Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful morning in old London. The sky was painted in gorgeous tones of pinks and blues, the sun revealing itself lazily as the first sunbeams illuminated the half empty streets, where only a few sleepy workers prepared themselves for the long spring day.

Since the destruction caused by the devil known as the Lord of Crime, few were those who expected to ever walk by such serene scenery again. Nonetheless, against all odds, the once burned down town, after a few years of hard work and the higher class's generous donations, had risen stronger than ever. Slowly, the difference between nobles and citizens shrinked and the people of England recovered what had been lost in the fire, building a new country from the ashes.

The soft light spread across the buildings, flowing through the windows with the promise of a wonderful day. In Buckingham Palace, the pinkish glow submerged a vast room, illuminating the beautiful brown curls of an elegant man. Laying in bed, his eyes remained closed, in a limbo between sleep and consciousness, a small smile spreading on his lips as he feels the movement of a familiar body drawing near.

Affection swallows his heart as hands encircle his waist from below the sheets, a strong chest pressing against his back through the fabric of his nightgown, soft breaths warming the skin of his bruised neck. Barely opening his emerald eyes, the man sighs happily, hands finding the ones holding his waist as fingers intertwine with practised ease.

They remain close together, prolonging the intimate moment, enjoying the welcome heat from the rising sun and the warm presence of one another. Breathing slowly, their fingers trace smooth caresses in each other's palms. From behind, loving kisses are placed on the man's neck, the one behind him appreciating the remnants of cologne that still lingered in the soft skin.

“G’morning, Al,” the one from behind breaths, eyes still closed.

Albert's heart purrs at the voice, bringing the hand he holds between his graceful fingers to his lips, kissing his partner's knuckles as he replies. “Morning Mickey.” The nickname is still new, and it never fails to make his Director blush ever so slightly. Albert’s smile widens as he feels the man behind him hide on the crock of his neck.

A few months had passed since Albert James Moriarty, the man who claimed full responsibility over the crimes committed against the nobles, was released from prison. Some still expressed their worry and anger about the circumstances of his newly granted liberty, claiming that the former Earl should be hanged for his crimes. Nonetheless, as time passed, the interest for such an injustice had diminished, and people promptly forgot the murderer, following along with their uneventful lives.

As for the Earl, he couldn’t care less what they thought anymore. Long was the time he had to pretend to fit in a society and a class he couldn’t stand. Now, he rediscovered the joys of life, with both his loving brothers, and with the man breathing slowly by his side. He was sure that, if the Albert from four years ago could see them now, shamelessly holding each other under such magnificent daylight, he would have had a stroke from pure shock. What had begun as a simple affair with a man he found attractive, had blossomed into something so powerful it almost destroyed the Moriarty plan, as well as the Earl himself. Nonetheless, all had been worth it for this single moment of pure bliss, as the two gentlemen laid as one under the covers after a good night's sleep.

Albert is the first to move, rolling in Mycroft’s arms in order to face the man hugging him from behind. He drinks in the view of the most powerful figure in England, eyes still half closed under the soft sunlight, expression relaxed as he wakes up slowly. The stoic mask once covering his features was completely shattered, allowing the vulnerable truth to be revealed to the one he wished to see him completely. It was disarming, the trust he placed on a man whose lies had deceived an entire country for years, and if Albert still found it foolish deep down, undeserving of such honesty, he couldn’t stop himself from exploiting the gift he was offered.

The Earl takes his time with the Director, fingers rearranging unruly locks of hair, the darkness of it covering too much of the gaze he wished to find. He traces his cheeks and sharp jawline with his thumb, memorising every curve and feature. Words aren’t needed in moments such as this one, small touches being able to convey everything that needs to be said. And so, the Earl brings their lips together in a chaste kiss, noses brushing together as they smile against each other's mouths.

Mycroft sights in delight, bringing Albert closer and responding in kind, two pairs of reddened lips connecting and parting in a well practised dance, smooth tongues moving together in a sweet and lazy caress. Their movements are slow and deep, taking long breaths before diving in once more, unworried.

Because they had all the time in the world.

“Slept well?” Albert asks, between kisses, smiling as the man before him only hums in agreement, lips still searching the Moriarty’s warmth. The Earl sighs happily, indulging in Mycroft's sweetness still so new to him. How a man usually so stoic and severe could become so starved for contact was a mystery to Albert, but since the nature of their feelings had come to light, lies and pretences completely torned between them, he was more than pleased with the Director’s advances. The Earl’s hands find the edge of the Director’s nightshirt, elegant digits discovering warm skin beneath it. It was welcoming, like coming home.

Under the covers, the couple embraces each other tenderly, in a scenery so unreal as the one workers faced outside. For both men, romantic love was uncharted territory, unlike the lust they explored years ago. It felt good, to be able to hold just for the sake of it, to cuddle in the morning unafraid of ruining everything. It was new, it felt overwhelming at times, but Albert wouldn’t like it any other way.

“Do you want breakfast?” Mycroft asks moments later, foreheads touching, lips only inches apart as they share the same air.

“Want to ask the Queen’s employees for breakfast in bed?” The eldest Moriarty asks, smirking, fingers toying with the Director’s curls. “Wouldn’t that be too shameless Director, with a man in your quarters no less!”

Mycroft huffs in amusement, kissing and biting the Earl’s bruised neck, making the man gasp in surprise. “As if there is someone in this palace that doesn’t already know.” He says, making Albert shiver beneath his tongue, hand grabbing a fistful of locks instinctively. “You may not be aware, Lieutenant, but you are quite loud.”

This was another facade of the man Albert had taken for himself, he was carnally insatiable. 

“Oh, is that so?” Albert asks, appearing to be horrified by the new information. “Should I be quieter then?” He asks innocently, hand travelling to the Director’s chest under his clothes.

Mycroft's eyes darken slightly, moving to stand on top of the Earl’s form with a swift move, trapping the man between his elbows and knees. “Maybe you should.” He suggests, an int of mirth in his voice.

Albert repositions himself, expression very serious when saying. “I won’t make a sound then.”

“You shouldn't make promises you aren’t certain to uphold, Al.” Mycroft scoffs, amused.

“Is that a challenge, Director?” The Earl asks, arching an eyebrow as he grabs a fistful of dark locks with a single hand once again.

Mycroft gets closer, guided by the movements of the man beneath him. “Would you like it to be?”

Albert smirks, a strong leg wrapping around the eldest Holmes waist and forcing it to come down, bodies colliding as the Director moans, eyes closing on reflex. “Maybe you are the loud one in this relationship, Director. Have you ever considered such a possibility?” He asks, smirking.

Mycroft smiles darkly. “Oh Darling, I’ll make you scream.” He promises, pupils blown wide with want.

Albert's eyes shine in excitement, licking his lips eagerly. “I would love to see you try.”

And with those words, hungry mouths collide, a different kind of heat flowing in their blood as greedy hands pull at night gowns and useless cloths that prevent the so needed skin to skin contact. The bed covers are the first to meet the ground, Mycroft fighting against both the fabric preventing his mouth to suck and lick at Albert’s clavicle, and the Earl’s restless hands. The Director pins his wrists against the mattress, determined to make the eldest Moriarty cry his name under his tongue.

Albert breathes heavily, eyes blown wide as he finds himself unable to move under the Director’s strong hold. “Not fair- ah- ” he gasps as he feels sharp teeth brushing against his sensitive skin. The Earl bites his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, in order to deter the moan threatening to escape his already trembling body.

It was evident that if he didn’t break free from the man’s devine mouth, the game wouldn’t last.

Mycroft can feel the body beneath him tense, satisfaction coiling in his gut as he sees the already dishevelled state of the man trapped in his hold, trying desperately to get away. “Won’t you open your delicious mouth for me Lieutenant?” Mycroft asks, licking the fresh blood sliding from the Earl’s lips, demanding entrance. Albert feels like he is going to combust under this devil of a man, unable to deny anything to the sweet tongue already slipping inside his mouth, making Albert’s already vulnerable form crumble under the attention. Mycroft smirks, bringing a single knee to the centre of the Earls tights, proud as a loud groan rips through the noble’s throat, emerald eyes watering as he tries to hold the sounds that begged to escape. The Director chuckles, finding such stubbornness endearing, keeping his knee moving as he whispers hotly in his ear. “Do you admit defeat, my Lord?”

Albert closes his eyes, feeling his will to fight faltering. “ Mycro -” he gasps, back arching against his will, as the man’s knee brushes once more against his most sensitive place. Fuck , he needs to stop this or else he will die from humiliation alone. He needed a way out, and so he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Breakfast!”

Mycroft halts his movements, confused. “What?”

Albert cries internally, in relief for the end of the torment, and in frustration for the lack of stimulation. It's maddening, the way the Director could affect him as such with only a couple of moves.

The plan he came up with wasn’t the best, not even close, but if one observed the state in which the Earl’s mind was, him being able to even think straight for more than a second was already a miracle. He just needed time to calm down and bring his Director where he wanted him to be. “I’m hungry.” Albert explains. It was true after all. “Can we have breakfast first?”

Mycroft laughs, loud and honest, as the hold on the Earl’s wrists falters. Albert blushes at the reaction, both from embarrassment and warmth ignited by the rare sound, knowing fairly well this technique was a clear excuse, but not wanting to claim defeat just yet. “You were the one who proposed in the first place, Director.” He says, trying to remain serious at the clear evasive manoeuvre. God must have heard his prayers, because his stomach chose this exact moment to growl, his words now more believable at the very least.

Mycroft calms down when he hears the sound, smiling softly at Earl. “If you so desire, my Lord.” He says, delivering a chast kiss to Albert’s forehead, before letting go of the man completely. Leaving the comfort of the bed behind, Mycroft wraps a robe around himself as he abandons the bedroom, surely to call a servant.

As soon as the Director gets out of sight, the Earl immediately misses his presence, body moving to sit up on his own to try and follow the man with his eyes. It’s silly, but he can’t stop himself from feeling the need to make sure the other stays close by, afraid he would finally change his mind and leave him for good. The rational portion of his brain knew how ridiculous those thoughts were, but he couldn’t help feeling undeserving of Mycroft’s affections.

Shaking those ideas away, Albert takes a few seconds to find a new balance, looking at the rich ceiling of the bedroom and taking deep breaths. His heart still runs wild on his chest, and the Earl can’t help but laugh softly as he thinks about the absurdity of his actual predicament. Who would have guessed that, after so many years of suffering, depression, lies and blood, a criminal such as himself could become so incredibly happy? After everything he had done, after fighting for a world he believed he could create, he was here, in a bed at Buckingham Palace, playing around with the eldest Holmes, Mycroft, a man known by every single noble in the country, seen as stoic and cold, handsome but unapproachable. The same man who kisses and hugs the Earl whenever he can, who proclaims his affections every opportunity he gets, and who makes Albert’s body a mess every time he comes near.

“Mr. Aaron is leaving breakfast in the living room.” Mycroft says moments later, standing by the door, eyes scanning the Earl's limp form. “Is everything alright?” He asks, brows farrowing in slight worry.

Albert shakes his head, smiling sincerely. “More than alright,” he admits, eyes bright looking at the man before him. Even if life wasn't easy for a very long time, even if sometimes intrusive thoughts and unreasonable fears clouded his better judgement, Albert is sure of one thing as he gets out of bed, following the beloved man awaiting for him.

He is unbelievably lucky.

As the Queen’s right hand, Mycroft Holmes’ job was one of a kind. If many envied the honour of such a position, none of those were remotely aware of what his role emplied, dedicating one's whole life to the country being a natural requirement. Only the Queen herself understood to a certain extent Mycroft's actions and the importance of his work, and in consequence knew how few of her subjects would be able to achieve half of what the man had been able to. As a result, perhaps in hopes to keep the eldest Holmes close and satisfied with his position, the monarch had arranged not only an office, but an entire hall, that had been disposed of to the Director’s private use at her Palace. Mycroft not only possessed luxurious chambers, but also had total control over the Queen’s servants who were instructed to respond to his every need.

If the Director didn’t outwardly refuse the Queen’s offer of space and comfort as compensation for his services, he found the whole affair rather excessive, never having time nor interest in using the expensive quarters, opting to occupy his humble apartment only a few blocks away.

