Work Text:
“So, what do you need my help with?”
“You’ll see.”
Sherlock Holmes, a 20-year-old Potionology student at Britain’s University of Arcane Arts, was in the middle of making space in his assigned room. Well, ‘room’ was a bit of an understatement. The school provided its students with basically whole flats. A living room, a bathroom, a toilet, a kitchen, a storage room, and a workroom—pure luxury. No wonder the university was so selective about who was admitted.
William James Moriarty, a friend of Sherlock's, was standing close to a workroom wall. He was fiddling with his hair, watching as Holmes laboriously attempted to clean and arrange his precious vials. Thankfully, the dormitories at the university were specifically designed with the students' courses of study in mind; therefore, Sherlock didn’t need to run to the bathroom and back whenever he needed to clean his workspace. Although, the sight of him speed-walking in circles would have definitely been amusing.
Liam glanced at the nearby sink, scrunched his nose, and made a low, disapproving noise. It definitely saw better days. He was pretty sure there was mould starting to form on the tap handle. How such a creative mind could be so destructive was truly impressive. It was scary to think what chemicals were hiding in the pipes. His mind wandered to the poor plumber who had to regularly check them, as per the school’s rules.
The blond took a big breath near one of the windows; he felt slightly dizzy. The air in the room carried the distinct smell of diluent. Will theorised that his friend probably forgot to open the windows while working on some concoction this morning. He must have realised his mistake right after returning from his classes. That would explain the intensity of the smell and why all the widows were wide open. There was truly no one else in this school that as perfectly fit the descriptions of both a genius and an idiot. No wonder his older brother had, what seemed like, an infinite number of embarrassing stories from their childhood.
When Holmes finished cleaning his desk, he moved to sweeping the floor. He quickly swooped scattered papers under the desk and cabinets. After the wooden flooring could finally be seen, he ran into his living area and brought back an armchair. The seat found its place in the middle of the room. William raised a brow.
“Are you going to run experiments on me?” he asked jokingly. In the back of his mind, he tried to remember if he ever actually saw this room’s floor or if he just accepted the always scattered papers as its natural state of being. He felt a slight chill when he realised the second answer was winning. Good Lord, Sherly, he thought, terrified but also weirdly impressed.
Sherlock glanced at him bewildered, stopping polishing a pair of tweezers.
He cocked his head slightly. “Hm?” Still, he quickly understood the situation. “Ah, don’t worry,” he responded laxly, waving his hand in front of his face. “It’s not for you.”
So, he’s expecting more guests, Liam concluded with a small hum.
After some time, he decided to close his eyes and relax. He could hear sounds coming from the training field outside, two floors below them. There weren’t a lot of voices, so William assumed it weren’t class activities. If he had to guess, it was probably a group of friends doing a sparring match. A tiny smile spread across his face. It took him back to his early days at this school.
He remembered how proud of himself he was when he managed to convince his other gifted classmate to go train with him in that very same field. His smile grew wider as he recalled how much fun they had trying to outperform each other. But as fate would have it, as they were going back, a flask fell from one of the windows of this exact flat and smashed into pieces right in front of them. Liam shuddered; he will probably never forget the pitch-black smoke that surrounded them, or the rush of panic he felt when he realised he couldn’t breathe before passing out from pain, terror, and oxygen deprivation. Lady Luck must have spared him some mercy, as his classmate miraculously was able to stay conscious and call for help. Will would regain consciousness three days later in the medical ward with a pretty nasty case of poisoning.
He always wondered how his companion did that, but all he was ever told was that the other man had a ‘higher poison resistance’. Well, in the end, both of them had to miss the first two weeks of classes. The board of directors not only had the careless culprit, the young Holmes, apologise to them in person, he also had to help them with their homework, write them notes from the general subjects, and essentially act as their errand boy until they got discharged.
What a fun start to the school year that was.
Looking back at Holmes and seeing the man struggle to make the place presentable, a part of him wanted to help, but he also knew that a Potionology student’s workroom was a health hazard waiting to happen. For his own safety, he had to sit this one out. No one would want a repeat of the poison incident. Nonetheless, knowing Sherlock, this wasn’t the only room in need of cleaning. He wondered if maybe he could be of help elsewhere. However, Liam’s train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Holmes shouted.
