Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Three years went by at an alarming rate.

 The first few months felt like unbearable agony, captured between waiting and fearing, but they passed by. Sherlock remembered how he spent nights with insomnia and couldn't follow a simple conversation the day after. The lack of sleep was dragging him down. How he remembered the clean smell of the thin blanket they used to cover up Liam's body. The same blanket Sherlock found his head on several times as he fell asleep sitting next to the bed. Nurses, replaceable women in white he secretly all named Emma for no reason, occupied the room quietly. They opened a window and rushed to get out, away from him, he knew that. Sherlock wasn't a pleasant visit at this time; he often lost his temper. Every time the fear crawled back into his mind when he thought Liam had finally stopped breathing.

 He remembered blurry Visions of people changing Liam's bandages and how he dismissed every conversation attempt at himself. The only thing that mattered to him was Liam's condition – no changes, almost half a year – so he had a few rare chats with a doctor. After that, he turned away, waiting again.

 He waited for so long.

 From time to time, Sherlock's mind drowned in fear of losing Liam. That was when he grabbed his thin, pale wrist and checked his pulse, again and again. Sure, working with Billy helped him to clear his head. There was no time for worry on his little hunts. But he came back to Liam after every task. To Liam, who still lay in bed, losing more and more of his weight. Liam, who no longer required bandages; besides the one around the eye he couldn't longer use.

 Liam, who disappeared all of a sudden.

 And no Emma around for Sherlock to ask about him. His fear turned into panic, so Sherlock let his feet do their job; he ran through almost every room he passed, yelling at people about Liam and running again as nobody could help him. There were only a few chances left then, and one of them was the front door. Sherlock remembered the pain in his chest as he tried to catch his breath and the need to flip every stone around in this goddamn city to find him. But there was another option left, and that would be the roof. The last time Liam called for him was in a very high place, and so he would give it a try first before New York City had to face him in anger.

 And there he was. And their journey continued from that point.

Sherlock was smiling in silence as the memories occupied his mind. Three years indeed. Two and a half were a mix of cautiously approaching each other and the feeling of coming home to the right place.

 Now they were back, and he couldn't believe what a lucky man he was.

 Satisfaction was hinging in the room, heavy and consuming. Noisy cutlery and happy conversations, a laugh then and there. He felt comfortable while hearing all those beloved voices. Yet, he couldn't help but keep that stupid smile. How much he wanted to tell him from five years ago that it would get better, get more manageable. That he'll find friends for the first time in his life. That he'll find the love he never thought would happen to him. That he, living as a social butterfly a few steps beside everyone else, would be happy.

 Everything worked out surprisingly well, and this was the reward. He let his gaze wander around and consumed the faces he felt so attached. Three years sapped much energy from him, but he would do it again and again. They also gifted him so much. The time he got with Liam, their shared life at the end of the ocean, the feeling of their handy, holding each other…

 There were dear memories of both men being too shy or too dense to make the first move. Both knew about their mutual feelings, but neither took the first step. Sherlock carefully tried not to pressure Liam, and Liam had that intense thought he did not deserve love in any way. Thank god they got rid of that.

Still smiling, he lifted his glass of water, observing the room again. Chairs had been pushed back, and little groups had met to chat with each other. There was Miss Hudson, laughing softly about something Mycroft just told her. They both looked at Sherlock, and he knew it was some stupid memory from his childhood. But that was okay, Mycroft was smiling, and he deserved that. Sherlock planned to ensure Mycrofts mental health was okay, but he could do it in the following days. They needed at least one reliable person here, not considering John Watson's morals.

 He saw the doctor sitting with von Herder, the genius who was born at the wrong time. All the possibilities someone like him would have in a modern era. The world was changing so much; that technology was rushing forward.

 Right now, some brilliant thought must have crossed his mind; the inventor moved his arms as he tried to explain something John absolutely did not understand. But he was smiling politely, which Sherlock liked about the doctor. Von herder couldn't see John's face, yet he tried to make it look friendly.

Someone was laughing a tad too loud, which caught Sherlock's attention. He finally rose from the chair that snuggled his body so comfortably. A premonition crawled under his skin; it was time to find a certain someone.

 The source of that loud laugh was Liam, as he suspected.

 Liam, whom he hasn't seen in months, sits at a table with his brothers. He did make eye contact with Sherlock during their dinner, smiling at him and spreading so much warmth that the former detective forgot about everyone around him for a few seconds. Louis' fake cough brought him back to reality, and he remembered they were only "friends "here. The only person in here knowing about their relationship was Billy. The poor man saw more than he wanted, and from that point on, he had used that spare key to their Appartement with more caution.

 Sherlock approached the table the three Moriarty's were sitting at and was welcomed by Liam's smile. A thousand suns were shining, just for him. There was no chance he could look at that face and won't feel deep affection.

 "Sherly! Come on, sit by my side! "Damn, he knew it. Slowly, Sherlock got close to Liam, who slipped half off his chair only to pat eagerly on the cushion he was sitting on. Sherlock organized himself a chair and pushed Liam back on his own, then he sat beside him, eyeing the empty wine bottles. There were eight, and he witnessed in silent dismay how Albert's still steady hand opened the ninth one.

 Hasn't he seen him outdrinking Moran with at least six of those? So two more emptied by the time Liam got here, and… oh god. Louis wasn't so happy either, but he hasn't the heart to stop his finally freed brother this evening. Not now. But there was concern between his eyebrows, and it was not about Liam.