Nevertheless, once the presence of a freshly released Albert James Moriarty became a permanent arrangement in his life, the Queen’s generosity proved to be rather convenient. Mycroft had finally found great use for the expensive mattress and the large bathtub, perfect for periodic breaks from work. The proximity to his workplace, that the Lieutenant frequented more times than not, was an incredible advantage the Director couldn't deny. The time he once wasted walking to and from his apartment, now preciously exploited in hot nights and lazy mornings. Truly a blessing.

As for the Earl, he hadn’t any complaints about their new hideout, much more comfortable than the Director’s desk or couch, and more private than the Diogenes Club they frequented once in a while. They made sure to allow not more than a couple of trustworthy servants into their chambers, doing their best to keep a low profile and hide Albert’s presence in dark nights. In England, the relationship they shared was still a crime, and even if Albert knew there wasn’t a single person in the country foolish enough to question the Queen’s right hand, the Earl preferred to remain cautious.

In the living room, the pair sit close together at a long table, clearly designed to hold grand banquets for important events or guests. Under an enormous chandelier, the couple looks at a loss at the dozens of dishes laid before them, all exposing exotic scones and patisserie. Albert was from a noble family and had known the extravagant way the richest duchesses led their lives, but even those were nothing compared to such a banquet. The pair had spent so much time by themselves in these chambers that it became their space. In here, they become so entranced in each other every time they found themselves on the sheets, they forgot this quarters belong to the Queen of England. The servants worked for her, under the incredible pressure and crave for perfection, standards they couldn't understand or demand. And so, a simple request for a private breakfast had been interpreted and treated as if the Queen herself had made such a demand. Albert can’t contain a chuckle faced with the ridiculousness of the situation.

“I suppose I should have been clearer.” Mycroft sighs, a small smile on his lips as he hears Albert laugh.

“A bit excessive for the two of us I must admit.” Albert agrees, amused. “How many women do they think you keep in your bed?”

“Judging by what I'm witnessing, at least a dozen.” Mycroft says. “We may have gone overboard last night.” He continues, smirking as Albert chooks on his tea, the implications alarming.

“Do you think they heard?” Albert asks, past events in the forefront of his brain. It hadn’t been long since their relationship was shamefully exposed to his whole family and friends, and the repercussions of the event still weighed on the Earl’s daily life.

Mycroft arches an eyebrow. “Would that trouble you?” He asks.

“Well, wouldn't it trouble you more?” The Earl asks, perplexed. “Someone may alert the Queen.”

Mycroft laughs, only aiding Albert's confusion. “If her majesty doesn’t already know, she surely suspects, believe me. But don't worry, I'm too valuable, she can ignore some catholic moral rules for the greater good of her country.” The Director affirms, starting to eat without an ounce of concern. He knew his worth and if he wouldn’t use his position for special treatment as a rule, he could if the situation called for it.

“Aren’t you powerful, Director.” Albert chuckles, resting his shin on a single hand as his eyes traced the eldest Holmes expression as he swallowed a sweet biscuit. “How enticing.” He admits, half joking.

Mycroft’s attention doesn’t waver from his plate, more than used to the Earl’s smooth tongue and flirty techniques. As an outsider, one may wonder if the man was totally unaffected by them, or if his skin was tough enough to hide the enthusiasm those words created. “Eat up then, so we can finish what we started.”

Albert pulse quickens at the words. “Eager, are we?” He teases, deciding to enjoy his food nonetheless. A peaceful breakfast was a rarity for the Earl recently, and the mere thought of having to return home was hard to swallow. “If I do, would you let me stay here tonight?” Albert asks, offhandedly.

Mycroft pauses, lips quirking upwards as he asks. ”Rough time at home?”

Albert takes a sip out of his tea cup, sighting softly. “After William and Sherlock revealed us in such a scandalous manner, how could it be any other way.”

Mycroft shook his head, unable to hide his amusement faced with the eldest Moriarty’s despair. “Moran is still a nuisance?”

“Even Bond is insufferable.” The Earl laments. The two characters were indeed the ones Albert couldn’t deal with for totally opposite reasons.

Moran, the one that found Albert and Mycroft in that fateful day, was so stiff and condescending it made Albert’s head hurt everyday he decided to appear at the apartment the three brothers shared. Sometimes, he wouldn’t even look at his direction, ignoring his existence completely, and others he would spout nonsense about the Director colluding with the enemy and other barbarities.

As for Bond, he would joke insistently about the matter, making questioning comments and indecent questions, the whole affair rather uncomfortable to himself and both his brothers, because William still felt a terrible guilt for the entire situation, after his plan to reveal the truth exploded in such a manner, and Louis couldn’t bring himself to imagine anything transpiring between the two men he most respected.

“But I've been thinking of a way to wash the attention out of our backs.” He says, pleased as the Director gives him an inquisitive look, “if it is of your interest.”

“Please, do go on.”

Albert smiles, a glint of malice in his gaze. He had been thinking about this for a long time. “It’s simple.” He says. “We arrange another blowing revelation.”

Mycroft arches an eyebrow. “Sherly and William?”

“Precisely.“

The Director frowns, thinking about Sherly’s pitiful state everytime he is reminded that he has to keep his relationship a secret. It would be a good way to solve the couple’s problems, but there was a bombastic problem to this scheme. “Are you sure it's safe? I've worked for a couple of years with Louis and… I know how skilled he his.”

Louis, their younger brother, was terribly protective. If he had accepted and congratulated Mycroft and Albert once their story was presented to a room full of people, this was only possible because of the youngest's admiration and gratefulness to the eldest Moriarty. His reaction to the relationship William and Sherlock shared was a dangerous gamble, with odds bad enough to make even the mastermind William refrain from telling the truth til this moment.

“It's going to come out sooner or later. We'll just give them a push, and pray for Louis' understanding.“

Mycroft shakes his head in amusement, already praying for the young couple. “Never took you for the revengeful type, Lieutenant.” He says, pushing his chair backwards after he finishes his meal, brushing the dishes to the side.

Albert smirks, brushing the tea’s moisture from his lips with a delicate napkin. “There's still much you don’t know about me.” He says, leaving his seat and positioning himself in the place previously occupied by the Queen’s silverware previously being used by Mycroft, with practised ease. “I'm a filthy criminal after all.”

Mycroft hums in agreement, hands in the Earl’s hips as he looks up at the man, satisfied when Albert’s legs spread wider, giving him room to move closer. “The filthiest of them all.” He says, in a swift move getting in his feet and shoving the Earl against the table, the sound of rich porcelain meeting the floor promptly ignored as the Director skilled hands handled the eldest Moriarty’s robe.

Albert smirked at the eagerness, thoughts of the previous game completely forgotten. “I'm gonna be loud, Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s eyes darken hearing his words. “Good.”

Chapter Text

In the beginning of a silent night, a dark carriage drove through the lonely streets that led to the great Buckingham Palace. In the sky, only a snippet of moonlight escaped the thick clouds that tried his best to hide it. No star was visible from below, where the vehicle bumped into every rock and stumbled in every cavity of the road, making the man in a formal attire sitting inside huff in annoyance. One would think those shady government drivers would know how to drive in a smoother manner, especially while carrying such a distinguished guest.

The man doesn’t utter a word, simply looking through the window, a letter in hand. Not long after, they entered the Palace’s gates, coming to a stop before the door where two guards waited silently. Those didn’t use the red and flashy uniforms from the Queen’s Guard, but a dark blue attire, elegant but discrete, the uniform used for those belonging to the British Secret Services, MI6.

The man doesn’t wait for the driver to open the door, jumping from his seat with little to no elegance suggested by his attire, his ponytail bouncing in the hair as he moves. “Good evening, gentlemen.” He says, spinning carelessly the letter in his hand as he approaches. He tosses the paper to one of the men, not wasting a second to slip between them, hurrying inside. The task reveals itself more difficult than expected, as a third figure hiding in the shadows stubbornly blocks his way. “Really?”

After reading the letter, the first guard comes forward, not looking a single bit perturbed while saying. “Good evening Mr. Holmes, we were waiting for you.” At once, the path before the detective is cleared, and with a slight bow, the guard continues. “I will lead the way, if you please.”

Sherlock Holmes rolls his eyes, but still follows the man inside, hands in his pockets as he is guided through a maze of corridors and stairs. How someone could live in a place as huge as this building was a wonder for the detective, his little apartment at 221B Baker Street being already too big for the likings of a bachelor like him, if the word “bachelor” could even describe his current situation. 

The younger Holmes catches and dispels that thought, moving and tugging at his dark bow tie, still not used to such a constrictive piece of fabric. He cursed Mycroft for buying the damn thing and Miss Hutson for making him use it. Sherlock was a famous hero, a martyr and a dead man for everyone but a selected few. Why did everyone insist on making him wear such useless fancy clothes against his will was a mystery the frustrated man could not solve.

If he was here, in the Queen’s Palace, running around in a tight black tuxedo, was certainly not to attend an MI6 gathering. Sherlock may have changed a lot these past few years spent in the United States, but his disdain for the high and mighty and those who deemed themselves better than the most persisted, and if he had accepted the Queen’s invitation was for a sole and simple reason.

The guard leads him to a salon, gigantic as every single room in this Palace seemed to be. It was already full with people in formal attire, drinking and talking in small groups, while some couples danced in the middle of the space. The music was clear and delicate, the voices ushed and controlled, and Sherlock already missed the bars and feasts at cheap restaurants. The undecorous dance, the unapologetic laughter and sincere joy that would come from too much beer and dirty vocabulary, was a kind of entertainment superior in every aspect to these chic balls.

Every aspect, with maybe an exception.

As the detective is introduced at the door, his blue eyes are already searching the reason for which he had come, locking themselves in a slender figure standing not far away, left hand behind his back as his right holds a half empty glass of wine. His heart stutters in his chest as he finds the man’s red and soft eyes, and the detective smiles radiantly, as he ignores everyone else in the room in favour to approach the one and only William James Moriarty.

They hadn’t laid eyes on each other for nearly two weeks, and if for some it may seem an exaggeration, to Sherlock Holmes, who had shared a life and a home with the professor for almost three years, it had felt like an eternity. Sharing an apartment with William had become so natural, that living on his own with Miss Hutson felt empty, depressing even. 

He missed the meals, the domestic chatter and the endless bickering. He missed waking up next to the angelic face of the blond, missed the soft moments at night before sleep, and the melodic voice of the professor when he read out loud. 

He understood that William needed to get back to his old home, reconnect with his brothers and catch up with the time he had lost. Even so, he wished they could find ways to see each other more often, to get back a glimpse of what they had had in the past.

It wasn’t impossible, as his brother clearly made a point of showing every time he and William's older brother shared the same room. Since the day he and William exposed the couple, the two had been insufferable, unable to restrain themselves from shamelessly exposing the one mystery Sherlock wasn't able to uncover on his own. 

If the Earl still made an effort and controlled his behaviour in the presence of his family, Sherlock’s brother found joy in showing off, especially in the company of his beloved little brother. Mycroft enjoyed rubbing in the fact that he could hold his lover’s hand, while remaining unnecessarily close to the Earl, and even stealing small kisses in the centre of a family dinner. 

The bastard knew how to make Sherlock rage in fury and envy, and the detective could only suffer in silence and spit some insults, while looking at William from a distance.

“Liam!” Sherlock called, nearly running to the professor's side. “Long time no see!”

“Good evening Sherlock.” The smooth voice answers, sweetly. “It's been quite some time, isn't it?”

“It felt like forever.” He says, dramatically, swinging an amical arm on the professor's shoulders and bringing him as close as to barely crossing the line of socially proper. “I missed you.” He murmurs, smirking as he notices a drop of red on the blond's ear, emotions invisible to the masses but vivid to the detective's capable eyes. “Can I get you alone tonight?” He asks, trying not to sound as needy as he felt.

William's smile is strained, tension radiating from his body under the detective's arm. “Sherlock, I-”

“William-niisan.” A familiar voice, one that crowded Sherlock's worst nightmares, made him jump two feet away from the esteemed professor. William can't fully hide the glee while observing his reaction to the madness of his youngest brother. Louis Moriarty appears next to the professor, murdering eyes fixed on the detective’s form as he says, “Albert-niisan wants to introduce you to Lord Rutherford. He has been looking for you.”

William smiles. “I’ll be right there.” He says, and Sherlock deflects a little as the professor flashes him a sad look, anger towards the new head of MI6 crawling in his gut, as the pair steps away.

“Mind if I join?” He asks, positioning himself next to William, a hand barely touching his low back for only a moment as he accompanies the brothers. He wasn’t about to lose the professor this early in the evening, and it wouldn't be Louis who would rob him of such again.

