Archive of Our Own

Blue.

That was all he could perceive, no matter how far he looked or in which direction he turned. The color blue was everywhere and he couldn’t tell what exactly he was seeing.

Crushing pressure.

His body felt like it was being crushed from all sides, every nerve alight with unbearable pain. Yet, he couldn’t scream. His limbs did not obey his will and he felt as though he was in midair, since he technically couldn’t feel any sort of a surface, of what little he could perceive beyond the pain.

He wanted to close his eyes and slip away, to let his consciousness drift into darkness.

But something was niggling at him, telling him to stay awake.

That there was something he needed to do.

It would be so easy to simply let go. For some reason, he knew that, even if he didn’t know anything else.

Yet, he didn’t.

He opened his eyes.

A blandly decorated ceiling greeted him and he was hit with a flare of pain, not as strong as what he had felt before, but enough to temporarily disorient him. All of his muscles ached, he felt weak and light-headed, as if he had lost a large amount of blood.

He thought back on what could have brought him into his current situation and-

The broken bridge.

The fall.

A warm body pressed against his.

“SHERLY!”

William shot up, uncaring of how the sheets covering him flew off, intent only on the stupid, wonderful person who had tried to save him.

And apparently, had succeeded.

His body protested the sudden movements but he ignored it, snapping his head towards the side that did not have a wall, eyes falling on the figure lying on the bed next to his.

Long dark blue strands were spread out over the white pillow and the person’s head was turned away from him, but William could see the slow rise and fall of the man’s heavily bandaged chest.

Sherlock was alive.

William swung his legs off the side of the bed and made to get up, desperately wanting to go to the man who had saved his life and his very soul.

“Don’t move.”

The unfamiliar voice paired with the zing of metal had the blond cursing himself for not checking his surroundings. He turned around, expecting to find himself on the wrong end of a blade.

‘…an apple?’

“Hello,” the young man with messy hair greeted him with a cheerful smile. “How are you feeling?”

William studied him for a moment, taking in his clothes, his bearing and attitude before dismissing him without a word. There were more important things than the weird stranger at the moment.

“Eh? I got ignored?” the shorter man mumbled to himself with a pout then raised his voice. “More importantly, you shouldn’t be moving around yet. You’re pretty badly hurt, you know.”

William ignored him again, focusing all his attention on Sherlock. “I’m glad you’re safe, Sherly…”

The relief, however, was short-lived.

Unlike him, who was in decent shape for having suffered a fall into a raging river from a tremendous height, Sherlock was completely covered in bandages. From where he stood, William could see the impressions of splints under the white sheets and instantly knew that the other man had likely broken quite a few of his bones.

Turning to the only person who might be able to give him answers, William demanded, “What’s his current condition?”

The stranger looked away and picked up a plate, speaking in a light tone, “Ah…I wanted both of you to wake up to give you this,” he waved the knife with the apple on its point, “but see…I really like fruits.”

“Listen to what I’m saying!”

Sweat-dropping at William’s frustrated shout, the young man said in a placating tone, “Ah, he’ll be fine, don’t worry. Currently, his condition is stable…after that, it depends on his will. Or something like that?”

The assurance that Sherlock was stable was enough to satisfy William for the moment. He was aware, more than anyone else, of the sheer strength of will the detective possessed.

Sherlock would definitely wake up.

Pushing down his rising panic with that small bit of comfort, William looked out the nearby window. “This is…the Atlantic Ocean. A ship heading towards America…”

“Oh! How’d you know?”

William leveled an unimpressed glance at the excited blond, “Your accent, the Single Action Army at your waist…only the Americans carry those around in the open.”

“Woah!” The man’s eyes practically sparkled but William did not let his guard down, no matter how innocent he looked. “That was amazing! I didn’t expect you to be so ‘detective-like’!”

‘So he really does know who we are,’ William thought with a glare, hands curling into fists. He knew that the man was referring to Sherlock.

Smirking at the taller man’s dark look, the stranger said, “See…isn’t what’s written in novels often exaggerated? Even me; they write me as shorter than I actually am!”

“…are you one of those who defeat villains in the western films?”

“I don’t think my way of life is that noble? Plus, both in the books and in the public eye, I’m a dead man,” the shorter blond said then grinned. “I’m Henry Antrim. Nice to meet you! Back in my home country, I often introduced myself as William H. Bonney. Because of that, everyone calls me…’Billy the Kid’”.

William didn’t let any of his thoughts or emotions show on his face, analyzing everything Billy had said. Finally categorizing him as an ally, he sat down on the edge of Sherlock’s bed and said, “So you were the one who saved us. You have my gratitude, Billy.”

Billy gave another one of his grins and started talking about himself, about his work for the United States’ Department of Justice and how he had saved both him and Sherlock. William could not sense any lies but knew that there were ulterior motives. So he decided to cut right to the chase.

“What do you want from us?”

“As you can see, I’ve treated you guys but Mr. Holmes is still unconscious, right? You’ll need someone to care for him, won’t you?” Billy asked flippantly, hiding any and all traces of seriousness from his voice. “The great detective who risked his life to defeat the Lord of Crime and became a noble sacrifice…For that reason, the citizens will think ‘We must surely better our country’…”

William’s lips tightened at the reminder of how his plan had gone awry, even though Billy didn’t know it. Sherlock wasn’t supposed to have followed him off the bridge; he should have been back in London, with his friends and family.