 "So the wine is good? "Sherlock couldn't scold Liam in front of his brothers and saw him reaching out for his glass, but he only got it with the second attempt. The glass merged in front of Sherlock's lips – after he dodged the first swing of Liam's arm and let him get back to his mouth. His eyes quickly rushed to Louis, who shot him a glare. Well, Sherlock's existence was acknowledged by him a few hours ago as he thanked him for saving Liam. A welcoming surprise, but right now, he saw his life in danger. If eyes alone could kill a man…

 So he pushed Liam's arm away, the latter immediately sipping at the glass by himself.

 "You shoulda taste, Sher'y. Albert stored up boxes of this. "

 More questions were popping up; how and when? The older one just got out of that tower yesterday, and Sherlock doubted that he had gone shopping in that time. They locked eyes – no chance he was still sober, right? - and the usual smile came up. The one he already knew from Albert. Mild, meaningless. Unbelievable dangerous.

 "The magic phrase is vitamin b, Mister Holmes. "

 "Yuck, Mister Holmes is standing there. The old, wrinkly one. I'm young and fresh; call me Sherlock. "

 "Why not Sherly? "Albert's smile was growing, but Liam's finger poked him at the cheek as he tried to hit Albert's lips. Sherlock knew he was too drunk to aim correctly, so Liam worked his way from that cheek down to the mouth.

 "Ah-ah. You' not allowed. Only me and My'coff. "

 Albert followed Liam's finger with amusement as the younger tried to grab the bottle and failed. However, Albert had absolutely no problem with Liam getting drunk, so he poured him another glass while Sherlock prepared himself for the night. It was okay, though. Nevertheless, Sherlock would get Liam some water in the next few minutes, and he'd make him swallow that, no matter what.

 Louis fake coughed again, and Albert shot him an apologetic smile as the bottle emptied quickly again.

 "Come on. We're celebrating. When was the last we were able to be just ourselves? "

 Louis remained silent, but he sighed. Liam's glass filled up again. Sherlock saw himself soon emptying Liam's glass to avoid him getting intoxicated by alcohol. Not now, and he was looking for the water again. As he wanted to stand up, a hand sneaked over his leg and lay down there, very present and not really welcome at the moment. His eyes rushed down to the hand, covered by the tablecloth. It was just his thigh, but Sherlock knew what it would look like from a certain angle. He tried to shove Liam's hand away, but he grabbed Sherlock's pants and held himself there; fuck. He felt Liem's fingernails digging into his skin, and Sherlock gave up. Liam's fingers were just a few inches away from his crotch, but he hadn't planned anything. He was laughing again, loud and happy, and Sherlock decided to let him have this.

He just turned around a bit – as far as he could, considering Liam's nails – so he could catch the blond with his knee if he'd fall from the chair. Sherlock feared the moment they'd to stand up and leave. Or rather, he would, but that was not managed at this point. He knew that Louis had prepared two bedrooms for his brothers to stay in, and Sherlock himself was under the emotional pressure that his flat was still waiting for him. But he doesn't want to separate from Liam tonight. After those months, he missed him dearly. Also, he feared that Liam, drunk and disoriented as he was half asleep in the middle of the night, would get lost in this unfamiliar place. This wouldn't be the first time he'd been out in the streets talking to strangers, asking where his bed was. And the cheese, he was always looking for cheese.

Sherlock knew they wouldn't make decent conversation tonight, nor would they get busy with each other. So instead, he just wanted to wake up beside him, nagging Liam about his bedhead in the morning.

Fingers were tracing over his hand, and Sherlock dared to look at Louis, who shot him nonverbal warnings. Finally, when Liam's fingers danced over Sherlock's arm, Louis opened his mouth. A first vocal came out before Albert's fingers squeezed two stacked appetizers between his youngest brother's lips. A slight, angry sound came from him, but he remained silent.

Liam got rid of Sherlock's arm, grabbing one of the fabric napkins and a little slur as he talked eagerly. He twisted the napkin, rolled it out, weaving with it, and finally lost it somewhere behind him on the floor. At this moment, Sherlock took Liam's glass of wine and emptied it. He knew his limit; Liam overstepped his own four full glasses ago.

Albert shot him a smile as he sipped his drink.

"Spoilsport. "

Sherlock eyed the older one, searching for any information on his face. He knew Liam and him weren't as subtle as they should be, but no one would mind that behavior from him. He had done worse. Louis seemed to sense something, but Albert certainly knew it. His smile grew into a grin as he saw Sherlock frowning at him.

"Is there something you might want to ask me about, Sherly? "

Liam turned so fast on his chair that he nearly fell off, but his index finger missed Albert's cheek again and pressed at the temple.

"Ah!"

He laughed softly, grabbed Liam's hand, and placed a kiss on the back of it.

"I'm sorry, dear brother. The alcohol occupies my mind. "

Then he leaned back and grinned so goddamn cheeky at Sherlock, looking at him behind Liam's back. He took another sip at his glass, and before Sherlock could make up any poor lie, Liam stood up. He was swaying alarmingly, and his decision to hold himself at the salt shaker was pretty bad. Before he'd hit the table, Louis wrapped an arm around him, and together they went off. Sherlock had thought of the desire to hold Liam, mainly because he couldn't explain a bathroom tour with him. He really did not want anyone to know about their relationship. And Liam was very clingy when he got this drunk.

