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“You want to kiss William-kun, yes?”
Sherlock, who admittedly was not expecting such a bold question to leave Billy’s lips before noon, spluttered over the coffee he’d only halfway swallowed. Slamming his mug back onto the small wooden dining table, he coughed into his palm as the bitter liquid sprayed out of his mouth and choked him with shocked persistence.
Once the attack had subsided enough for him to speak, he directed an aggravated gaze up at Billy as he simultaneously wiped his lips with the back of his wrist. His glare aimed to pierce through Billy’s skull and perhaps even shatter it for such an unseemly inquiry, but the heated red flush dusting his cheeks and ears undoubtedly evaporated any chance he had at appearing intimidating.
“Excuse me?”
“Whoa, whoa! Sorry, senpai.” Billy laughed from his perch on top of the table. Rather than using a chair, Billy had waltzed in here and decided that the table was a more comfortable spot to lounge than the perfectly usable chair mere inches from him. The leg furthest from Sherlock was bent so Billy could rest his elbow on his knee while the other dangled carelessly over the edge. Covering his hand with his sleeve, Billy wiped away some of the spilled coffee before continuing.
“It’s just…” He sighed, but was smiling all the same. “You jumped off of a bridge after him, and yet you still aren’t dating. I can see the romantic tension between you two waiting to flourish. It’s almost suffocating to watch.” It was dangerous to talk about this while William was sleeping a couple of rooms away. He could have woken up any second and wandered sleepily into the kitchen for some breakfast. Sherlock would likely never live down the mortification of William overhearing a conversation about him.
Sherlock’s lip curled up into a defensive sneer. Truthfully, Billy had hit the mark with pinpoint accuracy, but Sherlock hadn’t the faintest idea how to even start considering how he was going to ask William to be his lover. Plus, nobody could be certain that William even felt the same way; it wasn’t impossible that William merely cared deeply about Sherlock in an exclusively platonic way.
The increasingly frequent touches William generously gave him could have meant anything. The same could be said about the arbitrary smiles that set Sherlock’s heart alight with an incandescent flame, leaving him breathless for minutes after the flash of the brilliant display disappeared.
“I don’t want to assume he feels the same feelings toward me,” Sherlock said, the argument weak. “I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”
The look Billy gave him could only be described as that of someone who thought Sherlock was the most imbecilic creature to ever breathe, and Sherlock could practically hear the unspoken, “ Are you serious?” that the gaze radiated.
“Senpai,” Billy said firmly, leaving no room for Sherlock to argue. “You’re not being serious right now.”
Sherlock scoffed. “I am. Even if he does harbour the same feelings, I don’t want to rush him into it. I want him to come to me when he’s ready.”
Billy turned away and hummed in thought, crossing his legs as an almost afterthought to help him think harder.
“What are you planning?” Sherlock’s voice was saturated with a more dreadful and accusatory tone rather than a questioning one.
“Oh, nothing.” Billy was awful at hiding his grin. “Just… thinking.”
“About?”
“How I can help you and William-kun get together.”
Sherlock was grateful he hadn’t been taking another sip of coffee, or else he might have spit that out as well. Eyes wide and a face blossoming with pink, he flew to his feet. “What did I just say?”
“Think about it!” Billy insisted cheerfully, turning back to Sherlock. “You don’t have to be overbearing about it. But I can help you set something that’ll ease him into it. Maybe it’ll even encourage him to make the first move.”
Sherlock blinked, following Billy’s words but also feeling as though he was failing to comprehend them. How could Billy possibly play matchmaker for them? What could he even set up? Sherlock couldn’t deny the curiosity that nudged at his chest, urging him to oblige his friend. Would it hurt to just… allow himself a tiny taste of whatever scheme Billy was concocting?
With a strained sigh exhaled through his nose, Sherlock deflated, a signal of surrender. “All right, fine. I’ll let you plan something to get me and Liam together. How bad can it be?” Famous last words, he knew, but the desperation was steadily growing daily.
Billy’s grin brightened to the point where Sherlock nearly flinched away from the blinding gleam of it. “Excellent! Oh, you won’t regret this, senpai!”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Can you at least tell me a bit of what you’re planning?”
“Well,” Billy answered, drawing out the vowel sound, “it’s almost Christmas. And there’s a particular Christmas tradition where people famously kiss under a certain plant…” The corner of his lip quirked into a hint of a smirk, and the realization of what Billy was planning hit Sherlock before Billy could even finish his explanation.