Soon, two people were standing in front of the workroom. William and Sherlock stepped over to greet them.
“Well, well. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Liam said cheerfully. There was a smug smile on his face, as if he was trying to show he was above the other person; however, anyone could see the obvious playfulness in his eyes.
“Greetings. Unfortunately, I can’t share the sentiment. When Holmes informed me he'd bring help, it could only truly mean either you or Watson,” said dryly the taller of the two new guests. His eyes gleamed slightly behind his glasses. He let himself move further into the room with a disapproving expression. He didn’t want to be there. Or maybe he just wasn’t a fan of the smell of diluent.
“I see you’re as knowledgeable about others’ relationships as always, Charles.” Sherlock turned slightly to take a quick look at Milverton and then at Liam. “You are both on the Spells Transcription course, right?” He laughed a little. “I assume you already know each other then?”
“You can say that,” William responded. He turned his head towards the other guest. “And who’s your friend here?”
“John Ruskin,” Charles explained while examining the different coloured stains on the armchair. It was impossible to tell what its original colour was. He made a disgusted sound.
“Get over it. It’s not like it will be your first time sitting there.” Holmes scoffed. Unfortunately for him, the white-haired man was always a tough one to get along with. He reminded himself that he should at least try to be a good host. He turned his attention to Ruskin. “Nice to meet you, mate,” he said as he reached out his hand. John nodded and silently shook hands with the other man. His hands were lean and veiny, as well as slightly bruised. Sherlock could feel calluses on Ruskin’s fingers. “Let me guess. Magical Weaponry course?” Sherlock asked excitedly, probably a bit too energetic for a first-time meeting.
There was surprise in John’s eyes. “Yes... How did you know?”
“I’ve met a few folks from Magical Weaponry; they all have a strong grip.” Such an explanation should suffice, he thought.
There was obviously more to it than Ruskin’s grip or what he gathered from his hands. The way the other man’s bangs were combed so that they wouldn’t limit his vision, how quickly his eyes reacted to movement, and how his uniform was more loosely fitted (probably to conceal weapons). Holmes kind of wanted to see if John would move his head if he tried to stand in his blind spot, but he ultimately gave up on the idea. He had things to do. Maybe he’d get to have his fun some other time.
Milverton sighed. “Alright. Now that we all said our greetings, can we get to it?”
“Heh. I’m getting a feeling you don’t want to stay here any longer than absolutely necessary,” Holmes chuckled.
“Of course not.”
Charles sat in the armchair while Sherlock moved to his desk. William glanced at John; the other man, now standing in the corner, looked concerned. It appeared only Will had no idea what was going on.
“Hey, Liam, could you stand next to the chair?” asked Holmes while looking at labels on different potions.
He did as he was told. Once there, he saw Milverton taking off his jacket and shirt, later folding them on his legs.
Ruskin took a step towards them. “I can hold onto that.”
“There’s no need. I have space for it.” Sherlock ran up to them, took the folded clothes, and placed them on the desk.
“Oh...”
“Don’t worry, Ruskin, he won’t destroy them,” Charles tried to reassure his companion. In the meantime, he made himself comfortable on the armchair—head resting on his hand, eyes closed.
“If you say so...” John leaned against the wall and anxiously rubbed his hands, maintaining a serious expression.
They were waiting. Holmes kept trying to find a specific potion while muttering ‘not this, not this’ every time he picked up a new one. Liam had to admit he felt excited; his legs were almost shaking from anticipation. He knew his friend wouldn’t have kept him so much in the dark if it wasn’t worth his time. But the boredom started to get to him. A little inquiry never hurt anybody, right? He bent slightly.
“Why is your companion so stressed?” William asked silently.
Milverton opened one of his eyes a bit to look at him. “He’s just worried for my safety.”
“Well, I wouldn’t have to be worried if you told me about this from the very beginning,” Ruskin said accusatorily.
“If I did, you would have made me reconsider, and we wouldn’t end up here.”
“And then I wouldn’t have to be worried!” John grumbled.