A hand was patting his lower arm. Sherlock followed that one at was looking straight into Albert's eyes. Albert, who still had himself together so well.

"I'll keep your little secret, no worries. For now, at least. "

"Ah. "Right, ah. Of course, the lovely, polite Albert. The sought-after, always superiorly bachelor. What a pain in the ass.

"I only can imagine how to pay you back. Of course, I don*t know what you're talking about in the first place. "

"We figure that out later. Right now, I'm happy with the circumstances. William seemed very happy. I like that. "

Sherlock likes that, too. But right now, he felt as if he was in danger. If he'd lie his way out of this situation, maybe Albert wouldn't remember the next day. There were people in this room he absolutely didn't want to know. So he took Liam's glass and poured himself a little drink.

"But who wouldn't be happy finally getting laid, huh? "

Holy cow, who knew wine would burn so bad? Sherlock was coughing and hammered his fist on his chest. A few people stared at him, but he got his water glass – where did that come from? - and swallowed nearly all of it. To avoid any other conversation, he fully turned to Albert. Sherlock couldn't explain, but for some reason, he did not want this conversation with the oldest brother. It somehow felt like he was meeting his parents-in-law and tried too hard on his first impression. Nothing would change his relationship with Liam; in the end, they will return to America, where they're living together. But he also doesn't want to destroy Liam's kind of healthy brother relationships. This was a vulnerable topic; only a few people were accepting two men in love. It was a crime, simply stated. A crime against god and Sherlock wasn't sure where morals were clicking in.

"I don't want to be impolite, but whatever Liam is doing-"

"- or with whom he's doing it."

"- is none of my business could you stop that!? "

Albert's eyebrows rose, then he put his glass back on the table. He also turned around and faced Sherlock ultimately, one leg crossed above the other and fingertips pressed together. It was remarkable how mannerisms could adapt in family, even tho they're not blood-related. Sherlock knew this body language. The body leaned against the chair, the slightly tensed shoulders, that lifted chin. The face was relaxed, a smile only a predator could smile.

Liam does the exact same thing when he was about to end an argument. There was nothing Sherlock could do at this moment; he had lost to Albert before it even got started.

This was the way kings sent off thousands of people to death. This man won't need a throne, though.

"Please don't see me as your enemy, Sherlock. I'm not looking for something to hurt or harm you. I know you think that, and I understand the reason behind that. I am just very thankful, and I want you to know that. You saved my little brother, something I couldn't do, and I doubt anyone else could've done. I am happy to see you being there for him, no matter what way that might be. Can you imagine the last time I heard William laugh free from his heart? Almost ten years ago. I couldn't care less what your life together looks like, as long as he's happy with it. "

"Is this the wine talking or Mister Moriarty? "

"Albert's talking, not Mister Moriarty. "

"And the wine? "

"Only helping the words get out. "

He was smiling softly, and Sherlock felt the need to believe him. He sighed and took a sip of water.

"Could you please keep that for yourself, at least now? Some people here wouldn't be pleased about that. "

"Leave Louis to me. "Albert also got some water, together with some appetizer.

"I did not tell any names. "

"You don't have to; I know my family. I'm pretty sure you can stay tonight, don't think about that. "

"I could take Liam with me. "

"In that case, I can't promise no one would get hurt. At least one of you, and we both know who that might be. "

He was smiling again, and Sherlock felt a tingling sensation at his neck, unsure which Moriarty brother would be the most dangerous tonight.

Chapter Text

The seventh time. In the seventh godforsaken time, Sherlock was on an emotional tightrope act; and he didn't like it. He felt silent despair lurking around, with a pinch of a dying wish, hopelessness, and regret. Almost at the same time, a big part of his brain tried to tell him that he actually wanted this, that it made him happy. That he was in desperate need of this. He should embrace it and react appropriately to Liam's cold fingers tracing his collar. Or, for the worst, he slipped his hand under Sherlock's shirt and was brushing his hips then and there. Of course, he liked that, but he tried to shut Liam down immediately, with poor success.

Ha was relieved when both brothers returned and freed him from the curse Albert embodied right now for him. After that not-so-subtle power demonstration, Sherlock gave in and tried to clean up the mess Liam made minutes ago. So he had something to work on with his hands, and he could make some more Smalltalk. Other topics than himself or the sandwich child of the Moriarty's, preferably. Now he was sweeping some ripped-off flower petals - another thing he saw Liam doing; he knew he'd get to him soon – onto an empty plate. Then he picked up the stacked forks Liam obviously tried to build a tent with, and at least he found his shoes under the table.
They came back at that moment.

Louis let go of William, but he followed him like an overprotective mother. Liam was still a bit wobbly, but he could walk halfway properly; he seemed pretty confident, but that meant nothing, Sherlock knew. There were several things he'd seen Liam do when he got drunk, and this was just the beginning. A long night was ahead.
Still smiling, he stopped – now, without Albert's gaze on himself, Sherlock had his nerves back and finally saw the socks he missed out before – and scanned through the room. Then he moved again and stopped right behind the chair Mycroft was sitting on, now talking to Renfield. He, either way, did not see Liam – which Sherlock doubted heavily, but his dear brother was also getting older, who knows? - or he wanted to finish his conversation first. He definitely did not expect Liam's fingers. He pushed them through Mycroft's hair, starting at his neck and working his way up to the front. Liam spread some strands, going up with at least six fingers. Mycroft's body language got slightly more stiff – how was that even possible? - and Sherlock had to decide: Laugh his ass off or be an adult. How lame, really.