“You…” Sherlock shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Billy pressed a finger over his lips, prompting him into silence. “Shh, no spoilers.”
A melody of soft, delicate shuffling emanated from the hallway, and both men simultaneously shifted their gaze toward the sound. Sherlock couldn’t control the fond smile that graced his lips.
“Liam’s awake,” Sherlock said.
As if that was his cue to leave, Billy gracefully hopped down from the table and absentmindedly adjusted his clothes. “Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” Sherlock scowled at the wink that trailed behind the utterly preposterous statement, but he didn’t deny it. It was blatantly obvious at this point how badly he wanted William to be his, to love, to protect, to cherish.
Just as Billy had reached the door, holding it open and frozen in the archway, a golden figure sloughed out into the kitchen, and Sherlock felt his heart glow and burn his ribs, as it always did when he was around William. Being around William was like lingering around the sun, searing him from the inside out but in an oh-so-addictive way that no drug could ever replicate. He was hopelessly addicted to how William made him feel, how radiantly his soul gleamed whenever those uniquely mismatched eyes landed on him with such raw vulnerability that he didn’t show anyone else.
“Mornin’, Liam.”
William directed one of his smiles at Sherlock now in lieu of a verbal good morning. Then, his gaze landed on Billy, and a flush crept up his cheeks.
“Oh, good morning, William-kun!” Billy greeted, his energy a complete contrast to William’s lethargy. “I was just leaving. Got a big day, ya know?”
William chuckled airily. “Good morning, Billy.” He was doing an abysmal job at masking his embarrassment, presumably from Billy seeing him in his night outfit, and Sherlock found it adorable.
“I was just chatting with ponytail-senpai. Nothing special.” The way Billy was trying so hard to defend his presence in the flat that he provided for them made him look even more suspicious, and Sherlock had a feeling that William wasn’t even skeptical in the first place.
Sherlock leaned against the table, both of his hands gripping the edge. “Uh-huh. You’ve overstayed your welcome. Shoo.” Sherlock waved his hand in a dismissive motion.
“Going, going!” However, before he departed, he gave Sherlock another wink and then decided to leave. William understandably gave Sherlock an inquisitive eyebrow raise, to which Sherlock just scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t know what his deal is.” Sherlock pushed up from the table and stepped up to William. “How are ya feelin’?” William had been dealing with a case of insomnia recently, and he hadn’t been able to get much sleep no matter how hard he tried. Sherlock was exceptionally tempted to suggest cuddling as a way to help, but he bit down on his tongue every time the offer bubbled up.
William shrugged. “Sleepy.”
Sherlock frowned. “You should keep sleeping if you’re still tired.”
William shook his head and yawned, covering it with the back of his hand. “No, that’s all right. I’m hungry as well.”
Sherlock grinned. “There’s coffee! It’s my special brew.”
William laughed. “Coffee isn’t food, Sherly.”
“All right, ya caught me.” Sherlock raised his hands in surrender. “I’ll make some food. Just take a seat and relax.” The temptation to place a kiss on William’s forehead reared its head, and Sherlock had to fight against giving in to that urge.
William smiled. “Wonderful.” As he passed by Sherlock to take his seat at the table, his fingertips brushed Sherlock’s arm, a calculated move meant to appear subtle, Sherlock noted, his elegant and dainty touch lingering for a moment too long before disappearing completely. Neither man said anything about the move, but both of Sherlock’s arms erupted with goosebumps as a result of the shivers caused by the touch he craved so badly.
Sherlock hastily got to work on preparing breakfast for himself and William, trying hard not to think too much about what Billy had planned for them.
~ • ~
“It’s a bit…” Sherlock trailed off as he scrutinized the plant hanging from their living room ceiling. “Uh…”
“Yeah?”
“Well, it’s a bit… forthright. Shouldn’t we go for something a little… subtler?”
Billy shook his head pointedly, effectively shutting down any objections Sherlock wanted to raise. “We need to be direct. Direct, but not too direct. If he knows what a mistletoe is, then he’ll know what you want to do with him under it, but you won’t have to ask him, and he won’t feel pressured to say yes. He can ignore it if he wants, and you don’t have to mention it.”
Sherlock grimaced. “I don’t want him to ignore it.”
