Work Text:
One thing William would never have foreseen was his love for house chores. Since he still hadn’t fully recovered, Sherlock was the sole breadwinner, leaving William with caring for the flat, not that he minded. In the beginning, it had been a way for him to try and repay Sherlock for what he had done for him, for them, while William had still been unconscious. It must have been difficult, balancing caring for him with earning a living. Now, however, William’s physical and mental health was better. There were still nightmares from time to time and bouts of homesickness, but he had come to see the flat not just as Sherlock’s place in which he also lived, but as his home as well. The evolving relationship between him and the ex-detective had helped greatly in adapting to his current situation. William smiled fondly at the thought of Sherlock.
It was hard to believe that the Sherlock he lived with was the same back in London. His attire had always been messy, and the one time William had been in his flat, he had smelled chemicals and had seen useless clutter and trash lying around. Sherlock had been a man who had cared little for anything except his mysteries and had been all over the place. Now, however, he was tidier, more responsible and even before William had started his domestic chores, the new flat had been well cared for. Perhaps, Sherlock too had been reborn after their fall from the London Bridge. Perhaps, the fall had traumatised him, forced him into a maturity - William shook his head before he could spiral. Sherlock had gotten a grip on himself because William had needed someone to care for him, and Sherlock had become that person because a) there was no one else and, most importantly, b) because he cared about William. The sincerity behind those statements was genuine, unless Sherlock had become a great deceptor, but William doubted that. After all, Sherlock had never had a habit of lying to him when they had been in England. Rather, it was William who had kept secrets. Sherlock was honest with him, and he was honest to Sherlock now. It wasn’t always easy, since old habits die hard, but in that aspect, he had improved as well.
The small bell of their clock suddenly chimed, and William put away the broom.
“I should make dinner. Sherlock will be home soon.”, he mumbled and rolled up his sleeves. Cooking was one of his favourite chores, simply because it was a stark opposite of his previous actions, which were destructive. Cooking, on the other hand, was an act of creation . Out of different bits and pieces, he created something beautiful.
(Fortunately, he had some skill, unlike Albert, who, even if for once he didn’t mean to, managed to set the kitchen aflame).
As he chopped the ingredients, William suddenly flinched in surprise. A small cut was on the tip of his pointer, and small though it was, it continued bleeding. A small plaster would have to do. As dinner was cooking in the pot and William began setting the table, the door opened.
“Liam, I’m back!”, Sherlock called, a big grin on his face and William felt pleasantly warm.
“Welcome home, Sherly.”, he said and opened his arms, an invitation Sherlock naturally accepted. Work was so much more acceptable knowing his Liam was waiting for him. Having been deprived of affection and kisses, he pressed their lips together and both relaxed into the embrace. It was inconceivable that their love was considered a sin, unnatural, an illness. While they lamented that they could not show their love publicly, not even with an act as innocent as handholding, at least they had their flat, which made the days Sherlock didn’t have to go to work even sweeter.
Sherlock frowned when a strange texture grazed his cheek and he broke the kiss and took William’s hand. His frown deepened when he saw the plaster around William’s pointer.
“It was a cooking accident. I slipped with the knife. It’s nothing, just a small cut.”, William quickly reassured Sherlock.
“Seems like I must kiss it better.”
“Sherly, you know that doesn’t - oh”, William interrupted himself as Sherlock pressed a tender kiss on his finger.
“Did it work?”, Sherlock asked and William’s cheeks heated.
“I’m not sure. I’m afraid I need more kisses to draw a certain conclusion.”
Sherlock burst into laughter, but did as told.
Their little kissing session was interrupted by the gurgling of the pot on the stove and William shoved the ex-detective off him to spring to the kitchen. William frowned.
“It’s a little burned.”, he mumbled and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him from behind..
“Food’s food. Besides, I distracted you.”, he said and nuzzled William’s neck.
“Plates, I need plates.”
“Liam, stop moving around.”; Sherlock whined and William reached back to pat his cheek.
“Be patient. Let’s have dinner first, then I’m all yours.”, he chided.
Dinner itself was nothing special, but Sherlock wolfed it down as if he had been starving.
“Slow down, or you’ll choke. It’s just a simple stew, not a five star meal.”, William laughed and Sherlock winked.
“Ah, but Liam, you cooked it, meaning no five star meal in the world can compare.”
“Sherly!”; William squeaked, folding the napkin into a ball and throwing it at him, face nearly as scarlet as his eyes. Sherlock softly looked at William, a small, content smile on his face. Had you told him years ago, before setting foot on the Noahtic , that one day he would live in a relationship akin to marriage with a man who had killed countless nobles, he would have laughed and thought you delusional. It hadn’t been easy in the beginning, and Sherlock had confessed that he had been under a lot of strain and pressure, and that often, he had been tempted to relapse, to enjoy a blissful moment filled with opium or coke.
“Sherly?”, William asked, noticing he was staring through him, and Sherlock blinked.
“Sorry, was lost in thought.”, he smiled and William cocked his head.
“What had you so invested?”
“Many things. Memories, the present, gratefulness, happiness and so on.”
William smiled and intertwined their fingers across the table. Sherlock’s heart rate picked up. It was exhilarating to have someone on the same wavelength, who understood you even with only a few words exchanged. His thumb grazed William’s bare ringfinger.
He would have to change that soon.