He hurried, grabbed Liam by his wrists, and pulled him away from Mycroft, who was still sitting on his chair, his eyes pinned to the wall across his face.

"You have Totally different hair structures, She'ly. "

"A-ha. Yeah, you're right. Just ask next time, okay? "

"But I wanted... touching. This is more edu-edu-cat'inal, you know? "

William wiggled his fingers and granted Sherlock such a warm smile that he swallowed the subsequent nineteen arguments down. But his gaze went on Mycroft, who now stood up and turned around. He looked like someone getting hit by some heavy wind blows from behind, but one hand was able to slick that hair back down. Thanks to the ton of pomade he was using. Sherlock awaited the most extensive lecture of his life, staring at his older brother while Liam's fingers caressed the back of his hand. He needed vacation after this vacation, a murder or two to solve. This was so goddamn stressful.

But Mycroft's arm wasn't holding a gun nor forming a fist; there was a glass of water. And it wasn't for Sherlock.

"You should drink some water. "

Liam leaned over, took the glass, and smiled the biggest smile before he turned on his heel and concentrated his way to Albert's table after he oriented himself again. The older one milked the last drop of wine out of the bottle.

Sherlock surrendered and pressed two fingers behind his bowtie. He loosened it just enough to not open it and followed Liam like the good dog he was. This time he sat directly next to Liam without wasting time or energy.

The glass of water was shoved in Albert's direction.

"My'coff wants you to drink, dear bro'er. "

"Well, then he can get me something. This is yours. "

"Okay, I'll call him for you. "

Despite his condition, Liam was smiling such a cocky smile, looking right in his brother's face, who lost control over it for a few seconds. Mycroft definitely would make sure that Albert drank at least the same amount of water, so no, thank you. Also, his belly and bladder were getting pretty full; he wouldn't waste the space for some boring hydration.

Liam was leaning back, still smiling the devilish smile, his back against Sherlock's shoulder for just a few inches. This was okay; Sherlock could support a platonically drunk friend; he saw no problems with that.

Then Liam's fingers traced him, touching him hidden under his jacket. Albert had turned to the side, talking to Fred, and Liam made good use of that time. His fingertips were dancing over Sherlock's neck as he tried to shove him away. Again, he was playing with Sherlock's vest; again, he shoved him away. Liam giggled softly and returned, and Sherlock pushed him away, hissing at him to stop. His eyes were looking for Louis, but he wasn't near them. Of course, he could stand up and walk away, but again: He liked this. Sherlock Holmes was living a dangerous life; right now, a dozen dinner knives were his biggest problem.

Then he saw that smug grin on Albert's face, who – surprise – was swaying his wine glass.

"So, Sherly – okay, okay! I'll stop, cut that – did you decide where you'll sleep tonight? "

A hand rose up so quickly it hit his chin; he knew Liam was aiming for his mouth, but he missed, like the napkin he threw at Albert seconds ago. Sherlock knew what this meant and rolled his eyes; Liam wanted to answer this question, and his opinion wasn't very welcome at the moment.

"On top of me! "

There was silence between them for a brief moment - just the three of them, everyone else was still in a good mood; time hadn't stopped, hell's gate was still closed – and then Albert had the audacity to chuckle. It was either William's dead serious face or the answer he gave him, but it amused the earl. He faked a polite cough and tried to put himself back together.

"This answered some questions I didn't know I had. I wish you both a… fun night. Excuse me, I'll inform Louis that another quest will stay overnight. "

As he walked away, Sherlock felt some silent admiration for this man; he walked straight like a candle and drank more than anyone else. He'd call that self-control, but that was something he saved up for Liam. Not today, obviously. But he never saw someone so eager to dismiss his own needs and wishes. Of course, he overstepped a few marks today, but Sherlock was glad he had fun.

Speaking of…

He gripped Liam's arms with both hands and pulled him right into his field of vision. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to shake him. But he needed to get his own stance in that clouded head.

"Are you completely dense?! Stop talking about our private life with your brother! Everyone could hear that! "

Ha was whispering as eager as possible, but the information barely reached Liam, who pressed his fingertips in Sherlock's arms. His face went pale, end he tried to contain everything he ate and drank tonight. Sherlock let go immediately and leaned back, eyes wide. Liam pulled himself together and patted his chest before fully turning around on his chair, still a bit wobbly. He locked eyes with Sherlock and tilted his head to the side. It was adorable, tho.

"Sher'y, do you wanna dance wi' me? "

"What?! Why don't you throw a knife at me directly if you want me dead? Can you imagine what everyone else would think? Two men don't fucking dance together, Liam!"

He saw it right away.
The last part hit him, maybe even hurt him. Sherlock knew Liam had drama running through his veins, but he was no damsel in distress. Not a damsel, he knew for sure. He saw everything, okay? This meant he wouldn't run out sobbing and crying, nor would he throw a tantrum, but there was a slight pain flashing over his face. He hadn't shown that sober, but at this point, Liam was losing his body control more and more. He wasn't up for an argument, too. His fingers traced the sleeve of his jacket, then he touched the seamless. He lowered his head just a bit and spared a deep breath, but yeah, it hurt him, definitely.

