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Lestrade handed a case file to Sherlock. He grimaced slightly at it before opening it up with a shrug.
"Now, we've got her with Donovan," Lestrade explained. "She's probably a bit shaken up." Sherlock nodded, distracted, then frowned at what Lestrade just said.
"Why is Donovan with her?" he asked in an annoyed tone.
"Well, we weren't going to put Anderson in there." Sherlock rolled his eyes, seeing his point as he closed the case file and headed off to the room.
***
You sat in a seat, some woman in front of you speaking in an attempt to comfort you. You tilted your head as you closed your eyes and tried to concentrate on something. Your ears picked up noise outside the door, then voices despite the thickness of the wall.
"Now remember," a gravelly voice said, "she's just witnessed a murder, so don't try and provoke her."
"What has she said?" a deeper, more soothing voice replied.
"Not a word. Must be shock."
"Take me to her." The door swung open and you focused your attention to the door, where a man with silver-grey hair held open the door. Just after, a man with dark curls, a long coat and a blue scarf entered the room.
"Get out, Donovan," he ordered the woman, who sighed and stood from where she was sitting to walk out. The door closed, and the man sat across from you.
"Can you tell me your name?" he asked. You didn't answer. Looking at his face, you could clearly tell that he was holding back. After a minute, he asked another question.
"Can you speak?" he asked. You stayed silent. It wasn't that you couldn't answer, you didn't feel the need to. "How about nodding your head yes and shaking your head no? Can you do that?" You nodded slowly. This was good. No words. Just movement.
“Are you in any sort of shock?” You shook your head no. The man sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“Figures,” he stressed, then came back to you. “Was it your father that was murdered?” Nod. “And your mother, she’s out of town?” Nod again.
“(YN),” you blurted before you could stop the word from escaping your mouth.
“What?” he asked.
“(YN) is... my name.” You averted your eyes and covered your mouth for fear of anything it might say without permission. You wanted to tell him anything, everything that happened to you, but that wasn’t how it worked. They were your problems, and it was easier to stay quiet and distant from others.
“Can you tell me anything else?” he said quietly.
“No...” you said slowly as you lowered your hand, the word like fire on your tongue. “But you can.”
“It won’t help if I speak.” You closed your eyes and shook your head. “(YN).” No. You were not going to speak. “You can speak.” You opened your eyes.
Why wasn’t he being himself? Why was he holding back and being patient with you?
It wasn’t decent.
“Can I?” you said quietly.
“Yes,” he replied. “You can speak now.”