your mother, boys…" his voice trailed off and he looked up to the light, "…she's very unwell. She might not be around for long…"

Mycroft burst into tears almost immediately. I didn't cry. To be honest, I didn't know how to. It was as if all the emotion had been sucked out of me. I couldn't say a word.

This even made Mycroft angry.

"For goodness sake, you could have said something!" he shouted at me that night, as we were getting ready for bed, "Did you see father? He was in bits! And you sat there and didn't say anything!"

I couldn't say anything, my mind screamed, it wasn't my fault. Why do you have to bully me all the time?

He seized me by the shoulders and started shaking me, like father did when he scolded us, "Mother is dying Sherlock, and you have nothing to say? What's the matter with you? Why do you always have to be such a freak all the time?"

The word "freak" made a ghost of a touch spread down my spine, and I shivered. Mycroft released me, covering his mouth as if hoping the words would go back in. But it was too late to take it back now.

My mind started screaming again; I hate you Mycroft! I hate you, hate you, hate you!

After mother died, I vowed never to speak at all; I wasn't even going to try. Not for Mycroft, not for anybody.

The word "freak" seems to have chased me all my life. It's a lot harsher than my old nickname, the one I had back when I was seven. Mute, they used to call me. Mute as in someone who can't talk. Even the teacher's called me a mute. After a while, they stopped asking questions and simply assumed I was too dumb to speak. I went with it of course, because I couldn't say anything to convince them otherwise. I just continued living in my own silent world, whilst the other children danced around me, laughing and playing games. I didn't have time for games. I already knew what I wanted.

I was going to be a consulting detective.

Even if it meant being the only one in the world.