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William looks pretty like that. The pale moonlight reflects off his ruby irises, making his complexion seem even fairer. His delicate features are emotionless, yet the corner of his lips is twisted up in the tiniest of smiles. He appears mysterious as usual, as if he's concocting a sinister scheme in his head, or, on the contrary, as if he's pondering trivialities such as what he's going to eat for dinner tomorrow.
Despite the fact that Sherlock has been living with him for some time, he still has no idea what William hides deep in his mind. Many individuals are like an open book written in the most basic language, and William truthfully used to seem like that kind too. Yet Sherlock finds himself having trouble reading him, more specifically—his emotions. Not that he's complaining, it's indeed fascinating to analyze other people. Observation of William's behavior, small gestures, facial movements—all this makes Sherlock not want to leave him one step. And he relatively rarely does.
And the day that he can finally read him without stuttering will be the most wonderful day of his life.
Lying in a clearing with stars scattered overhead seems like a good way to make progress in reading William. It's supposedly easier to talk at night, as though the darkness is miraculously untying tongues and bringing the mind to a state of comfort
Lately, they have conversations mostly only about the case they are working on, and Sherlock secretly wishes to take on deeper topics with William. How does William feel about things like love, for example? Has he ever been in love? Sherlock is dying to find out, but something constantly stops him from asking. A peculiar sense of insecurity.
Therefore, Sherlock waits for such topics to come up on its own. Forcing things is never good, especially in things like his relationship with William.
Relationship. What is the nature of their relationship? They’re so close, yet somehow distant. With a wide mutual understanding, yet without exact knowledge about when it has blossomed. Ready to lay down their lives for themselves, but without giving the true reason why.
Maybe he is overthinking it. Perhaps there is a simple friendship tied between them, and it will stay that way. However, the thought of this causes Sherlock to feel a strange tightness in his stomach. Long stares, sleeping in the same bed, delicate touches and other little things make him believe that they might… possibly… hopefully be more than just friends.
“You know that stars don’t really twinkle?” Sherlock says without taking his eyes off William. He’s lying on his side, supporting his head with his hand and absently nibbling at the blades of grass with the other hand.
“Mm, I know that,” William nods slowly, he props up his upper body with his arms, so Sherlock has a better view of his side profile.
“Of course you do,” Sherlock sighs. “Is there something that you don’t know?”
“I don’t know many things,” William looks at Sherlock, but quickly averts his gaze back to the starry night sky. “And I’m glad, because the more you know, the sadder you become.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you begin to feel as if nobody understands you. This can lead to loneliness, and nothing good ever comes out of loneliness.”
Sherlock mulls over that statement, attempting to deduce if it has any hidden meaning. William doesn't feel lonely, does he? No, definitely not with Sherlock by his side all the time.
“So… stupid people are the happiest?” Sherlock questions.
“It’s possible… yet who knows,” William shrugs a little. “I think everyone has their own definition of happiness. It doesn't matter if they’re stupid or smart, rich or poor.”
Sherlock just smiles wordlessly, realizing how much he loves to hear William's smooth voice. There is a peaceful silence all around, occasionally broken by the chirping of crickets. Did Sherlock mention that William looks pretty? Particularly now when a lovely breeze shyly caresses the strands of his blonde hair. Sherlock stares at him shamelessly, his heartbeat accelerating uncontrollably, and he's nearly certain both of them will be able to hear that cursed organ drumming against his chest soon.
“...Turn him into stars and form a constellation in his image. His face will make the heavens so beautiful that the world will fall in love with the night and forget about the garish sun,” William says quietly at one point, most definitely randomly reciting some poem. His eyes are closed, head tilted back.
“Wow…” Sherlock blinks, a bit confused but mesmerized at the same time. “What was that?” He asks, narrowing his eyes slightly at William.
“It's Shakespeare. Haven't you read Romeo and Juliet?” William side-eyes him, brow quirked up.
“No.”
“You should.”
“Oh? Who would have thought you’d recommend a romantic tragedy to me,” Sherlock smiles sardonically.
“I don't look like the type who reads romantic tragedies?” William sounds genuine as he asks that, finally making full eye contact with Sherlock.
“Well…” Sherlock pauses, the answer feeling clumsy on his tongue. “If I saw you for the first time, I'd surely say you are a Shakespeare fan. But once I got to know you a bit... I would opt that you like a different type of literature.”
“And why is that?” William continues asking, face expressionless.
“Uh…” It’s again difficult to compose a response and Sherlock starts to wonder if William teases him on purpose.
“You think I am not romantic?” William takes the initiative, his lips twisted in a smirk.
“Are you?” Sherlock lifts his eyebrows, unusually excited about the incoming answer.
“I asked the question first,” William remarks, the smirk still plastered to his face.
“I’ve never really thought about it,” Sherlock can taste a lie on his tongue, his eyes lowering down. Sudden nervousness prevents him from pouring out his true thoughts.
William gives him a doubtful look, then sighs softly. “I am romantic… in my own way.”
Sherlock can't help but grin broadly. William just looks so unintentionally adorable now, with a faint pink blush blooming on both cheeks and slightly pursed lips. As if he threw off this porcelain perfect mask he often wears and allowed himself to show actual emotions. Ah, yes, this is the rare moment William looks vulnerable.
