Chapter Text
"Why are we here again?" Sherlock asks, looking around dismissively.
The place is rather small; apart from the few high chairs in front of the bar, there are only five tables available for people to sit at. The building looks old enough that it stuck out from the rest of the modern buildings surrounding it when Sherlock first saw it while John was trying to force him inside, but it is well kept enough that he can’t tell if the bar opened recently or not. He has to admit that he quite likes the vintage vibe in here even though he will never say that outloud to John.
"Because you need to meet new people!" John answers, excitedly.
"And a bar is an appropriate place for that? What kind of people do you want me to meet?"
It’s 10 PM on a Tuesday, so apart from the two of them sitting at the bar, there is only one lonely older man one seat away from John and a group of three young women sitting on one of the tables behind them. Not exactly his demographic.
"It's very appropriate!" John insists.
"Right… You’re saying that like you didn't meet Mary in a book club."
He is never going to let him live this down. From infamous womanizer to meeting his first serious girlfriend in a book club… Who would have seen this coming?
"That's different…" John says. "And you wouldn't go to a book club unless I paid you," he adds after a few moments of thought.
"True,” Sherlock agrees easily. He opens the menu in front of them and checks the prices of the cocktails. Not bad.
"Well, at least this time you won't abandon me to go flirt with some girl,” he says after a few moments of silence just to be a little shit. "Hopefully."
That earns him a smack in the arm from his friend.
"I wouldn't cheat on Mary!"
Sherlock laughs. Of course he wouldn't. John may have had quite an adventurous young adult life, but ever since he met Mary, he certainly doesn’t have eyes for anyone else.
"And I never abandoned you!"
"Oh yeah? Then why am I best friends with every bartender in every bar that we go to?"
John opens his mouth to probably try to argue that Sherlock is exaggerating, when a blond man who looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo himself approaches them behind the bar, a polite smile on his pretty face.
"Hello, what can I get for you?" the bartender asks. And for once, Sherlock wishes John was still single and would abandon him to go flirt with someone because damn, this is the most beautiful man he has ever seen.
“What’s your speciality?” he asks, leaning a little forward on his seat and raising an eyebrow playfully. He barely registers John lightly kicking him; he is too focused on watching the blond man’s professional smile breaking and turning into a smirk.
“Hmm I can do pretty much everything, what kind of drinks do you normally prefer?”
Oh God, Sherlock wasn’t aware that he was into cocky men right before this moment. What does he drink normally? He can’t remember. He would literally drink poison if this man served it to him.
“How about you surprise me then? I like my drinks a bit bitter.”
“Sure, I can do that,” the bartender replies, his brown eyes almost looking red under the dim lights of the bar. Sherlock is about to open his mouth to further out himself as a homosexual when his friend next to him clears his throat and redirects the attention to him. Rude.
“I would like a Pina Colada, please.”
“Alright, give me a few minutes,” the blond man replies, giving them a polite smile again before moving a bit further away to start preparing their drinks. Sherlock has never been more interested in watching someone make a drink before. Just the way this man moves is mesmerizing, he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off of him even if he tried.
“Down bad,” he hears John mumble but he ignores him in favor of continuing looking as the hot bartender expertly mixes the ingredients of what he assumes is his drink. The bartender doesn’t turn to look back at him as he works, but Sherlock swears that he can feel his gaze on him.
"You know, John, I've been thinking about what you said about me needing to go out more, and I think you're correct,” Sherlock announces while trying to get comfortable on the couch.
"Does that mean that you're coming with us on the trip?" John wonders, excitedly. Sherlock is about to ruin his dreams.
"No, it means we should go back to that bar."
It has only been four days since the day he first laid eyes on that man but Sherlock is a bit desperate about getting to see him again, he didn’t get to talk to him much the previous time. Shortly after the bartender had served them their drinks, two groups of friends walked in and Sherlock didn’t want to distract him while he was working. It was a weekday too, and John complained about them needing to go home to sleep not long after, even though it was his idea to go out in the first place.
Before John can call him out on his bullshit, Kate shows up at the living room door.
"How is going to a bar gonna help you socialize more than a trip?" she asks, resting her left hand on her hip.
"He doesn't want to socialize, he just thought the bartender was hot," his friend responds before Sherlock can say anything. Honestly, he can’t even defend himself about this one.
