John's POV

Sherlock was hovering around the body in his normal dramatic way. Lestrade was standing in the door post watching patiently and Donovan and Anderson was whispering in some corner.

I, as always, was just waiting for Sherlock to engage in his brilliant deductions so I could say my mandatory Fantastic or Amazing and then we could all go home.

My good mood from this morning had disappeared alarmingly fast when I came down for breakfast and Sherlock had tried to get me to read some silly article about... Oh I don't give a damn but something that didn't interest me the slightest.

This would have been fine if he hadn't refused to read it out loud nor to hand the paper over. I... well let's just leave it at bad things were said and Sherlock ended up sulking on the couch.

Quite frankly I'd had enough with this laziness of his and if he asked me to fetch his stupid phone or read his mail for him one more time I would no longer take responsibility for my actions.

At that precise moment Sherlock bent down and fished out a note from the victims pocket. It was a yellow post it note with a few cursive lines scribbled on it.

"What does it say?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock looked up and reached out the note to me to take before continuing the examination of the body. When I didn't take the note he started waving his hand

"John." He urged. When I still didn't take the note he sighed heavily, stood up and tried again.

"John, the note"

"Read it yourself" I said and crossed my arms over my chest. This should be interesting, I had never before refused to do anything Sherlock had told me to do.

The confused look on his face told me I would enjoy this little experiment quite a bit.

"Oh don't be stupid John. Just take the note"

"Nope"

"Lestrade"

I looked over at Lestrade and saw him smirking. Apparently he was enjoying this as much as I was.

"You heard John." He said and jerked his head in my direction. " Read it yourself."

If looks could kill the look Sherlock gave Lestrade would have killed him right there on the spot. He then turned, walked up to me and held out the note for me to take.

"Take the note John" He demanded.

"Ummmm" I said, pretending to think about it. "No"

"Oh just read the note yourself Sherlock." Lestrade said from the door. "It's not as of you can't read or-"

"Of course I can read!" Sherlock snapped and the froze on the spot.

Sherlock's POV

As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I was doomed. The words had come to fast and had sounded a little to desperate to be entirely believable. They were true of course, the words, I could read, just not out loud and certainly not when others could hear me.

"Then. Read. The. Note" John said and pinched his nose. I'd heard him use this voice before, his military voice, and knew there was no arguing.

"Fine" I snapped and looked down on the small post it note. There were only five sentences on the paper. Five sentences I could manage. I just had to memorize the message, like I had done in school. Yes that would work.

Dear Grewdelinre

No, no that wasn't right. I could feel the panic bubbling in my chest. The letters were dancing on the paper as if trying to mock me. They couldn't find out, nobody could find out. I took a deep breath and tried again.

Dear Gwendelila

No

Dear Gwendel-

"Are you mouthing?" Sally asked. "Yes, yes he is. He's mouthing the words!" She elbowed Anderson and pointed at my mouth. "The freak can't read" She sniggered gleefully.

I could feel everyone's eyes staring at me, burning holes in my head. I didn't dare to look up, didn't dare to see them looking at me as if I was retarded.

I hated myself for unintentionally mouthing the words. I knew that dyslexia was nothing to be ashamed of, 20% of the world population were dyslexic it but still I knew that the remaining 80% thought you were stupid, or lazy, or retarded for being dyslexic.

"You never learned to read? Moron!" Anderson said triumphantly and burst out laughing.

"I'm not stupid." I heard myself say, although It didn't sound like me. The words where weak and hesitant instead of strong and powerful.

"What?" Sally managed before bursting out laughing again.

"I'M NOT STUPID!" I screamed and everyone in the room froze in surprise.

I forced myself to start walking towards the door. I still didn't dare to look up and held my gaze steadily on the floor in front of me. I managed to keep a steady pace but as soon as I had left the room I quickened my steps and by the time I reached the street I was running full speed. I turned into a nearby alley and sank down on the ground.

I felt like a complete idiot. I couldn't read, of course they though I was stupid. I would never be allowed to solve another case. John would probably move out, who would want to live with someone who couldn't even read a five sentence note.

I could hear all the voices that had haunted me through out my life. My teachers telling me I was stupid and lazy. My classmates picking on me for not being able to separate scared and scarred. My father telling me I was an ungrateful piece of shit and not trying enough. My own brother calling me word blind.

I brought my knees up to my chin and clasped my hands over my ears. All I wanted was to disappear.

John's POV

"I'M NOT STUPID!" The sudden outburst brought my chuckles to an abrupt stop. And as Sherlock determinately left the room I felt my stomach cringe with guilt. This had obviously hurt him, and not just a little, this had hurt him bad. Maybe he couldn't read, that was no laughing matter. Sally and Anderson had started laughing again but stopped as soon as they met my gaze. I followed Sherlock out of the room but couldn't see him anywhere near. I walked out on the street and searched my surroundings. If he had got a taxi then there weren't much I could do.

I'd started my walk back to baker street when I looked into an alley and say Sherlock sitting there. Knees drawn up towards his chest and hands clasped over his ears.

