Archive of Our Own

Christmas was in the air, and Barok couldn’t escape it. It was clear in the wreaths that were being hung out in front of shop doors and Christmas trees for sale with snow dusted across pointed needles, and on more than one occasion he’d passed wassailers on his way to and from the office.

Barok had not enjoyed a Christmas in years. The late Queen Victoria had deemed it a time for family, and it had been a while since he’d sat around a table for a Christmas feast. He allowed his staff a few days off each year so that they could spend it with their own families while he’d spent it in his manor, alone. Sometimes he’d go for a stroll, other times he’d stayed inside or traveled elsewhere.

Though, perhaps that had changed, Barok thought as he turned in his bed to look at Herlock asleep and snoring lightly against his pillow. The blanket had fallen halfway, leaving his back open, and Barok ghosted his fingers along Herlock’s spine as the memories of last night flitted into his memory.

It had been a few months since they’d started their relationship, and Barok felt embarrassed at how much he still felt the surreal-ness of it all and how hopelessly smitten he felt most days. It only ever became apparent to him when Kazuma teased him about it endlessly. Even Gina thought it to be funny to bring it up in her own subtle way whenever Herlock took part in an investigation for one of Barok’s cases.

Barok stretched his arms and then got up, throwing on his wool drawers and long-sleeved undershirt. He walked over to his dressing table, looking at himself in the mirror for a moment. The bags under his eyes had relaxed, and there was more color to his skin. He ran his hand through his hair, which looked rather disheveled thanks to a certain someone, he thought, glancing at Herlock in the mirror.

He tried unsuccessfully to have it look somewhat presentable before giving up and deciding to start over after he showered. Before he did so, he reached into his top drawer and pulled out the letter he’d received a few weeks ago.

He opened it and ran his fingers over the name that signed the bottom of it: Blair Morcar. It was the mother of one of his closest friends when he was in university. It was quite a long letter ultimately requesting to see him. Evidently, the Christmas season was also a time for those who had never contacted him before to turn up again now. 

And he had certainly not seen Lady Morcar in the past eleven years when she distanced herself from the van Zieks family name. As for her daughter, Clara, well…

He’d been good friends with her, once, and perhaps almost more when everything had happened. The three of them: he, Albert, and Clara had been closest. There had even been talks about a marriage between the two of them, but that time had long passed. Clara had attempted to visit him once before, but he’d lashed out at her as he did with everyone.

The letter did not mention anything about how she was doing, and if Clara hadn’t changed all too much, Barok suspected that she had no idea at all that her mother had sent it. Apparently, she had returned to London, though, for the first time in years.

Deep down, Barok knew that Lady Morcar he was doing so now only because everything had settled, but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat bittersweet about it, though he wondered if he was mostly riding off of the nostalgia of seeing someone who had once treated him so kindly.  

“Why, it’s a bit too early for you to look so pitiful, my dear.” Barok looked up to meet Herlock’s eye in the mirror. “Especially after such a lovely evening.”

Barok put the letter down just as Herlock looked over at it. “Good morning,” he said. “I imagine breakfast will be ready soon.” Herlock was at least coherent this morning – truly, it was a toss-up on what he would be like on any given morning.

Herlock nodded and hopped out of bed, completely unclothed, and headed for the bathroom. Barok allowed his eyes to roam over him, skin burning, and Herlock glanced back to him as though feeling his gaze on him. “See something you like?” he said with a dramatic wiggle of his hips.

Barok rolled his eyes and shoved the letter back into his drawer. His face felt warm, but with the way that Herlock also looked at him, some of his self-consciousness dissipated. “You already know that I do,” he said. “Stop fishing for compliments. Do you want to shower first or shall I?”

Herlock hummed. “I think we could save ourselves the time if we showered together, wouldn’t you say?”

Barok pursed his lips. Tempting, but— “No. Last time we were an hour late for breakfast. Be glad that Iris has taken such a liking to Lorena’s cooking lessons, or she could have started asking questions about what took so long. And I don’t recall that being my fault,” he said.

Herlock gasped as though scandalized. “If I recall correctly, I believe it was you who suggested the—”

“Alright, alright,” Barok said sharply. He frowned as Herlock smiled, approaching him. “You can shower first.”

Though Herlock pouted, he appeared to be resigned to it as he brought Barok’s face down to his own to kiss him. Before he could break away completely, Barok allowed it to linger for a moment longer before releasing him. “I will, as soon as I deduce what has got your mind in such a befuddled state,” Herlock said, and Barok raised his eyebrows. “Could it be the contents of that letter?”

“I should think that that much was obvious,” Barok said. “You just saw me looking at it. However, it’s nothing to concern yourself with. Just some correspondence from an old family friend.”

“Oh? I actually find it quite fascinating to know about such a generous invitation from a family friend,” Herlock said rather nonchalantly, and Barok gaped at him.

“How on earth…?” Barok started.

Herlock regarded him for a moment before laughing. “Come now, surely you don’t think me some sort of mind reader?” Barok frowned, but before he could speak, Herlock continued. “And before you ask if I went through your things, there was no need. Your trusty chef shared enough as it was. Who knew you had such an endearing friendship?”

Barok sighed. He had become rather close with Lorena since she’d started. Another recommendation from Herlock, so he didn’t doubt that they had some sort of working relationship, but she was unlike any chef he’d had before. She was older than him, closer to how old his parents would have been, and she would regale his entire staff with tales as she cooked that made it seem as though she’d lived three lifetimes' worth of adventures. And she was remarkably easy to speak to, and after Iris had come and taken a liking to her, he’d begun spending more time with her in the mornings.

“I see,” Barok said. It was hard for him to be upset with Lorena for much of anything, but a twinge of frustration still coursed through him. He didn’t want to have this conversation. “It was only an invitation.”

Herlock hummed. “You’ll be seeing them, then?”

“I’m…uncertain,” He said. “From her letter, it appears she’s still in correspondence with my extended family, and her daughter is back in the city, so she thought it prudent for us to meet again. I would have informed you sooner, but it was nothing,” Barok admitted.

“I wonder,” Herlock said, voice unreadable. Barok pursed his lips. “And what timing. To reach out to you now that your name is no longer smeared and your title is much higher than it was before. A kind invitation, indeed.”

“I know what you are trying to say,” Barok replied. “I know Lady Morcar would not even consider an invitation were things the same as they were before. It’s simply…” he broke off and looked away, feeling foolish.

He felt Herlock’s hand gently guide his face back to look at him, his expression cooled into something almost sympathetic.

“I am curious to see how they have been doing,” Barok said, the words spilling out without warning and coming out more frantic than he’d intended. “They were like family once,” He finished pathetically. Herlock only continued to regard him with that same expression.

Leaning in, Herlock kissed him, the action quieting Barok’s nerves. “I understand,” Herlock murmured against him. A loaded statement if Barok ever heard one. “I’m sure it will prove to be a fruitful time.” 