“Not at all.” William says, a small chuckle escaping his lips, but his youngest doesn’t seem to appreciate the initiative one bit.

“Is he bothering you niisan?” Louis asks, ready to cast Holmes away, not caring if his words are heard by the detective.

“Louis, you know Sherlock is my friend,” at his choice of words, the detective can’t totally mask annoyance, looking away with a frown. “I genuinely appreciate his company.”

Louis doesn’t respond, accepting Sherlock’s unwelcome presence for the time being and hurring to his eldest side. 

As presentations, small talk and pleasantries are made, Sherlock pretends, with little to no effort, to be interested in the matters and names that are spouted from the important looking fellows, only truly paying attention to the words rolling through William’s soft looking lips. He suffered silently as the desire to be the one the professor was looking at spread in his gut.

Damn, he hated these wanna-be-parties so much.

As he silently worked on a plan to get William away in order to have his undivided attention, a too familiar voice came from behind. 

“Good evening gentlemen.” The newcomer greeted, respectful but still strong, demanding respect in return. “Could I borrow my youngest for a moment?”

“Of course my Lord!” One of the- what was his name already? Well, one of the people he was presented to spoke first, eager to obey and make a good impression on the powerful Director. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the pathetic display. But he still looks in his brother’s direction, averting his gaze from the warm look the Earl Moriarty was casting to his devil of a brother, quickly turning away from the group if not only to maintain the couple away from each other.

“What do you want, Mycroft?” He asked, his frustration palpable in his words and body language. “Trying to ruin this already fucked up night?”

“You were frowning so much that I'm afraid only the Rutherfords were blind to it, Sherly.” The Director says, smirking that infuriating smirk of his. Sherlock felt the need to punch it out of his face.

“Are you here to laugh, then?” He asks, furious.

“Not quite.” The Director admits, taking a sip of wine from the cup in his hand, eyes travelling far away and shamelessly landing in the elder Moriarty’s form. Sherlock gags. “When are you planning to reveal your little secret to Louis?” Mycroft sks, off handedly.

The detective groans. “How about you mind your own business?” He asks, turning away and planning to leave.

“You don’t know then.” Mycroft says, as he ignores his brother’s sarcasm and limits himself to follow the detective as he tries to walk away. “If you don’t mind me medling-”

“I do-”

“You should hurry up.” He continues, and that makes Sherlock stop in his tracks, suspicious. “You see, your little Moriarty is a very desired man, and now that he is back to a small part of society…” He says, mirth clear in his eyes. “People could get interested in… knowing him better.”

Sherlock scoffs. “Please Mickey, as if any man in this room would jump at a pretty face just because.” He says, dismissing his brother’s words completely. “Besides, we are talking about Liam, he wouldn’t let anyone get closer than properly acceptable.” God knows he had tried more than once.

“Oh Sherly, you’re missing the bigger picture. Age hasn’t really helped your intellect I gather.” Mycroft says, and Sherly greets his teeth in frustration. ”Man can be a true nuisance, for certain, but their efforts and actions are always short lived. Women, on the other hand, are the real headache.” He admits, eyes darkening for only a fraction, and Sherlock can’t let such an opportunity to tease his perfect older brother slide by.

“Damn, it must have sucked to stand by and watch as maidens tried to get your Earl in the earlier days, huh?” He asks, laughing out loud. “You must be very happy that the same enthusiasm isn’t launched to the Lord of Crime.”

“Don’t be so sure, Sherly.” Mycroft says, eyes turning to a corner where a somewhat large group of eight to nine madams stood, surrounding his professor who didn’t seem fazed in the slightest by the attention. On the contrary, he looked calm, smiling softly as he talked to the group, as if it was the norm. 

Sherlock wasn’t at all familiarised with this kind of event. In the past he had never frequented a ball attended by the Moriarty or any other gathering where the brothers were present, so he ignored how often they would play nice and flirty with the females that viewed them as the best choice of a future partner, and so the detective couldn’t completely comprehend the scene unfolding before him. 

Mycroft continues. “As you can see, old habits are hard to undo. William was indeed a fearsome criminal, but society, and particularly those from MI6, who know the full story and reasoning behind his actions, are quick to forget his past crimes and focus on what has always been the most important: status, wealth and looks. If the name Moriarty lost his light on the surface, the dark respect and prestige spiked in the eyes of the ones that really matter. The Queen herself regards William as a precious asset, and keeps him close and comfortable as long as he does what she needs him to do. You should know this better than anyone else. As for the rest,-”

“He is a good looking and well mannered bastard, with a noble-worthy education and all that jazz, I get it, okay.” Sherlock huffs annoyed, the implications not at all pleasing, looking around the room as his eyes found the one he was looking for. “How come your Earl isn’t suffering the same treatment? He is an ancient Earl, certainly those desperate women would be as interested in him, or even more so than in Liam.” He points out, frustrated as Albert stood to the side, talking to an apparently drunk Moran and appreciating a glass of wine.

“I’ve already told you how.” Mycroft says.

“You told me to tell Louis, jackass. What, is he a dark magician who can keep creepy ladies away from one’s paramour ?” He asks, sarcastic.

Mycroft shakes his head. “Think for a moment Sherly.”

He scoffs. “The only plausible explanation is that everyone in this room knows Albert is taken, so either you lied, which is certainly improbable considering how possessive you have revealed yourself to be,” Sherlock couldn’t deny a certain degree of self satisfaction as he sees Mycroft’s smirk stiffen at the comment. “Or you made sure everyone knew the kind of relationship you’re in, without spelling it out loud.” Because, of course, it was still a crime.

“Precisely.” He says, voice strain. “To do so, Louis must know first and foremost, because if not, I’m afraid you’re not surviving to see what follows.”

As Mycroft finishes his sentence, Sherlock feels the presence of an unknown individual approach. His older brother must have sensed it as well, because the two men turn simultaneously to his right, eyes evaluating a young male form. It was adorned with too much gold for the detectives' liking.  

The rich man smiles widely at the attention given, not faltering before their dark eyes. “Director Holmes, what a pleasure it is to see you again!” He exclaims, approaching the pair.

Mycroft's expression hardens as his eyes lay on the newcomer. “Your highness.” He greets, bowing ever so slightly. Sherlock didn't have to be a genius detective to sense his brother’s animosity towards the figure.

“And this must be the great detective Sherlock Holmes,” he says. “I'm a big fan.”

“Thanks,” Sherlock responds, smiling fakely at the Prince. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

Mycroft coughs, eyes searching the room for what must be an escape.

The prince's eyes twitch, smile faltering only for a second. “I'm Arthur, son of Queen Victoria.”

In truth, Sherlock had already guessed the identity of the little self important brat from the jewellery and manners alone, but he felt the prince could use a humility check at the moment.

“If you'll excuse me, it seems my presence is required elsewhere.” Mycroft says, eyes already focused on the eldest Moriarty standing alone in a corner with a half empty cup of wine in hand. Sherlock uses every ounce of self restraint to not gag at their public displays, heart clenching all the same.

He wanted William by his side as well.

The prince on the other hand, doesn’t seem to even notice Mycroft’s departure, as his attention remains turned to the younger of the Holmes brothers. “But please do tell me, it must have been quite an adventure, your trip to the Americas.” 

“It was indeed.” Sherlock responds, eyes trying to avoid the Director and the Earl on the other side of the room, but failing miserably.

“A land of savages I hear, nothing good ever comes from it.” The prince says, shaking his head. “It must have been hard to leave your country for so long.”

Sherlock laughs, smiling bitterly. From the three years spent in the US, the memories that burned his heart were those of a life found and shared with Liam. “It wasn't so bad, I find myself even missing it sometimes.” Like through every single second of this hellish night.

“Oh really?” The prince asks, confused by such an opinion. “Well now that you are back home you could restart the life you lost,” he says, brushing off his comment for the sake of their conversation, as if his opinion was actually wrong. “Get a wife, a few kids, build a family.”

This makes Sherlock frown in uneasiness.

“Your friend Moriarty, as it seems, doesn't want to waste much time either.” He says, eyes falling in the group where Liam and a few women laughed, his smile soft and captivating. Sherlock's eyes shrinked at the scene.

“Liam is just being polite.”

“Oh no my dear friend, believe me.” He says, smirking. “Men as desired as that one do not stay single for long, he is looking for someone.”

The detective can’t help but scoff at the prick’s words. Barely eighteen and the young prince already tries to act as wise, attempting to teach Sherlock Holmes, of all people, the ways of the world. 

“Then, your highness, how come my older brother is still unmarried to this day?” Sherlock asks, not hiding his mocking expression in the slightest. His smile widens as he catches slight hesitation in the teens eyes.

“Well-”

“Nor Liam’s brothers if you think carefully,” he continues. “In fact there are quite a few respected and wealthy men who never married.” Sherlocks continuous, smiling. “Isn’t that a great mystery, your royal highness? Why don’t you try to solve this one.”

The prince shakes in fury, unable to utter a single word as the Detective walks away, feeling slightly better after having crushed a little rich boy’s inferior perspective of the world. 

Urgh, he was too old for the small minded. 

Besides, he hadn’t come to make small talk with unimportant little kids. He had other priorities entirely. 

Eyes set on his new target, Sherlock approaches the man he has been following for the last four years, an unpleasant feeling expending in his gut that he tries to ignore.

The prince’s words hadn’t had any meaningful impact on the youngest Holmes. He knew William would never even think of betraying him with somebody else, much less marrying a woman. No, it wasn’t Liam the problem.

It was everyone else.

It was their entire situation that resulted in a growing distance, both physical and emotional, between the two of them, that hurt the most. A distance that made Sherlock’s heart waver in pain, need and uncertainty. 

However Sherlock Holmes wasn’t a man of doubt, but of action, and if something bothered him he wouldn’t remain quiet. 

“Ayo Liam!” Sherlock exclaims when he reaches the blond, unable to stop himself from sliding an arm around his waist and pulling the blond aristocrat closer. If his smile was wide and at first glance charming, his eyes were alight with a burning fire few could notice, as he eyed the group that surrounded his man.

“Mr. Holmes.” William greets, masking his surprise well as he ignores the confused stares the group lances at the sudden interruption. “Is everything alright?”

At the use of his last name, nowadays so foreign in the professor's familiar lips, Sherlock’s smile sinks, his demeanour souring. It had been so long since William had used this form of address, that hearing it gave the impression they were back in those days when deception was as common between them as breathing. His heart hurts only even thinking about getting back, where the future had been as uncertain as their feelings for each other.

The need to grab the blond and take him away from this room, from these women and this country, becomes nearly unbearable for the poor detective. He felt as if this world was trying to rob from him something as precious as happiness, right under his own eyes. 

He couldn’t tolerate it any longer. “I need to talk to you for a second?” He whispers, eyes falling to the ground for only a moment, as if he feared William’s rejection. 

But, of course, his Liam, the one he knew now, would never do as such. 

“Certainly.” William says, excusing himself from the group of women that tried their best to hide the curiosity the pair evoqued in them. 

As a show of his unmatched self control, Sherlock’s hands find their way to his pockets, leaving the man he would love to keep in them able to walk freely. Don’t misunderstand, usually the detective wasn’t this needy, he could survive a night without touching the professor (even if unhappy about it). But after so much time apart, months of hiding in the shadows after the years of freedom they had already experienced, he couldn’t ignore the tingling in his body everytime he could feel William’s presence next to him.

To make things worse, they couldn’t get away from the ballroom, since guards were blocking the doors and the last thing they would want to do is to draw attention from unwanted individuals , otherwise called Louis “Mad” Moriarty. So the Detective takes the second best option, the balcony. It offered a small space of privacy provided by the cover of the night’s darkness, not the best space, but he couldn’t think of a better place in such a restricted area.

As soon as they are outside, William is the one reaching out for his hand. “Sherly, what’s wrong?”

And oh well, Sherlock is only human, and he curses the entirety of the British Empire as he takes his Liam in his arms, hugging him tightly and hiding from the world in the crock of the professor's neck. William tenses beneath his touch, eyes worriedly coming back inside the brilliant room.

“Sherlock-” he warns, gently pushing the man away, shocked when the detective doesn’t move an inch.

“This,” Sherlock breaths out, “is what’s wrong.”

For a few seconds, the professor doesn’t move, frowning in confusion and worry. “What do you mean?” William asks.

