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When the car shut off with a dying sigh of the engine exhaling its last strength, William let out the most anguished breath his lungs could muster. At that hour when the sky was a blue vault where neither night nor day had decided their role, casting poor illumination that barely outlined the skeletal edges of the trees.
Nice. Stranded in the middle of nowhere.
There was a seasonal chill, typical of autumn that encouraged storms leaving the streets spattered with muddy veils, and William had the feeling that it must have been that crack splitting the road in two where the wheels had fallen naively, flooded with water and deceiving to the human eye, to his regret, that must have damaged something in his car. He pulled out his phone and, as a consequence of being on a road worthy of being forgotten from existence, had no coverage to call a tow truck.
He sighed again. Well, there wasn't much sense in staying there at the mercy of any willing good Samaritan who might want to rob him.
He stored his valuables in the trunk: his laptop with his thesis, some mathematics books, and a French dictionary gifted by one of his students, who had assured him they were reserved pages from the cemetery of books.
The rest didn't matter to him; it was recoverable. Knowledge would always be the thing worth protecting.
While icy breaths that made his skin shiver could still be felt, a blanket of black clouds poured over that road flanked by trees that seemed to whisper among themselves, presaging a storm that appeared to be approaching soon.
He wondered then, why had he decided to undertake this journey that actually had no destination, but only wanted to flee from that enduring nostalgia of a life rooted in the compulsive disorder of depression? He had always been of noisy mind, though ingenious, but pushed without passions that left a brushstroke of sadness in his gaze which, thanks to his easy and condescending smile, few could notice.
He walked for about thirty minutes, without hope of finding any sign of civilization, understanding with irremediable bitterness that he was completely disoriented, until perhaps, by a blessing from that withered sky, a small rest stop came into view among the nothingness.
The path was already a resulting quagmire, with streaks of damp earth and the mounds of mud built by worms, ruining his dress shoes and even his mood, perhaps turning him into a specter without direction until the flickering neon lights that said "Lost Coffee" left a pool of scarlet light on the ground made of tears.
The trees seemed to open up in a ceremonial arch, as if the café were one of them, and William quickly hurried with rushed steps because the first drops of water fell from the sky.
He saved himself from a cloak of humidity by a hair, entering the café where a bell tinkled suspiciously. A welcoming warmth hit his face and the aroma of grinding cocoa reached his nostrils.
It was a small space, a counter, two tables inside and two outside, and that was all. There was a black stone fireplace that preserved the heat of a fire that seemed newly lit, as there were still scratches of cold skin in the place. A young man was behind the counter, intent on the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth that rubbed the grain of the wood, polishing a mahogany surface that already shone under the lamp light.
His eyes rested on him, whose sharpness upon seeing him enter seemed to sheathe his expression with a smile and who knows what he wished before formulating it, because he wouldn't be the first or last to seek shelter on a deserted road.
"The wifi password is over there," the young man pointed, indicating the glass window that divided them from the forest which, with the rain, generated a certain disturbance. He spoke with a marked cockney accent. "What brings a young man like you to a forsaken café like this? Let me guess: broken down car? Matrimonial abandonment? A lost soul seeking direction, perhaps?"
William shook off some of the drops from his shoulder and sketched a smile.
"The first is a fact and the last, who knows."
The young man laughed softly and served him a cup of coffee before he ordered it when William sat down at the counter. He noted the wifi password and was able to receive sufficient connection on his mobile. Messages rained down in cascading notifications, most from his siblings who were worried about his whereabouts. He informed them that his car had broken down and sent his GPS location so they could send a tow truck.
His siblings confirmed they could find him in an hour to pick him up, and so concluded everything.
"Thank you very much," William expressed, not just for the coffee but also for helping him recover some semblance of signal.
The boy, with long raven hair tied in a ponytail that let a disheveled fringe drizzle over his face; with bony hips and bronzed skin with yesterday's nascent beard, made a gesture while smiling at him with his eyes. There was something attractive about his blue eyes that invited a light hypnosis. It wasn't that blue was a unique feature, but this boy's certainly were. He didn't know if it was the shadow of tiredness under the eyelids that aligned its darkness to the rings of the iris or if it was the small dilation of the pupil.