***

Barok waited nervously at the corner table he’d been sitting at for the last ten minutes as he waited for Lady Morcar and Clara’s arrival. After he’d replied to her correspondence, she’d asked to meet for lunch now that Clara had finally settled. He’d spent the evening at Baker Street this time around, and before he’d left the next morning to prepare for work, both Herlock and Iris seemed to have already caught to his own apprehension. Things had changed so much, and it didn’t take much of a deduction to see that they had not voiced their full opinion on the matter. Herlock and Iris had become dear to him, perhaps even the dearest, but the ghosts of the past had not left him in their entirety.

The memories he’d had with Lady Morcar and Clara were so deeply tied to the memories of his brother and of a past that felt like a lifetime ago.

“Oh, little Barry, is that you?”

Barok turned towards the shrill sound of Lady Morcar’s voice. 10 years had not aged her much. She strolled towards him, her dark hair styled into an elaborate updo and adorned in all fancy outerwear and jewelry. She had been a dancer in her youth, and that elegance had never left her.

Clara, however, was nowhere to be found. Still, Barok stood to greet her. “Lady Morcar,” he said. “It is good to see you.” He suppressed a frown at how casually she had called him. He hadn’t minded it once upon a time, but he hadn’t heard from her in years, and to refer to him so informally after estranging herself from him left a sour taste in his mouth.

“My, how you’ve grown,” Lady Morcar said, tilting her chin up at him. “There is something more regal about you.”

“My title, perhaps,” he muttered. A moment later, he realized that he had spoken the words out loud. Lady Morcar raised a curious eyebrow at him, and he cleared his throat, bowing his head to her to distract her. “And you as well. It’s as though you’ve not aged a day.”

That seemed to do the trick. Lady Morcar smiled. “You flatter me.”

“Please, sit down. Will Clara be joining us later?” Barok said as the two of them sat.

Lady Morcar’s face scrunched up. “Ah. She will be joining us quite shortly. She is…otherwise occupied at the moment,” she said, pursing her lips. “She is as she always was.” Barok looked down at his menu to hide his smile. Lady Morcar had always been displeased with Clara’s whims, and if that hadn’t changed, that meant that perhaps Clara hadn’t changed all that much either. It was a comforting thought.

“You two were always fond of one another,” Lady Morcar commented, and Barok glanced up from his menu. She watched him curiously. “It is a shame that you grew so distant.”

Barok gripped his menu a bit tighter. While plenty of people had distanced themselves from Barok during the Reaper’s time, some had tried to spend even more time with him, and he had done a good enough job himself of pushing those people away. To that point, he was surprised that Clara even wanted to see him. Perhaps she didn’t. He couldn’t blame her.

“Though the dust has settled, and perhaps we should all leave the past in the past,” Lady Morcar continued. “And look to the future.”

Barok took a breath. He thought of the sympathetic looks that Iris and Herlock had given him before he left. “…Perhaps,” he breathed.

“And she is not wedded, as it happens.” Barok blinked up at her in surprise, his mouth slightly falling open. Lady Morcar smiled. It wasn’t entirely a surprise that she had brought this up, as he suspected Lady Morcar had an ulterior motive, but he was shocked that she hadn’t even waited a few minutes before mentioning it. “You have been always so accepting of my dear Clara, as well.” Before she could speak further, her eyes trailed behind Barok towards the door.

Barok turned to see Clara approaching them. A wave of nostalgia washed over him to the point where it almost became overwhelming. It was easy enough to picture a memory of Clara and Albert wandering over to him, with the same smiles that Clara had on now as she walked towards him.

She was somewhat winded as she came to a stop in front of them, and Barok quickly stood again. Clara smiled, and he surprised himself, finding that his throat had gone dry when he tried to speak to greet her. “Barok—ah—” She shook her head. “Forgive my manners. Lord van Zieks, it is an honor to see you again.”

The formality in her tone was startling. He had caused this distance, and it was so unlike her that he grimaced. “Clara,” he said, and she blinked up at him in surprise. “The honor is mine, believe me.”

Clara’s grin widened, much more genuine now, then a laugh stumbled out of her, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes twinkled, and she curtsied towards him. She cleared her throat, her next words coming out as faux-haughty as possible: “No, no, no, the honor is truly mine. To be graced by the presence of such an influential person such as yourself, why, I can scarce believe it.” She could barely get the words out without laughing.

Long ago, they had spent many moons teasing about the stuffy language that some of the other nobles spoke with at many of the balls they’d attended, mimicking their language as they greeted each other along with Albert.

Barok huffed a laugh through his nose. “Hm,” he said. He paused for a beat. “Perhaps the honor is yours, then.”

Clara snorted then, unable to stop the wave of laughter that washed over her. Behind them, Lady Morcar cleared her throat, and Clara’s laughter tapered off. Some of the light left her eyes as she looked at her mother. Lady Morcar frowned at the two of them. “Finally, you have decided to join us, Clara,” Lady Morcar said. “You’ve finished gallivanting with the homeless?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “I was not gallivanting, Mother. It took me only a moment to purchase some food at the nearby stall for the man.”

“You’ve already kept us waiting. Sit, so we can properly chat with one another.”

Clara nodded. She turned to Barok so that her mother couldn’t see her face, and then made a face as she mouthed her mother’s words back mockingly. Barok smiled as he pulled out Clara’s seat for her. Some things never changed.

“I heard that you have not been in London for quite some time,” Barok said as he re-settled into his seat.

“Yes. I’ve been away. Much of my years were in India,” Clara said. She fiddled with the edges of her gloves as she spoke. “...With my husband at the time.”

“Clara,” Lady Morcar snapped.

Clara clicked her tongue. “What? He would have found out eventually. I would not hide such an important part of my life.” Lady Morcar’s jaw twitched, and Clara glared right back at her.

“Ah…” Barok glanced between them uncertainly. “I see. What brings you back to London, then?”

Clara turned to him, smiling sadly. “He…passed, about two years ago. And, it’s been quite difficult for me to raise a nine-year-old girl on my own, so my parents have offered to help for now.” Next to her, Lady Morcar exhaled so sharply that it almost came out like a growl. Clara stiffened at the sound, though she didn’t look at her mother. “Life has changed a lot for me. Julie’s never been to London, so it’s been quite overwhelming for her.”

Barok wondered if Iris would be keen to meet this child. It couldn't be easy, for a child to adjust to a new place without knowing anyone here. “I’m sure you’ve done a wonderful job,” Barok said earnestly. Clara looked surprised.

“Thank you,” she said. “You seem to have done well for yourself too. The Director of Prosecutions.” Her gaze softened. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve it, and so much more.”

He didn’t know how she could still say such kind things to him after how harshly he’d treated her back then. “And I’m sure you’ll soon be looking to take a wife,” Lady Morcar piped up. “And to carry on the family name.”

Dust got caught in Barok’s throat when he inhaled, and he began to cough as Clara stared at her mother with wide eyes. “Mother,” she exclaimed.

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised. We have spoken of this already.”

Clara’s hands began to shake, and she spoke through clenched teeth. “And I told you that I wish only to speak with a dear friend whom I have not seen in years. We do not need to speak of marriage before we have even ordered our food.”

“You both must think of the future, is all I would say. And it isn’t as though you have never considered it before,” Lady Morcar continued. Clara shot Barok an apologetic look. “And speaking of ordering food, where is our waiter?” Lady Morcar flagged down a waiter. “Excuse me, why has it taken so long for someone to serve us?”

