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New Year’s Eve.
It was not a date William had expected to ever connect positive thoughts with. All his life, it had meant nothing but suffering yielding to more suffering, a reset of the calendar to give plenty of new opportunities to break his heart and the ones of those he cared about. No one in the Moriarty estate used to feel like celebrating it.
Now, he was sitting on a tiny, olive green couch in a space lit by candles and warmed by a fire, a blanket draped around his shoulders and a cup of hot punch in hands, feeling content. Excited, even. He almost couldn’t wait to experience the next year, his first full year with Sherlock by his side. Having things to hope for, things to look forward to, still felt foreign to him, but no longer like something he didn’t deserve to have. Sherlock had made sure of that.
Sherlock, who was standing by the window, staring out into the night. His hair now reached beyond his shoulders, and William suspected it would only grow longer in the future, judging by how much he always enjoyed it when William raked his fingers through those strands. Even longer hair on Sherlock was one of the many things he did look forward to.
“Liam, it is snowing!,” the man excitedly exclaimed just as William’s gaze had wandered to his waist, accompanied by the thought of how lucky he was that he got to hold it. Maybe he had had a little too much punch.
“It is?” Indecent thoughts immediately replaced by a different kind of thrill, William set his cup down on the table and got up to join him by the window. Outside, the formerly pitch black darkness was now interspersed with countless white flakes dancing in front of them. It was beautiful. It was also his first snow in New York, his first snow as just William, Lord of Crime dead and gone.
“Let’s take a walk,” he found himself saying, turning his head to meet Sherlock’s sparkling eyes. He looked as excited about the snow as a child, and while William himself wasn’t quite able to express such unfiltered enthusiasm, it was one of the characteristics he cherished in Sherlock the most.
“We will miss midnight,” Sherlock pointed out as he threw a glance at his pocket watch, “but we can always clink glasses later, right?”
“Certainly,” William replied, grateful that they tended to be in tune when it came to the things that mattered. Blowing out the candles in passing, he was already on his way to the coat rack to put on his winter clothes. He had always loved the snow, maybe mostly for its purity. As soon as it made contact with the ground, it became tainted, but while it fell from the sky it was so unstained and innocent that walking in the swirling flakes felt like a bit of a purification.
Sherlock was quick to join him by the door, throwing on his coat and boots so fast that he beat William to putting a scarf around his neck and a hat on top of his hair. As unnecessary as they were, gestures like this never failed to warm William to the core. In return, he leaned forward to press a soft little kiss to Sherlock’s lips. Then, he quickly unlocked the door and stepped outside. As Sherlock joined him, he put an arm around his shoulders and started guiding him towards the stairs. Being protective of William, maybe overly so, was a habit he had acquired during the weeks of William’s recovery, and never really gotten rid of in all these months that he had now been in perfect health. Perhaps William didn’t want him to.
Together, they carefully descended the slippery stairs towards ground level, snowflakes dancing around them. The streets were just sparsely lit by street lamps, but that made the snowfall only appear more magical. No one else was to be seen outside, instead, most houses had a few windows lit up from inside. Maybe people hadn’t even noticed the snow. Maybe they didn’t care. Whatever the reason, William was grateful the world belonged only to him and Sherlock right now.
As they started walking in their usual direction for when they needed to go shopping, towards the East River, William tilted his head back and just took it all in: the feeling of Sherlock’s arm around his shoulders, strong and safe, and his warmth by his side; the cold biting his face and fingers; the snowflakes melting on his face. The silence. The darkness. Life was beautiful.
“What did you do around this time last year?”
This question had been on his mind all day, but only now did it feel fitting to ask. He was convinced he knew the answer, but somehow he needed to pose the question, anyway.
Sherlock turned towards him, and even in the dim light William could make out the multitude of emotions in his eyes. “Take a guess?”
William sighed. He had known it. What Sherlock must have gone through while he was unconscious, he couldn’t even begin to fathom. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
“It was more than worth it,” Sherlock replied, tightening his grasp around his shoulders. “Besides, I am glad I got to spend it with you. That means this is already our second New Year’s Eve together, even if you don’t remember the first one.”
“I hope there will be many, many more,” William whispered, almost shy to say it out loud. That he was able to want something for himself so much still scared him at times. In the beginning, there had also been the feeling of guilt, but that had long been replaced by gratitude and wonder. Sherlock had chosen him over everything else the day he jumped after him, and not a single time had William felt as if he might regret it. On the contrary.
“There will be,” Sherlock said. “For as long as you want.”
I will always want, William didn’t say. He didn’t need to for both of them to know.
They had just reached the river when the church bells started ringing, and shouts and laughter began to fill the streets. Midnight.
Both simultaneously turned towards each other, and the weight of the moment was much higher than William could have anticipated. All that he had gotten to experience this past year sometimes still felt like a dream. When it started with his awakening, he had had to find the will to live. Now, life felt so precious he couldn’t believe he had once tried to throw it away. He wanted to spend the next year by Sherlock’s side. And the year after that. Forever, if he was to be so lucky.
“Happy New Year, Sherly,” he said, feeling the corners of his eyes grow suspiciously wet as he locked gazes with him. “Thank you for everything.”
“Happy New Year, my love,” was Sherlock’s reply before he gently took William’s cheeks in his hands, still warm despite the chilling night, and kissed him long and soft. However much he tried to hold them back, William’s tears started rolling of their own accord. He lifted his hands and put them on top of Sherlock’s, cold against warm, darkness against light, puzzle piece against matching puzzle piece.
When they finally broke away, William rested his cheek on Sherlock’s shoulder, put his arms around him and simply savored the feeling of being held, safe and tight, as Sherlock didn’t miss a beat before returning the embrace with all the strength and gentleness he had. After a while, he started slowly swaying them back and forth, the way William had taught him when they practiced waltzing. When William joined in, he began to softly hum a melody, and William thought that life really couldn’t be more perfect than it was right now.
Around them, the world went quiet again, but the snow kept falling, Sherlock’s tune kept resounding, and they kept half-dancing, as well as it was possible with how tightly they held onto each other.
When they eventually got home, William immediately took a seat by the fireplace, considerably cooled down despite Sherlock’s best attempts to keep him warm. Sherlock fetched a bottle of wine, two glasses and a blanket he draped around them both once he had sat down next to him. Huddled together in front of the flames, they clinked glasses and laughed about the unceremoniousness of their New Year celebration. William wouldn’t have it any other way, and he knew Sherlock was the same. They had each other; what more could they possibly ask for?
The glasses were emptied, the fire was starting to burn low and the night grew late, but the both of them still stayed there, completely wrapped up in each other, trading deep, long kisses that William hoped conveyed everything he didn’t feel able to put into words. Whenever he tried, he seemed to fall short. What Sherlock meant to him was far beyond words.
Eventually, the fire burned down, and William and Sherlock stumbled to bed more asleep than awake. They drifted off towards the New Year closely intertwined, drunk on punch, and wine, and mostly each other.