"How hot?" asks Kate, pushing Sherlock’s legs off the couch so that she can sit there too. Sherlock only lets her because she looks invested in this subject, unlike a certain other friend of his.
"Very hot," he responds simply.
"I want to see him too then. I'm coming with you next time!"
There is a suspicious glint in her eyes but Sherlock chooses to ignore it because if he were to just force John to go with him he would feel bad about ignoring him in favor of flirting with the bartender. He is sure she is probably going to do something to embarrass him as revenge for maaaybe ruining one of her dates in the past, but he is willing to risk it.
“Alright, let’s go tonight then!”
A few hours later, the three of them make their way inside the bar. Sherlock’s eyes immediately detect the blond man preparing drinks with expert movements. Since it’s a Saturday, it is a bit more crowded than last time, so Sherlock tries to act as casually as he can while trying to sprint to the only three high chairs available beside the bar. As if he could hear him approaching despite the loud rock music that the DJ is playing, the bartender turns to look at him, giving him a quick smile before he swivels around to grab a bottle of rum from behind him.
Sherlock takes the seat closer to the center and turns to look as his friends take the other two next to him. Kate sits in the middle one and immediately turns to him to stage whisper in his ear.
“You were right, he is very hot,” she says, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
“Of course, were you doubting my taste in men?!”
“Well… you have made a few questionable choices in the past.”
Sherlock can’t really argue with that. Looking back, he really wonders how he ever felt attracted to these men. Dating has never been his strongest point; he always somehow attracts the weirdest people possible. He wonders if it can even get worse than his last two boyfriends.
“Maybe… but I’m a changed man now.” Probably not but it doesn’t hurt to say so.
Kate and John get busy looking at the menu so Sherlock turns towards the direction of the bartender again, hoping that he could catch his eye. The blond man has just finished making three drinks and he loads them on a tray, giving it to the waiter who now Sherlock realizes looks a lot like the other man. He briefly wonders if this is maybe a family business when the bartender turns towards him and comes to stand in front of him.
“Hey mate,” Sherlock greets him.
“Hello,” the blond replies, hesitating for a moment. He gives him a double take before he adds, “You were here a few days ago, right?”
Sherlock can’t stop the grin on his face when he realizes that the other man recognized him after their brief interaction.
“Yeah! You made me that wicked cocktail!” he responds, not trying to hide the excitement from his voice.
“Ahh yes, I didn’t get to ask you if you liked it. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” the blond says, giving him a soft smile. “Will you let me make you something a bit different tonight? It’s something new I’ve tried.”
“Sure!” Sherlock replies with no hesitation. “Go wild!”
“Great,” the bartender replies. He seems like he has something more to say, but then he glances at Sherlock’s friends whose orders he hasn’t taken yet, and he moves closer to them, greeting them and asking them if they are ready to order.
Several minutes later, when he comes back with all the orders, he gives John and Kate their drinks first and then stands in front of Sherlock again.
He slides the glass to him and says, “I know you mentioned last time that you like your drinks bitter but I think you might like this, even if it’s more on the sweeter side. Otherwise I could make you something new.”
His words could be interpreted as hesitant, but his tone sounds nothing but confident, almost like he is sure that Sherlock will love this. Sherlock lets out a chuckle and takes a sip from the drink, maintaining eye contact.
The flavor is rather intense, and it’s definitely more sweet than Sherlock would have normally prefered; he never was one to have a sweet-tooth. But somehow, whether it is because he is locking eyes with the most beautiful man he has ever seen or because he doesn’t often give sweet things a chance, it’s the best thing he has tasted in a while. It leaves his mouth wanting for more.
“So?” the bartender asks, raising an eyebrow. The smile on his face could almost be described as cocky.
“You got me, that was bloody awesome,” he admits, earning a chuckle from the other man.
“That’s good to hear, I might add it on the menu.”
“Oh, you totally should,” Sherlock answers sincerely.
“By the way, are you and the waiter related?” he decides to ask the question that has been bugging him. Said waiter suddenly shows up and leaves a tray with two empty glasses on the counter a bit further away, briefly glancing at Sherlock before leaving again.