But here he was, badly hurt from saving the one person he shouldn’t have saved yet had chosen to.

He didn’t mention any of that to Billy, though.

“So…hypothetically speaking, if you felt any obligation to return the favor for saving you, would you like to help with my job?” Billy asked, cutting the apples into slices with cute shapes. “My department won’t ask questions about your background. But the people you love, the ones you would have to leave behind…those feelings, you’ll have to set aside.”

Billy set his knife down on the table, staring at the apple he had cut. “That’s the catch.”

William thought about it.

Louis.

Albert.

Moran.

Jack.

Fred.

Herder.

James.

Moneypenny.

Patterson.

He would have to leave them all behind and it hurt, it truly did, now that he thought about his feelings. But he had intended to do so right from the start when he had started planning his death. This was no different.

“…alright.”

“Hmm?”

William looked straight at Billy, expression grim but determined. He had not wanted to live, but Sherlock had saved his life and he would definitely repay that. “But Sherlock’s situation…you must take care of it.”

Billy brightened up and grinned widely, “Then it’s a deal! I look forward to working with you, Mr. Prince!”

William’s expression flattened, “What is with that nickname?”

“Because you’re as pretty as a prince? Or maybe even a princess!”

Life in New York was different.

The city itself was very different from London, but William adapted. There was no room for anything else; he had to do everything he could, for Sherlock.

Working with Billy wasn’t like how it had been when he had been working with his group but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It wasn’t bloody or filled with violence most of the time, but it was strenuous all the same, both mentally and physically.

Whenever he was done with work, William would head straight to the hospital and sit at Sherlock’s bedside, telling him everything about his day. Even if he was extremely tired, he wouldn’t miss those little visits. They were what kept him going, after all.

Billy had often walked in on him sleeping, propped awkwardly on the chair provided for visitors. He had voiced his concerns many times, telling William that sleeping in a position like that wasn’t good for his body.

But William never listened.

Instead of living in his lonely little apartment, William found comfort and solace next to Sherlock. Even if the man was unconscious, William was soothed by his mere presence, as if his demons didn’t dare approach the light that was Sherlock.

One day, while they were walking through the streets, Billy asked, “Hey, Mr. Prince, why did you do all that, before?”

William blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve observed you a lot. You can be sharp and ruthless, but the truth is, you’re very soft-hearted. So, why?”

“Something had to change,” William answered simply, stopping suddenly to buy a loaf of bread at a nearby bakery. “For that reason, I was willing to do anything within my power.”

“Yeah, but with a brain like yours, you could have thought of different ways,” Billy pressed, exasperated when William offered the bread he had just bought to a couple of children peeking out of a dirty alleyway.

Yet another example of his inherent kindness.

William smiled sadly, well aware of all the blood on his hands. He would never expect forgiveness for his sins, nor did he think he deserved it. He wasn’t that delusional.

“Perhaps.”

Months passed, with no change in Sherlock’s condition but William didn’t give up.

He couldn’t afford to.

If Sherlock died, that would be another life on his hands, a life that should have never been endangered.

William didn’t think he could handle it if the worst happened.

“If it weren’t for you, I know I would have taken my life long ago,” he told the unconscious Holmes, head buried in his hands. The bruises under his eyes were horrible and William had taken to using makeup to hide them, if only to avoid potential questions from Billy.

Every night, he was plagued with nightmares of his past sins; the faces of all the people he had killed would feature in them, haunting him and throwing accusing words at him. Even if William truly didn’t regret killing them, he felt guilty for taking their lives. He knew very well that his emotions weren’t stable and his mental state was suffering because of it.

Sighing, William threw his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I often think that I should be in your place, Sherlock. That I should be the one suffering. I would deserve every second of it. Not you, never you.”

There was no response but William hadn’t expected it. He took Sherlock’s hand, cradling the limb with his own, like it was something very precious.

“Please wake up, Sherly,” he sobbed, unable to hold back the tears any longer. He was so very lonely, with no one but his demons for company. His heart felt like it was breaking into a million little pieces, no matter how hard he tried to patch it together.

William knew that he was only holding on because his life was one Sherlock had sacrificed his own to save.

“Please.”

One afternoon, after finishing his work for the day, William went to the hospital as usual. It hadn’t been a hectic day, and had been actually rather tame considering the shenanigans Billy tended to pull him into. So he was earlier than he normally was for his visits.

However, when he reached the room assigned to Sherlock, his heart stopped.

The bed was empty.

‘No!’

William panicked, unable to breathe. He grabbed his chest, supporting himself against the wall.

‘No, no, no…he can’t have…!’

Taking deep breaths, he pushed down his panic, forcing himself to think. ‘Someone would have alerted me if that’s the case…and he couldn’t have left, the staff would have stopped him. Then, the only possibility is…’

Hope warring against despair, William straightened and dashed out the room, not caring what kind of impression he left on others as he scoured the building like a crazed man. He combed each floor, searching for that familiar figure.

At the speed he was moving, William finished searching most of the place in minutes. He looked at the stairs leading to the roof. ‘That’s the only place left.’

He ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. All of the running took its toll on him and William was breathing a little heavily by the time he reached the roof. He looked around frantically, not seeing much due to the laundry drying under the sun.

Frustrated, William took a step forward, just as the wind blew strongly and the sheets fluttered, revealing a very familiar head of dark blue hair. Relief flooded him and William almost sank to his knees at the sight, heart beating rapidly in his chest.

‘He’s…’

Sherlock was distracted from staring at the afternoon sky by the sound of rapid footsteps.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

When he had woken up, he had been confused to find himself in a strange room and with no one around. Finding that he could move about, albeit stiffly and with a fair bit of pain, he had stepped out of the room. Careful observation had told him that he was in a hospital, one that was not situated in London.

Even though he had deduced his location, Sherlock did not feel at ease. The reason for that was because of a certain someone.

Someone he had risked his life to save.

And someone who was nowhere to be found.

Sherlock’s first thought had been that he had failed to save William. Then his brain had kicked into gear and he had realized that his very presence in America meant that the worst case hadn’t happened. If a Londoner had fished him out of the river, then he would have been admitted to a hospital in London itself.

He had desperately hoped that was the case.

With nothing to do and no one to offer him answers, Sherlock had slowly made his way through the building, eventually ending up on the roof. He had no idea why he had done that, since staying in his room would make it easier for William to find him, if the blond was still around.

Sherlock had sighed, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair as he rested his tired body on the bench. Mournful words slipped past his lips, carried away by the wind.

“Are you alive, Liam? Where are you?”

He didn’t know how long he had sat there, but he had been jolted out of the trance he had fallen into by the footsteps he had just heard.

He recognized them.

Blue eyes closed, a smile breaking out on his face when he heard the sharp inhale from who could only be the person in his thoughts. Sherlock waited for him to come closer, surprised when it didn’t happen.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

His words seemed to do the trick and the person walked towards the bench, circling around it to stand in front of Sherlock. The dark-haired man grinned and opened his mouth to speak, only to be shocked when William fell to his knees in front of him, head bowed.

“Oi, oi, Liam! What are you doing?”

William didn’t reply, instead taking Sherlock’s hands in his own and pressed his forehead against them. His shoulders shook and Sherlock was stunned when he realized that the blond was crying.

“Liam…?”

“Why?” William choked out, voice thick with tears and pain. “Why would you do that? Why would you risk your life to save me?”

The blond didn’t know why he was asking those questions. He had intended to assure himself of Sherlock’s condition then escort him back to his room. But all of his plans had crumbled when he saw the man’s face and he ended up blurting out his darkest thoughts.

“Liam…”

Sherlock hurt at the sheer amount of sorrow and despair radiating off the blond. Back on the bridge, he had already told William of his desires and wishes. He knew that he hadn’t imagined the spark of happiness that had flickered in crimson eyes.

It hurt to think that William hadn’t completely believed him but he supposed that it wasn’t William’s fault.

How long had William suffered by himself?

Struggling to take care of an invalid in a foreign country with barely any trustworthy allies?

Sherlock was aware that William’s mental state was delicate, having seen for himself the hysteria and deep guilt in the blond’s soul. With Sherlock in a coma for who knows how long, William wouldn’t have had anyone to support him, not in the way he needed.

Twisting his hands so that he was holding William’s hands instead, he gave them a gentle squeeze. “I told you, didn’t I? That I’d catch you, that I’d save you. Don’t think you can lie to me, Liam. I know that, at least for an instant, you wanted to be saved.”

“But what did it cost?!” William cried, finally looking up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. Tears were streaming down his face, expression twisted in agony and his crimson eyes were dull. “You could have died!”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I? And so are you,” Sherlock replied with as much conviction as he could muster, making sure that William understood that Sherlock would never have chosen otherwise. Even if the scene at the bridge were to repeat, he would always choose to save William.

“Stop beating yourself up, idiot. You didn’t make me jump after you. I chose that willingly, even if it meant risking my life. But, you know,” Sherlock quirked a lopsided smile at a frozen William, “I believed we would survive. So stop dawdling and give me a hug, Liam.”

With that, Sherlock pulled on the blond’s hands, William automatically reacting by rising to his feet and supporting himself against the bench. Arms wrapping around his waist snapped him out of his daze, Sherlock resting his chin on William’s shoulder. The blond didn’t know what to do, overwhelmed by the other’s words and actions.

For his part, Sherlock hummed in delight and relief, happy that he got to hold William. He could have easily lost him, this amazing man who had taken on a heavy burden that would have crushed anyone else.

But William was now free of that life, free to make his own choices and live the way he wanted to.

He smiled when William melted against him, taking care to not put all of his weight on Sherlock, because Sherlock was still recovering and William was just sweet like that. Sherlock’s smile turned a little sad when he felt a wetness on his skin but didn’t say a word; he simply held the other man as William silently cried.

They had all the time in the world now.

The room was quiet, save for the faint rustling of cloth and soft breathing. On the bed were two people, one propped up against the headboard with the other lying next to him.

Sherlock watched as William slept, expression peaceful and holding onto Sherlock’s right arm, as if to keep him close. He extended his free hand, tucking loose strands of hair behind William’s ear before brushing his fingers against the warm skin.

Sherlock honestly didn’t mind the other man being so clingy; rather, he welcomed it.