“My deepest apologies, my lady. It appears we are short-staffed, but I am happy to take your order for you,” The waiter said as he approached.

Wait. That voice. Barok knew that voice. Slowly, he turned towards the waiter, recoiling when he found Herlock opposite him, clad in a waiter’s outfit – his hair now colored with a black that bordered on purple and an obviously fake mustache on his upper lip.

“It’s alright,” Clara said. “There is no need to apologize.” She hummed as she looked at the menu. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here. What do you recommend?”

As Herlock began to prattle off his recommendations for the order, Barok frowned. What on earth was he doing here? Barok continued to stare, but Herlock made no indication that he knew him.

Finally, Herlock turned to look at him. “While I appreciate you staring at my dashing good looks, did you also plan to place an order?”

Barok narrowed his eyes, but Herlock only stared back as any good waiter would. He hadn’t even told Herlock the name of the restaurant. “Do you need more time?” Clara asked.

“That’s alright,” Barok said. He closed the menu and extended it to Herlock with a glare. “Surprise me.”

At this, Herlock finally smiled, though it was one of his mischievous smiles that meant he was up to something that would probably give Barok a headache. “I do enjoy surprises,” he lilted, taking the menu from his hand.

“I can imagine,” Barok muttered.

“Er, are you two acquainted with each other already?” Clara said, looking between them.

“No,” Barok said, a little too quickly.

“Hmm…” Herlock said. “Though, you do look familiar.” Barok caught his gaze, trying to muster all of his frustration into his expression. Thankfully, Herlock clicked his tongue with a smile. “Ah, but perhaps I am mistaken! Surely, you would remember a face like mine. I shall return shortly with your drinks.”

Once he was gone, Clara smiled sympathetically. “Are you alright? You look rattled.”

“I’m fine,” Barok said. Clara didn’t look convinced, but she nodded.

“As I was saying,” Lady Morcar began. Clara sighed. “We would be quite pleased to host you for dinner at our manor. I’m sure it’s been quite lonely for you.” Barok shuffled around in his seat. “And Clara’s daughter is very well-behaved, so there is no need to worry. You won’t even notice she is there.”

“She’s not invisible,” Clara scoffed. “Mother, please. Can we not simply enjoy a meal together, free from your meddling?” Lady Morcar frowned, sitting back in her seat. Clara turned to Barok. “Do not feel pressured. Of course, we would be happy to host you, but do not feel it’s a necessity. Besides, I’m not certain that an evening of my mother and I bickering would be to your liking.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Barok said, and Clara smiled. “I will think on it,” he said.

“That is all I ask,” Clara said. “You can ignore my mother’s discussions of marriage.”

“You continue to sabotage yourself,” Lady Morcar said. She stood from the table. “I am going to the washroom. Perhaps in my absence, you’ll come to a different understanding.” She and Clara seemed to have an entire wordless exchange before Lady Morcar left the table.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Clara leaned in. “I’m so sorry. She is even more insufferable. At least in the past, it was entertaining,” she breathed.

“She cares for you, in her own way,” Barok said.

“She wants me to be wed as soon as possible,” Clara complained.

Barok picked at his napkin. “Is that something you want?”  

Clara bit the inside of her lip. “Is that something you want?” She asked.

Barok didn’t know how to answer her. It had been a long time since he’d thought of the possibility of marriage, and now, well, marriage wasn’t exactly something that was on the table. Not in any formal sense.

Lately, he and Herlock practically went back and forth from each other’s homes for at least half of the week, and all of his staff had become acquainted with them with how often they were there. They had stumbled into something more serious, and Clara’s single question had left him wondering what sort of future even awaited him.

“I apologize for the delay,” Herlock said as he returned with a bottle of sherry. “The food should arrive shortly.”

Clara leaned back against her seat, smiling. “Thank you.”

Barok wasn’t sure if Clara or even Herlock himself noticed that Herlock’s fake mustache had drooped to the side a little, but it made Herlock look even more ridiculous to the point where Barok had to stifle his chuckle. Herlock poured a glass of wine into his glass.

“I eagerly await your surprise,” Barok said, unable to stop himself.

Herlock hummed. “That is good to hear. As it turns out, I do have many surprises in store for you,” he said. “One of which should be approaching soon enough.”

Barok furrowed his brow. He knew that tone. “What—”

The door to the restaurant burst open. “Where is he? Sholmes, you rotten bastard,” a slender man came stalking through, clad in an undershirt and shorts, and with the same dark hair and actual mustache that Sholmes seemed to have tried to re-create.

“Sholmes?” Clara said, looking at Herlock. “Herlock Sholmes?”

“Ah, my exploits have reached India, how enthralling,” Herlock said, pleased with himself. Barok didn’t even know how he’d deduced where Clara had been living.

“You--!” The man stomped in their direction. “You drugged me!”

“Now what is happening—” Lady Morcar began as she approached the table from the other side. Clara quickly shushed her, pulling her mother out of the way.

“Oh, it was only a bit of tea to help you sleep. Look, the bags under your eyes have already disappeared a tad,” Herlock said. “I believe I even cured your sleeping troubles, all in exchange for your generous help in my investigation.”

The man looked like he might explode. He approached them with his hands balled into fists, and as he reached Herlock, Barok couldn’t sit still any longer.

“What on earth is going on here?” Barok demanded.

The man blinked. Then he flinched back. “You’re that prosecutor.” He pointed at Sholmes. “This man is a fraud. He—he drugged me for God only knows what reason and came here!”

Barok exhaled. This was going to be a long day. He turned to Herlock, who didn’t appear bothered at all. In fact, he looked rather amused. “Mr. Sholmes…?” he said wearily.

“Why, don’t appear so downtrodden. I did inform you that the tea would help with your sleeping habits much faster than you think,” Herlock said.

“You didn’t say right away!”

“And, thanks to your cooperation, I can officially declare you innocent!” Herlock finished. “Would you like your uniform back now?” he asked.

The man moved forward again, but Barok stopped him before he could get too close to Herlock. “Enough,” Barok said. “This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. Both of you are disturbing the rest of the patrons here.”

The man frowned as he looked around the restaurant, then down at himself as the patrons murmured amongst themselves. He pointed at Herlock again. “Just give me my clothes back! We can change in the backroom. And I will be reporting this.” He said, and then he turned on his heel to quickly rush into the backroom.

“Well, he didn’t seem very grateful,” Herlock hummed.

Barok rubbed at his forehead. “I will speak with you later,” he gritted out. Then, after a beat: “You are alright?” he asked.

Some of Herlock’s amusement softened into something endearing. “I am, indeed, my dear fellow. The case is going swimmingly!”

“Is it now?” Barok said, unconvinced. “I see. Then, don’t let me keep you.”

“Wait—!” Clara blurted. Both of them turned towards her. Clara steeled herself, pressing her lips together before she exhaled sharply. “I’m a huge fan, Mr. Sholmes. And my daughter really loves hearing some of your stories. I—She would be so thrilled to get a signed copy of Randst Magazine.”