Will almost chuckled. Ruskin’s behaviour reminded him of a certain red-eyed man who, coincidentally, was also a Magical Weaponry student. He would often have such arguments with him. He remembered he once heard that people on the same courses often had similar personalities. A sneaky plan was born in his mind—maybe he could find his brother a friend under the guise of testing that theory. That’d be worth trying.
Charles just let out a sigh and once more closed his eyes. Liam straightened up again, now he was truly intrigued. And even if whatever Holmes was planning wouldn’t meet his expectations, he at least had something to look up to.
“Hah! I found it!” came Sherlock’s victorious shout. Everyone looked at him as he ran up to the chair. “Here you go!” He gave Milverton a vial containing a shiny, translucent liquid inside. “And this is for you!” He handed Will a pair of tweezers.
Charles reluctantly opened the flask and smelt its contents like a pretentious wine connoisseur. William felt a sense of familiarity in the motion. His classmate’s face contorted in disgust.
“Didn’t you say you were working on a less stomach-turning version?”
“Well, I’m trying. The taste should indeed be better,” Holmes responded. “Or would you have preferred only the smell was different?” he asked smugly.
“Ugh... never mind.”
William started playing with the tool he was handed. It was of too high quality to be used only for pulling out small hairs. He wanted to ask some questions, but he was sure he wouldn’t get any answers at that moment. With a broad smile, he glanced at the vial that his white-haired classmate was holding.
“Remember to drink all of it,” Sherlock said kindly. One could sometimes forget what a good-hearted man he was with how often he would get himself and everyone around him in trouble.
“Yes, yes. I know,” Milverton grumbled, and after a few seconds of consideration, he downed the entire thing.
Their host took the flask back to wash it. Liam felt his adrenaline level slowly rising, but to his surprise, nothing was happening. He waited a minute longer; however, everything seemed exactly as it was before. He started nervously looking around.
“So... What now?” he asked, confused. His smile disappeared. Did something go wrong? He could only hope his friend didn’t mess up and that the man next to him wouldn’t be pronounced dead in the morning. Wouldn’t be the first time. That poor freshman...
“You have to give it a minute,” said Holmes, coming back with an empty syringe. The sight of the object didn’t make the blond think more positively.
Will furrowed his brows and intensely looked at his classmate. Charles must have felt him staring as he swiftly turned his head for their eyes to meet. William gasped quietly. That reaction must have made Milverton uncomfortable, judging by how fast he averted his gaze. But Liam was sure he saw something unusual in that moment. He took hold of the white-haired man’s chin and made him look at him again. His eyes widened. Charles’ pupils were vertical. Fascinating! An awed smile took its place on the blond’s face.
“Hey!” his classmate protested.
William caught another change in the other man—his fangs were far more pronounced and sharper. He wanted to put his fingers inside Milverton’s mouth to examine them better; however, a hand on his shoulder and a knife pointed at his throat stopped him.
“Ah.” He raised his hands to show he was not a threat. “I apologize, I got a little too excited.” He laughed nervously. “Can you let me go now, John?”
Ruskin didn’t move; only when his friend made a swiping motion with his hand did he slowly put the knife down.
“Are you alright?” he worriedly asked his companion.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” The white-haired man smiled at him. “But there was no need for you to bring out a weapon.”
He got embarrassed; the tips of his ears turned slightly red, but his cold expression remained unchanged. “Sorry...”
“No worries.”
With that, John went back to his spot against the wall. Liam tried to shoot him an apologetic glance, but the Magical Weaponry student just averted his gaze. Oh, well. He would need to find a way to make it up to him later.
“Looks like we can start,” announced Sherlock, completely unbothered by what just happened. For someone so perceptive, he really had no clue how to read the room.
When Will once again looked at his classmate, another surprise awaited him. In the time he and John had their little interaction, clumps of white scales formed on Charles’ skin. As if in lines, they run up his abdomen, back, arms, and neck. You could even see some managing to go up to his cheeks.
An excited smile crept up William’s face. “I see! You’re partly a beastman. I’ve never seen a hybrid like you.”
Unconsciously, he reached out to touch the scales but stopped himself when he noticed Milverton tremble slightly.
