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God, Sherlock hated this job. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. He liked helping people well enough, keeping the townsfolk safe and whatnot. He couldn’t deny the thrill of the chase either - tracking them down, predicting their next steps and catching them unaware.
But this? Following nothing but the hearsay of hysterical villagers screaming about a vampire killing their livestock? Pah! What a waste of time and energy. What did it matter that a couple of cows or goats disappeared? Wild animals attacked livestock all the damn time. Even if it was a vampire, these people ought to be grateful that they hadn’t become its next meal.
Damn Sherrinford Holmes and his stupid blood oath to protect this country. Why’d he have to swear in all his descendants to this life of vampire hunting? Damn him and whatever had led to Sherlock walking around Durham at ass-o’clock in the morning for the sake of due diligence. May as well have sent him on the hunt for bigfoot, at least that would’a gotten a fun reaction from the papers.
So engrossed in thought, Sherlock failed to notice the blond in his path until he had walked right into him, a flurry of papers scattering on the ground.
“Ah crap, didn’t see ya there, everything alright?” Sherlock cursed himself internally, he was usually more aware of his surroundings than this.
“You know, it’s normally good manners to apologise when you run into someone,” mused the blond man.
Sherlock bristled. “Hey, ‘s not my fault I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out on the road this late…” he trailed off when he noticed the teasing glimmer of amusement in the other man’s scarlet eyes. Clearing his throat, he continued, “Sorry ‘bout that though.”
His apology was waved off by blond who had started to pick up the strewn papers from the pavement and Sherlock quickly mirrored his actions. Stealing a glimpse at their contents, a deduction rapidly formed in his mind. Before he could stop himself, he found himself blurting out, “So, a maths professor then?”
Without giving the other a chance to respond, he pressed on, “These are papers from a maths exam. Judging by the topic, ’s probably at a university level. There’s a red ink stain on your hands, so I presume you were grading ‘em not too long ago. Y'er out here in the middle of the night because you stayed back to grade these papers, noticed how late it had gotten, and were probably returning home to finish them up, weren’t ya?”
The handsome stranger smiled, “What an astute observation. Yes, you would be mostly correct.” His face had lit up with interest. “Let me return the favour then,” he purred as he leaned forward to sniff Sherlock. “Tobacco, gunpowder and the hint of a chemical dependency, a man not without his vices, it seems.” Sherlock startled.
“Clearly an Oxbridge man, yet your Cockney accent is deliberate. Definitely not an academic, though you’d have the talent for it. Hmm…tall and lithe. Yes, with calluses like those, I’d say you work with guns and weapons a fair amount. Law enforcement or something along those lines, perhaps?”
Sherlock couldn’t hold back his guffaw. It’d been a long time since someone bested him at this game. Hunters were as close to supernatural law enforcement as one could probably get. He offered a hand.
“Sherlock Holmes.”
Had Sherlock not been staring at the blond so intently, he might have missed the slight twitch in his brow. Besides that, nothing about the other man’s face betrayed any recognition of his family name. Odd, since the Holmes name was rather well-known in this area. He quickly pushed that unimportant thought aside. It was rather refreshing to meet someone so wholly uncaring of his family and interested in the person, Sherlock.
They shook hands cordially. “William James Moriarty. A pleasure to meet you, Mr Holmes.”
“Same ‘ere, Liam.”
He got an amused huff for the nickname, but no admonishment came.
“Well then, I must be off.” William pointedly nodded at the stack of papers in his arm, “I bid you a good day, Mister Holmes.”
And with that, they parted for the night.
Something good had come from all his night hunting after all. Unlikely as it was, Sherlock hoped he’d run into the professor again someday. He seemed like a pretty interesting fellow.
---
William’s eyes darted left and right before he opened the door to his home.
A Holmes in Durham. This was certainly not something he had ever anticipated. He had moved here precisely because of the low supernatural involvement here. Nothing to draw the attention of a hunter.
Granted it was never a guarantee. Still, he had calculated the odds of such an event to be low enough to permanently stay in Durham, going so far as to apply for a teaching position at the university.
That man… Sherlock. He was dangerous. Besides the tobacco and opium, he had also caught the underlying scent of hawthorn. A lesser-known, but painfully effective ward against vampires. The effects of this plant was only known within the older hunting families for fear that the common people would wipe the natural flora barren of them. William was thankful the night had been chilly enough to warrant wearing gloves, lest he be burned by the handshake he exchanged with Sherlock.
