Work Text:
When Moriarty walks alone on the streets of Britain at night, it's almost always peaceful. Not because there isn't mischief, because there is, and not because he is guaranteed his own safety; which he's not.
But one thing is ensured, if anything. And that happens to be that everything eventually falls right into place where and when it should.
And this, he does know.
The sun is setting and it's his time to make a move. Brother's shabby pocketwatch glitters in his hand from the remainder of light in the room.
"Brother, do you think I'll be okay soon?" Louis looks incredibly pallid today, and there are beads of sweat lining his light hair. He's under a worn blanket on a crooked bed; a sure sign of a poor orphan's housing.
"Of course. What've I told you?" The young boy waves his hands around for emphasis, as if projecting their plan in open air. "Once we get what we need, you won't even have to think of being sick anymore. Do you remember?"
"Yeah," Louis trembles. His breathing isn't stable anymore, posing as a reminder that there is work to be done.
Moreover, he doesn't acknowledge it.
"I'll be back a bit later, okay?"
"W-where are you going now?" Louis furrows his brows in question, most likely putting two and two together that he'll be out making a quick profit tonight.
He has hopes it'll be enough for a wonderful display of food.
"I just have to help these folks with something small," and his scarlet eyes speak for themselves.
He hastily throws on a lavish set of clothes he's rightfully taken from a brute of a man earlier this week. The getup is slightly large, but he can make it work for the time being.
It won't be long from now, after all. For when his plan comes to fruition, he could have as many nice things as he desires.
The older blonde grabs a comb and runs it through his hair a few times before throwing on a cap to match. He pulls up his whitest socks beneath his dark pants, and slips his feet in two shining shoes of which he can discern his own reflection in.
It feels so natural to be polished up like this.
"Hey, be careful," Louis warns before he smiles softly. His eyes flutter shut and he's out within another minute.
"It isn't me you have to worry about, Louis," he fixes the blanket around the other's form.
Louis's trembling eventually ceases, thankfully.
"Goodnight, my dearest brother," he tips his hat forward as he leaves the orphanage, and then he leaves, feeling the welcoming, crisp air of Britain beckoning him forth.
When Louis wakes up from the light of the sun peering through the cracks of the blinds, he knows everything is okay.
His big brother is there, safe and sound and asleep, just like he said he would be.
Brother is never wrong, and the thought comforts him whenever he finds himself alone.
The younger blonde rises from his bed stretching and yawning before he finally reaches out to his big brother's bed.
"Brother," he whispers, gently shaking the other's shoulders. "Can you wake up now?"
"Mm," the other hums in response, turning over on the mattress and cracking a droopy red eye open. "G'morning, Louis."
"Morning," the younger smiles.
"When I was gone last night I— Oh! One moment," the older practically leaps out of bed, movements no different than a spring, and rushes over to the small cabinet at the other side of their shared room.
Louis startles, subconsciously placing a hand over his heart, just like he does when an attack becomes too dreadful to handle.
"Sorry Louis," he says. "I didn't mean to frighten you. But look here," His hands dig items out of a bag that was previously placed in the cabinet a moment ago.
"What is all that, brother?" Louis wipes his eyes with his sleeve before settling down next to his big brother.
"I've got more books," the older blonde grins widely. "I even got special ones for you to read," he hands Louis two, three, four books, and keeps two for himself.
"What've you got?"
The older looks at him with bright eyes, almost visible flames if he squints hard enough. There's a fuel unlike any other time he's brought books back to the orphanage.
When Louis is given an all-knowing, nearly sinister smile, his eyes go wide, and he knows exactly what it is they have to do.
Plunge Britain into the depths of hell.
Soon, they will carry out their plans, and there will be no one— no one else as bright or astute, no one eager or mischievous, no one who will even think to indulge themselves in the midst of their plans— to stop them.
All they need now is opportunity.
Louis adjusts his glasses as they sit. They're currently seated on their way back home to their manor. Albert is currently away, keeping busy as he frequents the locals for intel, and so the train ride between the two stays relatively quiet. Though a nice kind of quiet.
"Pardon me," William beckons the waiter with a raised arm. "We're ready to order."
As William begins to order, Louis can't help but feel an unfamiliar itch all over. It's irking in every way, and he can't quite put a finger on what's possibly preventing him from feeling free of it.