“I’m afraid I must be on my way, my lady, but if you would like to bring her along to 221B Baker Street, I would be happy to do so for no charge at all!” Herlock declared. Barok fought the urge to groan. He wondered if Herlock had ever charged someone for an autograph. He wouldn’t have put it past him when his rent was near due.

“Truly? That would be lovely. Yes, of course. I would be delighted,” Clara said.

“Sholmes!” The man’s voice boomed from the back.

Herlock pretended to tip an invisible hat to Clara, who grinned with stars in her eyes, and Herlock dashed away. How funny it was that both Albert and Clara had been equally as star-struck by Herlock. Clara turned and lightly tapped Barok on the arm. “I can’t believe you know Herlock Sholmes.”

If she only knew, Barok thought. “We are…acquainted, yes.”

“Perhaps moving back to London was the right call after all,” Clara said, giggling to herself. “This has turned out to be quite the eventful lunch.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at Barok. “Never a dull moment for us, huh? If only Albert were here as well.”

“He would have been even more entranced by Sholmes, believe me,” Barok said, to which Clara laughed. “Though, I believe his outburst has delayed our meals. And I likely should return to the Prosecutor’s Office shortly.”

“Of course,” Clara agreed. “Would you like to meet tomorrow? Perhaps the two of us this time,” she said, glancing at her mother. “We could go to the spot at the park we would frequent, near your old university.”

Another wave of old memories flooded Barok’s brain. All of it blurred into a sequence of emotions and things that he had once held dear. Home, happiness, and the ease of laughing freely with his friends as they dreamt of their futures. But even the park had changed since he’d last walked past it.

“I’m afraid it’s not the same as it used to be,” Barok said, rubbing at his throat where it felt like something had gotten lodged. “But it may be nice to visit anyway.”

***

Barok stayed until his meal arrived packed in a box, and he said his goodbyes to both Lady Morcar and Clara to return to the Prosecutor’s Office. He had peeked his head back to see if Herlock was still there, but to no surprise, he’d already left.

Barok sat at his desk, thumbing through the list of cases that all of the prosecutors had taken on this month. But he could hardly focus on it. His past had come back to him, and for so long, he had only thought of his past when it haunted him. But this was different.

Lady Morcar would no doubt continue to push him to court Clara. He would need to nip that as soon as possible. But what did Clara think of all of this? It was hard to tell if she was extremely opposed to it or not.

And then there was Herlock, and their own strange and uncertain future.

There was a knock at his door, and before Barok could tell them to come in, the door opened. Naturally, that meant that Herlock was the one at the door, though it took Barok a moment to re-orient himself to the fact that Herlock had somehow dyed his hair to this not-quite-black color. At least the mustache was gone.

Barok sat back, setting his paperwork aside to push his chair back as Herlock shut the door and strode over to him. “New look?” Barok asked.

“Temporarily. I think it makes me look quite dashing, don’t you?” Herlock replied.

Barok tsked. “Fishing for compliments again,” he said in lieu of an answer as Herlock leaned against his desk next to him. “What brings you here? I thought you were investigating.”

“Oh, that?” Herlock waved it off like he hadn’t caused a huge scene. “I’ve nearly got all I need, and I had a few moments to spare. Not to mention your hands were unsteady and your brow twitching far more than usual earlier, it’s only natural I would be here.”

Barok furrowed his brow, slightly confused as he deciphered Herlock’s words until it dawned on him. “Is that your convoluted way of saying that you were worried about me?”

“Why, what else would it mean?” Herlock asked.

Barok shook his head, charmed as he tugged on Herlock’s arm to bring him down for a kiss. It couldn't have been comfortable for Herlock, but he only hummed, pleased.

“Perhaps I should worry more often,” Herlock murmured against him.

Barok huffed a laugh. “Perhaps,” he agreed. He pulled back, thumbing at the hair at the base of Herlock’s neck. “It does look good. The hair.” Another kiss. “Though… did you really drug that man?”

“It was no drug. It was a new tea that Iris brewed specifically to help with sleep, which I informed him before he drank it. Though it seemed the potency was a bit too strong,” Herlock mused. 

“And then you still stole his clothes and went to his job?”

“Precisely! When investigative opportunity knocks,” Herlock said as though that were enough of an explanation. “And I believe it worked to both of our advantages. That conversation appeared to be an unpleasant one, my dear.”

Barok pursed his lips and glanced away. Sighing once, he turned back to Herlock. He didn’t want to broach the topic, but it wasn’t like he would be able to keep it a secret. “Lady Morcar thinks it proper that I get married. Consequently, to her daughter,” he said. 

Herlock nodded. “She does raise an excellent point,” he said, and Barok recoiled at how nonchalant he sounded. He gaped at him, but Herlock regarded him with a strange expression.

“What are you talking about?” Barok said. “You…think I should marry?”

“It is only an observation, my dear,” Herlock said. He straightened up, tapping against his cheek as he spoke. “It is quite common at this stage to begin to look for someone to court or wed. And from her perspective, as far as the world knows, the van Zieks family line ends with you.”

“You are joking,” Barok said, somewhat disbelievingly. He stood as well, trailing after Herlock. “I would not do such a thing. Clara is—a dear friend, or she was, but—” He paused as his words struggled to keep up with his thoughts. “I would not marry or have a child with someone else when I am already in—” Barok immediately stopped, shocked at the words that he’d almost said.

It didn’t seem to matter, because Herlock’s eyes went a little wide, as though he already knew what Barok was going to say. He probably did. “All I mean to say is…” Barok started again. “It would be unfair to everyone involved. Clara included.”

“Our arrangement need not end,” Herlock said, and that was even more mad to hear. Barok almost scoffed in disbelief. “It’s simply a thought for the future.”

“The future…” Barok repeated. He felt as though the breath had been knocked from him. “I don’t understand. Would you rather we end this? If so, then just say it forthright then speaking as you are,” he said, feeling suddenly unsteady.

“That is not my intention,” Herlock said. “But our arrangement is more delicate than others.”

“Arrangement,” Barok echoed. It was the second time he’d said that. He couldn't make sense of what was happening anymore.

“And as far as suitable bachelorettes, your dear friend is quite charming. I could see why you would be so entranced,” Herlock continued. Barok’s thoughts halted even as Herlock began to say some nonsense about compatibility. He observed the almost hardened way that he spoke and the strange way that he’d spoken even when he’d arrived, and finally, a disbelieving laugh escaped him.

“Is that what this is about?” Barok said. “Clara?” He weighed his next words carefully, almost certain that if he was wrong, he would never hear the end of it. But he was confident that his own deduction was true. “Are you…jealous?” he said.

Herlock gasped, affronted. “Me? Whatever would a great detective such as myself have to be jealous of? Why, that is a preposterous statement that—” Herlock once again prattled on about all of his accolades and why these were all reasons why he would have no reason to be jealous of anyone, but once again, Barok was in disbelief as Herlock made little sense in his reasoning.

“You are jealous,” Barok said, awed. Unable to help it, Barok snorted a laugh, and Herlock paused in his speech, sulking as he had never seen him before. Barok exhaled, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders as he realized that Herlock’s behavior had nothing to do with wanting to end things at all.