“I miss you.” Sherlock blurts out, and the pain behind the words surprises even himself. “Damn it!” Sherlock hisses, heart and mind in turmoil. “I hate this. I thought I could take it but I can’t, Liam, I’m not strong enough.”

“Sherly, I don’t understand.” William says, fear replacing reason at once as he grabs the Detective’s face with slender hands, looking straight at the bluish eyes. “Was it Prince Arthur? I saw you two talk-.”

“No, it’s not that brat.” Sherlock says, hands finding their rightful place at William’s waist, the familiarity making him sigh in relief. It was so easy, so natural. Here, William’s eyes were solely on him, his mind and body focused on the Detective. Why couldn’t it always be like this? Why couldn’t he be Sherly every time? 

“Do you love me, Liam?” Sherlock asks, serious.

“Of course I do Sherly.” William says, guiding them as far away from prying eyes as he could. “Where is this coming from?”

Sherlock laughs nervously, a single hand running through is unruly hair. He couldn’t describe what he was feeling, words coming out of his lips before he could even make sense of what he wanted to say. “It feels like an eternity since I’ve heard you say it,” he admits, the doubts in his heart crumbling slowly.

William’s heart clenches painfully on his chest. “I love you, Sherly.” He says. “I’m sorry if I made you doubt it even for a second.”

“No.” Sherlock says, shaking his head while smiling softly, heart full. “It’s not you Liam, it’s this entire situation,” he admits. ”It’s the fact I have to mask my feelings for you as soon as we walk away from the dark. We lie for the majority of the time we spend together, and you do it so effortlessly that sometimes…”

“You thought I wasn’t pretending anymore?” William asks, understanding.

“It was irrational.” Sherlock says, smiling softly.

“It was.” William agrees, smiling in return, the softness warming the Detective’s chest.

“It just sucks, not to be able to touch you the way I want to when I want to,” he says, frustrated. “And seeing Mycroft having that, it just makes everything worse.”

William shuckles a little at that. “You should be happy for them, Sherly,” he reprimands.

“And I will, once I get to show you off as well.” He grunts.

William smiles, sadly. “Sherly, you know it’s not that simple.”

“How so?” The Detective asks. “The only difference there is between us is the fact Louis hates me. If you tell him, the problem will be solved.”

“You know I’m trying to warm him up to you first.” William tries to explain.

“Liam please, we both know that will never happen.” Sherlock says, exasperated. “He is as stubborn as I am, that we do have in common. He will never like me and vice versa.”

At that, William can’t stop himself from laughing out loud, muffling the sound with a single hand, the reaction making the detective’s heart skip a bit. “You’re very right, Sherly.” The professor says, mirth still clouding his eyes. “You are indeed very stubborn,” he agrees. “But you must know, even if Louis learns about us, we still have to pretend in public. It is still a crime.”

Sherlock sighs. It was true, and he didn't like it one bit “I just need you, for as much time as I can get.” He says. “If someone dares to say it's wrong, we will take care of it. I just can't deal with this secret any longer.”

William nods and Sherlock’s heart sings. 

“And for the name of good don't call me Mr. Holmes, it gives me the creeps.”

At this, the professor smirks. “I thought you liked it when I called you that.” 

“You know exactly what I mean, you devil.” Sherlock replies, torn between fondness and exasperation. 

William chuckles, but doesn't reply to his tantrum, eyes searching for something. “Is that all you wanted to tell me, Sherly?”

“Yeah…” Sherlock replies, looking away briefly. 

“You sure?” William asks, knowing smiles painting his expression. “You know I can read you like an open book, Sherly.”

“Are you suggesting I can't hide my emotions?” Sherlock asks, affronted.

“Not at all.” The professor says, thoughtful. “But this urgency, is it related in any way to Prince Arthur, or maybe, the few ladies who were conversing so nicely with me?

Sherlock coffs in bewilderment, trying to divert Liam’s attention from his growing flustered estate. “What? Where did this ridiculous idea come from?”

The professor irradiates satisfaction “I wouldn’t call it ridiculous, Sherly.” He says, tugging at a rebellious lock of curly hair.

Sherlock frowns, an unpleasant feeling coiling in his gut as soon as the women are mentioned, hands pulling William closer. “I’m having a really hard time trying not to kiss you every second I find you in that room, so you better do something about Louis soon or I may lose control and make a big ass mistake.”

The professor nods, wrapping his arms around the detective's neck. “You should know I've only ever had eyes for you, Sherly.” he says, and before turning away and slipping back to the party, the professor steals a quick peck, winking at the speechless detective left behind.

Sherlock curses as he sees him walk away, gripping the balcony’s railing with unnecessary force and taking deep breaths.

Damn, he would find a way to have Liam alone that very night, even if Louis killed him for it afterwards.

It would be more than worth it.

Chapter Text

As soon as the professor emerged once more from the shadows of the night, torn between feeling light on his feet and worried with their actual predicament, the soft music dancing through the perfumed air invaded his senses. The symphony helped him clear his mind, while his eyes observed from a slightly hidden corner of the room the few couples on the dance floor. On the side lines, stood a group formed by Albert, and of course, Mycroft, as well as Moran, definitely drunk yet again, and Bond, laughing loudly at something that should not be all that funny, since Albert’s smile was forced on his slightly reddened cheeks. If the professor wasn’t as worried about his own predicament, he would have jumped to his eldest rescue, as it was his fault if Albert was always a victim of teasing these last few weeks, but as matters stood he chose to focus on the task he had in hand.  

Sherlock's words left a grave impression on William. The professor had spent years learning to know the detective, his pure heart, his confidence and his determination. These were some of the traits that made up the beauty of the character Detective Sherlock Holmes everyone loved. 

William had learned however, the deeper layers of the man’s personality. His childishness, impatience, and impulsiveness, were all traits that depicted the one the professor chose as his partner in life, and if William found them endearing most of the time, they could become a headache if out of control. As such, when Sherlock revealed his unbalanced emotions after having made an effort for the professor's sake for so long, William had known it was his time to act before it all blew up.

As such, he made the decision right then and there, to resolve the problem that had been plaguing their relationship, that same night, a plan of action already forming in his mind. He just needed to tell the truth to Louis, in a way he could at least show his little brother how Sherly was very much worth of his love, find a way to-

“Niisan!” Louis called, hurrying to William’s side, making the professor jump in surprise. “Are you feeling well? I noticed you were missing for a moment.” He says, hand in the air as he dismisses the guards he surely had called to search for his brother. 

The professor smiles as he always does when seeing his younger brother, the pride of his life. 

William would have preferred to gather more time, in order to elaborate a strategy of approach to the conversation they were about to have, but he would never fault Louis for his worry. Not when he knew he was the only one responsible for creating the roots of Louis overprotectiveness in the first place, the guilt of such knowledge being yet too great to ignore. 

“I am well Louis, you do not need to worry.” He assures with a soft smile. “In fact, I was hoping we could talk sometime this evening, when you are able to, of course.”

“Oh, what is it, niisan?” Louis asks immediately, treating his older brother as his top priority as he always has, making his older brother swell with adoration. 

The professor took a small breath, as he tried to find the best course of action to conduct this conversation he had avoided for months, more for his own sake than for Sherly’s if he was being completely honest. The last thing he wanted was to upset his youngest once again after everything he had done, but he couldn’t deny Sherlock any longer. The detective was right, they needed to come clean to the ones closest to them, in order to regain their life to the fullest. 

And it was better to do so without making Sherlock burst in anger, or worse, in a room filled with people heavily armed and directly related to the Queen. Furthermore, William couldn’t bear to watch the miserable glances he catched Sherlock hiding from him every single night they spent together, but still apart.

Besides, Louis wouldn’t make a scene in a room this crowded.

…Right?

“I’ve been talking with Sherlock on the balcony,” William admits.

Louis frowns in displeasure. “Was he bothering you niisan?”

“Not at all Louis, he never does.” The professor tries to explain, again. He seemed to repeat these words endlessly these last few weeks. “I was just wondering why you dislike him so much, you haven’t known each other for long, but your distaste for him is as clear as day.”

Louis raises his eyebrows in surprise. “It is because he doesn't treat you as he should, niisan.” he says, as if it was obvious. “You should be treated with the utmost respect, and that was something he lacked since the very beginning.”

“I thought as much,” William admits in complete honesty. He knew the uncommon and unfiltered familiarity with which Sherlock had always addressed him had never truly befit with his younger brother, even if personally he had always found the mannerisms rather endearing. 

“Compared to Mr. Holmes, he has no class or principles, no responsibility. He’s like a child, how could I tolerate someone as… inconvenient.” Louis continues.

“Hmm,” William says, thoughtfully. “And despite sharing the same blood, I can tell his older brother is not victim to those harsh considerations, am I right?” he questions, gaze settling on the Director, who was sharing a light conversation with another one of the guests, never leaving Albert´s side. 

William was almost certain of the response he would receive.

“He saved Albert-nissan’s life.” Louis says earnestly, eyes also travelling through the room to where the two men in question stood. “That would be enough to earn my respect.”

William smiles warmly. “That is fair, I have to comply,” he affirms, earning a small smile from Louis as he does. “But you know Sherly saved my life too, Louis” He reminds, memories of that night still fresh in his mind. “If not for his foolish resolve to dive into the Thames with me, it would have been unlikely for me to survive the fall.”

Louis scowls, looking away, unimpressed. “He didn't resign himself to save you, but to die with you, there's a difference”

“But I’m here, am I not?” William insists, not unkindly.

He knew the night of the Final Problem and the years that followed were a trial not just for himself, but for his family and friends as well. The professor knew that part of their suffering had been caused by his lack of courage to confront life, after the crimes he had committed. He had been a fool, and everyone he cared about suffered from it. 

Louis had suffered the most, and as a defence mechanism to protect his heart from the uncertainty of William’s survival during those three years, he drowned himself in hatred for the detective, in order to dull everything else. He had been the one who failed to save his brother, he… 

“He stole you away from us.” He says, teeth clench in a scowl William had never seen before adorning his features.

“We had no choice Louis, you know that.” 

“But can’t I blame him for it?” He asks, louder than the professor anticipated, frowning profusely. 

“Loui-”

“Mr. Mycroft put Albert-niisan in prison, but he took care of me.” The youngest Moriarty spits. “He gave me a purpose and a life, while he kept me informed of Albert-niisan well-being! What did Sherlock Holmes do? Dive into a river, keep you away for three years without considering what you left behind.” Louis shook his head in denial. “Can’t I hate him for it niisan?”

It was unfair to blame the detective for everything that had gone wrong that night and the years that followed, but knowing the despair his youngest had gone through, the professor couldn’t find it in himself to counter him. It wasn’t Sherlock the one who chose to jump, it was William.  

The professor didn’t know how to respond, but for better or for worse, he didn't have to find the words before he was interrupted by an unknown voice.

“Hello there, Mr. Louis, Mr. William, I’m truuuly s-sorry for the interruption.” The man William recognized as Prince Arthur, approached the pair, purposely ignoring the tense atmosphere between them. 

“I found the terrible need to help you in your search, professor,” the Prince continues, looking proud. “May I present to you Miss Jane Ashford, she was a spy in Paris for a year, right, ma belle?” He explains to a confused William, the woman by his side seeming as uncomfortable as the brother’s felt confused. The professor didn’t need to be a genius to catch the intoxicated state the young Prince was in, and so he decided to play along for the lady’s sake.     

“It’s an honour to meet such a beautiful woman, Miss Jane.” William says, making the girl blush easily with his disarming smile.

“The pleasure is all mine, my Lord.” She says shyly. 

Proud and intoxicated, the Prince laughs loudly. “Look what you do to the poor girl professor, she is so smitten already.” He roars, making William and Miss Jane equally uncomfortable. “What about a dance?” He asks, as if he had had the idea of the ages. 

William’s forces a smile “I don't-” 

“Go on then.” The Prince orders, shoving the girl to the professor's arms without a care. Jane yelps, as William catches her immediately, making sure she finds her balance once again.

Louis frowns at this lack of decorum shown, and William looks worriedly to the poor woman treated as a doll by the Prince. “Are you alright, miss?” He asks, concerned.

Jane looks up, pleading. “I beg of you, go along with this or he will never leave me alone.” 

William's demeanour dissolves, looking at the man drinking from a glass of wine with disgust, mind going back to the days he would have put the name of this man in his red list for less than what he had done tonight. 

But he was not the Lord of Crime anymore, and he could only do as much for the girl. 

“Just a dance then.” He says, taking Miss Jane’s hand, but being unable to walk to the dance floor as his free wrist is taken by a third person.