Sherlock felt a tingling sensation in his chest, which lumped together in his throat; shit. He got closer to Liam and nudged their knees together, but no response. They were facing each other, and unfortunately, everyone in this room would read the situation: something had happened, something was not right. Sherlock thought about that for at least two seconds before he brushed it off; screw everyone else, why should he care? It doesn't matter if anyone got angry or verbal; he wouldn't mind at all.

He slowly bent over and tried to look in Liam's face from below to see his eye. Sherlock folded his hands in his lap; his fingernails dug into his flesh.

"I'm sorry, I did not want to make it sound like that. "

That was true; in London, two men don't dance tight together. It was something different at home, in their living room with the pushed-away furniture. They could do it to that street music playing at the corner every few weeks or to that lousy piano practice two flat doors away. Sherlock was not a big dancer, but he liked it with Liam. There were plenty of things he wanted to do with him, but no other person in this world.

He was smiling a tad too bitter for Sherlock's taste as he tried to shake the topic off.

"Is 'okay. I just wanted… no, rea'y. Is' all right. "

It hurt to see him this way, and Sherlock mentally slapped himself across the face. No, Liam did not observe every spoken word critically; they constantly nagged each other. Also, he wouldn't ask for that silly wish if he'd been sober right now. But there were more things to that, and Sherlock felt like an idiot.
He slowly stood up, nudged Liam again, and offered his hand to help him. He accepted, and as his fingers closed around Sherlock's thumb – aiming again – thousand little stars burst in the detective's chest. Finally, there he was. Back with him, at his side. Finally, he could touch him again.

Liam couldn't stand straight and hold at Sherlock's arm as the latter helped him with that. His index finger caressed the pale cheek in front of him.

"Do you want to step out a bit with me? "

"Can we look for some cheese? "

"Sure. "

He was smiling softly before they started walking at Liam's slow pace. Sherlock met Billy's eyes, and both stared at each other for just a moment too long; then a nod was shared, and they went through the door. They could still hear everyone talking and laughing, but they got quieter. Sherlock could hear Liam humming and felt good.

"Liam? "

"M-hm? "

"Don't ever stop telling me your needs and wishes, okay? "

The scarlet eye observed him before he concentrated on the hallway again. His hand patted Sherlock's upper arm. He was smiling again.

"I wish for seventy-three kisses. "

"We can start with one immediately and work through the night; what do you think? "

"M-hm, I'll take that. "

Chapter Text

"No, you don't understand, Sher'y. Is… it is just the best number. It's perfect, understand? "No, he did not understand. Not the more profound sense behind Liam's monologue, not his energy boost given by the joy of stating math facts. But Sherlock did not need to understand this; his problems were more of a horizontal kind; since when did he get so many feet? There were at least… seven.

It had been a bit tricky climbing those stairs and getting in the bedroom he knew was prepared for William alone. He remembered blurry sceneries leading to this outcome but not the exact context. Right now, Sherlock was working on his way to the bed, while his hand still was holding onto Liam in case of losing him.

-

Their little tour to the kitchen ended with a piece of cheese and – if he hadn't missed a number – at least twenty-four of that seventy-three kisses Liam demanded earlier. Sherlock decided not to stop at his lips and make his way down to Liam's neck, which unfortunately led to a reaction. Ultimately, they had to wait for Liam to calm down in the kitchen before they could walk back. Theoretically, Sherlock would have loved helping Liam; screw the damn kitchen. He'd thrown every safety precaution overboard and accepted his potentially endangered life in this house by kissing Liam so tenderly, but… he can't. Maybe he was chickening out, but this was so much more than just dancing together in the dining area. He could manage angry whispering about them holding hands, but his hand should not be seen down in Liam's pants, nor himself on his knees in front of him.

What a wise decision that was. As they went back together, Renfield crossed their way. He remained silent, but Sherlock knew that he suspected something. Fine by him. Also, Liam's hand fiddled at his shirt again, him giggling from time to time when he was about to hold himself at Sherlock's upper arm.

They lost, he knew that. This was the time to stand by each other's side, facing the consequences that might hit them. Also, Sherlock was pretty good at guessing Liam's current weight; he was absolutely in the right shape to throw his boyfriend over his shoulder and run away.

Back with the others, there were first signs of tiredness on some faces. The plates had been put away, and just the iron core still sat together. John, Miss Hudson, and Mycroft were in coats and ready to leave.

"There you are! We're heading home; where's your coat? "

"Eh... "

Sherlock lifted both eyebrows, still Liam at his arm, who pushed himself up on the ball of his foot; he often does this when he had to wait, and Sherlock adored that behavior.

John eyed both of them, and Sherlock knew that his good friend had assumed the right things about both men long ago. He secretly honored him for that; this was pretty open-minded and meant a lot to Sherlock.

"You stay overnight? "

Someone hit him lightly with his elbow and took away Sherlock's opportunity to answer – the second time this day! - before someone else could do that for him. He smelled the expensive perfume Albert was using, who smiled at him. He still had a wine glass in his hand. Dear lord…

"William wished for that quite passionated, wouldn't you agree, Sher… lock. "Liam shot him a warning, and Albert was able to use the full name before his dear brother would throw something at him again. Maybe a shoe this time.