"...drink?"
Oh, damnit.
"I'm sorry?" Louis says apologetically.
"Did you want anything to drink?" William repeats himself with a small grin and a tilt of his head.
"Er, oh. Whatever you'll be having will do nicely," Louis turns to the waiter and is given a nod in response.
"Lost in thought?" William points out his engrossed predicament from before.
Louis remembers everything from back then. He remembers distinctly, the sound of the fork pressing all of it's tines further into the skin of his brother's hand. That look, the wistful smile he had when he told Louis everything was okay, regardless of his knuckles drenched in blood. He's always there. He'd stabbed his own bloody hand on cue of the situation, and didn't complain once.
The time it took until they got where they needed. The agony they put themselves through, as pitiful children living with the snobbiest, most irking nobles in the country. Until... until—
"It's no matter. Let's just eat while it's still warm, shall we?"
They eat in silence for the most part, besides when William decides to assess the numerous oddities of the train car. It's a tedious task, but he knows William can't help it. It's a part of his nature as a professor and crime consultant.
"Would you care for some dessert, dear Louis?" William places a napkin to his lips.
"Surely we don't have time for that—"
"Ah, but we do. We have lots of time, in fact. No need for stress, Louis," he's told. "Everything is happening as it should."
Louis agrees, reluctantly of course.
The waiter informs them he'll be back in a few. Until then, the brothers admire the view through the windows beside them.
The younger distinctly hears someone entering the train car, but he doesn't act on it nor care. Instead he focuses on how the clouds in the sky block out the sun. Somehow, it makes him wonder just when they'll be able to achieve their ultimate objective.
When the clouds will move for them.
And then, there's an unceremonious weight manifesting on the seat beside him.
Louis dares to pointedly glance over, to then find the one who's he's gotten more and more unnerved about in recent weeks. The name being written about time and time again in the papers. The same man being the one on the Noahtic to evaluate him thoroughly; unexpectedly, declaring him a mathematician at the base of the stairs.
As if Louis is just one small part of his game.
This is the very same man from 221B Baker Street, practically begging the world for a challenge, only to find the elaborate one that they set up themselves.
When he looks to his brother, he notices that his striking red eyes become more refined, as if only to study his soon-to-be rival without apprehension.
Louis denies him a chance to talk with William, but the man deduces they have a vast amount of time, considering their dessert is just on its way.
Bloody hell. What do we do, big brother? You always know the answer.
A moment later, as William is furthermore intrigued by the other's presence of cunning and craft, the sun peaks through the clouds, highlighting his older brother's hair. His eyes are ridiculously more red and devious, and it's oddly reassuring to Louis.
William knows what he's doing. He knows what he's doing because he always knows what he's doing, and that has never changed.
It's no matter if Sherlock Holmes is keeping them company on their trip. They will not falter in their plans to stop every nobleman in Britain from taking advantage of the less fortunate. Of people like them. Who they used to be.
He can remember the chants as clear as day: Fight! Kill! Down with bad nobles! Fight! Kill! Down with bad nobles!
Louis realizes the death grip he has on his knife, then slowly releases it as he tunes into the conversation with an easy mind.
I could've killed him here. Now.
It's okay. They're okay and Mr. Holmes hasn't a negative word on any of their names. He can't do a thing. Breathe, Louis. Your heart is more stable now, and it's still beating everyday. He's okay.
Then, there's a gunshot, and Mr. Holmes proposes a deal when they arrive in the other train car; blood splattered and a bottle of alcohol in the corpse's cold hand.
William accepts and Louis decides that he is ready for anything.
They can do anything, just like William says they can.
How dare this man think he can play with William as a pawn in his hand. How dare this man continue to refer to his brother as Liam, informal and giddy throughout the entirety of the investigation.
After they depart the train, Louis makes a mental note to do whatever he can to protect his brother. To protect William.
Moriarty walks alone on the streets of Britain during the daytime. It's almost always inviting. Not because people offer him riches in exchange for his services, because he now has what he needs, but because there is always something amiss.
It's perfect. Everyday, someone will show him another quandary of theirs, and he knows exactly how to deal with it. It's ensured that both parties will receive what it is they need.
For William, he knows that this trend can continue for as long as he and Louis, Albert, and the others, work to ensure the justice of the unfortunate, regardless of whoever is lingering on their trail.