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William had a mole on his shoulder. It was almost too small to see, brown and perfectly round.
The blonde man had his back to him, sheet haphazardly around his waist and a cigarette in his hand. Sherlock stared at the mole, holding it with his eyes until it became part of his pupil.
The window in the detective's bedroom was open in an effort to combat the heat and to air out the smell of sex. William always left when it was still dark, and Sherlock didn't want to have to explain to Miss Hudson why his room smelled like that.
The moon was high up in the sky, so big it looked like it was only a few miles away. Sherlock could swear he could see its craters clearly, dotted around like moles on a milky shoulder. Moonlight streamed in, hitting William with its dusty glow, turning his blonde hair silver. Sherlock always thought he was otherworldly, but during times like these, he was sure.
William took a puff of the cigarette, blowing the smoke back at the moon defiantly. Sherlock moved closer, sheets ruffling with sounds reminiscent of a few hours earlier. He placed his hand on William's back, right in between his shoulder blades. The man shivered. Sherlock's hand had grown cold with the night breeze.
Sherlock stretched out his fingers, wanting to touch as much skin as possible. William let him, silently taking another puff of the cigarette. The hand moved, travelling softly up his scapula and settling on his shoulder.
He looked closer, and slightly underneath the brown freckle was another one. It was tiny, you had to get really close to notice, and Sherlock was filled with an overwhelming sense of pride at the fact that he had spotted it.
He catalogued it in his brain, the colour and shape committed to memory. The shapeless mark almost resembled a star, and even though it was less symmetric than the other one, it was somewhat more valuable in his mind. The moon watched on from the window, her moles far less beautiful than the ones on William's back.
William moved, putting out the cigarette butt on an ashtray on Sherlock's bedside table. Surprisingly he assumed the same position he had been in. He moved his shoulder up and then down, inviting Sherlock to resume his touching. Sherlock did so, circling his discovery with his index finger.
It was half past midnight, the clock on the wall warned. William always stayed until one to not worry his brothers, and Sherlock wondered if they could squeeze in another round before he left. He decided against asking and focused on the back in front of him.
"You have two moles on your shoulder," he informed William.
The professor looked back, an amused expression on his face.
"Do I? You pay attention to the strangest things, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock smiled and planted a short peck on his pouty lips.
"I bet I can find more if you'd let me."
William looked at the clock and then back at Sherlock.
"You have half an hour to do it."
He stood up and stretched out his arms, letting the sheet fall off along with his modesty.
Sherlock laughed and sat closer to the edge of the bed. William stood in front of the window, the light shining from above him. If Sherlock believed in God, he would think he looked like an angel sent from above to deliver a message. But Sherlock was a man of science, and he knew William was nothing but a devil that wanted to tempt him.
He pulled William closer by the hips, pretending to inspect his abdomen for any moles. He found some, and to mark his discovery he planted a kiss on each of them. William shivered, either from the breeze or the touch, Sherlock would never know.
"Turn around."
William did as he was told, facing the window. The curtains, as sheer as they were, kept him mostly hidden from view, but he could still see the empty streets outside.
The midnight moon gazed back at him, almost jealous of the attention Sherlock was paying to him. The detective spent many nights by the window, looking at her so he didn't have to look at the demons in his room. Though now he didn't seem to mind looking at this particular demon, tracing his straight back with his hungry eyes.
Sherlock's face was close to the skin in front of him, the tip of his nose raising goosebumps where it touched. William was still, not daring to disturb him.
It was silly, really, what they were doing. Sherlock knew it was stalling. If William started putting his clothes on after one instead of ten minutes before, Sherlock would count those extra seconds as a win. William probably knew what he was doing, but, magnanimous as always, he was throwing a dog a bone.
"What exactly are you hoping to accomplish, Mr Holmes?" The question was playful, not judgemental.
"Trying to get to know you better."
"I'd say we already know each other pretty intimately."
Sherlock pinched his bottom in reply.
"This is different," he pulled William close, resting his forehead on his back.
William didn't question him, only hummed in reply.
Sherlock resumed his cataloguing, making marks with his teeth where there were none, adding to the mix of brown and pink on William's skin.
It was five past one in the morning when William finally shifted, turning around to grab his face. He kissed him deeply, apologetically, passionately, and moved away, procuring his clothes from where they lay crumpled on the floor.
Sherlock watched him dress, adjust his hair in the mirror next to the coat rack, and put on his shoes. He answered William's whispered goodbye, and turned back to the moon so he didn't have to watch him leave.
The moon stared back, pity and satisfaction swirling in her gut. Those brown eyes were back on her, but the sadness that tainted them made her want to hide her moles.