“I know, senpai.” Billy dropped a hand onto Sherlock’s shoulder, though the action was awkward considering their height difference. “I know.”
Sherlock sighed, feeling the nerves and undeniable exhilaration course through his veins, a cocktail of confliction, one side trying to convince him to back out while the other wanted to dive in headfirst with no safety net. What could go wrong? one side asked. Everything, the other argued. You could lose William.
Of course, William was too kind to completely cut off his and Sherlock’s friendship, but their whole dynamic could change in the blink of an eye. A few misplaced words could ruin their whole bond that they’d fought tooth and nail, spilled their blood, sweat and tears to forge, and Sherlock didn’t want to risk that.
But everything could also turn out much better than Sherlock could ever anticipate.
“This is… really silly.”
Billy snorted. “So is the game you and William-kun are playing. I mean, come on. The dancing around each other is unbearable.”
Sherlock glared at Billy, who still had a hand on his shoulder. He decided against brushing it away. “You have no idea what it’s like.”
“Maybe not,” Billy conceded, “but I do know what it’s like to be a third wheel all the time. And I’m putting an end to it.”
“You’re talkin’ like ya think William will undoubtedly accept my confession.”
“That’s because I do.” Billy squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder and finally dropped his hand. “You two are equally as stubborn. Soulmates, the two of you.”
A burst of heated scarlet burned across his skin at the suggestion that he and William were soulmates. Well, he supposed it made sense, considering their analogous levels of intelligence; they were the only two people who could understand each other, so that fact alone had to classify them as soulmates.
Regardless, platonic soulmates existed, and there was a chance that that was what they were. Nothing more. And if it turned out that William only loved him in a friendly way, then Sherlock would accept that.
No matter how badly his heart ached for a deeper level of unrivalled intimacy. He would burn himself alive if it meant knowing the feeling of William’s lips against his own, his breaths soft against Sherlock’s skin, his hands leaving imprints on his soul.
Just as Billy was leaving, he heard him and William run into each other at the entrance, sharing the obligatory pleasantries such as “You and Sherly have been spending quite a lot of time together lately,” and, “Yeah, we’re really becoming the best of friends. See ya!”
William had gone out a few hours ago because he insisted on doing some Christmas shopping, even though he didn’t have nearly the funds he used to, and also despite Sherlock’s concerns about him going out alone, and Sherlock wouldn’t be able to describe the relief at William being home if he tried. William had healed up nicely, yes, but it was natural for Sherlock to worry about him, especially since William wasn’t completely better. However, William practically begged Sherlock to trust him when it came to managing his health independently, and that started with Sherlock trusting him to go shopping alone.
William wandered into the living room with a brown paper bag in each arm, and he was smiling with a devious glint in his eye. He stopped right under the mistletoe hanging tantalizingly from the ceiling, and Sherlock’s breath hitched when he realized it.
“You and Billy are becoming the best of friends, I see?” he teased.
“No, we’re not.”
“That’s not what he said.” William jerked away from Sherlock’s attempt to take the burden of one of the bags. “No peeking. I know what you’re like.”
Sherlock scoffed out loud, offended noise, stepping back as William carefully placed the bags on the coffee table and began peeling off his black gloves. His nose and cheeks were blossoming with a deep red tint from the cold outside piercing into his flesh, and Sherlock wanted to bundle William in a few layers of blankets and then cuddle with said bundle.
He really needed to get his thoughts under control.
William threw his gloves onto the table beside the bags and then reached behind himself to tug at the knot keeping his eyepatch over his scarred eye, and although Sherlock had seen William’s eye in all its glory many times before, William so generously offering Sherlock that utmost vulnerability and allowing the detective to watch as he stripped away his protective shield still sent his heart into a flurry, accompanied with a hitch in his breath.
The eyepatch slipped off and into William’s palm, and William deposited it into his pocket before slipping off his jacket. He haphazardly tossed that onto the couch before furiously rubbing his hands together in a fruitless attempt to warm them up.
“It’s so cold that the wind bit through the gloves,” William commented, but Sherlock was only distantly listening. His eyes were fixated on William’s reddened hands that looked sore and on the cusp of cracking, and the overbearing urge to hold them and warm them with his own skin exponentiated.
William was saying something else, but the words were muffled, and eventually, they trailed off completely when William noticed Sherlock’s stare.