Sherlock wasn't a very religious man, but right now, he sent silent prayers to heaven, hoping Liam wouldn't repeat the answer he gave Albert at the table. He saw Louis slowly coming nearer, like a predator. There will be the moment he had to face him; tell him about the relationship between his big brother and himself, but today? He had a drunk Liam to care for right now; his poor soul couldn't do more. He loved the man at his arm from the bottom of his heart, but he also was a pain in the ass. Again, he loved seeing Liam happy. There was no chance Liam would ever be too much for him. Sherlock would walk to hell for him, fight all the demons he knew still occupied Liam's dreams and led to night terrors. He jumped off that goddamn bridge for him because there was no meaning in living on without Liam in his life. He'd been so ready to die and still was as he sat at his bed. If Liam hadn't woken up, Sherlock knew he'd killed himself right after the last breath of this man.

But all of this were maybe's and but's and if so's; they were standing here, alive and mostly healthy. So what in the world – except Louis, who got closer by the second – could harm them now?

He reached William's other side and eyed the secret couple; then, he rose both hands helplessly. Liam granted him a smile, which he mirrored.

"Please, both of you. Show some decency, as every other couple would do. I won't be the one putting obstacles in your way; we all had enough of that. "

That information was sinking in slowly, almost not. Sherlock made it to be Liam's fault as the blond still clutched his arm. He was so overwhelmingly near that Sherlock's brain stopped most functions, him still being in love like the first day. The moment this man sniffed at him so brazen and talked about his – now former – drug addiction openly in front of those women. Sherlock had problems focusing on other things when Liam was around, mostly when conversations led to a point he didn't suspect earlier. He was not dumb, by far not. But… did that just happen? His face must have told enough; Louis took a deep breath, slightly annoyed.

"I am not stupid, and the two of you are not as decent as you think. "

"Also, he saw you two making out in the kitchen. "

"Unfortunately, yes, I did. "

Sherlock was still staring, then he lifted his hand and hovered over his chest – after he pushed Liam's hand away, who also wanted to touch Sherlock's chest – searching for a knife or a dagger. No, no one assassinated him professionally; this was really happening. Finally, he pulled himself together and straightened his stand.

"What do you mean you saw us? "

"Is that really the best tactic you got? I'm ready to push aside my morals and tolerate you, and you decide to attack me? "

There was a heavy sight from John, who Sherlock ignored utterly. He was so ready to end this small gathering in the hallway, but he was neither in the position to go upstairs nor did he want to leave the house tonight. There was a sharp remark on his tongue considering the morals of any Moriarty in this room, but they had talked about that. Three years ago, in that carriage. He would drop that topic with at least two brothers but not with Liam. He pulled off some things Sherlock couldn't ignore in those years, absolutely not.

A hand landed on his shoulder, giving him a tight squeeze. There was Albert's smile, again.

"Welcome to the family. Let's sit together for a bit. "

Sherlock got a last quick gaze at his leaving friends and saw Mycroft sighing deeply, which alarmed him, but Albert was already pulling at his arm. No one came to save him.

-

He knew there would be a headache the following day, which felt like an eternity away. Sherlock was also ready to blame everything on Albert, who got that damn wine out again. Thinking of it, his stomach twisted, and he focused so hard not to throw up. After another speech about trust and coherence, Albert poured him the first drink and, shortly after that, the seventh one. Louis tried to hold Liam back, and now both of them had reached the same level. After… whoever helped them on the stairs, they strumbled into the room.

Sherlock got that paranoid attitude since they were living in New York, so he locked the door and let himself rest on that, while Liam reflected on his idea of reaching for his shoes, now holding himself at the wall he felt at. He was not hurt; there were only a few inches before he hit his shoulder. One hand reached for Sherlock, and he gave in. The bed was not far away, but it took them almost two minutes to get there. There was a discreet bottle of water on the nightstand.

"I'm not finished with the seventy-three yet... "

"May I sit down before that? "

"No. Did you know that it's a pride number? No, a prime. It's a prime. Did you know that, Sher'y? And did you know, did you know when you turn it aro- ey! "

Sherlock grabbed Liam by the arm and let himself fall on the bed, pulling the latter with him. An elbow hits him at the side, but Liam lies with him, face flat on the mattress and half on Sherlock's body. He lifted his head and carefully got on his knees. Sherlock took that opportunity and pushed himself properly onto the bed before Liam could crawl over him, taking a seat on his thigh. His knee almost hit Sherlock's very dear body part, and he was glad Liam missed him by an inch or two. He began to unwrap the bowtie. Liam was slow and a bit clumsy but far more adept than Sherlock. He's just sleep in that outfit.

"So if you turn her around..."

"Turn around who? "

"Her."

"Don't need a her in my bed, what're you talkin' about? "

Liam stopped, looking down on Sherlock dumbfounded before he corrected himself: "It. Turn it around. "

"Why don't you turn around? "

Liam was frowning at him and tried to collect himself again. He slapped Sherlock lightly on the chest before he worked on that bowtie again.

"Go on, Liam. On your knees. "

"-turn it around, and what would be the answer, mh? Guess! "

Sherlock sighed as his hands took over a dangerous adventure over Liam's tighs, stroking them. He ignored that entirely and stared at Sherlock, who gave in. Up to this day, there hasn't been a single time he wouldn't answer Liam, no matter what topic he pulled off. Math was not Sherlock's favorite thing, but he tried for Liam, just a bit.