‘I’ve finally caught you, Liam. No way am I letting you go.’

William hadn’t needed to say it; the detective could deduce for himself that the blond hadn’t taken care of himself during the past few months. William had lost a lot of weight and was even thinner than Sherlock, who had been stuck in a bed. Not even the thick clothes he wore to combat the winter chill were enough to hide how fragile William had become.

‘My turn to look after you, Liam,’ Sherlock promised to himself, smiling to himself when the former professor snuffled and curled up, pressing closer to the nearest source of warmth, which happened to be Sherlock. ‘He’s so cute like this!’

Looking up when the door opened cautiously, Sherlock raised an eyebrow when the newcomer grinned widely. He had never seen him before but he had an idea of who he was, from William’s stories.

“Hey, Mr. Ponytail finally woke up!”

Sherlock snorted at the weird nickname, “You must be Billy.”

“Yep. Mr. Prince already told you about me?” Billy asked in a quiet voice when he noticed that William was asleep, pulling the chair towards the bed and plopping down on it backwards.

“Liam actually lets you call him that?” Sherlock chuckled. “And yeah, he did. Thanks for all your help.”

“No problem. A deal’s a deal, after all.”

“I suppose that means you’ll put me to work when I’m recovered.”

Billy paused at that, looking at the detective thoughtfully. Checking to be sure that William really was dead to the world, he met Sherlock’s eyes. The taller man frowned at the other’s suddenly serious expression.

“What?”

“Did Mr. Prince tell you what he does for us?”

“Not really, but I can guess. In any case, I have no intention of letting Liam do everything on his own,” Sherlock told Billy, completely serious. He had seen the darker side of the world, beyond the mysteries he craved, and understood what the Lord of Crime and his organization had wanted to do.

While Sherlock would have preferred a less bloody method, he couldn’t refute the fact that he understood them.

Sometimes, things had to be handled in the shadows.

He hoped that one day such things wouldn’t be needed, but until then, Sherlock would fight to protect the world William had tried to create.

“I thought you would say that,” Billy replied with a small smile. “There’s something you need to know, but considering your brain, you might have already guessed it. Mr. Prince doesn’t believe you will stay with him. Not even a tiny bit.”

Sherlock closed his eyes, his suspicions having been proven correct.

When William had been filling him in on everything that had happened after the fall, he had been evasive about certain things, like where he lived and the particulars of his work. There had also been strange inflections and hints about London, as if William was trying to make Sherlock think of his family and friends.

“I thought so,” he breathed out after a while, looking down at the sleeping blond. He gently extracted his arm from William’s grasp, instead using the arm to pull him closer and watching as William shifted but didn’t wake. “He’s so smart yet can’t understand when I say that I’ll be there for him.”

Billy laughed, “Hey, that’s pretty accurate.”

“Anyway, tell me what made you come to that conclusion.”

“Let’s see…first, we pay him quite a bit, apart from the expenses for your care, but he only got himself a tiny apartment, if it could even be called that,” the shorter blond recalled, ticking off the list on his fingers. “Second, his self-care is abysmal; he’s using makeup to hide the bruises under his eyes. I admit that he’s pretty good and it took a while for me to catch on.”

Alarmed, Sherlock caught William’s chin and ran a thumb under his eyes, dismayed when a thin layer of powder rubbed off on his fingers. He cursed, “Damn it, I should have looked closer. And he isn’t eating properly either.”

“Yeah. I think he only eats when I or one of our co-workers force him. There’s also the fact that he’s always researching ways to get safe passage to London. But he’s never once mentioned his friends or family. You have your work cut out for you, Mr. Ponytail.”

“I do, don’t I?” Sherlock muttered in a rueful tone. “Ah, well, Liam’s worth the effort.”

He looked back at Billy, “Know when I can be discharged?”

“Not sure, but in a couple of weeks? Your bones have healed but you’ll need therapy since you were in a coma for a while. Plus, you shouldn’t strain yourself much.”

“Eh, I’ll breeze through it. Can I ask for a favor?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“I need a bigger apartment than whatever Liam’s renting right now,” Sherlock said, already predicting William’s reaction and how he could work around it. “Enough for the two of us.”

Billy grinned and waved a dismissive hand. “That’s easy. Anything else?”

“You’re being strangely accommodating.”

“Mr. Prince is one of the department’s valued assets. You’re a potential one too.” The American paused before smiling at the sleeping man on the bed. “And William’s a friend.”

Sherlock had to admit that they had lucked out when they had caught the American government’s eye. If it weren’t for them, they wouldn’t be alive right now. ‘We’d probably be somewhere deep in the river,’ he thought morbidly.

“Rest up, Mr. Ponytail. You’ll be needed a lot soon.”

“Night, Billy.”

It took a while but Sherlock eventually managed to convince William to move in with him in the new apartment Billy had found. The place was a nice one, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, a small study and a living room. It was even furnished properly.

During the course of his recovery, Sherlock found himself stuck in the apartment more often than not. There was a plus side though: William would always finish his work as fast as he could and rush back, which made the detective internally preen and crow in delight.

Whenever possible, the blond would accompany Sherlock to his therapy sessions, as if the man would disappear if he took his eyes off him. Billy took every chance he could to poke fun at them, which would result in the two men glaring daggers at him as he laughed until his stomach hurt.