“Yeah, Louis is my little brother,” the bartender responds, his voice sounding fond. Sherlock smiles at the use of the word ‘little’ for someone who shouldn't be more than two years younger than the man himself. Are all older siblings like that?
“So it’s a family business?” he wonders.
“Yes, we own the place along with our older brother but he doesn’t work here right now.”
“I see, I see. That sounds fun.”
The bartender nods and glances at the new customers that just sat on the other side of the bar. He gives Sherlock an apologetic look and says, “I need to get back to work. I hope you enjoy the rest of your drink”— he pauses, tilting his head to the side—”I still haven’t caught your name.”
“Sherlock,” he responds quickly.
“Sherlock,” the blond echos. It has never been more exciting to hear someone say his name before. “I’m William.”
As the night progresses, William gets busy with preparing drinks, but whenever there are a few empty minutes he usually stands close to Sherlock and they exchange casual conversation. Sherlock learns that the two of them are the same age and that Louis is only a year younger. William jokes about how no matter how much time passes, his younger brother is always going to stay a baby in his mind. Sherlock can’t hide the endearment he feels from his face, even if he receives quite a few not-so-subtle shoves on his side from Kate next to him.
A few weeks pass with Sherlock either visiting the bar alone, or dragging his friends with him every time he finds the chance. It’s usually only once a week, since he does have work that he has to wake up for, but he does sometimes find the time to pass by for a beer to unwind after a tiring day. William always talks with him whenever he has time, the two of them getting closer.
With each drink the other man makes him, Sherlock feels himself falling harder. He can’t help but want to learn more about him, wishing he could find the chance to see him outside of this bar too. Both John and Kate keep encouraging him to just ask him out already, but for some reason Sherlock hesitates to break their comfortable arrangement, fearing that maybe William is being nice to him only because he is a paying customer and that there is not actually anything special going on between them.
Today though, he walks into the bar determined to finally ask him out on a date. He is alone this time, and it’s almost closing time, so he hopes William won’t be too busy. Indeed, the bartender is sitting in one of the high chairs beside the bar instead of standing at his usual position behind the bar. He seems to be having a serious conversation with his brother who is standing next to him, so Sherlock hesitates a little before approaching them.
“Yo, Liam,” he greets him
William jerks his head towards him, his eyes widening in surprise. He instantly tries to school his face into a relaxed expression, but his shoulders are raised and his blinking is more rapid than normal. Sherlock stares at him for a moment, surprised too by the other man’s reaction. He had gotten so used to William’s calm demeanor, that seeing him act fidgety for once seems out of character.
“Everything okay?” he asks before William has the chance to reply.
Louis gives his brother a look that Sherlock can’t interpet before walking towards one of the now empty tables to clean up, not bothering to acknowledge him as usual. Sherlock has stopped being offended whenever that happens even if he still can’t understand what Louis’ problem with him is.
“Yeah, I’m just a little tired today and constantly standing for the past few hours didn’t help,” William responds then, patting the seat beside him for Sherlock to sit. “We’re supposed to close in a bit but if you want something quick I can make it for you.”
“It’s okay, I just passed by to say hello,” Sherlock lies, remaining standing. The more he looks at William, the more he looks like he is one step away from passing out, this is not the appropriate time to attempt what he was thinking about. “Do you have anyone to take you home?” he asks instead.
“My house is only three blocks away, I’m waiting for all the customers to leave and Louis to close up and then we’ll walk there together,” William replies, resting his head against his hand.
Sherlock glances around at the five people still enjoying their drinks, most of them not looking like they will be done anytime soon, and decides that he can’t let William sit here and wait for so long.
“How about I walk you home instead? You look like you need to get some rest right now.”
“That’s a nice way to say I look like shit,” William chuckles, but there isn’t much energy into it. Sherlock really starts worrying that he might actually pass out. “And I don’t think that’s necessary, I don’t want to inconvenience y—”
“Don’t be stupid, now. It’s not gonna be an inconvenience to me,” he interrupts him. “Come on, get up. You need to go to sleep.”
William stares at him for a few moments, not moving, almost as if he is not believing this is happening. Sherlock starts considering whether or not it would be too rude to try to drag him out of there himself, when William lets out a heavy sigh and gets up.
“Alright, let me tell my brother first.”