Holmes gave a hearty laugh. “Yes, yes! Isn’t our friend here an interesting little thing?”
Will nodded. His smile became a little awkward. On one hand, Liam didn’t want to be disrespectful, but on the other, he couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “How close are you to your snakepeople ancestors?” he asked.
The white-haired man wondered for a few seconds if he even wanted to answer that question; nevertheless, he decided to humour him. “My father was fully beastman while my mother was fully human,” he replied, trying his best to hide how uncomfortable he felt behind a forced smile. Such a display of weakness would be unacceptable, at least to him.
“You’re a half-and-half then. You guys are pretty rare, right?”
“Um... yes.” His voice got quieter. He wasn’t very thrilled about being called ‘rare’.
“Please don’t treat him like a zoo animal.” Ruskin’s stern voice could be heard.
Will stilled for a few seconds. I’m making an ass of myself, aren’t I, he thought. He started to move his hands frantically, looking for an excuse. “Well... you see- ah... um.” He tried to find his words. In the end, he just sighed. “Usually, Sherlock is the one without tact.”
He decided someone should indeed take the fall for the way he acted, unfortunately for his friend, he didn’t want to be the person who owns up to their actions that day. It may have been William’s way of revenge after getting screwed over so much by the other man.
Holmes screeched like a mouse caught in a trap. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” He was taken aback.
“Exactly what you heard. It’s honestly a mystery how you managed to not get stabbed your entire life.”
“Oh, believe me, many tried. It’s just none succeeded.”
They were about to continue their little spat; however, they got silent when they heard a snort.
“Goodness gracious, you guys are stupid,” said Charles, trying to hold back laughter.
The other two just stared at him with wide eyes. They tried to appear honestly pissed, but they ended up looking more like they just ate a particularly sour lemon. The sight only made it harder for Milverton to keep a straight face. His expression now wasn’t much better than that of the people standing in front of him.
They were unsure why, but the three men slowly started laughing together. The absurdity of the situation and fatigue from that day’s classes must have gotten to them. Even Ruskin looked more relaxed. It was hard to fight the urge to join them in their clownery when hearing Charles' practiced evil cackling, William sounding like a horse with asthma, and Holmes occasionally snorting like a cute little pig.
Maybe they should find a job in children’s entertainment, John thought.
After a few minutes, they composed themselves; Sherlock even wiped a few tears forming in his eyes.
“Okay, now, can we please get to it?” asked Milverton, obviously irritated but still smiling.
“Oh, am I going to finally get to know what I’m supposed to be doing here?” Liam looked at the dark-haired man, his free hand on his hip.
“Alright, alright,” Holmes grumbled to himself like a kid. “It’s pretty simple.” He pointed at William. “Your job is to pluck out some scales.” Next, he raised the syringe in his hand. “Meanwhile, I’ll take some blood samples. You’re just basically here to speed up the process.”
Well, that was surely a weird request. The blond wasn’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t going to back out, but he still found himself at a loss for words. He felt his grip on the tweezers becoming tighter. There were a few things on his mind he needed answers to. He softly looked at Charles.
“Will it hurt you? Is there a specific way I should do it?” he asked, his voice smooth like honey. There was always something about his classmate that gave him the impression the other man was in poor health. It made him feel like he was once again a child, looking after his sick little brother. He got so lost in the memories to the point he nearly tried to softly pat Charles on the head to make him feel safe. Old habits die hard.
“Hm?” Milverton turned his head towards him. It would be an understatement to say he was shocked that someone outside of his friend group cared about his health. “Um, not really. Until you’re not forcing it, the pain would be equivalent, at most, to pulling out a single hair. I can’t shed my skin in one piece, so some of my scales are looser; try to pluck out those.”
“Alright.” Liam gave him a small smile.
After Sherlock confirmed Charles was ready, he quickly started his part. William stood awkwardly; he wanted to see Holmes work for a while before he could feel bold enough to begin plucking out the scales.