He’d have to send a telegraph out to Louis and Albert first thing in the morning to warn them about the presence of a hunter in the area.
It would be pertinent for William to avoid contact with Sherlock as much as possible to reduce the risk of discovery.
And yet, he couldn’t help the traitorous thought that he had very much enjoyed his meeting Sherlock. The man’s intellect contrasted against his brashness in the most intriguing way.
Perhaps, in a different life, they could have been friends.
---
"Fancy seeing ya here, Liam!"
The man in question simply rolled his eyes with a fond smile.
"Mister Holmes, you know full well this is my place of employment. This is the farthest thing from coincidence." There was, however, no bite to his admonishment.
Over the past few weeks, William and Sherlock had shared an uncanny number of encounters. He had come across him on the streets, in the university and even once at the local pub.
He had been paranoid at first, wondering if Holmes suspected him of something. He treated the man with a cautious distance, being careful not to reveal too much information about his family and private life.
However, as the weeks passed, William had grown more comfortable in Sherlock's presence. Their conversations were often filled with witty banter and cheeky remarks, as well as discussions of more serious topics like politics and poverty whenever time allowed for it.
They had some differences in their beliefs and ways of thinking, naturally. However, William found him to be a delightfully well-informed conversation partner who could match his arguments with equally sharp ones of his own.
It was a dangerous game to play, but William would be lying if he said it didn't give him a thrill. The hunter and the hunted. They were certainly both keeping their cards close to their chests. Heavy secrets that weighed down on them both.
Almost like a silent game of wits to see who could outsmart the other first.
Still, he couldn't help but worry about the fondness that had begun to bubble up within him whenever he met with Sherlock. The other man simply had a way of worming past his guard and startling the most genuine reactions out of him.
His feelings were becoming a liability.
And he had much, much more to consider than his own trifling feelings.
"Don't you think you're getting a bit too familiar with me there?" Not that he minded one bit.
"Ah, my sincere apologies. Good morrow, Professor Moriarty," called Sherlock in a pompously proper accent. "Would the good professor deign to grace me with his presence at lunch today?"
William stamped down his instinctive snort. He really should turn the other man down and discourage further attempts at friendship. After all, it was sure to end poorly for them both.
And yet, he found words tumbling out of their own accord, “Of course, Mister Holmes. That is, if you can help me solve a little mystery.” Sherlock’s eyes lit up at the idea of a puzzle. “You see, I have a test paper here with a perfect score. My great conundrum is that there is no indication of his identity at all…”
The next two hours were spent poring over the clues that would lead them to the anonymous mathematical genius as William got to witness Sherlock’s brilliant mind in action.
Perhaps he could indulge in Sherlock’s company, just this once.
---
"Brother, I do not think you should continue associating with that Sherlock Holmes."
For the briefest of moments, William had believed he and Sherlock could put their names aside and simply be.
He had encountered many a hunter who could never cease bragging of their exploits, spouting nonsensical drivel and vitriolic comments about nasty bloodsucking and their ilk.
Sherlock had never once mentioned hunting in William's presence, and seemed to keep a level head whenever anything of the supernatural was mentioned.
"Hey Liam, ya ever noticed how pretty yer eyes are? Scarlet like a vampire's."
William wasn't quite sure how to take that comment, but was later assured that he had meant it as a compliment.
"Sorry, probably sounded pretty weird, eh? I mean it though, they kinda shine like gems under moonlight or somethin'..."
"Forgive my impudence, brother, but… He'll ruin you."
He wanted to reassure Louis that Sherlock would do nothing of the sort.
But he never had any guarantee of that, had he? The hunter and the hunted. That's what they were. Nothing more, nothing less.
He couldn't help the pang in his chest at the thought. It wasn't something he wished to dwell upon. William simply shook his head, signalling the end to their conversation.
---
Three months. Three goddamn months and Sherlock still hadn’t been able to track down the vampire at large. He was definitely sure that creature was skulking around Durham. There was now circumstantial evidence beyond pure rumour and conjecture, what with the wake of bodies being found in alleyways, drained dry of blood.
Scotland Yard was forcefully suppressing the press, in order to prevent mass hysteria from breaking out. Sherlock, unfortunately, was being pressured by the Yard to resolve the case as quickly as possible.
