Work Text:
Curious.
William found himself standing in the middle of a corridor, and he had not the slightest idea how he had gotten there. The place felt kind of familiar, but how he knew it evaded him.
As he stood there, people clad in white coats passed him by, but none of them took any notice of him. Almost as if he wasn’t really there.
A door across the hall caught his attention. Without being able to explain why, he knew this was the room he needed to enter. He was lucky; just when he reached it, one of the busy people around – a nurse? – headed straight for it, and William sneakily slipped inside with her.
Afternoon light painted the small space a golden orange. There wasn’t much inside the room. Just a visibly occupied bed, and a person on a chair beside it. William was unable to see much of the visitor, as they half laid on the bed too, bent over and face buried in the sheets. It was a heartbreaking view.
The nurse positioned herself at the foot of the bed. William stayed by the door, suddenly scared to go closer.
“You should get some rest, dear,” the nurse addressed the visitor sympathetically. “It won’t do you any good if you keep spending all your days off seated by a hospital bed. Of course we don’t mind having you here, but don’t you think a shorter visit like on other days would suffice? You really should–”
“Look,” the person said, and William’s heart froze in his chest. He would know this voice anywhere. Sherlock lifted his upper body, turning towards her. There was not a fraction of a doubt it was him, although he looked different. His loose hair was shorter, not even reaching his shoulders. And, much more prominently, he looked exhausted. Even from meters away, and looking against the light, William could clearly make out the heavy bag under his eye in his profile. His posture, too. As if it cost all of his will power to keep him upright. William could hardly bear the sight of him.
“Look,” Sherlock repeated, locking gazes with her. “I know you mean well, but I know what I’m doing. I am not going to leave this place any earlier than I usually do, and that is none of your business. I am needed here.”
“But he most likely doesn’t even notice you are here,” the nurse insisted, apology in her voice. “Please don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be.”
“I appreciate the concern,” Sherlock said firmly. “Like I said, I know what I’m doing.”
With those words, he turned towards the bed again, obviously uninterested in any further conversation.
After a few more moments of watching him with pitiful eyes, the nurse turned away and passed by William to exit the room. The door fell closed.
Now, it was only William, Sherlock and the patient. William had an uneasy feeling he knew exactly who that was.
Plucking up his courage, he slowly stepped closer, only stopping right next to the bed. He still hadn’t looked at the person occupying it. Instead, he studied Sherlock’s features more closely. His eyes were slightly red, indicating he had cried earlier. The corners of his mouth were hanging lower than William had ever seen them, and the wrinkles on his forehead were scarily prominent.
Movement caught his eye, and William watched as Sherlock gently took the patient’s right hand in both of his. It didn’t stop at that. Incredibly carefully, he lifted the hand up into the air until it was high enough to allow him to prop his elbows up on the mattress. Then, he leaned his forehead against the bundle of hands, exhaling a shaky breath.
Just when William was about to look up and confirm his suspicions, Sherlock did it for him.
“None of them have any idea, Liam.”
William felt nauseous. This really was a fragment of the past; him unconscious in the hospital bed, Sherlock by his side, always by his side. How on earth did he get here?
“What else am I supposed to do on my free days?,” Sherlock said. “Imagine: me, taking leisurely walks in the park. As if I’d be able to think of anything else but you lying here all alone. No, this has nothing to do with pity, and you know it. All I wanna see is you; there really isn’t anywhere I could go that I would enjoy more than being here with you. Promise.”
As William heard him say those words, it was like a memory. He hadn’t been aware of it, but now that it was replayed for him like this, he knew he had heard him say this before. It almost broke his heart. All of a sudden, William was convinced he had never even begun to grasp just how hard these six months had been on him.
“But you know that, don’t you,” Sherlock continued, and he uttered a humorless laugh. “Goddamn it, Liam, I wish you could just tell me you know how much you mean to me, and that you will try to stay for me. I–” His voice broke, and his body started shaking. “I need you here, you idiot!”