The two men next to him were evidently used to this. The Potionology student didn’t have to give any instructions to Milverton for him to know what to do. The white-haired man simply straightened out his right arm and clenched his fist. Just to be sure, the blond looked for any signs of fear in his classmate, but the man just seemed bored more than anything. He observed as Sherlock was feeling out the crook of the elbow with his finger and then swiftly, with medical precision, inserted the needle. He saw blood starting to slowly fill the syringe. He wasn’t able to watch it too long before looking away; the red reminded him too much of the one he would see in the mirror.
About time I did something, he thought. He bent down and touched Charles’ arm with his free hand. His fingers trailed slowly across the scales. They were smooth, and the skin around them made for an interesting texture. He felt warmth in his chest, it was as if he was an archaeologist trying to feel ancient writing on the wall. He had to try not to get lost in that new sensation; he knew Louis would berate him for that if he was there. But for goodness’ sake, it was very tempting to just close his eyes and try to unravel in detail what was beneath his fingers. And William was the well-rounded one! He could already imagine how annoyed Milverton was by Holmes’ nonsense during their first meeting like this. He felt slightly disappointed he wasn’t asked to come there since the beginning; it must have been chaotic, and he knew he could have helped these two get along.
Ah, right. Help. Liam was supposed to be helping, and he hasn’t started doing that for the last minute or so. He flinched, coming fully back to reality. Scales. He needed to find loose scales. Finally focused on the task at hand, he started to carefully examine the scaly lines. Some scales were indeed slightly moving under his touch. It was surprisingly harder to notice than he expected, but he knew he would manage. He locked onto his first target. Will gently pried the scale with the tweezers on the side that wasn’t stuck to the skin. He gave it a few nudges to better see how loose it was. Then he pulled. He needed to use more force than he assumed. He wasn’t able to see if there was now a small hole in Charles’ arm, the scales were too close to each other. Bummer.
He was about to ask where he was supposed to put it, but Sherlock, preoccupied with fixing something with the syringe, must have seen him awkwardly looking around, as the dark-haired man hastily pulled out a small box from his trouser pocket and gave it to him without another word.
Before putting the scale in the box, he decided to first put it on his palm to examine it better. His eyes gleamed; it was partly translucent. The part that was stuck in the skin was white, and from there, would slowly lose colour. He wanted to put it near a light source to see if the translucent part would beautifully shine with the colours of the rainbow. Disappointed he didn’t have time for that, he put it in the box and continued his work.
Everything from then on went smoothly. Liam found pulling out scales surprisingly relaxing. However, he lightly bit his lower lip. He still had many questions on his mind. It didn’t matter to him that some people saw him as a know-it-all or a nerd; he just had the need to know as much as possible. He felt some relief, remembering that the two men next to him were similar, or even worse.
“I know that look on your face, Moriarty. What is it?” Charles suddenly asked with a sigh.
William was silent for a second; that was his chance. He tried to form his words in a way that wouldn’t sound insensitive again. “That was a detransformation potion you took, right? Why do you pretend to be a human? I thought beastmen and hybrids were welcome in the capital,” he said slowly, giving his classmate time to absorb the questions.
“They are,” Milverton answered, a little unsure what to say next. “But the problem lies in how, as you said, ‘rare’ half-and-halves are. In trade, I’m considered a ‘luxury item’,” his voice trembled slightly when saying those last two words. William noticed a lack of focus in his eyes, as if he wasn’t fully mentally there. But the usual sharpness in his gaze came back after he took a breath. “Originally, even though I passed the scouting process, the board of directors didn’t want to admit me in because of how much of a liability I would be. That’s how we came to the agreement that I’ll be allowed to study here as long as I take the transformation potions. The catch is, those things are pretty expensive, and I have to acquire them myself.”
“I see. So that’s why you’re here.” Liam looked at Sherlock. “You two made a deal.”
“Yup! Every month I get to take some of Charles’ blood, scales, and venom for my work, and in return I supply him with transformation potions.”
The blond squinted his eyes in thought; there was still a piece of information that was left out. “How did you even know he was a half-and-half?”
Holmes glanced to the side so that he wouldn’t have to look at the other two men. There was a stupid smile on his face, the kind that makes you want to punch it off. “A little birdie told me.”