But the bubble had to eventually burst.

It came in the form of a violent nightmare, making all of William’s progress when it came to his mental state regress and the man retreated behind his shell yet again. He was all smiles and pleasant attitude, but Sherlock could see the cracks in his façade.

Initially, he chose to give it time, hoping that William would come to him on his own, but as days by passed with no improvement, he decided to intervene.

William let out a quiet sigh as he entered the apartment, shoulders sagging as he dropped his composed mask for a brief moment. Exhaustion lined his face, eyes hollow as if he was already dead inside.

Truth be told, William did feel like he was dead.

He was slipping; though he had taken extra care to not make any mistakes at work, it was inevitable that he would eventually do something wrong. William was tired, physically, mentally and emotionally. Cruel visions haunted his nights and never let him rest; guilt kept him up whenever he didn’t suffer from nightmares.

‘Just a little longer’, he thought to himself, removing his coat. ‘Just until Sherlock goes home. After that, I’ll end everything.’

To his surprise, William found Sherlock sitting on one of the couches in the living room. The other man was frowning and he had clearly been waiting for his housemate -honestly, neither of them had bothered to define the relationship they had.

“You know, I thought if I gave you space and showed my willingness to open up to you, you’d do the same,” Sherlock started, voice light in contrast to the seriousness on his face. “Seems like you’re too stubborn. Sit down, Liam. We need to talk.”

William stiffened but did as told, taking a seat on the couch next to the other man. Avoiding Sherlock when he was like this was an exercise in futility; there was nowhere William could hide in the apartment and he was too tired to leave now.

Sherlock had caught him perfectly.

“Will you tell me what’s on your mind or should I start guessing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sherlock tried his best not to glare, as he truly wasn’t angry at the blond. He took a deep breath and dropped his walls, letting William see all of his emotions. Judging by the way crimson eyes widened, the former professor had noticed it.

“Sherlock…?”

“How long are we going to tiptoe around this, Liam? How long are you going to run away from me?”

“I’m not-”

“You are!”

The dark-haired man cut off William’s protest, leaning forward a little. “Not physically, but you’re closing yourself off. If you still say you’re not, then was your letter from back then a lie?”

Hurt flickered across William’s face before realization dawned.

Sherlock was asking him if he had lied when he had told him that he felt that the detective was the only one who could understand him. If he answered ‘yes’ to Sherlock’s question, then William would be saying that he had never considered Sherlock a friend.

He was tired of lies.

“No,” he replied quietly, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Those were my true feelings.”

“Then talk to me,” Sherlock requested, a touch desperate. He reached for William’s hand and intertwined their fingers, hoping that he could ground the blond a little. “Tell me what you’re feeling. Tell me what you want.”

“…I don’t know. I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

Sighing, Sherlock let go of the other’s hand and instead pulled him close, guiding William’s head to rest on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through the soft golden locks, absently noting that William’s hair had grown out a little.

“I’m pretty bad at emotions too. I don’t know what to do in situations like this.”

William didn’t respond, only shifting to press even closer, hands folded on his lap.

“If I was in your place, I think I’d want someone to just be there, you know?” Sherlock mumbled, not pausing in stroking William’s hair. “So that’s what I’m going to do. I’m not going back to London, not unless you come with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it, Liam.”

Sherlock gently grasped the other’s face and guided him to meet his eyes, smiling at William’s shock. “I already told John how I felt about you and that I wanted to save you. He’ll understand, and my brother is too smart to not figure out the truth. Of course, that doesn’t make it all okay, but you are my priority.”

Tears poured down pale cheeks, William’s fragile expression revealing his emotions as he whispered, “You really know me better than I do…Sherly.”

With that, he leaned forward and buried his head in Sherlock’s chest, allowing himself to be comforted for once. William cried like he had done on the roof that day, but this time it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his heart.

Everything wasn’t going to be miraculously better, but it was a start.

Ever since the night Sherlock had confronted William, the two had started sharing the same bed, seeking the presence of the one they trusted most. It was a good arrangement, one that worked out pretty well for both of them.

Sherlock was assured that William was alive and well.

William felt protected and safe in Sherlock’s arms.

It also reduced the number of nightmares the two suffered, the warmth of the person next to them guarding them when the darkness tried to claim them. On the rare days that one of them woke up in a panic, the other was there to provide comfort and peace.

Time passed and they got better, Sherlock recovering enough to join William and Billy on the field. William started eating and sleeping more, if only to stop both Sherlock and Billy nagging him.

New York wasn’t home, not quite, but it was a place that allowed them to heal.

As the months went by and their credibility increased, the two were sent on missions across the world. The first time it had happened, William had actually been told to go alone, but Sherlock had thrown a fit and grabbed William’s hand, declaring that they were now stuck and therefore had to be sent together.

Much to Billy’s amusement and consternation, William had simply shrugged and agreed, only tightening the grip Sherlock had on him.

After that, no one dared to separate them.

Besides, they produced better results when working together and the Department of Justice grudgingly admitted they were a good team. They couldn’t afford to lose two valuable employees.

Not to mention that the two had already paid off the debt they owed and only remained as contractors.

Three years passed.

“I want you to work with MI6.”

