John thought Sherlock was simply, well, being Sherlock when he didn't answer John most of the time. Today, John was a little peeved. Sherlock had left his experiment out on the table all night and the flat reeked of the decomposition of whatever was on the kitchen table. If you looked really closely- it sort of looked like the innards of- John forced himself away from the repulsive experiment. He walked straight to Sherlock's room and slammed the door open, Sherlock was actually awake. He was sitting in bed reading. He didn't even turn.
"Sherlock! I swear to god, you fucking arse, can you for once, clean up after yourself!" John yelled. Sherlock showed no sign of having heard his flat mate. He simply turned a page in his book. John was angered further by this display. He ripped the book away from Sherlock's hands. And Sherlock looked up at him with… Shock?
"Oh, good morning, John," he said plainly.
"Good morning!? Sherlock don't ignore me when I'm talking to you!" John growled.
"I ignore you most of the time, why is today any different?" He asked. John fumed hands clenched by his sides. Sometimes he wondered why he lived with this man.
"Perhaps, Sherlock, I am tired of this game, did that cross your mind!?"
"Well, no, John because you hadn't told me," Sherlock stated calmly with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Sherlock! I have told you! Multiple times but you just tune me out and I am sick of it! So when you are ready to listen, come to talk to me!" John was getting ready to stalk out of Sherlock's room.
"John, I don't understand why you're so mad," Sherlock said. John threw his arms up in the air.
"Have you heard nothing I have just said?"
"Well, technically, no," Sherlock responded with a straight face.
"What the hell does that mean Sherlock? Okay, you know what? I'm done with you playing around and feigning issues to get out of problems!" John cried. Only this time Sherlock didn't respond with a smug smile or some witty comeback.
"I'm not feigning anything," he said and ran his hand subconsciously through his curls.
"Sure, you're not, like that time you were really in love with Janine," John huffed but Sherlock wasn't laughing.
"John, I can't hear. Never have," John scoffs at this. "What will it take you to believe me?" Sherlock seemed to be getting visibly agitated which unsettled John.
There was no way that Sherlock was deaf. For one, he talked with such grace and perfect pronunciation. Other than that Sherlock was able to tell what was being said and no one was that good at reading lips. How unlikely would that be? Then again, how unlikely was Sherlock's intelligence? No, there was absolutely no way… But… Sherlock never responded when the person speaking wasn't facing him or in the same room. Wait, how the hell did he play violin? John had found the weak spot in Sherlock's pretense.
Sherlock was staring at him with one of his eyebrows raised.
"Well, John, those deductions took long enough,"
"I don't know how long you're going to pretend. You can't go on forever. So, I figured it out. You play violin, therefor you cannot be deaf,"
"Incorrect," Sherlock stated. John Sputtered.
"What do you mean 'incorrect'?"
"You don't need to hear to play an instrument," Sherlock stated simply. "I like to feel the vibrations,"
"But… Your notes are never sharp or wrong,"
"The upside of being a genius, John," Sherlock said. John didn't want to believe it. His best friend, his flatmate was deaf?
"Sherlock, you-"
"I know. I never told you," Sherlock's tone was flat with a hint of possible regret.
"I don't understand," John said softly.
"You should,"
"I should? This is a lot to comprehend. How have you not told me!? You could have told me plenty of time," John said. He was upset that Sherlock hadn't trusted him enough to tell him something that was such a part of his life.
"You should," He repeated. "When you tell someone that you have a disability, they think differently of you. Why should I have told anyone when I could hide it as well as I did? You were going to live with me. I don't like coddling, John,"
"Why would you think that I would coddle you," John asked in shock. He was not one to coddle.
"Because that's what people do! I'm not an invalid, I can function just as well as any other person," Sherlock huffed crossing his lanky arms across his chest.
"Who else knows?"
"Parents, Mycroft. Didn't take them long to find out. I wasn't speaking at all by five. Finally figured it out. Speech therapy was an everyday occurrence. And the lip reading came naturally." Sherlock said nonchalantly his lips curled as he said Mycroft's name though as if it tasted particularly bitter. "Frankly, I'm surprised that you didn't figure it out sooner," he added.
"Well, you went to pretty good lengths to hide it," John pointed out.
"Ah, you were seeing but not observing," Sherlock smirked. John sighed. Of course. Typical Sherlock.
"Have I ever called you on the phone?" He asked.
"No but-"
"Exactly, I prefer to text. I text you text back. Never once have I called you. You called me once but I refused to pick up and when you got home, you were very angry saying something like I should pay attention more. But that's exactly the problem. I pay attention too much. That's what makes you angry but not that particular day. That particular day, the failure to answer my phone made you angry. You of course didn't observe so you wouldn't have known that I could not have picked up my phone."
"I'm sorry Sherlock," John apologized. He had gotten so angry so many times at his friend when he thought he was being neglectful. Albeit, a lot of the times he was but now knowing what he does, John knows that Sherlock couldn't help some of what john thought was neglect. John pitched the bridge of his nose.
"Next time Sherlock please just tell me if you have a medical issue. Or something I should know. Actually you won't; so is there something I should know?" John raised his eyebrows.
"Well- actually…"