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“Are you lying on my bed again?”
It’s William who asks this rhetorical question with a voice laced with an annoyance. Like a strict parent who’s about to scold their child for failing school.
Oh, right, William used to teach at the university, he must have developed that demanding tone of voice that made his students tremble.
Sherlock pretends he doesn’t hear him, despite the fact that he is fully aware it only worsens his situation. He has his eyes glued to the book he’s holding and can sense that William is standing close enough to snatch it from him. His head is resting on the headrest, and truth be told, this position makes his back ache.
Sherlock is like a kid sometimes, he knows it but can’t stop. Teasing William is fun. Oh, so fun, especially when it comes to his beloved bed .
William is a perfectionist, Sherlock managed to find out about it after living together for some time. All of his belongings are properly put in a row, his clothing is spotlessly clean and ironed, he gets up strictly at 7 a.m and goes to sleep at 10 p.m. Sherlock is also familiar with his habits; knows that William only sweetens his tea with half a teaspoon (when he accidentally adds more he makes a new one), sometimes he takes naps during the day or that he often goes on long evening walks. He also has a habit of his bed — it must always be perfectly made, with nearly no wrinkles on the snow-white sheets. So when Sherlock sees that bed in front of him, when it practically begs and invites him to lie on top of it, how can he not take advantage of it? Sherlock's own bed on the contrary is rarely made; he only does it when William looks at him with that judgmental gaze.
Maybe it's Sherlock's little sweet revenge on William, or maybe William just looks cute when he's angry.
“Mm,” Sherlock hums, still ignoring William and fighting the urge to smile.
“And why is that?” William asks again, expectantly. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock notices that William’s hands land on his sides.
“It’s comfortable,” Sherlock says, shrugging a little and reading the same paragraph in the book for the 10th time.
“You destroyed the sheets,” William states the obvious.
“Mm,” at this point Sherlock clenches his jaw and holds his breath because there's a chuckle in his throat that begs to escape.
“Are you ignoring me?”
“I’m just reading a book.”
There is a suspicious silence, William doesn't open his mouth or move as if contemplating a life decision, and Sherlock feels a pleasurable thrill all over his body at what is going to occur. He expects a reprimand and the book to be taken from him, but he completely didn’t predict that William would quickly snatch the not really big pillow and smack Sherlock on the side of his head with it.
The hit wasn’t hard, it was extremely gentle as though William was actually afraid to hurt Sherlock, but it still makes Sherlock's mouth fall agape.
...Did William just take his perfectly shaped pillow and let it be rearranged over Sherlock's head?
He finally looks up at William, his book falling idle on his lap, his cheek still remembering the velvety softness of the pillow.
William is smirking smugly, proudly holding his weapon under his arm. No hint of regret on his features.
So this is how we play, Liam.
It's a declaration of war.
Sherlock's lips slowly curl up into a smirk too, he squints slightly as he continues to stare at William.
Then he moves at the speed of light, he grabs the other twin pillow (thank goodness William sleeps with two pillows), kneels on the bed before swinging the pillow and slapping it across William's chest.
William makes no time to defend himself, he leans slightly back, almost letting go of his pillow. It's clear that he didn't anticipate Sherlock's move.
Sherlock is grinning now, watching in amusement as William pouts.
“This wasn’t a fair play, Sherly,” William comments, taking a step closer to the bed.
“Oh, it wasn't?” Sherlock flutters his lashes, “It was you who attacked me unexpectedly, Liam.”
“It was a punishment for lying on my bed,” William basically whines.
“Ah,” Sherlock rubs his chin with his thumb, “Then you should probably hit me again.”
William’s eyebrows lift slightly, more in an amusement than surprise. Sherlock watches carefully his every move, waiting for another unforeseen attack.
Then it comes, another hit directed to Sherlock’s head but, this time Sherlock manages to defend himself by blocking the pillow with his own pillow. It creates a funny sound, and Sherlock can’t stop smiling like an idiot.
It doesn't stop there; William assaults his thighs with greater vigor, and Sherlock is powerless to stop him. In response, he exacts his vengeance by aiming his pillow at William's calves.
Pause.
They exchange glances while raising their pillows high in the air, waiting for their opponent's next move. The tension builds with each passing second, and Sherlock's respiration and heartbeat accelerates as a result of the quick movements he had to make, as well as due to his genuine delight at seeing William so engaged on such a silly task. He looks more than cute, and Sherlock begins to wonder if he has been hiding an inner child all the time.
And then it’s a mess.