“You must have considered it. It’s only logical,” Herlock finally said, his face slightly scrunched up like he couldn’t believe his own feelings.

Barok’s mouth formed a thin line. “I didn’t.” Then he sighed. “I won’t deny that Lady Morcar’s discussion of marriage led me to consider the future,” he admitted. Herlock nodded, about to speak. “Our future,” Barok clarified. That stopped him. “Not my future with someone else.” Barok raised his eyebrows. “The future of our arrangement, I suppose.”

Herlock grimaced, pouting as he turned away. “Yes, yes. Perhaps a poor choice of words on my part,” Herlock mumbled.

Really, Herlock had no right to look as charming as he did, sour as he was. Barok pulled him closer, and thankfully, Herlock came without resistance, his face still pinched into a pout. “You are correct. The future is uncertain. But…” he inhaled. “Let us take it day-by-day. And... speak more about these things, when it troubles us.”

Neither of them were very good at this, it seemed, but they were fumbling through it together, at least.

Barok relaxed as Herlock snaked his arms around him, muttering something under his breath. “What was that?” Barok said.

Another pout. “I said… I apologize, for my earlier words,” Herlock said. “I was perhaps a bit inconsiderate in my phrasing of our relationship.”

Barok blinked in shock. Then, he returned Herlock’s loose embrace as he glanced past him out the window. He couldn’t help it: he feigned a contemplative hum, pretending to try and peer out at the weather. “How very strange. I didn’t notice any pigs flying outside,” Barok mused.

“You would be so cruel to me even now?” Herlock bemoaned, but some of his frown had evened out. Barok smiled as Herlock leaned closer. “Will you at least allow me to make up for my behavior?”

“Speaking of the future, why do I get the feeling that our relationship will consist of you saying that many times over,” Barok said. Herlock finally laughed, bright and sudden like the sun breaking through the clouds. “It isn’t something to laugh about,” Barok continued, though he smiled nonetheless.

“Then I shall have to raise the bar every time, hm?” he said. “If I feel such a bothersome emotion again, I will speak to you.” Barok hummed, eyes fluttering shut as Herlock pulled him down into a kiss. “I am glad,” he said. “That you are able to rebuild your friendships of the past. She truly does seem quite lovely.”

"You say that only because she was enamored with you."

"Well, that certainly doesn't lose any points." 

“Hm,” Barok said half-heartedly, too distracted at the brush of Herlock’s lips against his own. He lifted his head, curious. “Tell me, was there truly an investigation taking place at the restaurant?”

Herlock let out a laugh. “My dear, even I could not have predicted that we would end up at the same restaurant. Though, it was not the restaurant itself I was investigating, but the person.”

“I see,” Barok said. “Well, I would appreciate it if you exercised more caution with those you choose to anger. I am fully aware that you can take care of yourself, but…” he drifted off.

“Why, that was nothing compared to the usual!” Herlock said. Barok barely suppressed his sigh. “You should hear about the time that I starved myself for three days to feign a deadly illness,” he continued, and Barok gaped at him. Of all the tales that Herlock had told him, he hadn’t heard that one. “And did I tell you about the time I was shot at a pawn shop?”

“I was a part of that case,” Barok reminded him. His hand trailed to the part of Herlock’s stomach where he’d been injured. Before, while it had been worrying in a general sense, he couldn’t even stomach the thought of it happening again. “Nothing is without risk, but I hope your days of reckless endangerment are behind you,” he said warily.

“I never do anything reckless,” Herlock said.

“Never,” Barok replied sarcastically. “Starving oneself is an entirely reasonable thing to do.”

Herlock laughed. “Why, if it makes you feel any better, Mikotoba nearly lost his head.” Barok wasn’t sure why on earth that would make him feel better, but Herlock seemed to think it was enough. “I, of course, couldn’t have him examine me, lest he find out that it was all a ruse. Some secrets are necessary for investigations, after all.”

Barok groaned. He was only making it worse. He listened when Herlock spoke of his cases with him while in bed or out together, but he had never pressed for any details unless it was connected to a Scotland Yard investigation. Besides, Herlock often spoke so much that Barok figured he’d gotten the entire story. Yet, now he wondered what exactly Herlock had gotten up to on some of the other cases that he had less detail on and how dangerous it had been.

“Yes, well, Mikotoba was not your lover, was he,” Barok retorted, and then he paused as Herlock’s hands stilled against him. Herlock had of course said the word before, mostly in jest, but Barok had not spoken of it – of what they were. “Or, perhaps, I don’t know— I simply mean that I should hope that you would at least inform me… Forget it,” he said, his fingers still absentmindedly tracing the spot where Herlock had been shot.

Herlock kissed him instead of responding. Gently, at first, and then as he pressed himself flush against Barok, his breathing quickened and it became all tongue and heavy breaths against him. He felt Herlock lead him back until he bumped against the edge of his desk. Only then did Herlock relent, only to drag his fingers down and against his cravat. "He was not. Right you are, my dear," Herlock said. “I will inform you, if an investigation involves considerable danger.” His lips trailed down to Barok's neck, and Barok's breathing hitched and he placed his hands on Herlock's shoulders to still him.

"Wait—" he began, and Herlock stopped. He pressed a light kiss to his neck before meeting his gaze, and Barok inhaled slowly. “We don’t have time for this. I have work to do. Don’t you have to get back to your investigation soon?”

“As it happens, I have extra time to spare.”

“You are insatiable,” Barok said. He kissed him once, light but lingering, and rounded the corner to his desk and pulled his chair out as Herlock followed after him. “Surely, you cannot even be suggesting here, of all places?” Barok continued. “I much prefer the warmth of my chambers or yours.”

“You have been spoiled with a bed, it seems,” Herlock lamented. And before Barok could sit down, Herlock moved to sit on the desk next to Barok as he lingered in front of his desk.

“Really?” Barok said. “You’re going to tempt me even now?”

“Tempt you?” Herlock gasped, scandalized. “I should think that there is nothing tempting about taking a seat. I have been standing for so long, I only wanted a place to sit.” He tapped his chin. “Or, don’t tell me the noble Lord van Zieks was thinking of something far more scandalous?” he said.

Amused, Barok shook his head, reaching up to rest his hand at the base of Herlock’s hair. He wondered how long this new color would last. He’d already heard the tale of his red-haired debacle. He brushed his fingers through Herlock’s hair, smirking when he heard Herlock’s minute but pleased sigh. “Something on your mind?” Herlock said, leaning forward.

“I—” love you. Barok nearly bit his tongue, jolting back at the intensity of the thought that popped into his head. It was such a mad thing to think, and even more outrageous if he were to say them. Herlock’s brow furrowed, and Barok quickly shook his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak just yet. Instead, he ducked his head to kiss Herlock to assuage his confusion and distract himself.  

“Something does weigh on your mind,” Herlock murmured. “If it is due to my earlier words—”

“It isn’t,” Barok said. Herlock only leaned back, studying the lines of his face. “It’s—It’s nothing. My thoughts overwhelm me at times, as you well know.”