“Yeah, that birdie that’s an absolute cunt!” Milverton shouted and clenched his fists harder, his knuckles turning white, or rather whiter than they already were. “My status should be private. That man always goes on and on about the rules, but apparently, he can make exceptions if he wants to help his younger brother. Hypocrite.”
“Hey now,” Sherlock said, slapping Charles lightly on the head. “I also think he’s a bastard, but thanks to the guy’s connections and absurdly well-paying job, I’m able to make you those transformation potions. Try to at least be grateful. Mycroft basically sponsors your education.”
“I could make it without you two; it’s simply easier this way. Without those potions, it’s hard for me to even get a normal paying job. How do you think I made money all this time? I have some reliable methods,” the white-haired man said with a cocky smirk.
“And illegal too, I bet.”
“Heh. Whatever description fits, it doesn’t matter.”
They continued their talk while working. Ruskin was happy his dearest friend had a chance to socialise. Although, if someone were to ask Milverton what he thought of it, he’d probably say the entire conversation was meaningless and a waste of his time. To him, the only information even slightly worth remembering was William offering to work with him on the next group project. Usually, he would do the entire thing alone—he couldn’t trust anyone from his course to do their job properly without supervision, and he wasn’t into playing a nanny for grown adults. Unfortunately, one of the professors got sick of him not even attempting to find a partner and chewed him out. He swore to everything that was holy, if Liam was putting that offer out because he heard him get berated, he would make sure the school cafeteria would never serve the blond’s favourite omelettes again.
After a few minutes, it appeared both men finished their tasks rather quickly, leaving only one thing to do.
“Alright, mate. Time for you to pump out those juices!” Holmes chirped happily after putting the blood samples and scales in their designated place. He held out three empty vials in front of the white-haired man.
“Never say those words ever again.” Charles almost genuinely wanted to strangle him. Still, he took the vials without protest and opened one.
“Is this for the venom?” Will asked.
Milverton only made a ‘hm’ sound in confirmation and spit into the vial.
“How do you produce it?” William continued. The white-haired man stopped to look at him. He realised he was once again a little too intrusive. “Of course, answer only if you want to,” he added.
“Hmm, well. I guess I don’t mind. There’s not much to it.” Charles pointed at his fangs. “These are connected to my venom sacs. Using them, I can control when and how much venom I release.”
Sherlock snorted at the mention of ‘sacs’.
Milverton turned to him. “Well then. How else would you call them? Any bright ideas?” he asked sarcastically.
“A venom bladder,” Holmes answered in as serious tone as he could muster.
To that, Will just smiled, fighting the urge to facepalm from the kindergarten-level joke. His classmate closed his eyes and took a big breath. It appeared no one was amused.
“Should I kill him?” asked John in a flat voice.
“No, Ruskin...” Charles said. He sounded as if that one joke had stolen his entire will to live. “Too much trouble for what it’s worth.”
Milverton pretended like the entire exchange never happened and continued what he was doing. Liam looked at the action with curiosity.
“I’m sorry, biology and chemistry aren’t my speciality, but... are you diluting your venom with your spit?” he asked.
“Yes,” Charles answered simply.
“It’s not allowed to store pure venom or poison. There are strict rules on this stuff. Even if diluted, the board of directors told me that I can only store three flasks of Charles’ venom at a time,” Sherlock explained, slightly annoyed. Liam wouldn’t be surprised if his friend had to follow even stricter restrictions because of their poisoning incident.
“So, the board of directors does know about your little deal,” William thought aloud.
“It’d be a pain in the ass if they didn’t. The resources of every Potionology student are regularly and meticulously checked. If you won’t notify them about any new materials you acquired before the check, you’ll get punished. In my case, I could have been faced with expulsion or even jail.”
“I’m sorry, JAIL!?” Will wasn’t sure he heard that right.
“Yeah, you can’t just mess around willy-nilly with dangerous or rare materials.” Sherlock got a sudden headbutt from Charles. He touched a red spot on his forehead and groaned in pain. “OUCH! Well, I’m sorry, but you ARE rare.”
To that, Milverton mumbled something they couldn’t understand with a pout on his face. Holmes could only look at him in disbelief, thinking how it was possible that the gremlin sitting next to him was somehow one of the most feared students in the entire school. Each day of his life, he was getting more and more sure he was simply just surrounded by idiots.