“What the hell is going on here?” and William would recognize his voice anywhere, the rage it carried making him freeze in shock. 

Oh no.

“The Great Detective Sherlock Holmes!” The Prince shouts in joy, catching the attention of more than a few bystanders. “What do you think? I'm helping your dear friend build a new life!” 

William feels the hand around his wrist tightening, Sherlock’s body trembling and increasing rage being portrayed on his face. He could see how the situation was getting out of hand. Dropping the hand of the confused lady, he turns his attention to his detective, lowering his voice as he says. “Sherly, calm down. It's just a dance.” 

“Let go of my brother , Holmes.” Louis says, knife barely hidden in hand.

Sherlock's expression darkens as he senses Louis blade to his back, letting go of the professor and laughing like a mad man, turning his body to face the MI6 leader.”Or what?” He pauses as he gets closer to the younger brother. “Are you really threatening me Louis? In front of your dear brother no less” Sherlocks smile stretches on his face with each pronounced word. “What if I don't want to let go of your brother? Even better, maybe he doesn't want me to let go of him ” Louis' expression darkens as his grip on his blade tightens. “Are you looking for a fight, Louis?” He asks, smiling like a maniac. “I’d be lyin’ if i said that it never crossed my mind either.” 

“Sherlock, enough.” The professor orders, grabbing his arm. 

Still tense, the detective turns his head and looks at the bright red eyes. “Did you tell him?” He asks, clearly having observed the two brothers talk before.

“Not yet.” William admits.

The detective's smile makes William shiver. “I should take that burden from you then. He is your younger brother, it’s only natural for it to be so hard for you, Liam” 

William's body goes cold with fear as he watches Louis' expression change, anger at the detective rising when he is faced with his brother’s hurtful gaze.

This was the worst case scenario. 

“What does he mean, niisan?”

Before Sherlock could open his mouth, William tugs at his wrist, hard. “Mr. Holmes, remember where you are.” He says loudly, pleading with his eyes. 

“Even better!” Sherlock says. “Maybe this way, that pest of a Prince can learn a thing or two about the world.” 

But it wasn't just the prince anymore. The commotion had resulted in the gathering of a little crowd before them. And, speaking of the devil-

“Don't worry, detective, I’m sure I can help you find someone as well.” The clueless Prince asks, snickering. “No need to be jealous.”

“Believe me, your highness, jealousy doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feelin’ right now.” Sherlock growls, his tone almost menacing, as he turns to Louis, to William's despair. “You know I really tried to play nice for Liam’s sake, because he bloody loves you so freaking much.” 

Louis doesn’t respond, eyes wide in surprise hearing Sherlock's words. The head of MI6 evaluates the pair standing in the centre of the commotion, terror beginning to crawl his mind as a terrible idea surges, dots connecting.

“But I’ve had enough of it.” The detective screams. “You hate me, I get it, and honestly, I’m not very fond of you either. That said,” he says, looking back at the Prince. “You, spoiled child, are getting on my nerves!”

William sights, accepting defeat and preparing himself for the consequences of what was about to follow. 

“Who do you think you’re calling a ch-child, you lowly detective!” Prince Arthur shouts in fury to everyone’s surprise. “I’ve had enough of you looking down on me.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t know his place here, or who he is talking to!” Sherlock says, laughing hard. “Listen here, brat, from all the people in this room, you’re the one that least deserves respect.” 

“How dare you! I am your Prince!” 

“And?” Sherlock asks. “You happen to have a lucky mother, congratulations, what a deed.” The detective says, to the shock of the entire room. “It must have been really hard to be born, your highness” He says, as the Prince moves forward, as if he was ready to punch the one who had insulted him so bluntly, if he would not, in his drunken state, slip on his own feet and fall straight to the ground head first. Some couldn’t hold their laughter when faced with the ridiculous situation. 

And it was indeed hilarious, William couldn’t hide his smile even if his hand still kept Sherlock’s arm in a feral grip, Louis looking in his direction with a million questions in his eyes. 

“Sherlock,” William calls, finding the entire interaction with the Prince quite amusing, red and blue connecting for a moment. “I think that is enough.”

At his words, Sherlock sighs, frowning slightly. “Tell them the truth Liam,” he says. “Please.” 

William smiles softly, wanting to kiss that frown away the second he saw it appear, but it would have to wait. When he turns to meet his brother’s eyes, Louis is already gone, his figure retreating from the room as no guard dares to stop him. As the professor sees Louis walking away, his body moves on his own and he follows suit, and when he is stopped by a man guarding the door that leads to the rest of the palace, he glares dangerously in his direction. “You don’t want to stop me.” He says, dangerously. 

The guard looks taken aback, worried as he looks around searching for help, his hesitation being what William needed to get away. 

Heart thumbling in his chest, the professor runs through the maze of corridors, head filled with worry. 

Has Louis figured it out? It seemed like it.

Was he disgusted, outraged, disappointed? Certainly.

How could William make this right? He had no idea.

William had hidden the truth for too long in hopes Louis could accept him as easily as he did Albert and Mycroft. He had been afraid of upsetting his little brother yet again, after his youngest had already suffered so much on his account. He didn't want to cause him any more pain.

But on wanting to preserve his life with Louis, he had neglected Sherlock and himself in the process. He tried to hide it as best as he could, but he missed the detective dearly for the longest time, and Sherlock had felt the effect of their lie heavily as well. Even if he could blame Sherlock’s impulsiveness for this current situation, he knew the fault lay mostly within himself, for choosing to hide the truth once again, and making the detective suffer because of it. 

It’s in an empty hallway he finds Louis, sitting on the floor as he looks lost at his hands. As soon as his eyes lay on him, William slows down, heart pounding loudly on his chest, mind in a turmoil as he approaches the powerful man he grew up with, the one that gave meaning to his life when they had nothing.

Louis doesn’t flinch when his oldest sits beside him. Suddenly, it seems they are at that old library again, and Louis appears smaller, frailer. William just wants to protect him from this world that has been so cruel to the both of them. They were not the same anymore, Louis was now a force to be reckoned with, one of the most powerful men in the country, but in William’s eyes he would always be nothing more than his kind, brilliant and sweet little brother. 

They don’t talk at first, silence engrossing the Palace as the two brothers layed on the floor, both lost in thought as their minds worried about themselves, but mostly, about each other. 

“Niisan,” Louis mumbles, after a moment, not looking at William. “You and Sherlock…”

William nods, not uttering a word. Louis frowns, but doesn't protest in utter distaste as the professor had feared he would.

“Why him?” Louis asks, sounding confused. 

“I can’t really explain it,” William says. “But I’ve loved him for a long time.”

Louis nods, and silence is his only answer. The professor doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or perturbed, but he chooses not to push his youngest. 

Then, a moment after, Louis finally looks back at his eldest, his scared expression makes William frown. “You won’t go away right?”

“What?” William asks, confused.

“Are you going to leave with him again?” Louis questions, sounding panicked. 

“Of course not!” William exclaims, the idea being almost laughable. “I didn’t tell you sooner, because I knew you didn’t like Sherlock. I only feared your reaction the most.”

Hearing his words, Louis finally exhales in relief, eyes closing. 

“Louis,” William calls, gently. “I will never leave you, not again.” 

Louis smiles softly, eyes watering as he looks away, embarrassed. William's heart tightens at the sight, and he senses the need to make his point as clear as possible. “Sherlock could never take me away from you, Louis, even if he tried.”  

Louis nods, still smiling. “I do dislike him, I really don’t get why you would choose someone like him.” He admits. “But are you happy with him, niisan?” 

William nods, “I am.”

Louis sighs, frowning in resignation. “Then I think I can try to tolerate him,” he says, “as long as he doesn’t take you away from us again.” He declares, serious. “If he does, I’ll take him down.”

William smiles, eyes shining with love and relief. “It won’t happen again, you have my word.”

Chapter Text

Mycroft could always count on Sherly to become overly dramatic when upset. 

 “Mr. Holmes, remember where you are.” William says loudly, pleading with his eyes. 

“Even better!” Sherlock says. “Maybe this way, that pest of a Prince can learn a thing or two about the world.” 

Mycroft observes the exchange camouflaged within the curious crowd that gathered before the scene, wondering if he should step in as his little brother made a fool of himself. At some point, as everyone’s attention remained elsewhere, the musicians stopped playing and the sophisticated sound of the instruments gave place to an atmosphere charged with tension and animosity. It had been the plan, Albert had been relying on Sherly to make a move powerful enough to force William to come clean, and finally reveal Louis the truth. But Mycroft couldn’t deny it made him extremely uncomfortable having to witness his youngest having a public breakdown caused by his own actions and not intervening at all. 

“It’s going too far.” Mycroft expresses his worries to the man standing by his side.

“Maybe,” Albert admits, frowning. “I was hoping they would resolve this in private.”

Mycroft sighs, eyes landing on the intoxicated individual designated as the lead antagonist on Albert’s little play. The Director could, at least, comprehend Sherly’s frustrations, and consequently, his impulsive actions, as he saw the audacity of the impertinent royal. He can’t deny the feeling of strong appreciation towards his youngest as he spits some impolite words at the Prince, almost proud of the detective’s fearlessness. 

Albert, on the other hand, has his eyes fixed on Louis, as his expression darkens. Mycroft can already tell what’s running through the Earl’s head before he verbalises his thoughts. “Louis is going to figure it out on his own.” Albert says, looking at his partner. 

“Should we interfere?” Mycroft asks, this time willing to assist in the drama prepared by the Lord of Crime. 

“Not yet.” Albert says, certainly waiting for Louis' reaction. 

Was the youngest Moriarty going to lose his composure before an entire room full of his subordinates? Or was he capable of maintaining his emotions in check?

Mycroft’s body relaxes as Louis walks away, choosing to step down and get some space, William running after him.

Sherly should learn a thing or two from this younger leader. He was certainly more level headed than most individuals, in contrast to the raw impulsiveness shown by the detective.

“Where are you going Mr. William? What about the dance? ” Prince Arthur exclaims, taking two steps before Sherlock catches his arm, eyes burning in fury and disgust. 

“You’re making this very difficult on my part,” Sherlock growls, as Mycroft approaches the pair. “Listen carefully to me. William is mine, you bastard .”

The Prince’s eyes go wide in confusion and outrage, before Mycroft gets a hold of his brother’s shoulder, saying sternly. “That’s enough Sherly.” Looking around he sighs in relief, since the group standing nearby doesn’t seem to have heard Sherlock’s last words. 

“Sir, should we go look for Professor Moriarty?” A guard, standing a few feet away, asks Mycroft.

Nonetheless, Albert is the one to respond. “No, let him be. He and Louis will return once they are ready.” 

Mycroft nods in understanding, as he turns to the guard. “You shall take his words as if they were my own” He says, enjoying Albert’s surprised but gleeful expression once he hears his words. 

If somewhere in the crowd, enthusiastic whispering could be heard, Mycroft chose to ignore it. 

Sadly, there were some who couldn’t learn to remain quiet, even when they should.

“And what should we make of those words of yours, Mycroft Holmes ?” The Prince spits, in disgust and disbelief. “Are you now giving your undeserved power to that man as well?” Pointing his dirty finger in Albert’s direction, the look on his face is one of utter repulsion. 

It makes Mycroft’s blood run cold.

“You’re not in an appropriate state of mind, your highness,” Mycroft says, voice neutral, hands behind his back, fists clutch, knuckles white. “Why don't you return to your chambers and rest for the night?” He suggests, three guards approaching as he speaks. 

“Oh you want me to go?!” The Prince roars, laughing loudly. ”Who do you think you are to even try to give me orders! I’ll remind you that this is still my palace !” 

Mycroft's neutral expression almost cracks, without a single thread of patience left towards this joke of a Prince. Since the Prince was young, little Arthur had always looked down on the Director. He regarded the eldest Holmes as a servant and couldn’t comprehend the power given to him by his own mother. It infuriated the young royal, and went against all the ideals and beliefs others had transmitted to the Prince about status, hierarchy and birth rank. 

He was far from being the only noble to question Mycroft’s place in society. They were few, but a handful of individuals had even the audacity to insult him in the middle of crowded rooms, directly to his own face and sadly, the young Prince was one of them.

The Director tried his best to ignore the childish individual, barely addressing him a word when they shared the same space, but the way his mother clearly favoured Mycroft made the prince burn with envy. 