“I do, indeed,” Herlock said. "You wish to speak of it?" Barok once again shook his head. Herlock hummed, then he pulled Barok down by his cravat. Barok’s hands moved to the sides of the desk on either side of Herlock so that he could steady himself. Herlock tilted his head up so that he was a breath apart from Barok, but as Barok tried to close the distance, Herlock leaned back just a smidgeon so that he could whisper against his lips. “Then allow me to help you clear your mind.”

Like clockwork, Barok was helpless to it, especially as his earlier thought came back to him. He gently pushed aside Herlock’s hands, which still gripped his cravat, so that he could cup him by his cheeks and kiss him properly. “You’re going to drive me mad,” Barok grumbled, and he could feel Herlock’s smirk against him. "Ten minutes," Barok relented. “You can stay for ten minutes.” And Herlock smiled before kissing him again, as though he knew Barok wouldn’t keep his own promise. He was probably right.

Barok ran his hands over his thighs, breaking the kiss so that he could trail his lips down to Herlock's neck at the same time. After a moment, Herlock's legs fell open and Barok slotted against him perfectly, pulling him closer by the hips.

And then there was a knock at the door.

Barok froze, wide-eyed and rather dazed. Herlock sulked, shoulders slumping. "I daresay you should tell them to come back later."

But Barok was already trying to fix his hair and straighten his appearance. "Off the desk," he said. He cleared his throat as Herlock moped but slid off the desk, then leaned against it in a way that felt far too obvious that they had been otherwise occupied moments before. Maybe it was all in Barok’s head.

Either way, hopefully, the guest wasn’t so observant. “Come in,” Barok called. The door opened, and in walked Kazuma. Immediately, Barok knew there would be no hiding it. He took one look at Barok and started to laugh. “Am I interrupting?”

“You are not—”
“Indeed you are—”

Barok gawked at Herlock while Kazuma snickered. “What is it, Asogi?” Barok said, attempting to sound nonchalant.

He wanted to crawl into the nearest hole with the way that Kazuma tried to hide his laughter. “We have a meeting at this time,” Kazuma said. He held up a case file. “I didn’t know you would be…otherwise occupied.”

“We were talking about a case,” Barok said sharply.

“Really? Because your hair didn’t look like that earlier today,” Kazuma pointed out, and Barok’s face flamed with mortification. “Should I come back later?”

“No,” Barok said. “If we were to meet, let us do that. Herlock was just leaving.” He glanced towards him. “I will see you at home?” he said. “Yours, this time, I believe.”

Herlock smiled. “Right you are, my dear. Until then,” he said. Herlock moved to kiss him goodbye, then nodded towards Kazuma.

Once he was gone, Kazuma crossed his arms with an amused expression. “Well, then.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Barok interrupted. Kazuma snorted as he walked to the seat opposite Barok’s desk.

Then he paused just before placing the file on Barok’s desk. “Do I even want to touch this desk right now?” he asked.

“If you’re going to be insufferable like this—”

“Sorry, sorry,” Kazuma relented, humor still lingering in his smile. He tossed the file onto the desk as Barok sat down. “I won’t bring it up again.” Barok found that hard to believe, but he didn’t question it.

And, to be fair, he only brought it up two more times over the course of their meeting.

***

It was never more obvious that Christmas was approaching than on the days when London was dusted with snow in the evening. He could hear groups wassailing as he walked along the street, and there was a bit more cheer in people’s steps, even as the weather felt harsher with how bitterly cold it could get.

Barok sat shivering at the park bench that he’d frequented in his younger years, pulling his cloak tighter against him as he waited for Clara to arrive. The sun was setting, and it painted the town with a picturesque orange glow.

Albert had fallen asleep on this very bench with a stack of books next to him until he and Clara had arrived with food. Then, the three of them had sat in the springtime together and chatting about his latest hypothesis, Barok’s legal work, and Clara’s art.

To the left of the bench was a tree that both Albert and Barok had failed to stop Clara from carving all of their initials into one summer. In fact, Albert had ended up joining her. Barok had been horrified at the time, considering she’d done it under the same sunset as now, where anyone could still see.

“It’s odd to be back here.” Clara approached, rubbing her hands together as she blew air into her gloved hands. “Colder than I remember, too.”

Barok frowned. “Here, take this,” he said, already starting to remove his cloak.

“That’s alright,” Clara said. “It is not so bad.”

A lie, considering her teeth were chattering. He unclipped it, then extended it to her. “You catch illness easily,” he said.

“Thank you, Mother,” Clara teased, but she took the cloak from him as he huffed a laugh. She fastened it around herself and it nearly engulfed her with how much shorter she was than him. “Wow, this is quite warm,” she said. “Won’t you be cold now?”

In truth, his arms were already beginning to feel a chill, but he shook his head. Clara, however, narrowed her eyes at him. “Perhaps we can exchange it back and forth,” she decided. Then she looked around. “London always did appear more magical when it snowed.” Then she giggled into her hand. “Remember Albert’s plan to create a weather machine so that it could snow whenever he wanted?”

“Strangely, it was one of his better ideas,” Barok commented. “He was adamant after how much you spoke of the snow.”

Clara smiled. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “He was meant to be back in London this Christmas but was unable to. It’s a shame. We could have all met up again. Since I was not included in your invitation to him to visit before,” Clara said with a put-upon sigh.

Barok stilled. “I—I apologize,” he said, but Clara quickly shook her head.

“I jest,” she said. “It had been years since we’d spoken, and it wasn’t like we had come back into contact with another due to a case.”

“Even so…” Barok took a breath. “I believe I should still apologize. At the very least, for how I treated you, all those years ago.”

“Barok…” Clara chided.

“You wanted to help and to support me, but I—I was determined to push everyone away, and I said some hurtful things to you in the process,” Barok said. “About marriage and…love. I would not blame you if you resented me.”

“That was a long time ago,” Clara said. “You needn’t hold onto it any longer. Besides, I don’t think I was what you needed back then. I wanted to be, but—” She paused. “It is all in the past now.”

“Are you certain?”

Clara tilted her head. “Am I certain that it doesn’t matter? Of course. It has been over ten years. Have you truly been holding onto this for so long?” she asked. Barok glanced away. “Oh, Barok.” She sighed. “Yes, it was hurtful at the time, but you needn’t hold onto the past in such a penitent way. We are here now, anew. And you’ve done so well for yourself. I read all about the trials and everything you’d been through these past two years, and Albert has shared as well in our letters.”

“It is only thanks to many others,” Barok admitted. “I would not be here were it not for the efforts of many people, far braver and more tenacious than myself. They helped me begin to look to the future. Though it is easier said than done.”

“Yeah,” Clara breathed. “I suppose it is.” She fiddled with something on her necklace, and as Barok looked closer, he just barely noticed underneath his cloak that it was a silver wedding band. She caught him looking and smiled, shuffling to make it seem like she was readjusting the cloak. “But move forward, we must. And all I hope for now that I am here is that we can rekindle our friendship.”

“I…would like that,” Barok said. Then he hesitated. “But, I suppose I should ask. Your mother has brought up the prospect of marriage.”

Clara stumbled before regaining her balance. “She has…” She said slowly. “What are your thoughts on the matter?”