Bloody incompetent fools, the lot of them. Foisting off the case onto Sherlock after claiming it was the same target he had already been tracking anyway. Gah, he wished we could have taken John with him. Alas, that lovesick fool was off taking care of his wife.
Something seemed off about the whole thing. The thought niggled at the back of his mind as he parsed through the photographs of the bodies. It just didn’t seem like the work of the same vampire that he had followed to Durham. The victims up until this point had only been animals - a couple of missing livestock every few weeks - and it seemed unlikely that his modus operandi would change so drastically.
A red herring. Someone was intentionally leading Sherlock down a false trail.
He grit his teeth and crushed his cigarette beneath his heel. Sherlock had never had the patience for mockery.
---
A scoundrel in Durham, that's what this was. Some daft vampire was running around the county and causing trouble. Whether simply puerile or power-drunk, he was drawing all sorts of unsavoury attention from the law.
William clucked his tongue. What a terribly inconvenient development. Which half-wit even conceived this notion of displaying superiority in this manner?
Openly targeting innocent victims and leaving clear evidence of blood drinking would simply turn everyone against their entire race.
Goodness gracious. It seems it would fall to him to clean up the waste.
---
Top hat in hand and body angled slightly in a bow, William faced Sherlock with a rather apologetic look.
“I beg your pardon, Sherlock. It seems I will not be able to meet you for a while. Some family matters have arisen, you must understand. If fortune allows it, I hope we may continue to converse when I return.”
---
A puff of smoke escaped the raven-haired man before he turned to his companion.
"I've got it, Lestrade. There's only one person this could be."
---
Across the city, another group sat in similarly sombre silence.
“I do believe he’s been a thorn in our side for long enough. Louis, Albert, prepare to move.”
“As you wish, brother.”
---
We really ought to have gotten rid of him a decade ago when he first stirred up trouble in London. William couldn’t help but sneer at the mere thought of the other man. A disgrace to our kind, indeed.
He moved quickly but with caution, ensuring his footsteps remained as silent as possible as he ducked past windows. The cover of night was helpful, but not infallible. He couldn’t afford to be careless against this foe.
It was an unnaturally still night, not a single whisper of wind in the air. The only sounds were his own ragged inhales as William scaled across the cobblestone and the pounding of his heart. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, William’s long coat casting long monstrous shadows on the ground.
He steeled himself for the monster he was about to confront.
Charles Augustus Milverton. A name that left nothing but disgust in his mouth. He fancied himself above all others and called himself a vampire though he brought nothing but shame to their race. He had been the catalyst for the witch hunts a century ago, deceiving young women into becoming his feeders and casting them as witches the instant they stopped obeying him. The word of these unfortunate maidens held little weight against the accusations of a nobleman and he sparked a country-wide genocide of young women.
William’s lips curled into a snarl just thinking about it. The hunters had been all too happy to join in.
He would put an end to Milverton’s schemes today, once and for all. He drew his blade from within his cane, readying himself to strike. He could not afford to lose the element of surprise tonight. Already he had left himself vulnerable by bidding Louis and Albert to stand guard at the perimeter.
He was close.
A shrieking laughter cut through the silence of the night.
William froze. He discreetly pressed himself flat against the wall, ensuring he was hidden in the shadows and tiptoed to the edge of the wall right before it turned the corner. He took a breath to steel himself and peeked over, suppressing his panic when he saw not one, but two figures in the dark.
Milverton was supposed to be alone.
He knew that figure. Everything from his laidback stance to his cocked head. He knew him, silly ponytail and all.
Sherlock.
From the looks of it, they were still conversing. Closing his eyes, he attempted to parse out the words they were exchanging.
“-ow you, on the other hand, are a right bastard who’s been leaving those bloody corpses around.”
Milverton sneered, “So, what are you going to do about the other vampire in Durham? Let him run amok? Rather hypocritical of you, don’t you think, hunter?”
“Don’t see how that’s any of yer’ business, leasing-monger. You’ll get what’s coming to yer’.”
There was a flash of silver under the moonlight, and then Milverton was no more.
Uncaring of his footsteps, William fled.
---
"He's going to kill me, Louis."
"Brother, I don’t believe-"
"He's already killed one vampire, Louis. Now he's definitely going to kill me as well once he finds out what I am."
After all, Sherlock was a Holmes through and through. He was a hunter down to his bones. He had handled Milverton so effortlessly, executing the vampire with cold detachment and no hesitation. With a single graceful movement, he had drawn his pistol and swiftly fired six silver bullets into his vitals.
