Mute

Even now at the age of thirty five, speaking is an issue for me. Shortly before I turned thirty I was diagnosed with Selective Mutism, the answer to my childhood fear of speaking. It was a relief, obviously I wasn't happy with the diagnosis but it proved that I wasn't a freak. I just couldn't help it. It took almost twenty years, but finally it felt like a weight off my shoulders.

Nowadays I rarely speak in full sentences and only really speak to people I am close to and trust. I can normally talk without stuttering, unless I feel cautious or nervous, and as for smiling…well all I need is John for that.

I don't know if my life would be the same if I hadn't grown up with John. I feel that if I hadn't, I would still be Mute, the one who never speaks. Now I'm just Sherlock. Normal Sherlock. Even though I'm not really normal. I took John's advice and got myself a proper speech therapist. I suppose it helped in some ways as now I am the world's one and only consulting detective. But I know that I owe it all to John.

There are times when we go out walking together, to the place where our school used to be. It was knocked down a while ago and is now a public park. There's a bench there, marking the spot where John and I first met. We sit on that bench and we talk, though John does most of the talking. He always has.

"By the way Sherlock" he says, one lazy Sunday afternoon when we're sitting on the bench again, "You never did tell me what you were doing with my trainer"

I give him a knowing smile.

"You and your experiments" he shakes his head fondly, "Things never change"

I wet my lips, "John?"

"Yes Sherlock?"

"Would you…" I trail off, trying to find the words, "…have still been my friend? If I could talk?"

This is probably the longest sentence I've ever said without pausing in between. Even John looks surprised. But he answers my question.

"Probably not" he laughs at the look on my face, "I'm joking Sherlock, of course I would. But it wouldn't have been the same"

"What do you…?"

"I mean…you wouldn't have been you. The whole reason I liked you was because you weren't like everyone else. Anyone can talk Sherlock. But you're capable of so much more"

"John…am I…a freak?"

"Of course you're not"

"But…what if I could speak normally?"

"Then you'd be boring"

I feel another smile coming and I take a long breath of summer air.

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.

But then I let someone into my silent world. And they showed me that fear is only what you make of it.

John shuffles closer to me, so we're almost touching.

And he links his little finger with mine; an action he knows speaks louder than words.