Since he was thirteen of age, Arthur had dismissed his every greeting, badmouthing and denigrating his job and position with the Queen before large groups of international guests. 

“He is just a servant who took the wrong seat.”

“Important job? Nonessense, he is just good at kneeling, nothing else. He doesn’t deserve half of what he gets”

Mycroft couldn’t care less what other people thought of his person and position, he had accepted his job as punishment not for prestige. It was, instead, the knowledge of his powerlessness when faced with someone like the Prince that darkened his heart every time they came face to face.

It was his blood relation to the crown that made the job of avoiding and ignoring such a character slightly more difficult. Mycroft couldn’t just turn away when the child appeared, or ignore his presence once they were in the same room, which happened, to the Director’s chagrin, more often than desired. Even at a young age, the Prince had already a powerful social circle, and as a royal Mycroft couldn’t show him anything but the utmost respect, as he had always done even when lies and defamation were attached to his name.

Mycroft could ignore the insults thrown at himself but if the receiving party of those same profanities was to be someone dear, Mycroft's demeanour was not certain to remain as mild. 

The Director would not allow a wrong word against a loved one, may it be Albert or even his idiot of a little brother.

Sensing his unbreakable mask begin to shatter, the Earl finds his natural place beside the Director, a hand resting in his lower back, tracing small figures as a means of comfort.

“Oh I’m sorry” the Earl says, voice light and levelled, almost apologetic, “but I'm afraid this part of the Palace does currently belong to Mr. Holmes, if I’m not mistaken. Your mother's offer I believe, as a way to…” The Earl smile is fake, eyes bright with mischief. “Work better.” He was having more fun than he should, but Mycroft would not complain. It was soothing, at least one of them seemed to have everything under control.

As it turned out, the Prince didn't find it nearly as amusing. 

“Work! Don’t make me laugh, my lord, I know very well what is really happening behind those closed doors of your busy office .” He spits, eyes out of focus as he approaches the pair. “You’re just a filthy, sinful bastard-” 

He is interrupted by Mycroft’s hand reaching and pulling him by his rich collar, choking the Prince just enough to stop the shouting. Albert’s eyes go wide when faced with the unexpected move, frowning as the crowd gasped in horror faced with the Director’s actions towards a royal. 

But Mycroft didn’t care anymore. 

The Prince knew, and with his knowledge he could destroy not only Mycroft’s reputation, but also Albert’s, Sherly’s and William’s as well.

Mycroft wouldn’t tolerate it any longer.

Eyes dark, expression unreadable the Director whispers. “Words can be a powerful weapon, your highness, but also a dangerous one. You should be more careful of how you choose to use them” 

The room goes quiet, the air freezing. Albert’s touch on the Director’s shoulder is the only thing Mycroft feels besides his burning rage. “ Mickey ,” the Earl whispers, and the director sighs internally, letting go his hold on the man, the Prince taking a few steps back, coughing hard as he looks beyond furious. 

“You’re crazy, all of you!” He shouts, pointing at the trio formed by the Holmes and Albert. “I thought it was only my mother’s dog and his little criminal pet thing, but now the detective too! With another criminal no less!” He exclaims, his comments making a few tense, and a few gasps in horror and disbelief. “It must be a family th-” 

“I’ll kill this son of a bitch!” Sherlock roars, running in his direction only to be blocked by the guards standing nearby. Unluckily for the armoured men, after 637 sparring matches against none other than Mycroft Holmes, Sherlocks reflexes and short-distance combat technique were polished enough to take both of them down in seconds   

“Guards! Accompany his highness to the door.” Albert orders under such commotion, Mycroft stopping his little brother from moving as he walks past him, his own body tense as he hears the insults spit in their direction. 

The Prince protests in utter disgust. “On what right do you think you can give my guards orders now? You’re all a bunch of criminals, and even if you escaped once, you’re going to be hanged for your crimes this time. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Mycroft grits his teeth, hatred for this man, the law, and this country who supported both crawling in his heart. After all the efforts the MI6, himself and the Moriartys made to lower the differences between nobles and commoners, after every sacrifice and blood spilled, it all seemed to remain the same. 

He, the head of the English Government, a commoner, had to lower his head before the Prince, injury after injury. The only one who surpassed him in power was the Queen, and here Mycroft stood, fearing to fight for what truly mattered when faced with a man that had a royal title.

The Queen, in the decades Mycroft had worked for her, had shown him nothing but honesty, humility and respect for all. She had understood, with utmost regret, the Moriartys’ plan, and approved of Louis' nomination as the MI6 new leader with gratitude. The Queen was someone who saw talent and felt the need to preserve it, nurturing those who worked for her, and so when Mycroft had pledged for Albert’s life when everyone in the country, and the Earl himself, demanded execution, she had said: 

“As you surely know, I am being pressured by every noble in the house of Lords, and every citizen, it seems, to put an end to Lord Moriarty’s life.” She says, smiling softly at the man kneeling before her, sighing. “Isn’t he himself ready to die?” 

“He is, your Majesty.”

“And still you beg for his life.” She says, a knowing smile on her lips. “I’ll leave his fate in your capable hands. All I can do… is to hope for the both of you to find happiness in the future, in whichever form it may take.” 

Mycroft couldn’t deduce how much the Queen knew, but it had felt as a blessing given from a woman whose opinion was crucial in his life. After that day the Director didn't feel the need to conceal his feelings as much, and after years of yearning for the Earl, the remaining walls that closed off his heart didn't take long to crumble to the ground.

If the Queen knew and accepted, why would Mycroft hide himself from anyone else? What did he have to lose?

Albert was by his side, the ghost of the Earl’s palm against his own left an unusual, yet familiar ache. Mycroft's desire to reach out and lace their fingers together was almost unbearable. Being subtle and leaving crowds guessing wasn't enough, he wanted to say the words proudly, parading his love and chosen partner in the sunlight.   

He longed for a world where they could be free from nonsensical prejudice and hate. 

A single hand appears on the Prince's shoulder, shocking everyone. From behind, Moran stood still, face unreadable, eyes directed at the Prince's surprised expression. 

“Now now, how about you calm down big boy. You should know the only people who can bully Albert are the two of us.” Bond says teasingly, standing beside Moran, stretching his hands menacingly. “So how about you leave this room while you can still walk?”

“Haven't you heard what I said? What they do with each other is profanity-” 

“Do you have proof?” Moran asks, neutral.

“What?” The Prince asks, confused for a moment. 

“Proof, your highness.” Albert repeats, smiling with ease even under the royal's accusations. He had been guilty of much heavier charges in another time of his life, now his mind was at ease, heart settled, without a silver of regret.

“I've bribed some servants, they told me everything.” He says, frowning. “But my words should be- will be powerful enough!”

Mycroft scoffs at this, shaking his head in frustration. “Your highness, if you think your mother would be sending me and Albert away, because you simply told her-”

“You have committed a crime!” The Prince roars. 

“AND WHAT OF IT?!” Mycroft growls louder, in a split second taking a decision. 

To hell with his repentance, his position and his country. Few things were those that the Director ever truly desired for himself and his life, and at this moment, he felt that the risk of discovery was worth the freedom he craved more than he thought. He was tired of hiding, as Sherlock had been.

For the general shock, Mycroft takes Albert’s hand, closing the gap between their bodies and definitely invading his personal space.

Needless to say, it was not proper social behaviour.

Mycroft couldn’t care less.

“I've had enough of your meaningless words, your highness, so let me be clear about the situation.” He says, eyes hard and back held high, the picture worthy of a powerful King. “I am the right and left hand of our Queen. I have dedicated my entire life, for the well-being of the country you so proudly proclaim you own, but above all, I am needed, of this I'm certain.” He says, Albert’s eyes sparkling with pride as his darker ones find them. 

“Finally, it is with a clear consciousness that I confess my affections towards the person who stands alongside me, who just so happens to be a man himself.” He says, voice as strong as ever, Albert’s hold on his hand tightens but he doesn't say a word. 

For a moment, no one dares to. 

“You're going to Hell for this.”

“If there's such a thing as Hell, your highness, I have been doomed for a long time, believe me.” Mycroft guarantees.

“My mother- your Queen will know of this!”

“I expected nothing else. Let us both witness the consequences of these sinful words of mine, shall we?”

Furious, the Prince turns around and storms off the room, for Mycroft’s relief, and the crowd's disappointment. Those who had been silently enthralled by the passion and drama unrolled before them, soon began to chat vigorously with each other, as if discussing a newly writed opera after his debut. The majority of the personnel working for the MI6, and present in the ballroom, were adults not past forty years of age, and all had worked at least once under Mycroft, Albert or Louis in their careers. Even if they remained men of their time, after lurking in the shadows of society and its diplomacy, their morals and values happened to differ from those shared by the masses. Next to everything they had to witness and carry out in the name of the greater good, a simple affair between two men wasn’t as shocking or nearly as preposterous as the Prince believed it to be. 

On the contrary. It was most exciting to know that even the most talented detective in the world, and the Queen's right hand, had taken part in such a romantic scene. 

The girl that had been used by the Prince, Miss Jane, was Sherlock’s most heartful defender, proclaiming loudly how Prince Arthur should be ashamed of his actions. 

Soon, music made itself heard again, and with it, a few guests danced with passion.

“I have to admit,” Sherlock says, approaching his older brother, looking at the couples moving together. “Never thought you’d have it in you Mickey.” He says, and Mycroft chuckles at the “ compliment ” .    

“Well Sherly, someone had to deter that ever running mouth of yours.” 

Sherlock scowls, crossing his arms in annoyance. “I had everything under control.” 

“I'm sure you did.” The Director replies, sarcastically. 

Sherlock pointed an accusatory finger, saying defensively. “You are one to talk! You exposed yourself, you bastard!”.

Mycroft shrugs dismissively. “I did nothing but follow your lead.”

“Excuse me?!” Sherlock asks, shocked. He had already forgotten half the things he had said to that brat. 

Mycroft’s arches a brow, unimpressed. “”William is mine”?” He repeats the words himself and the Prince had heard Sherlock say enraged. “You’ve bested me for once Sherlock, you should be proud.”

Sherlock’s cheeks burn as he turns away, embarrassed. “Shut up,” he mumbles, looking away. “It’s not as if that pathetic noble would do something about it anyway.”

Mycroft's lips turn slightly upwards, as he shakes his head reprovingly. “He might try, but his eyes are mostly turned against me. If, by morning, he was to remember anything that transpired here, your little remark would be the least on his mind.” 

Sherlock's eyes go wide. “You didn’t-”

“No. I had mainly my own selfish reasons. To outshine your little possessive tantrum was but a simple collateral of it.” He admits. “When it comes to certain issues, we appear to be much alike, I fear, my little brother.”

“Shut up, old geezer.” He groans, in annoyance. “I can take care of myself.” Sherlock looks towards the door, and all of a sudden, all his irritated expression disappears, a radiant smile lighting his persona as he runs in the direction of a pair of blond gentlemen. “Liam!” He exclaimed excitedly, running towards a relieved William and a scowling Louis. 

Mycroft sights in affectionate exasperation. “He is hopeless.” 

The detective does not control his emotions as he hugs William tightly, Louis frowning, his right fist clenching by his side but remaining reluctantly silent. 

“Hopelessly in love perhaps.” Albert adds, flushed cheeks and hazy emerald eyes eying the trio. “It seems the operation was a success.” He continues, body pressing into the Director’s unconsciously. 

Mycroft’s eyebrows rise as incredulity and amusement slips into his tone. “Al, are you alright?” He asks, not moving as the Earl tries to stabilise himself by taking a strong hold of his arm, in the most elegant manner earthly possible for a man clearly inebriated.

“Quite alright,” he responds, taking a deep breath. “Just had to make Moran, and then Bond, taste defeat.” He says, smiling proudly, looking at two figures passed out on a sofa near the balcony. “One at a time.”

Mycroft chuckles, “were they being obnoxious again?” He asks.

“After that speech, of course.” Albert says, pouting.

“Was it not to your liking, Lord Moriarty?” Mycroft inquires, smirking knowingly. He would never admit that some part of him feared he had overstepped Albert’s boundaries. 

Because deep down he knew he didn’t.

Albert rotated his body, both hands finding the Director’s cheeks, emerald eyes never leaving the darker ones. “I loved it,” he says, smiling softly, “And I may be more intoxicated than what I initially imagined Mickey, because I really want to kiss you right now.” 