Somehow, William lands on the bed in front of Sherlock, all the while madly swinging his pillow. Sherlock does the same; none of his hits are targeted anymore, he just slaps blindly, trying his best to defend himself. William's pillow hits practically every part of his body, once even almost reaches his groin and Sherlock gasps, giving William an ominous look at which William seems completely unfazed, even pleased. Some hits are downright nice to feel, these pillows seem to have softened after making contact with each other multiple times.
They don't even notice when along with pillows-smacking noises, the room is filled with their laughter. Wait, did Sherlock ever hear William laugh? Genuinely, loudly, without filters.... Either way, it's beautiful. He sounds so happy that Sherlock blooms warm all over. Unlike William, he slows down his movements, concentrating solely on the addicting noises of William's laughing.
Sherlock catches a glimpse of William's face and, oh God, that's the widest smile he's ever seen on him. If only he knew that pillow fight can bring William so much joy, he would’ve picked it up earlier.
Their eyes grow larger as there's a single feather lying between them. Their movements come to halt, now their heavy breathing is the only sound breaking the silence.
Did they just destroy William’s perfect pillows?
“Oh... that’s very unfortunate,” Sherlock murmurs, now for real expecting William to scold him and break off their little play.
However, his prediction seems to have failed again because William just shrugs, holding his pillow up.
“I was supposed to buy new ones anyway because they were uncomfortable.”
Oh.
“That means...” Sherlock arches his brow. “We can continue?”
William only smiles wickedly.
Feathers fly everywhere as if snow has fallen into the room even though it is the middle of summer. Even their hair is covered in white fluff, occasionally it falls on their faces, tickling their cheeks.
Sherlock is losing his strength, breathless, full of laughter, with tears of joy shining in his eyes. William looks exhausted, too, his cheeks nicely flushed, his hair tousled.
If anyone saw them now... they'd think they were crazy. Two adult men beat each other with pillows for no good reason. Because it's fun. Because they can laugh together, forgetting reality.
Can this moment last forever? It might be Sherlock’s definition of happiness, just having fun with the man he loves.
Ah, he indeed loves William, though never said it out loud, he believes William and his big brain figured it out himself.
Sherlock loves him with every little corner of his heart, it just feels so natural to love William. And he knows William feels the same, although those special three words never left his mouth too.
Sherlock doesn't know how it comes to this, but suddenly William is flatly lying on the bed and Sherlock is tickling him, the pillows in miserable condition lying abandoned next to them. William's clothed body is warm against Sherlock's hands, his legs raising up in an attempt to protect himself. He begins to look as though he’s choking with laughter, so Sherlock gives him a break, instead he stares deeply into William's overjoyed face.
So adorable.
“Do you have any wounds from our battle?” Sherlock asks sarcastically.
“Surely, I’m hurting everywhere,” William laughs shortly.
“That means I won.”
William gazes up at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Over my dead body.”
“Well, Liam, you are the one who’s lying like you surrendered,” Sherlock remarks, smirking.
After this, William abruptly grabs Sherlock by the nape and presses him against his chest. “Now we’re both lying.”
This sudden movement catches Sherlock off guard, but he doesn't complain. He relaxes in his new position like he belongs there; his ear pressed right to William’s sternum, listening to the rapid heartbeat like it’s a lullaby. He automatically closes his eyes, feeling as William caresses his back lazily.
“Can we go to sleep?” Sherlock mumbles. That pillow fight seems to have stolen all of his energy. It's a sunny afternoon, and it’s a time William usually takes his naps, so a little slumber wouldn’t hurt them.
“Of course,” William says, and it’s like a blessing for Sherlock.
“You’re such a nice pillow,” Sherlock points out, shifting on William’s chest.
“Am I?”
“Mm.”
“You squash my ribs, though,” William giggles softly.
Sherlock immediately rises from his comfortable position to peer at William. “Sorry. I didn't know my head was so heavy”
William giggles again, this time louder. “It’s okay, Sherly, let’s just change the position.”
Sherlock nods and in a moment they are on their sides facing each other, thin pillows under their heads and a blanket made of snowy feathers all around. A ray of sunlight creeps in from behind the window, illuminating the room and thus revealing how much dust is flying around. Sherlock and William don't bother about it, though, as they’re slowly drifting away to the dreamland.
William's forehead is level with Sherlock's lips, so without hesitation he plants a small kiss there; half asleep, half awake. William makes a tiny noise of approval, then a whispered ‘ I love you ’ is heard. Sherlock hears it very well, and his heart swells unimaginably. Did William want him to hear it? Sherlock isn't sure.
Very slick of you, Liam.
And so Sherlock gladly whispers it back, the exact three same words, then he falls asleep, with lips curved into a smile.