I stopped and stared at my flatmate, he looked smaller than I'd ever seen him. I hesitated before I walked up to him and crouched down in front of him. What should I do now. If Sherlock in fact couldn't read, what should I say then. But that couldn't be the case, I had seen him read before, I knew he could read. Right?

"I can read perfectly well John, and you know that." Sherlock snapped at me. I let out a breath I wasn't aware of holding and smiled.

I'm..." Sherlock hesitated, I had never seen him hesitate before. My smile vanished and I gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

"I'm..." he tried again, swallowed and continued. "I'm dyslexic"

I stared at him in disbelieve. Sherlock, the genius, dyslexic. No there must be some kind of mistake.

"I... but...you?" I managed to get out. NO, there must definitely be some kind of mistake.

"Shut up John!" He snapped and pierced me with his eyes. "Dyslexia has nothing to do with intelligence. You of all people should know."

"Then why-"

"Then why am I upset. Because everybody assume you're stupid or lazy when you're dyslectic. Now that you know you're going to start treating me differently, and soon Lestrade's going to find out and then there will be no more cases."

I thought back to our row this morning. I had called Sherlock a lazy bastard for not reading the article out loud for me. My stomach cringed with guilt again

"Sherlock, I would never treat you differently." I tried.

"Oh, please. Everyone I've told has treated me differently. They stop texting, start explaining obvious things and praises me whenever they find me reading. I'm not stupid." The idiot and the end didn't need saying.

I was lost for words, there was nothing I could say. I couldn't promise him I wouldn't treat him differently, and I definitely couldn't promise him Lestrade wouldn't treat him differently.

"The reason I wouldn't read the stupid note-" Sherlock continued."-is because I can't read out loud. It's stupid. I can read it perfectly well in my head but when I try to read out loud I fucking can't. I hate it! I sound like robot with a stutter. Sometimes I even skip words so the sentence makes no bloody fucking sense at all. It's pathetic." His voice cracked at the end and he swallowed hard.

We sat there in silence for several minutes before Sherlock rose and began walking towards the street.

"Sherlock stop!" My hand caught hold of his arm and I spun him around.

I understood now, I understood why Sherlock had reacted so hard when Anderson had called him stupid. I understood why he was afraid that Lestrade would stop giving him cases. I understood why he thought his reading was pathetic. All his life Sherlock had been told he was stupid, that he couldn't read, and all his life he had fought to prove them wrong, to prove that he in fact wasn't stupid at all. And fighting so hard for something all your life only to have it taken away from you by a yellow post it note is, is. Well it's something nobody should have to go through.

I felt Sherlock trying to pull his arm away and gripped a bit stronger

"You know Sherlock-" I begun. "-It's not pathetic. It's perfectly understandable. It's okay to be stupid sometimes."

He looked at me with and expression of utter confusion.

"No, it is not. I can't be stupid, I can't-"

"Yes you can Sherlock! It doesn't make you any less special!. People won't think you're worth any less because you make a mistake once in a while. No listen! It's okay to be dyslexic. You're great and being dyslexic is a part of that. It's a part of what makes you you. And that it's brilliant. You are brilliant. And if anyone, anyone, treats you differently because of this I will make sure they never do it again. Do you understand?

Sherlock looked at me with eyes as big as teacups. After a few second his lips quirked into a smile and I could see the blush creeping up his cheeks. He, however, composed himself quickly and turned around towards the street. He walked with his normal proud gait and I knew everything was fine.

He hailed a cab and we both climbed in.

The trip back to Baker street was quiet, and when the cab stopped Sherlock quickly made his way to the door.

I paid the cab driver and proceeded to join Sherlock at the door to unlock the door.

"Thank you, you know... For everything"

I looked over at Sherlock but he had already fled into the flat. I stayed by the door for a few moments to think about what he had said and a broad grin made it's way across my face.

About a month after Sherlock had told me he was dyslexic I found him with his nose in the newspaper again.

Lestrade hadn't stopped giving him cases and the one and only time Anderson had mocked Sherlock about his dyslexia Sally had slapped him hard across the face and that had been that.

"John, read this" Sherlock demanded and pointed at a paragraph in the paper.

I mused a bit on walking over and read over Sherlock shoulder before I decided against.

"Read it to me" I said in the same way someone asks about the weather. It wasn't an order and Sherlock could say no if he didn't want to. To my great surprise Sherlock began reading the article out loud.

Just like he had said his voice was very monotone and his reading was very staccato. There were a short pause between each word and sometimes he stumbled on the words. But it was perfectly understandable.

When he was done I only commented a mandatory Interesting before continuing with my breakfast.

Sherlock looked at me hesitantly for a few moments before he whispered:

"Thank you." And then continued to read.

A/N: Thanks for reading. Sherlock's reactions and experiences are based on my own as a dyslexic. I apologise for any typos but as I said before, I'm dyslexic. Reviews are much appreciated.

I got a Review asking to use this story while working with dyslexics, and yes you may use this story as long as you tell me :)

Love Phin