"It's nothing. You can wait as long as you wish," he commented, already abandoning his cleaning work and resting the cloth on the apron tied around his waist.
"Do you work twenty-four hours?"
"Yes. This is also my home, so I'm always waiting for customers to fill the pocket." He lit a cigarette and offered one, which William declined with a smile. "You're the first in weeks."
"It can't be very fruitful around here," William lamented, but the young man tried uselessly to awaken the forgotten spirit of hospitality.
"On the contrary, there's always some poor devil who's gotten a flat tire. We have a tow service if you need it."
William leaned his elbows on the counter, and unable to contain his curiosity, asked:
"Is that why you decided to set up in the middle of nowhere?"
Exhaling cigarette smoke upward, making a whitish cloud that would spread in that small place, the young man laughed gutturally with narrowed eyes.
"No, it was luck, maybe. But I offered the idea to the owner."
"A bit ingenious."
"That's what I tell him, but he just grumbles that I'm a problem." He laughed with the ease of someone who can do so without it weighing on their soul. "Though he's not far from the truth. And he can't fire me because I'm the only one who helps him with this place."
With the last comment, William wanted to ask, presumptuous as it might be, which seemed to be drawn in his expression that the young man didn't take long to guess.
"I found this place just like you did."
A warmth, coming from a dormant corner of his body that seemed to ignite, rose up William's neck to his cheeks.
"You don't have to talk about it, don't worry."
"Do we have anything better to do?"
"Ha, in that, you're quite right." It escaped him consciously as he leaned back at the counter. "So, tell me, how did you end up here?"
Resting his hands and leaning a bit toward him, the young man adopted a posture of high shoulders as if he wanted to throw that story out of his mouth to rid himself of it, with a now challenging smile that curled at the edges of his lips.
"I was looking for a path and found myself in this place."
"Oh. An excellent simplification."
The young man laughed carelessly and turned to press some buttons on the dispensing machine.
"So now I help lost souls find their way, while I serve them coffee and listen to those internal sobs that only those sad expressions have to tell me," concluded the boy, circling the counter and quickly sitting down beside him. He rested an elbow on the polished wood, letting the cloth hang on his thigh, and by the way he stretched his feet on the chair in that bad posture, it spoke of his rough manners, but of a spirit and will as resolute as vigorous that William found curious.
"May I have the honor of your name?"
"My friends call me Sherly."
"Well, I feel honored that you consider me one." He extended his hand toward him and Sherly shook it. "William James Moriarty."
Sherly continued smoking calmly, tapping the ashtray to eliminate the extra ashes.
"And tell me, William James Moriarty, what has pushed you to this desolate place? You still haven't answered me."
"A broken-down car."
There was a little laugh as the smoke came out through his nose and the arch of his shoulders trembled with the gesture. Sherly looked ahead where the rain was now furiously hitting the glass windows, leaving the echo of the incessant sound of water bullets thundering on the roof.
"That's what many say, especially in these times. There's no one here to hear you: what's behind that melancholy in your charming scarlet eyes?"
William didn't feel stung by that barb and laughed at the last part.
"I have no story to tell. Just a university routine. Perhaps that's the burden?"
Receiving that answer, Sherly took another drag, narrowing his eyes slightly. William felt tempted by his calmness and carefully took the cigarette from his fingers to bring it to his own lips. The smoke warmed his lungs and he held it for a moment before releasing the gray mist in a breath of fire. He didn't like smoking; it wasn't his habit and he only did it when stressed. Just like now.
Being a professor at an early age gave him many flavors that enlivened his mood. Although he always had a serene personality, he had learned to handle anger and anxieties, but that didn't mean there wasn't a point where he felt them bothering him.
"I understand," Sherly spoke minutes later. "University is always a cocoon of anxieties. I left in my third year and dedicated myself to whatever came my way."
Holding the cigarette and looking at him sideways, William let out a whistle.
"And have you found the good fortune of a trade that pleases you?"
There was a formation of lips joining in fraternity and together making a practiced dance that entangled the most beautiful curve William had ever seen. Sherly glanced around the small place and then finished his survey by looking at him.
"Who knows? There aren't many customers and sometimes it's a bit lonely. And I consume the merchandise myself."
"Are there no criminals in the area?"