Barok paused. He didn’t want to lose their friendship before it even started again, but he didn’t want to lie to her. “I—I’m not certain it would be a good idea,” he settled on saying. Clara hummed. He couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or not, which only caused him to panic further. “It’s nothing to do with you. I do apologize, Clara. You are enchanting as you always have been. However…”

Finally, Clara smiled. “It’s okay, Barok,” she said. She laughed into her hand. “You needn’t look so pained.”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Barok said.

Clara reached over and held his arm. She turned to face him so that nothing would get lost in translation. “You aren’t. In fact, I’m…sort of relieved,” she admitted.

“…What?”

Clara bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. “It is nothing so serious, but…well…” Her heels bounced up and down as she paused. “Albert and I have been exchanging more letters, recently.”

Barok startled. “Albert?” He huffed out a disbelieving laugh even as relief coursed through him. She had mentioned him a lot, but— “He was enamored with you for a long time,” Barok admitted.

“He was not,” Clara deflected, but her blush deepened. “…You believe so?”

“He didn’t say it, of course, because you and I had become, well, quite close. But I suspected,” Barok said.

“Hm,” Clara said. “I don’t think I’m quite as ready as my mother would like me to be to marry another, but I find that I look forward to his letters more often as of late. Even reading about his latest theories, silly as they may be.” Then she pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Listen to me, rambling like a blushing child.”

“A good sign, I should think,” Barok said, thinking back to how easily Herlock could disarm him in their early days.

“And you?” Clara said. “I’m certain your mail must be full of letters from women all over hoping to be the lucky one,” she teased.

Barok pursed his lips. “Surely, you jest.”

“Surely, you jest,” Clara countered. “Though my feelings may lie elsewhere, I am perfectly capable of recognizing how handsome you are. And there are those like my mother who would wed their daughters to you at a moment’s notice.”

“I—I am not interested in such things,” Barok said. “Besides, it’s—there is another.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “There is?” She blurted. “I—Oh my—I, I would never have allowed my mother to even entertain such a notion had I known. I thought at most we would laugh about it later. But it must have made you terribly uncomfortable, thinking of your own relationship. I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

“It’s alright,” Barok said. “We’ve kept it a secret now for the past few months.” And now he had told someone else. He was unsure of how Clara would respond, but he hoped that nothing had changed in her views from when he’d been closer to her.

Clara was even more confused. “A secret? You fear derision if your association with her were to be revealed?”

“Yes, it’s…something like that,” he said, averting his eyes.

“Ah. Then will you tell me, just between the two of us, who the lucky lady is?” She said, tilting her head with a soft yet teasing smile. “I am the best secret keeper in London, if you recall.”

Barok nearly snorted. “I recall the opposite actually,” he said, and she pinched his arm with a laugh. “But it is… I apologize, but I shouldn’t.”

“Fair. I can respect your privacy,” Clara said, though she still stuck her tongue out at him rather childishly. Only a few seconds passed before she spoke again. “Do I know her?”

“Clara,” he sighed with fond exasperation. He was surprised she lasted even those few seconds.

“What?” She said, somewhat innocently. “You cannot blame me for my curiosity. Shall I list all of the ladies of the balls we attended, that we used to make fun of for their stuffiness? It must be one of them, for that’s the only reason I can imagine you not telling me who she is.”

“That’s not—” Barok paused, glancing around the nearly empty park. “It’s none of those… the women.”

“Mm-hmm…” She stared at him rather curiously. “Is it perhaps… the lucky man?” She inquired. Barok stiffened, which surely gave him away. “Ah, I see…” She allowed the silence to fill the air for a painstakingly long moment. He needed to trust. Certainly, she wouldn’t tell anyone. She would never have done so in the past. His thoughts spiraled, and she touched his arm lightly to get his attention. “No spiraling up there,” she said, smiling at him with so much fondness. “I’m so happy for you,” she said, voice thick with emotion. “I won’t say a word. Not everyone is so close-minded.” She squeezed his arm comfortingly when he visibly relaxed. “You love him?”

“It is too early for that,” Barok said.

Her grin widened. “Do you love him?” She asked again.

“…I think so,” he whispered. She squealed, hands covering her mouth as her eyes began to water. Scoffing without any animosity behind it, Barok reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “Should I not be the one overcome with emotion in this situation?”

“You cannot blame me for being so happy for one of my oldest and dearest friends,” she said, dabbing at her eyes.  “Who is he?”

Well, there would be no going back now. He muttered Herlock’s name, and Clara leaned in closer, furrowing her brow as she tried to hear. He cleared his throat. “Herlock Sholmes.”

“No,” Clara gasped. She huddled in even more. “You’re in a relationship with the great detective? He’s a legend. A celebrity. A—A big deal,” she said.

Barok grimaced. “Yes, as he often reminds me.”

Clara clicked her tongue. “You’re so lucky,” she sighed. Startled, he laughed at her pout. “He’s so handsome as well. And smart.”

“Well. At the very least, if you and Albert were to marry, at least you could be fans of him together,” Barok said, and she lightly flicked him in the arm, laughing. “I considered offering before, but he does have a daughter around Julie’s age. It may help Julie if she could get to know another child here. Perhaps we can host you at my manor.”

“Oh, truly?” Clara said. “I had no idea. That would be lovely. I wouldn’t want to impose, but it would be nice for Julie to have somewhere else to be aside from my parents’ manor and to make new friends.”

“I can speak with them,” Barok said, though he knew that Iris would likely be happy to meet her and help her adjust to London. “Besides, if you would rather spend some time away from your family, I would like to have you over with—” He cleared his throat. “With mine.”

Clara looked at him as though she were seeing him in a new light. “I know I said that you were lucky,” she began. “But to have earned your affection, he is the most fortunate one, indeed. I hope he knows it.” 

“Perhaps you truly should come along, if only so that you can tell him that yourself,” Barok said, and she laughed.

“I think I will be so starstruck that I may not say a single word at all,” Clara admitted. “But I would be happy to join you regardless. Have you told him of your feelings?”

“I…believe he knows. He is a detective, after all,” Barok said, thinking back to how he’d almost blurted it out to him yesterday.

“That’s not the same as hearing it,” Clara tutted. “Trust me, Barok, life is too short to not tell the people we love how much we care about them.” She fiddled with her necklace as she spoke. “Even if it is a frightening thing.”

Barok sighed. “Truth be told; your mother’s discussion of marriage did cause unease. I began to wonder about what our future may look like. It is murky.”

“Perhaps so,” Clara said. “Or perhaps it is not as murky as you believe.” Barok frowned, waiting for her to continue. “You wish to be with him? For a long time?” Barok looked away for a moment before meeting her gaze again. She smiled. Inhaling deeply, he nodded. “I am no expert, but that seems fairly clear to me.”

Barok scoffed. “Hardly. There are many unknowns even with that. Where would we live? What if we raise suspicion? The questions are endless.”

“Life is full of unknowns, even if you were cast your love for him aside and marry me or some other proper noblewoman instead,” Clara reminded him. Barok stilled. He supposed she did have a point there. “Just different unknowns. What is clear is that you love him and he makes you happy, and I believe that’s as good a place to start as any.”

“Clara, please. We aren’t children anymore. Things cannot possibly be that easy.”