“Sherly?” he asked, his voice something authentically inquisitive and sweet on the surface, but there was a hint of a sly undertone lurking at the edges.
Sherlock snapped back to reality, jerking his head up and shaking it subtly to effectively break his gaze from William’s hands and stop his whirling thoughts from spiralling out of control.
William was smirking. “Do you wish to warm my hands, Sherly?”
Sherlock spluttered out something that could scarcely be considered a word. He cleared his throat, pulling himself together. Come on, Sherlock.
“I mean, if you’re offering.” His voice cracked. God damn it.
William let out a cute little chuckle. Wordlessly, he offered up his hands, the palms even redder than the back of them due to the exertion of carrying the bags all the way home on foot.
Sherlock swallowed thickly, steeling his nerves. It’s fine. This is normal. I’m just warming up his hands. Has he even noticed the mistletoe? God, this was a horrible idea. I should have–
“I will warn you,” William said, cutting through Sherlock’s tornado of thoughts, “they’re cold. ”
Sherlock scoffed. “I can handle it.”
Then, doing a remarkable job at hiding the nerves that thrilled through his veins, Sherlock took William’s hands into his own, and, well, William was right about them being cold, that’s for damn sure. Sherlock yelped as the frigidness escaped William’s skin and bit into his own, and William laughed.
“See?”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re right. As I said, that won’t deter me.”
Quickly deciding on a course of action, he maneuvered Williaim’s hands so that they were cupped together, palm to palm, and then clasped his own palms over them in the same position. He didn’t miss the way William’s breathing shallowed, the change only slight, but Sherlock was trained in picking up William’s subtle shifts in behaviour. He willed his own breath to remain even, though he wasn’t sure he succeeded.
“Mmm,” William hummed, sighing in absolute bliss as his eyes slipped shut. “I’m feeling warmer already.”
That humming noise sent heat shuddering through Sherlock, and Sherlock had to take a deep breath to calm down so nature didn’t rear its head. He didn’t need that embarrassment to haunt him for the rest of his life.
Before he could back out, he took this one step further. Slowly, he brought their conjoined hands up to his mouth. William’s eyes opened, a puzzled expression on his face, and maybe Sherlock was going mad, but he could have sworn the redness on William’s face grew darker. That certainly wasn’t due to the cold. It was warm in the flat.
Opting to ignore his presumptions, he blew hot air onto their hands. He rubbed the heat into William’s skin, repeating that process a few more times and fully letting the warmth carve itself into William’s body and completely fight off the coldness that dared to burden the golden angel.
“Feelin’ better?” Sherlock asked eventually.
William smiled. “Exceptionally.”
Then, he glanced up. His gaze didn’t return to Sherlock’s, and Sherlock knew what his eyes had landed on. Flushing red, he followed William’s gaze as if he were equally as curious and ignorant of the plant taunting him from above.
“Hm.” William nodded in appreciation. “Quite a nice decoration. It matches the holiday theme. It puts me in a rather festive mood. Oh! That reminds me!” William turned back to Sherlock with a smile. “We should put up the tree soon. I picked up some ornaments today.”
Much to Sherlock’s displeasure, William removed his hands from Sherlock’s, and Sherlock swallowed down a humiliating whine that crept into his throat. He evidently did not possess any knowledge of what a mistletoe was, or what enchanting affairs typically happened underneath them. Shit. Perhaps being completely straightforward was the best course of action.
But not right now. The universe was giving him signals that it was not the right time and that he should just enjoy the moment while it lasted. It wasn’t every day the detective was blessed with the highest honour of holding William James Moriarty’s hands. He was going to count and treasure his blessings.
Sherlock smiled past his uncertainty. “Absolutely! And we should hang up decorations outside, too.”
William echoed Sherlock’s smile, though Sherlock was confident William’s was much more radiant than his own. Sherlock’s heart thundered alight, pounding against his ribs in a cadence of exhilaration and yearning.
“That sounds lovely, Sherly.” Sherlock was convinced he was hallucinating because there was no chance that William’s eyes darted down to spare a sneaky glance at Sherlock’s lips before averting his gaze completely, as if abashed by such a scandalous feat.
“... so, what did you get m–” Sherlock was leaning over to glimpse over the top of one of the paper bags, but William immediately interjected his movements and his words with a hand on his chest, pushing him back.
“What did I say?” William exclaimed, which prompted Sherlock to giggle with the utmost delight, beaming down at the man.