Sherlock paused, processed the words William had just spoken and then turned to meet calm crimson eyes. It was a far cry from the dead eyes from years ago, which spoke of how far Willam had come.

“Repeat that?”

“I want you to work with MI6,” William repeated with amusement, holding out a sheet of paper. Sherlock took it and skimmed the contents, frowning when he realized what it was about. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

“I do…but what about you?”

The blond shrugged, nonchalant, but Sherlock could see the hidden longing in his eyes. “It is too dangerous for me.”

“Meaning that the US hasn’t banned you from going,” Sherlock surmised with a nod. “Alright, fine. Pack your bags.”

It was William’s turn to be bewildered. He stared at the other man as if he had grown a second head, “What?”

Sherlock chuckled, sitting down next to William and throwing an arm around his shoulders. He preened internally when the blond leaned closer and said cheerfully, “You’re coming with me, of course. Pretty sure Louis and the rest of your gang would love to see you.”

“Sherlock, I’m a wanted man.”

“Nope, you’re a dead man and so am I,” he shot back in the same cheerful tone, finding far too much entertainment in the way those golden eyebrows drew together. “Besides, are you saying that you can’t disguise yourself?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then are you scared of meeting your family?”

William pulled back, a blank expression on his face. “…you are getting eerily good at reading me.”

“Eh, comes with the job. Well, your answer?”

“A little,” William admitted. “I’m scared how they’ll react when they find out that I survived and didn’t contact them.”

“I’m the same, Liam. But I think we’re ready. We’ve got a good chance to go home here; we should take it.”

William supposed Sherlock was right but there was still a little bit of fear holding him back.

What if Louis hated him for leaving him behind?

What if everyone else didn’t want him to come back?

A flick to his forehead brought him out of his depressing thoughts and William blinked up at Sherlock who was eyeing him with exasperation.

“Stop thinking stupid thoughts,” he ordered, shaking the blond a little. “We will go to London, bear all the inevitable scolding with grace, finish our job and decide what to do after that.”

“Since when do you get to make decisions?”

“Since you are dawdling and I’d like to be done with this conversation so that we can cuddle.”

William rolled his eyes fondly and nodded, but couldn’t help one last thing. “I can’t stay in England permanently.”

“Then we’ll come back to New York or go wherever we want to.”

William’s breath caught.

We.

Sherlock had casually implied that both of them would leave England once they were done, that he would follow William. The weight of that floored him.

“You would stay with me?”

“I’d be a bad partner and lover if I didn’t,” Sherlock snorted. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

The promise Sherlock was referring to was the promise he had made to William when they had gotten together, almost two years ago.

From the start, they had been aware that their feelings towards each other weren’t strictly platonic but neither had made a move. As they had been back then, they hadn’t been in a place to pursue romantic relationships, too focused on healing, mentally and physically.

Still, they had sought comfort in each other, content with what they had.

Their relationship hadn’t needed labels back then and nor did it now. Sherlock and William just wanted one another.

William had been the one to confess first, under the starry sky on a night when neither had been able to sleep. The confession hadn’t come as a surprise, since they had been dancing around the topic for weeks before that.

But that had been enough.

Sherlock had responded in kind, all cheer and goofy grins, literally sweeping the blond off his feet and twirling him around in circles. That was when Sherlock had promised that no matter what they did and where they went, they would always be together.

Should they be separated somehow, Sherlock would always return to William.

“…okay.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ll come with you to London.”

Sherlock grinned victoriously, wrapping his arms around his lover and hugging him tightly. “Everything will be fine, Liam. I bet that Louis will tackle you into a hug when he sees you and then try to stab me for keeping you away for so long.”

“And I will watch that with a smile,” William retorted with a smirk, forgetting his worries for the moment. He extracted himself from Sherlock and stood up, considering his lover then leaning down to kiss him briefly.

Sherlock made a noise of protest when he pulled away, trying to grab the blond who danced away and out of reach.

“Get back here and kiss me properly, Liam!”

Tendrils of fear gripped his heart when the train started pulling into the station, the whistle announcing their arrival at London. William and Sherlock had taken a rather convoluted route to the city, keeping to the less urban areas to avoid any possibility of someone recognizing them.

William froze up the instant he stepped out of the station, panic overwhelming him and blocking his senses. It was an irrational fear that he would be recognized and pull Sherlock into danger alongside him. He knew that everything was fine, yet he couldn’t stop his traitorous brain.

Warmth and strong arms around his waist broke William out of the trance he had fallen into, and he focused on the sensations he felt. Sapphire eyes were staring into his crimson, filled with worry and affection, the concern easing a little when Sherlock noticed that William had returned to reality.

Sherlock had grabbed William’s hand the second he had detected the panic attack and had dragged him into the nearest alleyway, seeking out a shadowy corner. After pushing the blond against the wall, he had hugged him. It might be an odd way to draw someone out of a panic attack but it was what worked for them.

Sighing in relief when William’s eyes cleared, he captured his lover’s lips in a kiss, deepening it when William clung to him desperately. Both of them were affected by their return to London but they knew that they would be fine.

They just needed some time.

Breaking away from the kiss, William rested his forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder, panting a little. “I’m sorry, Sherly,” he murmured, feeling a little ashamed for freaking out, even if Sherlock wouldn’t judge him. “It’s just…”

“It’s alright, Liam. Take your time.”