The walk to William’s house is as short as he made it out to be; it only takes a few minutes for them to reach it even while walking slowly. Once they are there, William turns to him and thanks him for walking him home. Sherlock is about to assure him that it was his pleasure, when he pays closer attention to the building behind them, specifically how old it looks.
“Does your building have an elevator?” he asks.
“Ahh no, but my apartment is on the second floor so it’s fine,” William replies, even though he is looking paler and paler by the second.
Well, it is certainly not fine. Sherlock isn’t about to let him go up two stories alone while he is in such a state.
“I’ll walk you upstairs,” he declares, already walking towards the building’s door. He turns to look back at William when he reaches it, who lets out an exasperated sigh but doesn’t try to argue with him further. The blond man follows him and unlocks the door, letting both of them inside.
William holds onto the railings while walking up the stairs, and Sherlock follows close behind him just in case. They make it to William’s floor without any incidents, so Sherlock finally feels like it’s now safe to say goodnight and leave the other man to get the rest he needs. William pauses in front of his door, back turned to Sherlock.
“So, I guess I’ll leav—”
Sherlock doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.
His back hits the wall. There is a painful sensation on his neck. Strong hands are restraining his wrists. A cold body is pressed against his.
William is… William is… biting him?
“L-Liam,” he tries, the pain on his neck intensifying. “What are you doing?”
In the time it takes Sherlock to assess the situation, William has already detached himself from him, taking several steps back, an expression of horror on his face. The lighting on the corridor is faint, but at this moment, Sherlock swears that William’s eyes are shining red.
Before Sherlock can say anything else, William has turned his back to him again, his whole body trembling. He abruptly raises his hands to his head, gripping it like he is in extreme pain. Sherlock goes to take a step forward, but before his foot even touches the floor again, a harsh voice stops him.
“Don’t come near!”
Sherlock stands still, dumbfounded. He has never heard William’s voice sounding like that. The other man always speaks softly and calmly; the only times that Sherlock has heard him raise his voice was when the music playing in the bar was too loud and he couldn't be heard. He stares at William’s back for a few seconds before shaking his head. He can’t just stand there doing nothing when William is obviously in pain.
“Liam, can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks as calmly as he can.
He takes another step forward and this time the other man doesn’t try to stop him. Instead, William falls to the ground, his head still buried in his hands. Sherlock rushes to his side, one of his hands carefully touching his shoulder. William’s whole body jerks like he was hit by lightning. Sherlock takes his hand away but stays close.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes him. “Can you please tell me what’s wrong so that I can help? Does your head hurt?”
William nods, but still doesn’t take his hands away from his head; Sherlock can’t see his face.
“My b-brother,” he mumbles.
“Your brother? Do you want your brother?”
He gets another nod in response, so he tries to think of a way to get Louis here without having to leave William alone.
“Can you give me your phone so that I can call him?” he tries.
William uses the hand that’s on the opposite side of Sherlock to get his phone out of his pocket, quickly unlocking it and giving it to him without saying a word. Sherlock doesn’t lose time, he opens his contacts and quickly finds Louis on William’s calling history and hits call.
“Hello?” comes Louis' voice after only one ring.
“Hey, this is Sherlock, the guy who left with your brother a while ago. I’m not sure what’s going on but Liam isn’t okay and he’s asking for y—”
“I’ll be right there, don’t touch him!” Louis interrupts him, almost shouting. He ends the call before Sherlock can respond. Sherlock listens to his words and just stays crouched down next to William, feeling useless. He still can’t understand what’s going on; whether this is a panic attack or something else is going on, he can’t tell.
Louis shows up not even three minutes later, not looking out of breath even though he obviously ran here. He instantly hurries to William’s other side, wrapping a hand around his back. This time William doesn’t jerk away, instead he melts into the touch, leaning towards his brother’s side.
“You can go now, I’ll take care of him,” Louis tells him sharply.
Sherlock wants to argue that he should stay here to help too, but something in Louis’ eyes tells him that he should listen to him. So, he gets up, careful not to touch William, says his goodbyes and starts walking away.
Even when he gets outside the building and cold air hits his face, he still can’t comprehend what went down in the past fifteen minutes. He absentmindedly touches the spot on his neck that still aches and when he looks down at his fingers, he finds a drop of blood there.
Huh? How did that happen?