“I didn’t hear a thing!”
“I’m going to go wash up, and you better not sneak into my room and spoil the surprise.” William scooped the bags back into his freshly warmed arms. “Do you think you can entertain yourself while I’m gone?”
“No, I’m going to perish.”
William smirked. “You’ll be fine.”
“You’re such an arse.”
William merely maintained that devilish smirk as he silently slipped past Sherlock to go do what he’d planned to, which gave Sherlock the freedom to hyperventilate and then try to calm his enraptured and perplexed nerves.
Billy was going to pay for this.
~ • ~
As William hung the last ornament over an empty branch, Sherlock took a step back to admire their handiwork, gleaming outstandingly in an eruption of luminescent holiday hues and looking enchanting in the flickering candlelight, shadows and light dancing rhythmically across the room’s embellishment.
However, Sherlock’s attention wasn’t focused on the tree for long. Within a minute, his gaze gravitated toward William, still standing with his back to the detective as he, too, admired their creation.
William must have felt Sherlock’s eyes on him, practically burning a hole through the back of his head, probably, because he looked over his shoulder after a few moments. He chuckled, an adorable noise that Sherlock kept hidden in a secret corner of his mind palace specifically for his collection of William’s cute noises, gestures and habits.
“I’m quite offended,” William said. “Do I truly look that much like a tree?”
“You’re more divine than the tree,” Sherlock said before he could register what was coming out of his mouth. Well, no turning back now, and considering the subtle eyebrow raise William directed at him, he wasn’t sure he’d want to turn back, even if he could.
William turned fully around. In an echo of what the candlelight projected onto the tree, shadows flickered across the curves and planes of William’s face, highlighting the most beautiful aspects of William.
However, in Sherlock’s objective opinion, every inch of William was beautiful, inside and out. No, he wasn’t biased. He was realistic.
“I would argue that you are the one who’s more divine than the tree, Sherly.” Sherlock’s breath hitched upon hearing the unexpected remark. He sauntered closer, flashing a look up at the ceiling.
Right at the mistletoe that they’d both found themselves under once again.
Sherlock flushed. “Nah, it’s definitely you.”
William smiled. “You know, Sherly, I recently learned what that is.” He nodded up to the plant hanging from the ceiling. “A mistletoe. Whispers on the street told me that two people unfortunate, or fortunate enough to land underneath it are supposed to…” A glint of sly mischief glistened in William’s eyes. “Oh, I’m not sure you’ll be able to handle it.”
“Wha–” Sherlock spluttered. “I’m not a prude!”
“So you are aware that, technically, we are supposed to kiss, yes?”
Sherlock nearly choked on air, and then his saliva, utterly and wholly taken aback by such a blunt comment coming from William’s perfect lips, and he could feel as his brain malfunctioned and struggled to craft even a single coherent sentence. His tongue helped his mind create useless sounds, and William’s amusement thickly permeated the air between them. Sherlock found himself addicted to the taste of William’s devilish attitude.
Before Sherlock had a chance to find his words, William dared to step so close that they were nearly chest-to-chest, their warm, stuttering breaths mingling. So close, too close, I could kiss him–
“Would you like that, Sherly?” William’s eyes were practically shimmering. He was ever-so-slightly shorter than Sherlock, which meant he had to tilt his head up a bit. “Would you enjoy kissing me?”
“I–” Sherlock wanted to annihilate himself and then revive himself so he could beat himself up all over again for not instantly and eagerly accepting William’s offer. Was it an offer? It sounded like an offer. Come on, the one thing Sherlock had craved for so long was right there, and if he could just say yes–
He took too long to respond, and William chuckled.
“The biscuits are ready.”
And with that final remark, the warmth radiating out of William in hypnotic bursts disappeared; the man stepped back, exiting the zone of the mistletoe, and brushed past Sherlock to head to the kitchen so he could retrieve the biscuits that had been baking while they were decorating the tree.
Sherlock was left a dumbfounded and blushing mess in the middle of the living room. He struggled to move his limbs, obsessively analyzing every second of what just occurred, but he ultimately failed to wrap his head around it.
What the hell just happened?
~ • ~
William wasn’t an idiot.
He’d known what a mistletoe was since he was a young boy. He knew the function of one immensely well, as his companions delighted in hanging one up every year in hopes that Albert and Moran would be unfortunate enough to wind up underneath it at the same time. And they’d succeeded exactly once: Moran was dramatic about the whole ordeal, of course, and pretended to gag after the kiss ended, but it wad a delightful Christmas nonetheless.