“No, we should go. It’s not safe out here in the open.”

Sherlock eyed the blond and nodded; William’s fingers were trembling a little but he looked steady otherwise.

“Alright then.”

The members of MI6 were scattered throughout the room, deep in discussion when there was a knock.

Moneypenny, who was pouring tea for everyone, looked in the direction of the door with a frown. “I wonder who it is…We don’t have any appointments today and I told them not to let in guests when we have a meeting.”

James looked at her then walked towards the door. “Let me check it.”

He turned the knob, wondering just who had managed to get past the guards. “Who is it…?”

An elderly gentleman stood in the hallway, bowing slightly. “Good morning, Mr. Bond.”

James’ eyes widened then narrowed in suspicion, even as he kept a friendly smile on his face. “How do you know my name?”

“Back then, in the alley, when I accidentally dropped my book…I asked for your name when you kindly picked it up for me,” the man answered.

‘I don’t remember it at all,’ James thought, his suspicion of the stranger growing with each passing second. “So, did you come all the way here just to thank me for it?”

“Indeed, but more importantly…”

The blond startled when the man went into a tangent about his bookstore and his wish to sell them his books, even going so far as to wax poetic about certain books. To be precise, the books that John Watson had published under the name of Conan Doyle.

James had to suppress a flinch when A Scandal in Bohemia was pushed into his face, the man saying, “Do you know its famous last scene? Don’t you think that it’s impossible that the great detective Sherlock Holmes couldn’t see through Adler’s male disguise?”

“Ahaha…I wonder if it’s true…” the blond replied with a forced smile, mumbling under his breath, “Just don’t ask me…”

When the man brought out more books, however, he had to stop him. “Wait, wait a minute!”

Internally sighing in relief when the passionate speech was cut off, James said, “I apologize. Unfortunately, we don’t accept these kinds of wares.”

The man didn’t look discouraged. “What a shame…In that case, I will give you the book as a token of appreciation for your kindness. You see that bookend there? If you put four more books, the gap will be filled up nicely. It doesn’t look good if you leave it as it is now.”

The sudden change in topic threw him off and James had to turn back to confirm the stranger’s observation, seeing that he was right.

“Well, it may be so, but…”

He trailed off, eyes widening when he saw just who was standing in front of him.

“Hey,” Sherlock greeted him, long dark hair floating around his shoulders. The suit he was wearing was completely different from the casual clothes he used to wear, but it was undoubtedly Sherlock Holmes. “Long time no see, huh?”

James couldn’t believe his eyes; a man who had been missing for three years, had suddenly appeared without warning.

“Sher-”

Sherlock held a finger to his mouth, shushing him with a smirk. “Now, we’re even, aren’t we?”

“Even..? What do you…? Don’t tell me…about that time…?”

Taking in the dark-haired man’s faint smile, James looked away, still stunned. “Sorry…it’s just…”

“I know, right?” Sherlock shrugged his shoulders, eyes flickering to the hallway once before focusing on James again. “That’s why, I’ll tell you everything…about how I survived, why I’m here and…”

When she heard footsteps, Moneypenny assumed James had sent away whoever had come and turned around, “Thank you, Bo-”

But it wasn’t the blond who had stepped inside.

All the occupants of the room startled, eyes wide as if they were seeing a ghost.

Louis was the first to react, uttering, “Sherlock Holmes…”

Sherlock didn’t respond to him though, instead turning to face a specific person. Mycroft Holmes stood as still as a statue, not saying a word. His expression was blank, with no hint of emotion and Sherlock had to look away, breaking eye contact.

He didn’t know what to say to his brother. They hadn’t been very close, but they had had a good relationship.

Mycroft took a step forward, moving to the trolley to pour himself a cup of tea. Sherlock opened his mouth uncertainly, “Brother…”

He cut himself off, however, looking away once again.

Mycroft picked up the jug and poured milk into his tea, a few drops splashing onto the lace. He, who never had been anything but perfect, had spilled milk. No one commented though, having not noticed. Raising the cup to his mouth, Mycroft took a sip, in a hidden attempt to calm himself.

But when he placed the teacup on its saucer, it clattered a little, drawing Sherlock’s attention. Sapphire blue eyes widened, simultaneously stunned and sorrowed by the display of emotion from the normally unflappable Mycroft.

‘Brother…’

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed in, taking a step closer so that he stood next to Mycroft. He raised a hand and lightly bumped his brother’s arm, murmuring in a soft voice, “I’m sorry.” He swallowed, choking up a little but Mycroft deserved a sincere apology. “For staying silent all this time…I’m really, really sorry…Brother.”

Mycroft smiled, small and soft, his expression losing some of the sharp edges. “Sherly, the fact that you survived…just knowing that, it made me very happy.”

The elder Holmes turned his head, meeting his little brother’s eyes and letting him glimpse the relief and joy he hid deep in his heart. Neither of them had ever been one for extravagant displays of affection when it came to each other, choosing to show it via small actions, which were no less thoughtful.

Sherlock smiled back, relieved.

“I’m sorry, for everything…I mean it.”

Sherlock had no illusions about the troubles he had caused for his brother.

“That’s enough,” Mycroft cut him off, expression serene. “I don’t mind it. What matters is that you came back to me, alive.”