Clara unclipped his cloak from herself, standing on her toes to wrap it back around his shoulders. “I would not call it easy,” she chided. When she clasped his cloak back together, she wiped some of the light snow, then rested her hands on his arms. “All I would say is this: If your love is greater than your fears, then let that be what guides you through this great unknown that you speak of.”

Barok took an unsteady breath. “My skepticism is no match for you, still, it seems.”

“You should tell him,” Clara said again. “When you feel ready, and even if you are afraid.” Thankfully, Clara didn’t force him to give any confirmation then. Instead, she turned to the sound of people singing carols on the other side of the park. “Shall we stroll over to listen for a bit? I have missed it.”

Barok was grateful that she didn’t push it any longer. He extended his arm to her, elbow first, so she could link her arm with his. He cleared his throat, trying to sound as faux-snooty as he had at a Christmas ball years ago after Klint had wandered over to them and told them that they couldn’t linger off to the side for the entire evening. “Shall we, my lady?”

Clara huffed a laugh, linking her arm with his. Then she leaned in, as though about to tell him a secret. Her next words came out as pretentious as she could manage with a straight face. “And what are we to do if people see us consorting in such a way, Lord van Zieks?”

Barok leaned in as well. “Laugh, I should think,” he said, and she did just that.

***

A few days later, Barok arrived at Baker Street for the evening, feeling both refreshed and nervous. He and Clara had met for the evening so that he could show her some of the newer markets so that she could find a Christmas gift to send to Albert. They were both different now, and much older, but there was a comfort in realizing that even though they had both changed, they could still fall into their old friendship. It brought him comfort.  Though, as Iris let him into the apartment, he felt warmth in an entirely different way as he entered to stay the night.

Iris had only a moment to greet him and tell him that she had wrapped up a plate of leftovers for him from dinner before she hopped back into her chair, where she typed away at her typewriter to meet one of her deadlines for the final issue of Randst Magazine for the year.

Herlock, meanwhile, was wearing his bizarre goggles and peering into a cup of tea. His hair was back to normal, and Barok had barely walked into the living room before Herlock ushered him over to get him to try his tea after adding that Barok would “most likely” not pass out within five minutes.

Barok ate while half-listening to Herlock’s ramblings about the tea with Iris’s typing in the background, and he was struck with the distinct feeling of being home simply from the two of them being there.

Do you love him? Clara had asked. He had admitted it before he was ready to admit it to even himself.

“Did you hear me, Barok?” Herlock said. Barok blinked out of his thoughts. Stiffly, he nodded. Herlock raised a knowing eyebrow. “What troubles you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Barok said, despite the thumping in his chest. “It’s nothing to worry over.”

His thoughts got away from him for the rest of the evening, and eventually, Iris turned in for the night, with the two of the following after and settling into Herlock’s room. It had only gotten more crowded with the things that Barok had brought to stay for a few nights.

His bag was nearly out of clothing, and tomorrow they would be staying at Barok’s manor. As Barok set aside his clothes for the next morning, Herlock remained at the tiny desk that he kept in his room, still wearing the same goggles that he’d had on all evening.

“Are you coming to bed anytime soon?” Barok asked, lingering at the edge of it with his hands nervously wringing the cloth pockets of his sleepwear.

“Soon, of course,” Herlock said, distracted.

Another pause. “In case it slips my mind, I am working late tomorrow, likely past when you and Iris would arrive,” Barok began.

Herlock hummed, responding with something that Barok couldn’t hear. “Gerard may be otherwise occupied as well,” he continued. That was unlikely but still possible. “To let you in.” Still no response other than the sound of Herlock’s tinkering as something clinked together.

“If Gerard is otherwise occupied,” Barok said. He inhaled anxiously. At the sound of Barok’s shaky breath, Herlock finally looked up from whatever it was that he was doing and turned to him. Barok’s hand curled around the object in his pocket. With a large breath, he extended his hand towards Herlock and opened it, revealing a key to his manor. “You can let yourself in.”

Slowly, Herlock lifted the goggles from his face and set them on the table as he looked down at it. “The rest of the staff already know. It’s simply… during the holidays, I give them ample time off, and so no one would be able to let you in, so this is for you.”

Without speaking, Herlock reached for the key, and then Barok closed his hand again. “Wait. Before this. There is something I must tell you. All of this talk of the future has weighed on my mind. Marriage and family and the like. Please, do not feel pressured by what I am about to say, but I fear I will regret it if I do not speak them.”

Barok paused. He was certain that a lot of time had passed before he spoke again, but Herlock made no indication of it.

“You and Iris have become dear to me. I adore you both,” Barok began. “I wasn’t sure that I would feel so at peace again. And I know that I worry over the future, but…” He could hardly hear himself over his own heartbeat. “I love you,” he blurted. There. He’d said it. Herlock’s eyes went wide, visibly shocked in a way that was far different than Barok had ever seen him in all their time together. Like he had been really and truly disarmed. “And I want to be a part of your future for… For as long as you’ll have me.” He said. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t.

The silence was deafening. And it was so unlike Herlock that Barok began to backtrack. “As I said, do not feel the need to accept the key nor do you need to say anything in return.”

Finally, Herlock took the key from his hands. “For as long as I would have you?” he said. His voice sounded a little thick. “I fear you may come to regret your words when you realize how long that will be.” He walked over to his dresser, pulled open the middle drawer, and revealed a small box. “And I suppose I must spoil your Christmas gift this year.”

Herlock brought it over to him, lifting the lid of it to reveal another key, presumably for his apartment. Barok blinked down at it, startled. Did that mean he had spoken to Mrs. Hudson as well? Barok had only seen his landlady a few times, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she’d caught on as well, considering the few times that he’d been let in to find her and Iris giggling together, only for her to then look at Barok with a certain sparkle in her eye.

“You were intending to gift me the same thing?” Barok asked.

“Naturally, my dear,” Herlock said. “Though, after all that trouble, I suppose I will have to find something else, now that you have led me to spoil it,” Herlock added with a put-upon sigh.

Barok took the box from his hand, then surged forward to kiss Herlock deeply. He barely peeked an eye open so that he could put the key onto his desk, and then pulled Herlock back along with him to the bed. The back of his knees hit the side of the bed and he sat down, feeling Herlock rest one knee on the edge of the mattress next to his thigh. Then, breaking the kiss, Herlock murmured against the side of Barok’s mouth: “I love you,” he whispered. 

Barok could feel Herlock’s soft laughter against him as he hastily maneuvered them so that Herlock was underneath him on the bed and he could lean over him. “May I steal you from your work tonight?” Barok said, the words coming out rushed as he kissed him as he spoke, pressing himself against Herlock in his desperation to relay all of the emotions that blossomed inside him.

Herlock trailed his fingers along Barok’s cheek and neck. “My dear, all of my time is yours for the evening," he replied. "And beyond."

The affection was overwhelming. Though their future was still uncertain, those feelings of uncertainty faded as he looked at Herlock. Clara was right. Perhaps it wouldn’t be simple, but this—this moment and the look of adoration in Herlock’s own eyes—this was entirely clear and absolutely worth it.