So, yes, he knew that Sherlock wanted to kiss him. He had a suspicion that Billy helped him come up with the idea to string up a mistletoe in the first place.
Luckily for the detective, William wanted to kiss him as well. And, unlike Moran, he would not gag after the fact. He’d likely be unable to control himself and dive in for another one because he’d been yearning for this profoundly, deeply in his veins ever since he’d first laid eyes on Sherlock aboard the Noahtic.
However, who said that he couldn’t have a little fun? He was aware that he was also torturing himself in the process, but at least he knew when he was planning on finally taking that leap into unexplored territory. Sherlock was lost, and seeing him squirm and flush was a delectable sight.
Christmas Day was approaching quickly, which meant he had about another week to continue toying with Sherlock.
This was going to be gratifying.
~ • ~
Christmas arrived, and Sherlock was at the end of his rope. Over the past week, William had been nonstop, relentless in his teasing, to the point where Sherlock very nearly lost all semblance of self-control numerous times. His patience was cracking, on the cusp of shattering into a million tiny fragmented pieces scattered haphazardly across the floor.
Sherlock knew what William was doing. He was withholding a kiss from him now that he’d deduced in frighteningly intricate detail what Sherlock’s plan was, and he was having the time of his bloody life in the process.
The teasing brushes of skin against skin, whispering a taunt into his veins, and even the goddamn lips that grazed his cheek sometimes were sending him into an internal hurricane; being a gentleman had never been so infuriating. But, at the end of the day, he’d go through this agonizing torture in every life and every universe before ever doing anything that might have crossed William’s boundaries.
Still, though. At this point, William wasn’t even making an effort to hide the fact he wanted to kiss Sherlock as well. That fact was bloody wonderful, don’t get him wrong, but being in the dark about when William would take that next step was borderline distressing.
Perhaps Christmas Day would yield better results. Sherlock wasn’t going to hold his breath, but maybe, just maybe…?
As Sherlock entered the living room, a smile bloomed across his lips when he spotted William already awake and sitting patiently in front of the tree, his golden hair unbrushed, and he looked absolutely angelic with the morning sun framing his raw form, a version of himself he scarcely let anyone see. As far as Sherlcok knew, he was the only person William let see his most vulnerable side, stripped of any barriers.
When he heard Sherlock’s socked feed padding over, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled as a greeting.
“Merry Christmas, Sherly,” he said, his voice husky and soft. He must have just woken up not long ago.
“Merry Christmas, Liam,” Sherly echoed as he sat down beside the source of his unforgiving torment these last seven days. Though, looking at Liam now, all raw and open and authentic, Sherlock couldn’t find it in himself to hold even a playful grudge. William was too ethereal and had Sherlock enchanted under a spell that didn’t allow him to feel anything other than unfettered, unconditional fondness toward the man.
“Should we expect an interruption from Billy?” William laughed.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He assured me that he’ll wait until our designated gathering time to barge in on us. We have the morning to ourselves.”
William smiled, slipped his eyes shut, and then hummed out an extended, pleased hum. “Perfect. We will have a splendid morning, then.”
“With you here, Liam, it will be a splendid morning regardless of what happens.”
That earned him the sight of a charming flush flourishing on William’s skin. Sherlock smiled pridefully. With an eager clap, he retrieved the first present from under the tree and handed it to William.
“You open mine first. You’re gonna love what I got ya!”
“Oh, trust me when I say that my gifts are the best.”
The only way Sherlock would concede that bold statement was if one of William’s presents was a kiss under the mistletoe, which still loomed over their shoulders, begging for them to comply with its wishes.
But William wouldn’t do something so cliche, right?
~ • ~
After they finished unwrapping each other’s gifts, (Sherlock wouldn’t admit it, but even without a kiss, William was right about his gifts being better. One of them was a brand new violin, for god’s sake!) the detective pushed up from the ground so that he could make for the kitchen to start breakfast, but as he passed under the mistletoe, a calloused hand caught his wrist. Arching a brow, he turned back to find William standing close, and his heart leapt in his throat.
William smiled. “Can I have an omlette?”
Sherlock did a remarkable job at hiding the tremendous drop he felt in his stomach. “Oh, yeah, sure. If that’s what ya want.”