Mycroft's heart skips a beat, self aware of his surroundings, and the eyes drawn to their forms, already standing improperly close to each other. Then he remembered that everyone present knew they were together, in a sinful and criminous affair, majority of which was half drunk. 

And in a sweet, careful embrace, their lips brushed against each other. 

The police didn’t burst in to arrest them, the people around didn’t throw rocks or insults. God didn’t send fire or thunder to disperse their souls.

It was just a small kiss, as so many others shared between the two of them. 

But this one made both their hearts thunder in their chests, butterflies fly in their stomachs.  

As they still leaned close to each other, an irritable, “Alberttttt, you bitchy bastard I’m not -hic- done…” 

Albert doesn’t flinch, grabbing the Director by the wrist. “Let’s get out of here.” He commands smiling in pure joy, and Mycroft follows gladly. 

The pair runs out of the ball, uncaring as their forms are followed by more than a few curious pairs of eyes. The soirée would have to continue without their hosts, who would retire to Mycroft’s chambers, unafraid of being seen anymore.  

Chapter Text

In the morning, Albert and Mycroft rose with the sun. It was part of the plan after all, going together to the Moriarty’s family home for breakfast, to assess the outcome of their little operation. 

After sweet good morning kisses, they successfully got dressed to Albert’s delight. Since they were ahead of schedule, and for personal indulgence, Mycroft grabbed Albert’s body and took him in his arms with ease, chuckling as the Earl yelped in surprise, arms rising and encircling the Director’s neck as his feet left the ground.

“We have barely ten minutes Mickey.” Albert says, exasperated but smiling softly as the dark haired man slowly lowers his body back to the bed. Delicately, his hand touches the Earl’s cheek, eyes searching the younger man’s emerald ones as they seem to carry a turmoil of emotions. 

Seeing his expression, Albert's smile falters, but he doesn't have the time to ask what's wrong before Mycroft’s lips are pressing against his, in a warm and meaningful embrace. Albert melts into it, arms encircling the Director’s waist, sighting contentedly as they separate and spin around in bed, bodies lazily intertwined. 

“What was that about?” Albert asks, leaving small pecks in the Director’s neck.

Mycroft grumbles in contentment, eyes closed. “I was just thinking of how lucky I am.” He admits, arms encircling Albert's body, taking a deep breath and revealing in the closeness, the intimacy. If in the past Mycroft had fought tooth and nail to feel as little as possible, now he couldn’t detain the overwhelming feelings from dropping and being exposed in his expression, body and movements. 

Albert smiles adoringly, getting impossibly closer and whispering into his ear, “How lucky we are.” 

Miraculously, they manage to arrive in triumph at Moriarty Manor only fashionably late. Albert was restless the entire ride, wondering in what state they would find his brothers after last night’s events. He prayed his little plan had not shattered Louis’ and William’s relationship, he had never seen the two fight, not even once, and he couldn’t bear the idea he would be the perpetrator of their first. 

He wasn’t William, he couldn’t plan every possible disclosure for his schemes, and if his ability to read people and instigate reactions wasn’t bad, it wasn’t immune to error. William had always been capable of manipulating reality to his will and assure the success of any given mission, all while covering ever single possible trace of his meddling hand. Albert couldn’t trust his own proficiency half as much. As he lay awake that night, he had made the decision that, if things proved to have turned south, he would confess and try to take some of Louis’ animosity with him. It was the least he could do.

However, his fears proved soon to be all but met once he laid eyes on the unbelievable scenery set out before him as he made way to the living room. 

At the long table, already seated, tea steaming in their cups, stood a most interesting trio: Louis James Moriarty, William James Moriarty, and a very proud looking Sherlock Holmes. The detective, smiling ear to ear, seated beside William, unnecessarily close, eyes bright even when they crossed his elder brother’s. William, by his side, seems torn between giving in to the overwhelming affection he feels as he looks at the happiness in Sherlock’s expression, and staying apprehensive once his gaze falls upon Louis facing the pair upfront. The youngest Moriarty keeps his back upright, frowning slightly as he takes a sip of tea.

“Hey Mycroft!” Sherlock exclaims, and Mycroft is sure he had never seen his brother greeting him with such enthusiasm. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Likewise.” The Director replies, trying to grasp the unusual situation. “I wasn’t expecting you to attend breakfast after such a wild night, Sherly.”

But if Mycrioft tried to decipher the meaning of such a development cautiously, Albert couldn't contain his relief and hope as he saw Louis' calmness with the entire scene. His mind began to wander in a million directions, some more frivolous than others, and as the anxiety he had felt the entire night morphed into excitement, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out the most improper line. “I'm assuming you spent the night then.”

Mycroft’s eyes go wide in shock at Albert’s straightforwardness, while William tries to cover his embarrassment behind a sudden cough. Just a single look at Louis' expression made a shiver run through Albert’s spine and he instantly regrets his poor choice of words, slightly guided by wishful thinking. 

“Well-” Sherly begins, sheepishly. 

“He didn’t.” Louis spits, looking outraged by the thought, hand wrapping instinctively around his knife handler. “He is merely here for breakfast.” 

As William tries to hide his smile behind his right hand, Albert's face goes red as he realises his mistake. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have the time to awkwardly apologise for assuming before Sherlock is talking back to the youngest Moriarty. “But it could be arranged, don’t you think Louis.” He asks, smirking as Louis' cheeks burn in anger as he faces the detective. “Aren’t we friends now? We should forget the past  and live all together happily ever after!”

“Over my dead body Sherlock Holmes!” Louis cries in rage. “I can try and tolerate you for a while, but if you overstay your welcome I’m stabbing you, throwing you out the window and leaving you to rot .”

Sherlock laughs out loud, William shaking his head in exasperation, a small smile on his lips. “Sherly stop taunting Louis please.” 

The detective smiles right back at the professor, eyes sparkling with childish mischief as he slips an arm above the blond’s shoulders, bringing him closer, to Louis' indignation and the older couple's despair. “But why Liam, it is so enjoyable and easy to rile him up, and besides I would love to get some private time in that gigantic room of yours.” He says, smirking shamelessly at the helpless professor.  

The detective was truly unafraid of death!

Albert chuckles softly, smiling appeasingly, trying to hide the unease and tension rising in the room. “Ah what a lovely breakfast you have here, and the tea smells heavenly.” he exclaims, quickly grabbing Mycroft's hand and guiding him to the table. 

But before they could take a seat, Louis was rising to his feet, voice raised above the normal soft tone he would usually use while talking to any other person present in the room, with one exception. “Sherlock Holmes, if you say one more word out of line I swear you will regret it.” 

Sane people would take the leader’s words seriously, considering the deadly glare on his face or the tight grip on his knife, but Sherlock’s survival skills clearly didn’t work normally. Thankfully, everyone around the breakfast table knew how foolish the younger Holmes could be, and William was able to act before the man could even open his mouth to reply, taking advantage of their proximity to whisper a sweet tonged threat. 

“Sherlock, if you don’t behave, you won't get to touch these lips for an entire week,” he swears, proud as he sees Sherlock gasp in horror, looking betrayed.

“You wouldn't.” The detective says, trying to laugh it out.

“Try and test me.” The professor proposes serenely, and as a demonstration of his resolve, he gets out of the detective’s embrace, sliding away from his touch with ease. 

It took Sherlock a total of two seconds to repent, and take William’s hand under the table, while saying. “I get it, I get it Liam, I was wrong. It was foolish and it will never happen again.” He pleads, pouting, heart still fragile after the emotions from the last twelve hours. The detective was a simple man in some aspects of life. He had been touch starved for more than a month, he couldn’t bear even the thought of that kind of punishment any longer.

William chuckles, giving a reassuring squeeze at the detective’s hand. He had detected Sherlock’s needy mood the night before, the symptoms having been carried within the detective the entirety of the night until after they exited the party with only a final smile, as William walked towards his carriage with Louis by his side. The professor had seen the youngest Holmes' eyes, almost begging for him to stay, but at that time he knew Louis wouldn’t be able to handle it if he walked away. He wouldn’t abandon his younger brother, and so, with Louis' consent, William invited the gloomy detective for breakfast, the grin he got in return making his heart swell in his chest with affection and relief

Nevertheless, to please both antagonist parties that held such an important place in his life was an arduous task.

That morning, when he arrived for breakfast earlier than expected, Sherlock had kissed William with hunger, hands tracing his low back and blond locks with unrepressed desire until Louis' shouts ripped through their hazed minds and William jumped back as far away as he could from the detective, heart running wild and breathless. Louis, aura radiating waves of murdering intent, miraculously went back to the kitchen after his eldest excused himself for the unrefined behaviour, and without killing the detective in the process.

Even if kisses were banned from public places after that, William could take the small touches, especially since the professor found it terribly cute and endearing whenever Sherlock’s neediness showed. He loved feeling this wanted and appreciated, and of course enjoyed what he could get from it, once they got some time to themselves. 

However, taking some time to themselves wasn't as easy anymore, now that they lived in different houses and slept in separate beds. 

Albert took Sherlock’s silence as a peace offering, and quickly took over, his hands landing on Louis' shoulders and encouraging his youngest to sit back down. “Now now, there is no need for violence, right Louis? We are all family now. Let’s eat instead, shall we?” 

Stiffely, the younger Moriarty relents and does what his eldest suggests, Mycroft and Albert taking a seat by his side, attempting to form a protective barrier between Louis and Sherlock as best as they could. The Earl sighs in relief as he takes a sip of his tea, praying and thanking the Gods for the apparent success of his plan. Louis was amazing and could actually deal and accept perhaps not Sherlock as a person, but as a means to guarantee William’s happiness, and thus would not attack if the “means” in  question didn’t step out of line. In other words, part one of his plan was a success, and the secret of William’s and Sherlock’s relationship was revealed without a single body to be buried. Now that part one was proven a victory, all that was left was to secure part two, also known as…

“Where are Moran and Bond?” Albert asks, eyes falling to the clean silverware on the table. 

“Probably still asleep.” Louis replies, shaking his head in annoyance. “Albert-Niisan you should be more careful with those little games of yours, they were completely nonfunctional yesterday, a true headache to take home.” He complains, making Albert chuckle in embarrassment. 

“I’ll make sure to remember your words next time, Louis.” Albert promises.

Not long after, footsteps are heard in the corridor as a familiar groan and voice greets the visitors with impeccable manners. “My head is going to fucking explode fucking stupid pervert Albert’s fault.” Moran enters the room, eyes half closed as he wanders to the kitchen. He retrieves fresh water and delivers a generous quantity to his mouth and tired face. If Sherlock could be inconvenient in his daily life, he could never compete with the characteristic vulgarity of a hangovered Moran. 

As such, once the man enters the room the Moriarty brothers look helplessly towards each other. Until that moment, Sherlock had remained quiet, eyes looking at William or his food, hand still wrapped around the professor's fingers, the permanent touch able to keep him satisfied for the time being. Albert and William had then begun to brighten the room’s mood with meaningless chatter, Mycroft offering some commentary every once in a while. But once Moran’s presence and clearly bad demeanour invaded their space, a certain uneasiness took hold of the trio.

“I gather you slept well, Moran.” Albert declares, smirking at the man against his better judgement. Moran takes a seat in an empty chair away from them, hands taking a hold of his pounding head.

“Albert you little shit, I  swear I’ll kill you someday.” He grumbles, eyes still closed. “Or maybe I’ll force you to drink every single bottle in that wineseller of yours, you’re so familiar with it in so many ways.” He says offhandedly, making a gag sound as his hands shoved the silverware away and replaced it with his head, closing his eyes and taking a nap right then and there. Louis doesn’t even try to stop this improper behaviour or chastise his lack of property, only sighing tiredly and shaking his head in disapproval.

Albert frowns, not very pleased that the first attack was aimed at him once more. He shakes the feeling away, blaming Moran’s blunt insinuation on the previous night’s events, the wine and his own declaration a few seconds ago. 

It’s Bond that makes an appearance next, more energetic than his compatriot, and far more polite as he greets everyone with a small smile, while taking a seat beside William, taking a long sip of tea once he fills his cup to the brim. Bond looks at Moran with amusement and pity, eyes landing on Albert with mirth as he says. “Your resistance to alcohol is indeed unhuman Albert. It is a shame because I would very much enjoy seeing you completely lose control, just once.” He admits, turning to Mycroft. “Wouldn’t you agree, Director?”

Mycroft doesn’t reply immediately, expression blank even if not expecting his name to come up in their conversation. “If it is of any consolation, he was quite tipsy yesterday.” He admits, absolutely not feeling amused by the Earl’s shocked gasp of betrayal. 