His enhanced healing stood no chance against a direct shot through his heart.
What a terrifying man.
He would have to remain cautious too, seeing as Sherlock was aware that another vampire was still in the area.
“You’ll get what’s coming to yer’.” Sherlock’s words paired with that awful smile kept replaying in his mind. He was certain that death would come to him. What else would a bloodthirsty creature of the night deserve?
This was the consequence of being too careless when preying on the livestock. Honestly, he never imagined that Sherlock would persistently follow the frenzied whispers of the townsfolk all the way to Durham.
"We could move further South. You know I'd follow you wherever you chose to go," Louis tentatively suggested.
No, that wouldn't work. It would be too suspicious for him to suddenly disappear completely at this moment. It might put Holmes directly on their trail.
Besides that, a small part of him had truly hoped that he would be able to start life afresh here. To pass his time with the simple joy of educating the young minds of the next generation and dabbling in the fascinating realm of mathematics.
To live in peace amongst others.
Again, he felt a suffocating tightness in his chest as he imagined his death at Sherlock’s hands. He truly had wanted to be friends. Perhaps the raven-haired hunter would be merciful and grant him a swift death, out of respect for their companionship.
Unlikely, WIlliam thought with a wry smile.
Though perhaps…he could cut down on feeding until the dust settled. If all signs of vampiric activity were to disappear, it might just shake the hunter off. It wouldn’t be unreasonable for a vampire, shaken by the news of Milverton’s death, to flee the area.
It would be a small sacrifice to make, to keep Sherlock in his life.
---
Just a little more.
He and Sherlock had resumed their little run-ins at the university, the falsified looks of surprise becoming part of their routine once again.
It was nice.
It had William itching for a cigarette.
Sherlock had turned up after visiting a crime scene. He had probably tried his best to scrub off all evidence, but…
William could still detect the underlying scent of blood. It was tantalising.
Ordinarily, he'd have no problem resisting the smell. He wasn't some fledgling with a lack of self-control, after all. An experienced vampire wouldn't even blink at the smell of blood in the presence of other humans.
Ordinarily.
"Oi, Liam, yer alright? Yer lookin' rather pale."
Two weeks. He hadn't eaten or slept in two weeks. Too wary to hunt and too hungry to sleep.
Milverton had been killed slightly over a month ago. The initial few weeks had been bearable. They had developed their own methods for storing animal blood and keeping it fresh for later, and WIlliam was able to abstain from eating every few days to prolong their rations.
But it wouldn’t last forever.
No, William refused to let his own brothers starve in the same miserable manner as he, insisting that they consume the blood. He jauntily made a show of retrieving blood from their storage in front of Louis and Albert, only to return them when no one was watching.
Louis had started to look concerned. Was William’s poor condition caused by a lack of nutrition? Animal blood was a subpar substitute for human blood, meant only to supplement them between feedings on humans. He tried suggesting that William continue hunting, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it.
Sherlock Holmes was still in Durham. And that meant that he still hadn’t given up on finding the vampire that resided here.
Speaking of the devil before him…
“Liam?”
He plastered on a serene smile. "I'm alright, Sherlock. I simply haven't been sleeping very well, is all." He gestured at the work laid out on his desk, hoping Sherlock would draw the obvious conclusion.
Ah, this wasn’t good. His vision was beginning to blur. He reached out an arm to steady himself to prevent causing undue alarm, but that only prompted Sherlock to draw closer. The metallic tang of blood wafted closer, causing his gums to itch and fangs to drop involuntarily.
William choked out a cough and covered his mouth to hide the evidence.
Oh, why had fickle fortune chosen to forsake him now? Surely the man before him would piece everything together. It would be a disservice to his brilliance to imagine otherwise.
He knew how monstrous he must look - a vampire losing control. Fangs drawn and eyes glowing an unnatural scarlet, more so than usual. A picture-perfect example of a bloodthirsty creature of the night that needed to be put down.
“So it was you, after all!” A pleased grin had curled itself around Sherlock’s lips. A smile that preceded William’s imminent demise. How odd that he found himself admiring that beautiful smile instead of tendrils of fear.
“Had this feeling I couldn’t shake that the other vampire was right under my nose. I wanted it to be you, Liam!” Sherlock’s eyes were bright with delight and smirked as if he had all the proof he needed.
