Work Text:
William had gone on a mission alone. Ever since the incident in Milverton's mansion, he had been going out alone more often, pretending he didn't see the concern in Louis' face or the unspoken "let me accompany you" in Fred's eyes.
This time, a moment of carelessness had earned him a nasty cut on his left side. He knew he should hurry back to the mansion and get it treated, but his feet didn't move an inch. He could already see the worried expressions of his family. They were carrying so much on their shoulders; he couldn't possibly add yet another burden on them.
He couldn't afford showing any weakness, now that the end was so near.
William considered his options, but the blood loss had clouded his mind, and before he realized, his feet started walking towards a certain place.
Three very soft knocks on the front door made Sherlock snap out from his thoughts. He got up from the sofa he was sprawled on and walked to the door.
Normally, such a small sound wouldn't be enough to distract him, and even if it did, he wouldn't bother opening the door, especially at the wee hours of the night. But his gut was telling him he had to.
As usual, his gut was right.
"... Liam."
Before him was his "archnemesis", or so said the press, with an expression more sombre than the one he had seen on him back at Milverton's mansion.
For Sherlock, he just looked like a friend in need.
The blond man didn't meet his gaze nor attempted to talk to him.
"Come in."
Sherlock turned around and walked back to the room, without looking back to check if William followed him. He didn't need to.
They entered the dimly lit room, and Sherlock faced William, who was still not meeting his gaze.
"Let me see that wound."
William's breath hitched and his eyes shot up, slightly widened, the word "how" written all over his face.
"You may have fooled anyone else, but not me. The way you shift your weight as you walk shows you're trying to cover your left side to avoid the pain in there," he explained as he walked to the sofa he had been sprawled on moments prior. "Sit here."
He saw William hesitate a second before doing as told, then turned around to fetch the first aid kit Miss Hudson kept in the bathroom. When he returned, William had taken off his hat and held it on his lap, his face still downcast. Sherlock kneeled in front of him, leaving the first aid kit next to him, on the floor.
"Will you show it to me?" he asked with a low voice, trying to find William's eyes behind his hair.
With slow movements, the man began to take off his coat, then his jacket. Sherlock saw the red cut on his shirt, and reached out, pausing before touching it as if asking for permission. When William showed no rejection, he turned up the shirt.
The cut wasn't too deep, but it definitely needed some care. He took a piece of cotton and wetted it with disinfectant. When it touched the wound, William flinched with a small hiss, and Sherlock was as surprised as he was glad that William could feel pain. Relieved, even.
He continued his work without saying a word, cleaning and disinfecting the wound carefully.
"You won't ask anything?"
The voice he heard for the first time in the night fell from above his head, weak and slightly broken. He answered without taking his eyes off the bandages he was using to cover the cut.
"Will you answer if I ask?"
Of course he had questions. Thousands of them. But it didn't feel right to force the answers out of him if he didn't want to. So he chose not to ask.
It wasn't until Sherlock was satisfied with his work and withdrew his hands, that William spoke again.
"I suppose..." his voice was barely above a whisper, "I had nowhere else to go."
Sherlock looked up at his face. It was still hidden by his hair.
"And your house?"
He knew it was an obvious question. Precisely because of that, he wanted to know William's reaction.
The man only pursed his lips.
Sherlock guessed it was something like he didn't want to burden them, or some stupid reason along those lines. However, if that meant William felt he could burden him , then he couldn't be happier about the fact that William was in front of him right then.
"Liam."
Sherlock raised his hand to tuck William's hair behind his ear, finally uncovering his face. His scarlet eyes looked up to meet his, slowly.
They were full of tears.
"I wonder why," William whispered as they started falling down his cheeks, "I can't seem to hide anything from you."
Sherlock wiped those beautiful tears with his thumbs. Before him there was a creature of utmost purity, with white wings stained and weighed down by the deep red of dried blood. A gentle soul that had suffered way, way more than anyone should be able to bear.
His body moved before his brain did, and his lips pressed against William's, softly. The contact was brief, and when he pulled back, the blond was looking at him with his eyes slightly widened.
Sherlock searched for any sign of discomfort, finding none. William closed his eyes, more tears falling from them, and Sherlock kissed them away.
He had never even considered giving that kind of affection to anyone, but it felt right to do it to William. He needed to do it. His heart and his entire body were screaming that he had to hold William close, very close, and not let him go ever again.
The tears kept falling relentlessly, and Sherlock cupped William's cheeks with his hands, softly.
"Liam, please..." his voice came out in a pained whisper. “Please, ask me for help. I only need two words from you and I'll do anything. Please."
William's eyelashes trembled, heavy with tears, and he opened his eyes slowly, meeting Sherlock's. They glinted in the dim light of the gas lamp, the orange hue making them appear a warmer shade of red. Sherlock could see pain in them, could see the internal turmoil that was tormenting him. He wanted nothing else than to free him from it.
If only William would allow him to.
The blond man's lips opened, quivered, and then closed again. Sherlock waited patiently, until they opened again. He felt the small tug of William's fingers on his sleeve.
Then, in an almost inaudible, broken voice.
"Sherlock..."
It sounded like he was begging. Like he was unable to say the two words Sherlock wanted, but put all his feelings in his name instead. A name which, said by those lips, made Sherlock shiver.
It was all Sherlock needed.