“Is that so!” Bond exclaims, excitedly. “That doesn’t happen to explain why we didn’t see the both of you after the game, does it?” He asks, laughing loudly as Albert's cheeks burn hot for his implication. 

“You didn’t see us because you passed out after you lost.” Albert tries to bullshit. It was, of course, useless under Bond’s sharp eyes, a hangover clearly forgotten before such precious entertainment.

“Director, you had the opportunity to watch and experience a rare occasion, a live and real drunk Albert-sama,”

“I wasn’t drunk.” Albert sighs, hiding behind his palms and waiting for more and more foolishness to come from the man’s brain.

“You own us,” Bond continues, expression serious as he demands. “You must write an entire report describing your findings, down to the last detail.” 

Mycroft chuckles lowly as the Earl groans in annoyance by the useless request.   

“Believe me Bond, you don’t want a report in our time spent together.” Mycroft guarantees. 

“Oh but I do Director.” He replies, eyes shining with childfull glee. “I really do.” 

The Earl blinks in horror at the exchange. By Bond’s side, William and Sherlock were holding hands publicly. Why was Albert at the centre of his remarks and attention again ?!! It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way! What had he done to this word to deserve such unique treatment?

“Can’t you just save your useless words and eat your breakfast?” Albert asks, not even trying to hide his annoyance. He was tired of pretending those childish comments didn’t bother him. Once or twice, for a week or so he could indulge and play along, but nearly a month passed and a man’s patience had its limits. “We were having a decent conversation before your arrival.”

“Forgive me Albert, nowadays it’s so difficult to lay eyes on you I couldn’t help myself.” He continues, smirking proudly. “However I cannot blame you, Buckingham palace’s mattresses must be otherworldly-”

“Sherlock!” Albert calls, taking the affair into his own hands. He would bring Bond’s attention to the new couple even if he had to make a fool of himself. “I was thinking, even if spending too much time in this house is somehow inconvenient, you and William could always spend more time outside!” He says, smiling reassuringly at Louis' confused expression. “I heard you lived together for a long time, you must miss each other dearly.” 

Sherlocks smile returns as he looks hopefully at William. “Can we?” 

William is certainly surprised with the sudden change of subject, but can’t help but soften his tone as he replies tenderly. “Of course Sherly,” he says, eyes landing on his little brother and for a second a silver of a doubt crossing his mind. “Is that alright, Louis?” 

After a few seconds of tense silence, Louis relents and nods, sighing in defeat. 

Sherlock almost bounces in his seat from enthusiasm, and for Albert’s despair Bond doesn’t utter a word while observing the entire scene. Not a single comment, not a dirty joke, nothing at all! Why would he pretend he wasn’t seeing the cheesy, loving, newly discovered couple right before his eyes?!    

“What about tonight Liam!?” Sherlock asks, enthusiasm shown in every fibre of his body. 

“Not tonight!” Louis exclaims before William could even open his mouth. Sherlock frowns, ready to make accusations and insult the little Moriarty that always destroyed his plans and dreams, but quickly remembers William’s non-kissing threat and bites his tongue before any profanities leave his lips. 

Mycroft chuckles at his brother’s indignation. “Saturday nights are off limits, Sherly.”

Albert smiles sadly at the detective, and explains. “We always spend Saturday nights together ever since we reunited as a family .” 

It happened the first night they finally met under the same roof, after those three years. At the time, the brother’s had missed each other to such a high degree that no one showed interest in retiring first. They stood together in the living room, until the only light emerged from the fireplace, talking about life, books and plans for the future. It had become an unspoken agreement, and the three would always reunite in the living room for long hours every week, once work was finished and they could just relax and enjoy eachothers company. 

“Want to spend the night together, Sherly?” Mycroft asks, chuckling at the disgusted expression that is his youngest only reply.

William doesn’t back down though, and before his detective could feel dejected once again he suggests. “What about tomorrow night Sherly? You could show me your apartment, if you’d like” 

Sherlock's smile widens once more, beaming, and as he nods in confirmation he also subconsciously curses the slow passage of time. He would have to wait nearly a couple of days, what a torment it will be. But at least now he had a perspective of time and place, not solely promises of soons. ”Tomorrow night then!” 

“How odd, you say you spent every saturday at home, but last sunday you weren’t home for breakfast if I remember correctly, Albert.” Bond slides in the conversation, swiftly changing the topic once again. “Why is that? Went to steal a special kind of breakfast somewhere else?”

And oh gosh Albert was going to lose it.

“Urg, can’t you stop already! For goodness sake!” He exclaims, exasperated. The plan hadn’t worked at all, and he didn’t know the reason why. It should have worked! “Now you know William and Sherlock are also in a relationship, why do you insist on pestering me and no one else?!”

Bond’s laugh makes the Earl’s blood boil. “Oh Albert, you got it wrong,” he says, smug. “We have suspected for some time the true nature of William’s and Sherlock’s relationship. It doesn’t really change anything, what happened yesterday.” He admits, proud of having a barely normal pair of eyes on his skull. “I bother you, because I’ve learned that teasing you is somehow funnier than an entire circus. It is not about the situation, but the person at the centre of it, in this case, you .” He finishes simply, leaving the Earl speechless.

Mycroft tries to hide the way his lips twitch slightly upwards, but Albert catches and swears to make him pay for it at a later hour. For now, he had a pair of hooligans to get rid of.

“You just like to tease me?” He asks, unimpressed.

“You’re annoying as fuck, with this kind of leverage, what did you expect idiot.” Moran rumbles, eyes still closed. “William is a nice soul, we wouldn’t be dicks to him!” 

Albert was rendered speechless. Again. 

Now this was personal. 

“I agree with Albert-niisan, the both of you should stop the constant harassment of nonsense.”

Albert could cry as his youngest flew in his rescue. 

“I won’t make promises I know I’m unable to keep.” Bond replies.

“Likewise.” Moran rumbles. 

“And I will choose to believe you simply weren't aware of how uncomfortable you’re making Albert feel, so, now that it has been revealed, I’ll only say one thing.” William declares, serious. “If you go too far again and embarrass him as you’ve been doing lately, I’ll immediately escort you to the door, without delay.” 

“William! I thought we were friends!” Bond exclaims, shocked. “Come on, we’re only joking around, you know that right?” 

“I know you don’t mean harm, but if Albert doesn’t find it funny anymore it is not right to keep your little game running.” William says in earnest. “Furthermore, I’m the one responsible for the incident, I can’t let Albert suffer because of my own mistakes, can I?”  

“You’re too good for him Will, he doesn’t deserve it.” Moran grumbles.

The bickering that ensued between the Earl and his pair of nemesis continued, but this time less suggestive and more direct and blunt insults, just as they were used to. William felt a warm touch of familiarity watching the three fully grown men slang and entice each other. A hand still playing with his fingers retained his attention as well, and the professor left his head resting on the detective’s shoulder, eyes closing serenely. It felt like home again, hearing the loud noise of those voices he knew so well, against the person who had been his life line for such a long time. 

“I’ve missed you, Sherly.” He says, sighting as he feels Sherlocks breath against his locks. 

“Tomorrow night.” The detective whispers, like a prayer.

William agrees, heart full. “Tomorrow night.”

“I don’t want you to leave!” Sherlock rumbles, face buried in William’s neck as he embraces the professor from behind in the single bed of the detective’s bedroom.

The expected evening had arrived, and with it a new spark lit the fire in the detective’s restless heart. It had been wonderful, once again, dining with the professor under the public eye freely, even if in a dark and dirty hall where they were sure not to be recognized. Surrounded by the shadows of empty streets, Sherlock’s eyes shone with delight when their fingers brushed together, beaming once his professor smiled and winked in his direction in mischief. They weren’t exactly free to wander the most crowded of London’s monuments and gardens, but they never needed fancy food or tall buildings, as long as they had each other’s company. 

They came back to Sherlock’s apartment, bodies full of cheap beer and anticipation. If the detective remained the usual chatterbox all the way over, William’s demeanour toned down as they reached Baker Street, and as soon as the door of the main common area closed behind their forms, it was the blond who nudged Sherlock against the wall, fingers brushing against his cheeks as he closed the gap between them, lips connecting with passion. 

Sherlock lost himself completely as he followed William’s warmth and taste, like a drug addict who had experienced a long period of abstinence. After the trials and tribulations of unwanted separation, they could finally reunite in Sherlock’s living room, and finally lay together under the detective’s sheets. That night, William’s breathing lulled Sherlock into a dreamless sleep, as his arms never left the professor’s form. 

But even if the world was beautiful and peaceful under the moonlight, the sun had to rise and ruin the moment. 

The detective tightens his grip subconsciously as the blond stirs under his touch. “Sherly, we promised.” William says softly, turning around to face Sherlock and deliver a sweet peck to his pouting lips. “Good morning,” he whispers, his voice making the detective’s sensitive heart melt. 

He was a weak man, very weak in fact. Nearly two months without hearing such a greeting from that familiar voice in the morning, and now because of it he ends up almost crying in relief. Could he survive again without it every morning? Could he relearn to live alone now that he had heard that voice and felt that warmth once more? 

The thought was already unbearable.

He hugs William tightly, breathing deeply, eyes closed. “It is decided, I’m never letting you leave this bed.” He mumbles, seriously, sighing in relief as he feels Liam’s fingers caressing his rebel locks, not fighting back his hold and remaining wonderfully close. 

“Regretfully we can’t stay here forever Sherly.” William says, fondly. 

Sherlock childishly grumbles in displeasure, not moving an inch. Luckily his partner was the most patient man on earth, and after so many years experiencing life with the detective he already knew how to compromise with his apparently inflexible character.

“If you do let me go, I promise to come back next week.” William swears, fingers still playing with Sherlock dishevelled hair as he waits patiently for a reply.

Sherlock doesn’t respond at first, considering the proposal carefully. “What about your brother?”

“Louis feels threatened by your presence, but I know him. When he understands I won’t disappear with you he’ll lower his guard.” William says with confidence, quickly shutting down Sherlock’s insecurities. “But to obtain his trust, we have to behave and make it to breakfast, right Sherly?”

Sherlock sighs in defeat, but still makes a final demand. “Give me ten minutes.”

William disagrees, “Sherly, we’re already-”

But he is interrupted by Sherlock’s lips, which very effectively succeed to steal his words away. “Your brother won’t have a heart attack if we arrive ten minutes late. If Mycroft gets away with it, we will as well.” He says, leaving no room for discussion. “Now come back here and let me enjoy my ten minutes, Liam.” 

Liam chuckles softly and doesn’t complain anymore, resting his head against Sherlock’s heart, hands leisurely tracing patterns in the detective’s bare chest, breathing deeply and closing his eyes, his body relaxing on its own. If they were destined to be late, the professor would make the most of the little time they had. Sherlock’s lips twitch upwards as he buries his nose in the mass of blond hair offered to him. 

If he was to die at this moment, the detective would be the happiest deceased. Eyes closed, enjoying the moment, tucking every touch and feeling into his brain, he thanks the non-existing Gods for letting him live this moment. Under the bliss of the morning light, he found himself even thanking Mycroft and Louis, of all people, for allowing him to be a part of William’s life. However, before he could finish that thought, he remembered there was still an issue left to be discussed with the man laying in his bed, and had to halt this unique round of gratitude.

“Are you happy Liam, after all that happened?” Sherlock asks, softly. “That night, the things I said…I never meant for it to happen, not like it did”

William responds without hesitation. “I couldn’t be happier.”

Awkwardly, the detective continues. “I'm sorry Liam, I went overboard I-” 

“You don’t need to apologise, Sherly, I understand.” He reassures him. “We both needed to be entirely honest with each other. I’m grateful we did, however unexpected or sudden the scenario ended up to be.”

Sherlock sighs in relief. “I suspect Mycroft and Albert had a hand in that night’s events.” He admits, knowing he wasn’t the only one to have noticed the strange behaviour of the couple ever since that night.

“Oh yes I’m almost certain of it.” William assures. “But all things considered, it all work out in the end. Why not let it slide and enjoy the result?”

Sherlock's grin widens, as he lifts the professor’s chin to look at those beautiful eyes. “Liam, have I ever told you I love you?”

William chuckles in delight, delivering a small kiss at the enamoured detective, whispering against his lips with the utmost sincerity, words already engraved in the depths of his soul. 

“I love you too.”