When all three vials were filled and put away, John got closer. It was time for them to go. Weirdly, he noticed his friend didn’t make any effort to stand up. Something was wrong.
“Liam, John, could you two leave for an hour?” Sherlock asked.
“Why?” Ruskin squinted his eyes in suspicion. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing, I swear.” Holmes laughed. “I just have to make sure Charles is feeling well. I did take quite a lot of his blood. It’ll be more comfortable with less people in the room.”
“He can just leave with me then. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“John.” Milverton looked tense. The way he said his companion’s name sounded almost like an order—cold but weirdly hasty. He tried to relax after seeing the questioning, and dare he say, almost betrayed look in Ruskin’s eyes. He took a breath and put on his best kind smile. “Thank you, John. I know you’re always concerned about my safety, so trust me, this is the safest way.”
The corner of John’s mouth slightly twitched, and his eyes widened. It wasn’t just that his friend didn’t want to go with him; they would, of course, occasionally not agree with each other. But this, it was different. This see-through thin mask of composure, he knew it well. He could tell Charles wasn’t simply asking for him to go; he was pleading. Milverton would have that expression whenever, in their childhood years, they would go through crowded areas, and scared of the sea of people, he would ask to hold hands, or when a sudden sound would scare the little white-haired boy, and he would come running for hugs. But it hurt, because this was the first time his precious friend—whom he had vowed to protect—had this expression while asking him to leave.
He almost let his lower lip tremble, but he stilled when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He mentally chastised himself for getting caught off guard.
“Hey, John. How about we go on a walk together?” Liam tried to sound as kind as possible, but to Ruskin, it only came off as patronising. To him, Will seemed like a parent trying to solve an argument between two kids at a playground.
“Why?” The question came out more aggressively than he wanted. He knew he was acting too emotional. He started to count in his head to relax.
“I actually wanted to ask you some questions.” William didn’t seem to be bothered by the other man’s reaction. “You see, my younger brother is also on the Magical Weaponry course. I assume he’s your underclassman.”
“Ah... yes,” Ruskin slowly responded, nodding a few times. His calm demeanour was coming back to him. “Louis James Moriarty. I’m familiar.”
“Perfect! So, you see, Louis doesn’t often talk about school, he’s very reserved that one. I respect that, but you might know how older siblings can be; we sometimes worry too much.” Liam gave John a quick, knowing look. “And besides, I would love to hear more in depth how the Magical Weaponry classes look like.”
Ruskin slowly moved his eyes to worriedly look at Charles, the other giving him an awkward, encouraging smile. He sighed. If that was truly what his friend wanted, he’d do it. After all, when he swore he’d protect him, that also included his happiness. “Fine. Let’s go.”
William walked behind John, just to make sure the other man wouldn’t change his mind, and every few steps, the brunet would glance over his shoulder to confirm Will still followed him. When they were about to go through the doorway, Liam quietly gasped. He remembered something. He stopped in his tracks but didn’t look back to avoid losing sight of Ruskin.
“Hey, Charles!” he hastily shouted and didn’t even wait for a response. “Let’s go to the training field together sometime.”
And off they went. The sound of the closing doors echoing through the flat.
Milverton felt a sense of nostalgia at William’s request. Still, he couldn’t get rid of the image of John’s distressed expression from his mind. He tried to convince himself that the detransformation potion was the cause of the sudden, painful knot in his stomach, but he knew that wasn’t the case. He looked at the floor and pressed his lips into a straight line. He wanted to puke from the partial heat and coldness. Why do human emotions have to be so complicated, he lamented in his head. He would much rather not feel anything.
In the meantime, Sherlock started looking for something inside the cabinets.
“John looked pretty shaken there for a second,” he said, like he was talking about the weather.
“I know... I’ll try to make it up to him later.”
“Maybe you should calm down a little with your whole ‘can’t let others see me as weak’ shtick. Ever thought of that?” Holmes’ voice got slightly muffled by the shuttering of a paper bag he pulled out from one of the cabinets.
“Just you knowing how weak I am in this moment is enough of an embarrassment.”