So this was a hunter in the throes of passion, high on the thrill of cornering his prey.
How utterly terrifying. And yet, William couldn’t help but think that he looked beautiful like this.
Sherlock took a step forward, and he, a step back.
He could feel his heart attempting to claw its way out of his chest.
Their impasse dragged on until William took yet another step backwards and stumbled. He cursed his own legs and his own weakness. His arms trembled, knowing there was nowhere to run. He was far too weak to attempt an escape, superhuman reflexes be damned.
Sherlock reached an arm into his jacket and pulled out a wooden object, tossing it aside onto the floor
William couldn't suppress his instinctive flinch at the wooden stake laid before him. Hawthorn, his mind helpfully supplied. The same ward he had smelled on Sherlock on their very first meeting.
This was it then. His death. What had started out as a fairly innocuous invitation to lunch today would end in tragedy for him. Worst of all, he would lose his treasured companion. He had known from the start that a devilish creature like himself was destined for nothing but hatred. And yet, he had hoped that Sherlock would be different.
His heart was shattering.
The part of him that he had tried so hard to repress came pouring out in a hot trickle of tears. Every fond feeling, every conversation, every gentle touch flashed before his eyes.
Even in this, it seemed that he would continue to be weak.
He couldn’t deny his feelings.
Sherlock crouched in front of him. He seemed to have a face of concern, but William wasn’t sure if it was simply his imagination playing tricks on him.
He was in love with this man.
The man who would soon kill him with his own two hands.
The blond fixed his eyes on the wooden stake laying discarded across him. “You’ve caught me, Mister Holmes.” His tongue felt like lead as he forced the words out. “What will it be, then? Stake me with hawthorn, or fill me with silver just as you did to Milverton?”
Sherlock looked at William as if he had grown two heads.
“The hell are you talking ‘bout, Liam?” growled Sherlock. “I’m not going to kill you, you idiot!”
Now it was William’s turn to be confused. What was Sherlock approaching him for, if not to kill him?
Sherlock’s hand reached out to grab William’s, squeezing tight. "I simply have one question for you."
The vampire in question tensed, expecting to be asked about his feeding habits, or perhaps his intentions for the townsfolk that fell under his protection.
The ruby-eyed blond was not, however, prepared for the words that came next.
"Why the bloody hell would you do this to yourself, Liam?"
The hand gripping his entangled their fingers together, such that William couldn’t tell where Sherlock’s warmth began and his ended. Oh, maybe that concern hadn’t just been wishful thinking.
“You huge idiot! Why’d you go and starve yourself? You can barely walk!” By this point, Sherlock was shouting, but William couldn’t bring himself to care. He couldn’t think past the relief that was suddenly flooding through his veins.
Of course his brilliant hunter would take one look at his pale (or, well, paler than usual) complexion together with the fact that he was a vampire and understand instantly that WIlliam hadn’t been feeding.
He felt himself being tugged forward, his face meeting the hunter's chest. Sherlock's other hand kept a firm grip on his back as he murmured, "...to be condemned just for being what you are, that's not what you deserve, Liam."
William felt his whole world being overturned. Sherlock's words were both a balm upon his soul and yet tearing his insides asunder.
Unaware of William's emotional turmoil, Sherlock pressed on, "Being a vampire is not a crime, Liam. There's nothing to be forgiven for."
Leave it to Sherlock to deduce every last worry that William had and put them to rest. That man really was too intelligent for his own good. Who else could read William so easily? Who else would piece together each untraceable shred of evidence to follow him to Durham?
Who else could cause a paradigm shift in William’s world with a few uttered words?
He had been well and truly defeated. And somehow, he didn’t seem to mind all that much.
The blond huffed in resignation, “It’s my loss, Sherly.”
---
He would say he was disgruntled, but in truth William was simply a little embarrassed at being carried by Sherlock like some helpless maiden. The other had scooped him up from the ground as if he weighed nothing more than a child. Loathe as he was to admit it, Sherlock’s arms felt like safety with the way that they were firmly fastened around him. It had been a long time since someone had treated him with such care and gentleness.
Burying his burning face into Sherlock’s shirt, William wondered if he should play at being unconscious. Thankfully, the students and fellow professors at the university were used to his frequent fainting spells, so none of them questioned the young mathematician being whisked away in the arms of the raven-haired hunter.