“I do.” William leaned closer, his hold on Sherlock’s wrist unyielding. “... and don’t burn them.” Then, with a wink, he stepped away, out of range of the mistletoe.
Sherlock failed to move for a good minute, simply standing uselessly in the middle of the room with his mouth flapping open and closed, completely incredulous to what just happened.
“I– okay, I’m gonna go make breakfast now,” he eventually settled on. “And I won’t burn your eggs.”
William made a pleased ‘hm’ sound. “Wonderful.”
~ • ~
All right, William had his fun, but it was time to finally give them both what they yearned for deep in their bones. William was starting to feel the effects of desperation settle in himself, and if he didn’t have Sherlock’s lips against his own by the end of the day, he would likely burn from the inside out from all of the repressed longing having no room left inside of him.
Tonight. Tonight, William would gift Sherlock the best present of all.
~ • ~
Night came, and Sherlock was exhausted. He and William had attended a holiday party with Billy, and even though William stayed for as long as he could, eventually, he asked Sherlock to go home early. He was visibly exhausted as well and likely getting a bit overwhelmed. Sherlock was honestly getting overwhelmed as well, so he didn’t mind leaving early.
Sherlock deserved a goddamn reward for lasting this long without a blasted kiss, as well. William was going to fucking kill him soon if he didn’t give in to both of their desires.
Sherlock set the bag containing their gifts from Billy on the table and let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his gloved hands over his face. Then, he removed said gloves and threw them onto the table– one of them sliding off the other side– before removing his jacket and throwing that onto the table as well. He’d pick them up later. Right now, he just wanted to settle down.
William followed suit, slipping out of his gloves, jacket and eyepatch, and he stretched his arms above his head with a groan of relief. Sherlock did not glance at where his shirt rode up his stomach a bit and exposed a sliver of bare, perfect skin.
“That was quite pleasant,” William said. “Who knew that Billy knew how to throw a delightful celebration?”
“Certainly not me.” Sherlock snickered. “It’s shocking, honestly.”
William hummed his agreement and fetched the bag from the table, presumably to temporarily leave it under the tree, but then, the bastard had the audacity to make a show of directing his focus upward.
To that bloody mistletoe. Sherlock grimaced.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” William said, his eyes on Sherlock now. Making direct eye contact, at that. “I forgot one of your presents.” He set the bag back down and stepped closer.
Hope was struck alight in his chest, burning bright and incandescently, sparks of desire and months upon months of longing, yearning licking at his veins.
“You’ve teased me so much, Liam,” Sherlock muttered, breathless and hungry. “Please.”
William was so close now. So close, so very close–
“Do you wish to guess what your final gift is?”
“... can I have a hint?”
William chuckled, glancing down at Sherlock’s lips, and this time, he didn’t dare tear his gaze away. “Not only the mistletoe wants to do this.”
Sherlock licked his lips, anticipation dancing through his body now, the exhilaration an addictive high he wanted to be stuck in for the rest of his life. He’d had his suspicions that William wanted to kiss him, considering he never exactly made an effort to hide it, but hearing it explicitly that William wanted this sent his heart into a flurry of thunder.
“I give up. Can you show me my gift?”
William smiled knowingly. “Of course.”
Finally, after too long of being the recipient of William’s teasing, after eons of craving constantly careening through his soul, their lips connected, and it felt as though two puzzle pieces lost in time had finally been completed. William’s lips were warm and soft, flawless as was everything else about William. They were both inexperienced, this being both of their first kiss, but despite the clumsiness, it was perfect, because it was William whom he was kissing. William could bite his tongue and he’d still think of this as the best moment of his life.
They embraced each other, and when they pulled away, they rested their foreheads together. Sherlock was panting, more so due to disbelief than a genuine loss for breath. While William kept his composure fairly well, his face was still painted with a gorgeous hue of red not caused by the bitter cold outside the window.
And, as Sherlock thought William couldn’t astonish him more:
“I love you, Sherly.”
Sherlock could have cried. He was sure a single tear must have slipped down his face.
“Does this mean you’ll be my beloved?”
William kissed his nose. “I’m yours, Sherly. I forever will be.”
Sherlock’s next noise was somewhere between a happy sob and a laugh of wonderment. His grip on William tightened, and he pulled him closer. William eagerly complied with the movement.
“I love you too, Liam.”