“Heh. Yeah. I still remember the first time we did this.” He put the bag on the desk and looked at the other man smugly. “How, after the procedure, our mister tough guy here, despite my warnings, tried to immediately go to his room, and didn’t even manage to take one step before kissing the floor.”
“Shut up,” Charles deadpanned. He would probably be threatening Holmes at that moment if he wasn’t so exhausted.
Sherlock came up to him and gave him a big chocolate chip cookie and a flask of orange juice. He accepted without any protest, hiding his happiness at being given a sweet. Still, he was slightly disappointed, as he knew that the bakery where Holmes would buy those, was also selling strawberry cheesecake slices. Every time after the procedure, he wanted to tell him what he actually craved, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. He silently cursed his pride.
He heard the other man laugh at his unbothered expression.
“Come on. Give me a smile! You’re such a mood killer!”
Sherlock’s hands touched his cheeks. The dark-haired man’s thumbs travelled into the corners of his lips, forcing them into the shape of a smile. He felt his face grow hotter from embarrassment. He wouldn’t let such disrespect slide. Like a wild animal, his head smoothly and swiftly moved to catch the other man’s left thumb with his teeth. He bit into it with one of his fangs, releasing a bit of his venom into the wound. Holmes quickly yanked out his finger.
“WHAT THE HELL? AGAIN?” he shrieked.
“You get what you deserve,” Milverton scoffed. He shuddered slightly when his tongue touched the blood on his teeth, and he instinctually licked it off and swallowed it. His mouth started salivating at the thought of fresh meat. He felt a pang of shame from not being able to fully control his animal side in such situations. Fortunately for him, Sherlock was too occupied with complaining to notice him trying to get back to his senses.
“It feels like my thumb is on fire!”
“Oh, stop dramatizing. You know it’ll only make you feel like you touched a nettle for a day or two. Even I’m not spiteful enough to properly try to hurt you over what you just did.”
“Still... it hurts.” Holmes looked as if he was about to cry. Charles could tell he was playing it up.
He needed to change the subject; otherwise, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.
“By the way.” He took a bite of the cookie. He had to hold himself back from moaning in delight of the sweet treat. He touched his lips to hide his growing childish smile of ecstasy. The chocolate chips melted in his mouth, spreading their truly ambrosial taste on his tongue. The baker really outdid herself this time. He would need to remember to try and persuade her to give Ruskin the recipe. “Did you remember to forward my message to your brother?” he said, trying to keep a straight face.
“The ‘you can kiss my ass’ one? Yes.”
“Good.” He got so lost in his treat that he didn’t notice how quickly he devoured the entire thing. His expression immediately soured. He drank the orange juice to feel better. “Any smartass response from him?”
“Yes.”
“What did that glorified guard dog say?” Charles asked, trying to appear uninterested.
Sherlock was silent for a few seconds. Right when Mycroft told him that sentence, he could already predict the other man’s reaction. He didn’t mind being stuck in the middle of their little pissing contest; he honestly found it incredibly entertaining. The younger Holmes loved that someone could get on his brother’s nerves more than himself. He just wished he didn’t have to say it in his own room.
He reached into the desk for some ointment, which he applied to his bitten finger. Sherlock focused his attention on slowly rubbing in the medicine as an excuse to not have to look at Charles. Well, time to pick up some broken glass , he thought.
“Ask me out to dinner first, lizard.”
Just as he expected, when he finished speaking, a sound of breaking glass could be heard—Milverton chucked the empty flask to the floor to ease some of his anger. His face was red. Holmes could see a vein almost popping on the white-haired man’s forehead. Charles’ teeth were clenched and his eyes closed in an attempt to not scowl. Even in such a situation, he was still trying to save some of his dignity. Sherlock wanted to argue that it was meaningless, that no amount of trying to keep his usually composed disposition would suddenly not make him look like a tomato with cookie crumbs on its face.
“Your brother is a piece of shit,” Milverton said. He tried his best to sound unbothered, but his voice was clearly shaking from fury. He made a mental note to not let Mycroft die peacefully—HE will be the cause of that man’s demise.
Holmes sighed; he was already on his way for the broom and dustpan. This was going to be a LONG hour.