And to think Sherlock was sure he couldn't get more crazy about this man.
“Oh yeah, Liam?” A mischievous smile graces Sherlock’s lips. “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?”
William's face turns away from Sherlock in a rapid movement, as if he wasn't anticipating this question. His mouth opens for a brief while, but nothing comes out; instead, the silence unfavorable to him lengthens.
“I quoted Shakespeare while watching the stars,” William says eventually, voice hinted with uncertainty.
Of all the things, Sherlock didn’t expect to hear that. He scrutinizes William’s face, searching for a sign of a joke, but in vain. His heart skips a beat or two, into his stomach a weird kind of warmth pooling.
“Well, then I am honored I was able to witness it,” Sherlock says, not even realizing he smiles like an idiot the whole time.
A soft chuckle comes from William, his eyelids drooping again.
As the quietness falls again, Sherlock raises his eyes to the sky, realizing that he has been staring at William the entire time they've been here, oblivious to the stars. They're pretty, soaked in black ink and shimmering madly as if putting on a show. Yet they still cannot compare to William. He's a more appealing sight.
Suddenly, a hand lands on Sherlock's unruly hair (he wears it loose most often recently), gently stroking the strands. His breath hitches when the warm finger brushes his temple, and he hopes that small touch was purposeful.
“Your hair is so long…” comes William’s soft voice, he’s now twisting a lock of Sherlock’s hair around his finger.
Sherlock gazes at William, demanding eye contact, but William is too focused on Sherlock's hair.
Sherlock likes it when William touches him. Even if it is the tiniest stroke of fingertips, it’s always filled with such tenderness. William's hands, although drenched in blood more than once, are delicate and noble, and Sherlock wishes it would stay on his hair forever.
Before Sherlock knows it, he captures William’s hand and without hesitation directs it to his lips, just to plant a tender kiss on a beautifully soft skin.
Scarlet eyes meet sapphire. William seems taken aback, but he doesn't tear his hand away from Sherlock; instead, he remains motionless.
Meanwhile, Sherlock places another kiss, this time along with making a little smacking sound. Actions express more than words, don't they? And Sherlock needs William to understand what this hand-kissing means.
I love you idiot, can't you see that?
It's now or never, no more wasting time on overthinking, no more mixed signals. To use the proper words, Sherlock might require a drink, and he deeply hopes that in this instance only his lips will be enough.
William's cheeks are dusted in pink, and Sherlock feels like on the top of the world—even though his throat is dry as a bone from nervousness. God, this is exactly what Liam is doing to him—makes him feel so ecstatic and timid at the same time.
“Liam...” Sherlock mutters, barely above a whisper, and for a second he feels the bitter taste of rejection when William pulls his hand away, but in a moment he senses nothing but sweetness as William leans forward and closes the gap between them.
It's the series of tentative pecks at first, their lips moving shyly, innocently savoring the new taste. Then the mouths part and warm tongues join, deepening the kiss so that they steal each other's breaths.
Sherlock's heart is pounding, mind hazy, and cheeks heated almost to the limit. He corrects his position, cupping William's face with both hands and making the blond tilt his head back. William makes the most beautiful whimper sound when Sherlock begins to lead the kiss, slowly and deeply, trying to pour out all the love he holds on to Liam.
It feels so good, so soft; the moon is his witness—he’s almost melting.
Why didn’t he decide to kiss William sooner? If he only knew how much happiness it would give him, he would’ve done it without thinking.
Breathless, they pull away after a time unknown; cheeks red, lips glistening with saliva. William is panting, his warm breath caresses Sherlock’s face.
Can he kiss Liam again? No, he probably should wait, maybe say something.
But what should he say? On his tongue only ‘I love you’ is dancing wildly and it takes his willpower not to release it.
He takes advantage of the fact that he still cups William's face and begins to stroke the blond’s cheeks with his thumbs, marveling at how William's lower lip quivers.
“...Sherly,” William is the first to break the silence with his whisper, his eyes locked with Sherlock's.
“Liam,” Sherlock whispers back, feeling like he's robbed of words.
Can Liam please read his thoughts? Hear their echo in his own skull?
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
“I love you,” it is William’s voice, but for a split second Sherlock is certain it slipped from his own mouth.
Wait.
What?
Sherlock can’t help but hold his breath, eyes wide, as he studies William's face. Then he smiles, so wide his cheeks almost hurt.
William confessed. As first. He feels the same. So is he a mind reader after all? Or maybe their thoughts are most of the time identical.
“I love you too, Liam,” Sherlock says enthusiastically, the smile not leaving his face. It's a delicious relief to finally utter these words.
William's features beams; he doesn't appear astonished at all, more like he wants to say: ‘I know, you idiot.’
“You do?” William asks rhetorically.
“I do,” Sherlock nods, “And now… I’m fully convinced you’re indeed romantic,” he teases.
“Oh really?” William arches his brow.
“Mm.”
“So… kiss me again?” William says in a small voice.
“With pleasure,” Sherlock quickly brings their mouths together again, now he feels like he’s floating; love warming every corner of his body.
Could it be the most wonderful day of his life?