A short carriage ride later found them at the doorstep of Holmes’ temporary abode. William wondered why he was brought here when his own residence in Durham would have been closer and less inconvenient. (Of course he knew this place. William had had someone scope the place out after he had first encountered the man in the streets that fateful night). Gingerly, William was lifted out of the carriage, up the steps and through the doorway.
Sherlock carefully lowered the mathematician onto the bed and took a seat next to him.
Not so carefully, a glove was ripped off and a wrist was shoved unceremoniously in William’s face.
“Drink.”
The blond’s mouth fell open in unsightly surprise. Surely he hadn’t heard the other correctly. Did Sherlock not understand the sheer lunacy of allowing a starving vampire to drink from him? His self-control was hardly at its best. It would be so easy for him to lose control.
William opened his mouth to protest but Sherly wouldn’t hear any of it.
“None o’ that nonsense, Liam. Just drink already. Yer’ hungry, ain’t ya?”
William certainly couldn’t deny that. His fangs hadn’t once retracted during this entire period, no matter how much William had tried to will them away. His body was crying out in protest for him to feed, his instincts overpowering his usual composure.
Still, he’d rather die than risk Sherlock.
“Oi, stop talking about dying. I’m trying to keep ya alive ‘ere.” Oh, had he said that out loud? He must really be out of it if he was making such slips.
Sherlock sighed irritably, “Look, Liam, just bite already. I’ll stop ya if I feel woozy or if you lose control, aight? You can believe in my abilities at least that much, can’t ya?” By this point, Sherlock was pointedly shaking his bare wrists in front of William, begging him to drink.
And obey, William did.
Reaching his hands out, he gently cradled the arm that Sherly offered to him, lapping gently over the skin. He could feel Sherly’s pulse hammering under his skin, anticipation mixed with slight trepidation. It probably went against his hunter instincts to allow a creature of the night to feed from him.
His fangs slowly pierced Sherly’s skin and the alluring scent of fresh blood filled William’s senses. Red began to bead up around the cuts. He allowed himself a lick and groaned at the taste of sweet nectar. God, Sherlock tasted divine.
“Ah, ‘s good, Liam…”
He peeked at Sherly’s face and was mesmerised by what he saw. He’d known that his bite had some euphoric properties, but never before had he been in a position to observe the face of his victim. Sherly’s face betrayed a deep pleasure interspersed with pinpricks of pain whenever William’s fangs cut deeper into the skin. He didn’t seem to be deterred by the pain at all. In fact, Sherly seemed rather enthusiastic about the whole thing, insistently pushing his wrist against William’s fangs.
With his hunger sated and some semblance of strength returned to him, William began to pull back, lest he drain Sherly of too much. Ah, what a pity , he thought as he licked off the remnants of blood off his lips. Now knowing the taste of the sweet ambrosia that was Sherly’s blood, William feared that he might never be able to settle again for less. He truly was a delicious specimen.
“...Never do that again.”
William’s face fell. Of course, this must have been an exceptional arrangement to prevent his death. What kind of hunter would allow a vampire to feed from him more than once? Nevermind that Sherlock seemed to have enjoyed it.
“Never starve yourself to this point again, y’hear?” slurred Sherlock, blinking out the bleariness from his eyes.
Oh.
The hunter rolled himself into William’s lap. “Drink from cows or sheep, or hell, even me if you want. But don’t you dare die on me, you idiot.”
William hummed thoughtfully. “I thought you’d want me dead. I’m a creature of the night, after all. It’s your job to hunt us, Mister Holmes.”
Sherlock chuffed a laugh. “Kill you? Yer’ the most interesting thing I’ve encountered in decades!” A long pause. “...‘sides, I love ya too much for that, Liam.” He sounded unabashed and completely shameless to make that statement, but from his position, Liam could see his ears turning pink. “I know it’s stupid and all considering we’ve only met a while ago but I can’t help but feel you really understand me. Not the hunter, not a Holmes, but me, Sherlock.”
William hadn’t thought there could be anything more euphoric than drinking Sherly’s blood, but he was glad to be proven wrong. Happiness swelled up within him and his chest was overtaken by an effervescent feeling that threatened to burst.
The blond leaned down to place a gentle kiss atop Sherlock’s temple.
“I’m quite fond of you as well, Sherly.”
It was a delight to see Sherlock sharply turn to face him, eyes lit up and brimming with excitement.
And then, he saw no more because his eyes flew shut as Sherlock pulled him down for a proper kiss.