William only noticed his own tears when they reached his chin and started dripping to the floor. After a moment’s consideration, he moved a step closer and gently wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s trembling form. As expected, there was no reaction. He was but an observer here, not truly present in this situation. Having confirmed this, William only tightened his embrace, squeezing him in a desperate attempt to make him feel less alone and heartbroken.
It took a while, but eventually, Sherlock calmed down.
“My cooking is getting better: I’m not burning the scrambled eggs anymore. And yesterday I peeled the potatoes without cutting my finger. You will probably miss Louis’ cooking, but my food is edible, even Billy said so. You will love Billy, I just know it. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
You are right, I love Billy, William whispered in his ear. And your cooking was more than decent from the start. I should probably tell you more often.
“There are no curtains yet, have I mentioned that before?” Sherlock was still speaking towards the floor, his forehead still pressed against the comatose William’s hand. “I think you will deem them important, so I want to make sure you like them. It can wait till you can decide.”
William was overwhelmed with emotion. Reliving this, something he hadn’t been aware he even remembered, was too much. Too much of Sherlock’s pain to bear. Too much of Sherlock’s love to fathom. Too much of how do I deserve him?
Eventually, Sherlock lifted his head, and William reluctantly let go of him. Then, he watched him bring the other William’s hand to his face and bury his mouth and nose in its palm, inhaling deeply as if to memorize his scent.
“So you better wake up soon, alright?,” Sherlock said as he carefully guided his hand back down onto the bed, putting it down next to the bulge that was his body under the blanket. “Can’t make me live without curtains forever!”
That raised a tired smile from William. At last, he took heart and directed his gaze towards past William’s head. However, as soon as he perceived the bandage wrapped around his head and his sunken cheeks, the scene started to blur.
Understanding what was happening, William hurriedly exclaimed, “I will wake up soon, Sherly! Just a little longer!”, hoping the words might somehow reach him, before everything disappeared.
***
William was warm and comfortable, the subtle smell of cigarettes teased his nose, and the distant noise of laughing children reached his ears. As always, Sherlock was warmer than him. His living hot-water bottle. Heat was emanating from his strong upper arm that William’s head rested on, and from his chest that William’s arm was splayed out over. Feeling him close, and knowing that he could feel him too, was the most wonderful gift William could think of waking up to after that… dream. Memory? Unable to hold himself back, he shifted as close as he could, tightening his arm around Sherlock’s torso and moving his head so it rested more on his bare chest than his arm. Even that didn’t feel close enough.
Sherlock stirred. “...Liam?,” he mumbled groggily, clearly only half awake.
“Mhm,” William hummed, feeling the sound resonate in his throat. “Good morning, Sherly.”
Normally he would feel bad about waking him up, but today other things took priority. The need to exist next to him, both of them alive and conscious and content, was too strong.
“Sherly?,” he prompted, unsuccessfully trying to conceal his impatience.
Sherlock groaned, apparently not willing to utter a sentence just yet, but certainly picking up on his urgency. He took a deep, audible breath.
“I love you,” William informed him enthusiastically, “and I am the happiest whenever I’m near you, and I really like our curtains, and your cooking is fabulous. I don’t think I thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me.”
“...Huh?”
“Never mind.” Smiling blissfully, William deliberately inhaled Sherlocks scent, acutely aware of his body warmth bleeding into his cheek. He understood why Sherlock had done the same to him in his memory; this smell was home.
After a minute of silence, William felt Sherlock move. He wrapped both his arms tightly around him, resting one hand against William’s back and using the other to cradle his head.
“Where’d that come from all of a sudden?,” he asked, clearly awake enough now that his mind had caught up to what William had said.
For a second, William considered telling him, but then decided against it. Not now. This moment was too pleasant to taint it by making Sherlock remember a time that must have been hell for him.
“Just felt like telling you,” he replied instead, slightly turning his head to press a kiss to Sherlock’s chest. It wasn’t a lie, anyway.
“Huh,” Sherlock said again, this time in wonder, not downright confusion. He gently started stroking Williams hair. If William had been a cat, he would have purred.
“...Liam?”
“Yes?”
“I love you, too.”
“I know,” William sighed. There had probably been no moment in time that he had been more aware of that fact than right now.