The moment was broken when Mycroft turned, calling attention to the rest of the occupants of the room. Louis, Fred, Jack, James, Moneypenny and Herder were watching them, expressions grim.

“More importantly, what happened to William James Moriarty?”

Sherlock had to blink at the sudden change of topic. It took a second, but when he processed it, he frowned and turned to face the closed door.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft called, questioning.

“Just a minute, Brother,” the younger Holmes answered distractedly, opening the door and looking out into the hallway. Whatever he saw made him roll his eyes and reach out, an exasperated tone in his voice as he said, “Don’t be an idiot and get in here!”

When Sherlock pulled his arm back, a pale and slender wrist was caught in his grasp. He walked backwards, dragging whoever it was into the room, the person protesting weakly even as they stepped inside, their voice quiet but strangely familiar.

Time seemed to stop for the members of MI6 when golden blond hair and bright crimson eyes came into view. The person was dressed in a simple white shirt and black pants, paired with a sleek black jacket that was partly buttoned up and no tie. Their hair was long, held back with a dark blue ribbon that stood out brilliantly against the brightly colored strands.

William James Moriarty stood just in front of the closed door, expression uncertain with a trace of worry.

No one moved, all stunned by his appearance.

On his part, William studied his friends closely, relieved when they seemed to be doing well. His attention focused on his younger brother, heart clenching in pain at how much harsher Louis appeared but also accepting it. He had known that despite his intention to keep his brother out of this lifestyle, Louis would never sit back quietly.

“It’s been a while…everyone.”

His voice seemed to be the trigger that woke everyone.

William’s back hit the door with a thud as Louis threw himself at him, having literally launched himself across the room in his mad dash to reach his brother. He had even vaulted over the couch, not caring how he appeared to everyone else, startling Fred and Herder.

“Brother…!”

The youngest Moriarty clung to his brother like a child, arms wrapped around William’s torso in a vice-like grip. Three years; he had spent three long years wondering what had happened to his brother, hoping against hope that he’d see him again.

And here he was, alive and well.

“Louis,” William murmured, a little awed at the depth of emotion his brother showed. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he buried his face in Louis’ neck, holding his younger brother close. It didn’t matter that they were grown adults; only their love for each other did.

“I’m sorry, Louis. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, brother. What matters is that you’re alive,” Louis said in reply to William’s apologies, voice partially muffled since his face was pressed into the older blond’s chest.

William shook his head. “Not just that. I realized that I hurt you when I had planned to die,” he explained, voice shaking as he tried to put together everything he had wanted to say when he saw his brothers again. “I was so lost in my own pain that I failed to recognize yours.”

“I understand. I only wish that I could have been of help to you back then,” Louis replied in an equally shaky voice, spilling all the tears he had held back the past three years. There was no need to grieve in the darkness anymore. “I’m really, really happy to see you again, Brother. I love you.”

“…thank you, Louis. I love you too, so very much.”

“Will!”

James was the next to join the huddle on the ground, throwing himself over the two brothers with a delighted cry. Not only had Sherlock returned to them, but so had the man who had brought a bunch of people with mismatched personalities together and made them into a team, a family.

Fred was a little more reserved, hovering on the edge. He didn’t want to disturb the reunion between the brothers but also wanted to be close. Jack, Moneypenny and Herder stood a little distance away, the scientist crying tears of joy.

William raised his head to meet each of their gazes, even the blind Herder who stopped sobbing long enough to feel the other’s gaze on him. None of them showed any form of resentment, only relief and happiness visible on their faces.

The former professor realized that Sherlock had been right; no matter what stupid things William did, his family and friends would always be there for him.

After everyone had calmed down and settled in various places throughout the room, William and Sherlock quickly summarized everything that had happened to them since that day.

“So you’ve been in America all this time?” James asked, curiosity coating his voice.

“Most of the time,” Sherlock replied. “We’ve travelled through some parts of Asia, both for work and leisure. Our jobs took us to various places.”

Jack was the next one with a question, “Does that mean you’re here on a mission, Young Will?”

Smiling faintly at his former instructor, William said, “After a fashion. We didn’t come here on orders from the United States. I supposed you could say that this mission is self-assigned.”

“What is this mission of yours?” Mycroft asked with a frown. He had the suspicion that it was related to what MI6 was currently working on.

William and Sherlock looked at each other then at everyone else, saying in perfect unison, “The Entente Cordiale.”

The blond leaned back against the couch, expression serious, “We know that Balmoral has been bribed by Russia to disrupt the negotiations. And we also know that…Moran is planning to assassinate him.”

“If we let that happen, we will definitely have a mess on our hands,” Sherlock continued. “There are chances that this could explode and result in a war if things go wrong.”

“Balmoral’s plot and Moran’s assassination attempt…to stop them is our mission.”

Louis glanced at Sherlock, eyes narrowed, “Even you?”

Sherlock’s smirk was more of a smile as he said, “I’m no longer just a guy who just solves mysteries, Lou Lou.”

Hiding a chuckle behind his hand when his little brother bristled at Sherlock’s nickname for him, William cut in before Louis could break out the knives and attempt to skewer the younger Holmes.

“Well then, shall we prepare and go to lay out our own traps now?”

Former enemies, who had been on opposite sides, now stand together to fulfil their atonement.