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William found himself buried in the snow.
A loud laugh could be heard resonating wherever they were as William struggled to help himself up. He wanted to roll his eyes, but instead a loud laugh also escaped from his lips. He could not get the snow out of his closed eyes.
"Liam! Okay there?" Sherlock laughed.
"Yeah, no," he answered, feigning an annoyance.
It had been almost seven hours since they ran away from their home, no one knew where the both of them were, and William could bet Louis was on his way to call police if it wasn't for Albert by his side.
"You like this, huh?" William huffed.
He put his hands on his waist as he watched Sherlock almost rolling on the snow, clutching his stomach when William finally got out of that pile of snow. He clicked his tongue.
As Sherlock fought his way from laughing, he kneeled on the snow. He could feel the snow from his blue gloves which Albert knitted for him, shaping it into a large snowball.
"Here you go!" he shouted, throwing the large ball to Sherlock who once again, fell, right after he just got up from laughing. He was shot directly on his face.
This time, it was William's turn to laugh when Sherlock rolled again, not finding where to hold on due to the impact of William's snow.
"Liam!" Sherlock shrieked, making his laugh get louder.
"You can do it, Sherly!"
He shook his head. Finally, he turned his back to get inside the small house only the two of them knew. However, he struggled to walk as his feet were literally being buried as he tried. A smoke came out of his mouth when he tried to fix his scarf.
Before he could even walk again, he could feel presence behind him. His eyes widened, trying to fasten his pace—yet, he failed.
He's buried again.
He grunted when he felt something vibrating from behind. He landed exactly on top of Sherlock who he could not even see because of the pile of snow, but could feel because of his muffled laugh. His laugh was contagious that William could not help but laugh also. His body was hurt, but he was laughing.
"Don't you have any plans of heating up, Sherly?" His voice was hoarse.
"No," Sherlock answered, voice still muffled.
William grunted and tried to stand up, but Sherlock was tightening his grip on his waist from the back. He was worried Sherlock was getting suffocated. Not to mention it's too cold.
However, when he heard Sherlock's sigh, he could also hear his smile as if he was contended where they were. With that, William settled his head on Sherlock's stomach—forming a cross with their bodies, and sighed in relief also.
It's really... nice doing things like this with Sherlock. Running away as if they were young people who're forbidden to see each other even though it's really nothing like that. They just want the thrill of being together without telling anyone they were—they just always knew.
It's nice collecting memories they, especially William, had been stolen. The things they should have done as teenagers, instead of facing dead people and trash society.
"Liam, you're thinking."
William snapped back to reality when he heard Sherlock's low voice. He looked up, only to end up seeing Sherlock's hair trying to escape from his bonnet and chuckled. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for, Liam." He heard Sherlock.
After that, silence ensued once again. This time, he could feel Sherlock's loud heartbeat from the back of his head. He bit his lip, and turned his face so his cheeks would be on the exact place where Sherlock's heart was beating.
"They're loud," he commented. As if he knew nothing of it.
Because of his position, he could now see Sherlock's face. He wanted to trace his jaw, his nose, his lips, but his fingers are now frozen to his chest despite the cloth. It's too cold, but this was one of the warmest moments in his life.
"Liam, do you know that an octopus has eight tentacles?" Sherlock started, voice was as soft as the snow.
"No, I do not," he answered, voice as soft as his.
"Yeah, I suppose." He grinned. "Your mind's so pretty. I would kiss it."
"Really?" William smiled, eyes forming crescents. "I do not know that also."
"I haven't said it yet?"
"No, you haven't."
"I should say it always, then."
William laughed at their antics, and he could feel Sherlock's movement also. Both of them were satisfied with where they were. Him, looking at Sherlock from under and Sherlock looking to the sky.
"Do you know that you can touch stars?" Sherlock, once again, asked.
William smiled again, he could already feel his heart warming up. "No..."
A silent gasp escaped his lips when without looking, Sherlock's left hand roamed around his eye patch, 'til his right hand reached the other without.
"I'm touching them right now."
"You're so..." William laughed. "Then, can I see stars too?"
"What?"
William fixed his position when he felt Sherlock moving. He's now using his elbows to support himself, while William ended up lying on his lap, refusing to move himself away.
He tilted his head, squinting as he stared directly into his eyes. "Eh... not really."
Sherlock gasped.
William wanted to laugh, but he held it in. He met Sherlock's blue widened eyes and his heart was at peace again.
"Yours are more shiny, Sherly," he finished.
Again, another dramatic gasp escaped Sherlock. "Liam, that's unfair!" he screamed, his face was now getting red.
"What? Am I not allowed?" he said between his laughs. “You’re red.”
"I didn't say that! And I'm not turning red!"
"You are."
"It's cold!"
"Oh, so you noticed," he joked.
They'd been outside for an hour, and he really was kind of freezing. Sherlock was warm, but still. Suddenly, he was looking forward to Sherlock's coffee later as soon as they got back inside.
William clasped his hands together, rubbing them. He was about to stand again, when Sherlock held his clasped hands. He looked at him. “I can’t take the cold any longer,” he muttered, pursing his lips.
Sherlock laughed at him, nodding repeatedly as his hands went for his cheeks. He felt nothing but the warm blue gloves Albert knitted for Sherlock. “I know, I know. Let’s get back.”
He was hunching as the man guided him inside the house. As soon as he felt the warmth, he unclenched his jaw and sighed. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened it, his eyes tried to find Sherlock—finding him in front of the fireplace. He smiled as he stared at his face, illuminating the light coming from the fire. He’d already removed his bonnet and gloves, leaving his hair a mess, and the fire inside William was still ablaze.
“Come here, Liam. Want your coffee now?”
He shook his head. “Later.” He got up from the wall he was leaning from and walked closer to the fire where Sherlock was. “Thank you, Sherly,” he simply said, but both of them knew it held a thousand words.
Instead of answering, Sherlock pulled him closer to him, and this time his back was on the chest that became his pillar for years. William watched as the fire in front of them kept getting stronger, and as he did, he could feel his pinky finger being played by Sherlock’s. He tried looking back at him only to see his eyes close, chin buried on William’s shoulder.
“Tired yet?”
Sherlock grunted, shaking his head.
William smiled softly. He looked at Sherlock’s face once again before he decided to turn to the fire in front of him. Right after, he started humming.
He felt him smile on his shoulder, and once again, he’s back to their last days together in New York. The days when they decided to do this at least once a month, running away to see lavenders. To feel comfort they had given to themselves before. Relieving the same feelings that never even went away.
Sherlock took his heart, and even with fears, held it close. He took Sherlock’s, and with silent battles, clasped it tight with him… he hoped.
“Let’s go back home later, Sherly?”
Sherlock nodded. “Yeah, I’m prepared for Miss Hudson’s voice now,” he jested.
He laughed at that. They knew they’re really looking forward to their voices now. They had successfully seen lavenders today, he’s hoping for a better next month.