"Thir'y-seven. "

"Correct! And you know what? Tha's also a prime! This makes it an absolute prime! "

"Fascinating! "

Sherlock let his hand move to Liam's inner thighs before he reached for the button – one, singular. America was such a nice place to live; he never saw more than two buttons on any pants there, while London was still clinging on that six or more thing – and pushed it open. Meanwhile, Liam finally got that bowtie open, pulled it off Sherlock's collar, and then dropped it beneath the bed. They were both drunk, but this was their first night after months. Sherlock knew he dropped the idea of getting close tonight earlier, but why not?

"Up to this day, there were only a few dozen 'absolute prime discovered, Sher'y! "

Ah, still at that topic. He'd just let Liam talk and undress him first, as the latter stopped again and again as he needed his hands for emotional support. 

"Also, the morse code! You know, seventy-three. It's a palindrome! "

"You can barely spell your own name at this point, but you can pron'ouce palindrome? "

"Which means it's the same forward and backward! "

"Unbelievable. "

Liam's enthusiastic face was a recovery for Sherlock's soul; he smiled softly and dared to sit up. The room was spinning a bit, but Sherlock got control over himself again. He cupped Liam's face with his hands, which let him look up from his current work of unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. 

There were a few kisses left; unfortunately, Sherlock forgot his counting.

"I missed you terribly, y'u know? "

"Ah, yeah. I missed you, too. "

Chapter Text

A thousand horses stomped over his body. Shoulders, back, legs – a particular mean one hit his head several times. Everything hurt; everything was just too much at the moment.

Sherlock didn't even dare to sit up; whoever stated that expensive alcohol wouldn't lead to the same extreme hung-over cheap beer does was a goddamn liar. He'd love to meet this person and share one or two thoughts with them. Not today, tho. There was no way he could shoot someone right now; that was his plan.

He knew where he physically was at the moment; even yesterday was still present in his head. But none of that helped him right now. Throbbing pain changed in short recovery periods, but it came back instantly. Maybe, if he stayed silent, the pain wouldn't find him again? He was so ready to waste the day in this insultingly comfortable bed, only standing up to pee or worse.

Sherlock risked his life and blinked with one eye; the sun had risen, but the heavy curtains blocked most of the light. He saw faded colors, the soft lines of furniture, and the water bottle from last night. He let out a soft groan as his eye shut down again. Someone beside him moved as he made that sound.

He knew that this someone was Liam – who else? He never hugged anyone beside him in his sleep, and there was definitely a body pressed at his – who was awake for god knows how long. Fingers were hovering over Sherlock's face before they brushed away some hair strands from his eye. They touched his cheek, caressing him a bit. Sherlock let out a small sigh before he decided to participate in his own life again.

"Liam, sleep. "

"M-hm. "

His voice was so,  so  tired. So discontiguous sounds were coming from his mouth, but none of them made any sense. His hand fell on Sherlock's cheek completely, him still waiting for an answer. But he could hear Liam's breath calm again, so he took his lover's hand in his own, kissed the back of it, and let his other arm fall over Liam's side heavily; he just wanted to sleep.

-

Whoever wouldn't grant them the sleep both men needed so much banged at the door for the third time. First firm, then louder, and lastly, Sherlock thought someone was breaking the heavy wooden door. Then, somewhere behind those, he heard the word "breakfast "and was now working on a fun game called "sort your limbs,"; and he was terrible at it. He absolutely didn't want to go, but there was this new, oh-so-sensitive relationship he had accomplished with Louis, and Sherlock was eager to keep it sound. If not for him, then for Liam. He won't make a fool out of himself, but right now, he was a guest — a guest who shared the bed with a family member.

Speaking of that member…

Why was he the only one awake in this room, halfway dressed already? His gaze went to bed, where Liam was still asleep, hugging Sherlock's pillow. He moved a finger from time to time, but that's it. Neither the banging at the door nor Sherlock shaking him at the shoulder woke him up.

The latter rounded the bed and sat down next to Liam, his hand stroking through that golden, slightly messy hair. He was touching the thin eyebrow and that fine map of scars around the blind eye, then Sherlock bent down and kissed Liam's hair before his hand slowly pressed over his mouth. His Thumb and index finger were closing his nose. Just seconds later, Liam tried to turn his head around, but Sherlock's leg was blocking him. His eyes were opening tiredly, and Sherlock let him breathe again.

"Hippity hoppity[1], I won't sit at the breakfast table by myself. Get up. "

He heard Liam mumble a Sherly under some unclear swear words before the blond rolled over on his front, face pressed down in his pillow. Sherlock smacked Liam's bare ass, leading to some more mumbled swears. In the end, he just grabbed him by the arms, flipped him on his back, and started pulling at Liam to make him sit at least.

"Maybe, one day, I'll be able to wake you up without threatening the major function of your body."

"Ha."

Liam was rubbing his good eye and yawned softly.

"My head hurts..."

"Oh no, I can't imagine why. "

Liam was blinking, but his body was swaying; the blind eye was closed by force. Sherlock knew Liam did that out of habit. Whenever he had trouble waking up, he was squinting. And he decided to use the blind eye for this; otherwise, he couldn't adapt the other one to the light. It was a useless thing, but still, he did it every time.

Sherlock tried to be most efficient without physically doing very much. Hi scraped Liam's clothes with his foot over the floor and made an overcomplicated show about getting them onto the bed without bending down. No way his head would survive that.

Liam – absolutely useless at the moment – observed him silently. He looked at least as hung-over as Sherlock felt right now, but he didn't pity him, not at all. Liam deserved this after the last night.

"Arms. "

"Got two of them. "

Sherlock was waiting; Liam stared. Both weren't mentally prepared for their usual power play, so Liam lifted his arms, getting in his shirt. Sherlock gave up on the first button and let Liam handle this; he hadn't even closed his own yet. To be honest, the naked Liam with nothing more but an open, white shirt on the bed was a piece of cake. He'd make sure to burn this picture deep in his memory area, but Sherlock couldn't trust himself now. Hopefully, his mind was at least ready to save a naked Liam.

-

Eight in the morning, the clock downstairs had just reached the full hour, and Sherlock groaned deeply; this was nearly nighttime. Who in the world was up this early? Only eight and breakfast was already set on a table, surrounded by three people. After a party, what the hell? Obviously, they were waiting for the latecomers, but Sherlock's brain stopped working. Three people? No, he saw him leaving last night, right?

"I don't understand this. "He had no time for polite morning small talk; this was an itching feeling under his skin. Not that Liam cared, he just sat down across from his older brother, still half asleep. His head fell down in his hands, and the amused sound Albert made rewarded him with a kick under the table.

"Are you all right, dear brother? "

Again, Liam kicked his leg, which led to a soft laugh, before Albert turned to Sherlock, his new favorite victim.

"Please, sit down. There's hot tea and coffee. I can open a new bottle of wine if you want to continue-"

"Brother! "

"I'm joking, Louis. Just joking. "

Sherlock was still staring at the third man, who noticed his mental breakdown but had decided to ignore that kindly.

"Mycroft, 'the hell you doing here? "

"Having breakfast. Or I could, if you don't mind, and sit down, brother mine. Everyone is waiting for you. "

"You went home yesterday! "

"Oh, absolutely not. I've escorted Miss Hudson since Dr. Watson was heading home to his wife. I came back as the two of you were challenged at the stairs. "

"Thanks for your help. "Liam muttered as he tried to lift his head. He turned green and went back in his hands immediately. Well, at least Sherlock now knew who helped them to go upstairs and got them to the right door. He'll accept that for now and sit down on Liam's other side, now between both Holmes brothers.

-

It turned out that eating was just as difficult as getting dressed; neither Sherlock nor Liam was able to hold a fork properly. Sherlock was awake by now, but he would throw himself back in this cozy bed with no doubt, preferably together with Liam. Maybe, later that day, they could snuggle up a bit, doing this or that. Later, maybe in the evening. Right now, Sherlock had to focus on finding his plate again.

Liam had his cutlery in his fingers, handy pressed flat at his cheeks and both eyes closed. The fork was pointed straight and tangled up in the blond hair. There was a small chance his headache was still present, but he mostly fell back asleep while eating. Louis, right next to Albert, did not have that much mercy and poked Liam with his foot.

"William. "

"Mhhhh. "

"That's what you get from drinking with Albert. "

"He refilled my glass constantly... "

Still mumbling, he decided to drop his head on Sherlock's shoulder; that was better than hitting the table with his forehead. Silence followed, and no one blamed his action. Liam took a deep breath; he wanted to smell Sherlock, which always calmed him down. He was very well conditioned to basically everything this man was, but there was no Sherlock-smell. Liam narrowed his eyebrows; he maybe was hung-over but not dense. He'd spend the last night pressed at the naked body of this man; of course, he'd recognize his smell. 

 Someone grabbed him by the upper arm and pulled him away to the other side. Liam opened his good eye and saw Mycroft looking at him, one eyebrow arched at a sharp angle. He was docking at Sherlock and stared at him dumbfounded. 

 Albert began to laugh.

"I know they look alike pretty much. But one is enough for you, little brother. "

Oh, he had to do that, right? Calling him little brother and remind Liam that he, Albert, was the oldest. He was marking his territory.

"I don't want to- "

"Don't worry; it's okay. "Mycroft seemed amused, while Sherlock's fingers were still closed around Liam's arm, unnecessarily tight.

"Could you finally stop comparing us constantly? Mycroft turned old at seven years of age. "

"The year you were born. Think about it, Sherly. "

Before Sherlock could throw a fit, Liam's hand patted his cheek; he swallowed his words and pierced a piece of egg.

"It wasn't my intention, again. I'm sorry. "

"Maybe Sherlock will make the same mistake with Louis; then you're even again. "

Albert was smiling that dangerous smile again while Louis' fingers were closing over his butter knife. He shot a threatening glare at Sherlock, who pressed himself at the back of his chair.

Liam freed himself from Sherlock's grip and tried to pick up his glass of water. He needed a clear head again and sort out this chaotic breakfast. He can't be the only one who saw Mycroft's and Albert's fingers linked together under the table, right?

Sherlock tried to weigh up how dangerous Louis was for him right now – who turned pale only thinking about a cuddle from Sherlock; rude, he was well-groomed, okay? - and relaxed a bit more. His gaze went back to Liam, who was looking at him.

"What is it? "

"Have I ever told you something about the number seventy-three? "

Sherlock smiled; his headache was easing off.

"No, tell me everything. "