"None with enough balls in their pants. I've already taken care of some."
William let out a snort of laughter.
"I could come more often, though it's a bit far from my city."
"How kind, but it's not necessary. My brother comes to visit me from time to time. One doesn't stay in a barren and lonely place like this twice."
He said that last part with a melancholic tone, leaving a shadow in his words that left his expression without lines. It seemed an ancient sadness, naturalized in the depths of that navy blue of his eyes that no one navigated.
There was a sluggish pause that silenced the words. The young man rose from his seat, returning to the counter and poured himself another small cup of coffee. He filled William's glass a bit more, which he had barely tasted to warm up, and returned to his place, now leaving the pot between them.
After the comfortable silence, William decided to continue the conversation:
"You said you help people who feel lost find themselves, but aren't you the one who's still lost?" he asked, moving a little closer to him and pouring his words in a subtle tone.
Sherly blinked at his question. Then, he lit another cigarette which he left drifting on his finger for a moment before bringing it to his lips while furrowing his brow slightly.
"You're quite perceptive, my dear professor."
"Don't inflate my ego, please," William replied, sprinkling his words with the aftertaste of satire. "Guessing my profession also reveals yours to me."
"I see you already have it quite high, William James Moriarty. You don't need my help."
William fell prey to an involuntary laugh that brought his head below his shoulders, covering his mouth so as not to be rude. Sherly also laughed with him, giving congeniality to the truth disguised in that wordplay. After calming down, William extended his hand to take the glass that spat melancholic wisps of steam and took a sip of unsweetened coffee, awakening his attention for his inclination toward bitter things.
A moment later, the young man accompanying him added:
"Only like recognizes like."
"Maybe so. And how would you help me find myself, Sherly?"
"With a coffee and a cigarette, we can go to the end of the world." He made a gesture with his ivory fingers despite the tan on his face. "Let me clarify something, I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea. Perhaps you feel I've succumbed to resignation, and maybe I have; but it's not entirely a fatal ending, as I found a handsome guy who should call a tow truck before it gets later."
William had another smile consciously stretching his lips.
"My brothers will write to me when they're close, so I'm in no hurry to get wet, Sherly. But if you want to throw me out into the cold rain..."
"How dramatic!" Sherlock chuckled. "Your presence doesn't bother me; on the contrary, I enjoy it. Have another coffee, on the house. Since I'm not the owner, I can take those liberties."
"And where is your boss?" That information had been set aside from his curiosity, but now it seemed a bit indiscreet.
"He went for a walk. I only tend to the place because that old grouch doesn't like me and takes his journeys to avoid seeing me." There was again a sad look that clouded his expression. "Well, I can't blame him."
"And knowing that, you don't charge your only customer? Very bad management."
Their laughter was in unison.
"What if you pay me with something money can't buy?"
"I don't do free services with my tongue on sensitive male parts, which wouldn't be the first time they've been asked of me." William raised an amused eyebrow, since it was a terrible truth. Many students or even men had offered him that offensive proposal when it was discovered he wasn't interested in females. Seeing the surprise of his companion, whose lungs burst into a snort that almost choked on the smoke, he added: "I'm a professor, Sherly. I find students in compromising situations all the time."
"Oh goodness, no; here I would be the one who'd have to pay, not the other way around." He didn't seem to take his joke with great energy, but laughter danced in his eyes. "I've noticed that you've smiled, and I love how it looks on your face, so how about a photograph?"
William didn't think it was a bad deal.
"I suppose I don't see why not."
"You can then use your phone, mine must be waiting for me to find it."
Laughing softly, William pulled out his mobile. The photo was taken from the front, and Sherly, to his pleasant surprise, stood up approaching him and putting his arm around his waist. His touch was soft and he smelled of a mixture of oils retained in his clothes and sweet syrup impregnated in his skin. The cigarette smoke permeated them both, so his nose didn't register it, only a coffee perfume that gave him an impression of shelter.
They both smiled at the camera, and William thought he was the one who was winning. He had captured and immortalized the smile he had liked the most. He had always had that fixation with smiles and had seen all types: small ones with soft expressions, long and unrestrained ones that showed all the teeth, the cordial ones that barely parted the lips, or the ironic ones he always found in the unwary. Sherly's was a combination of all of them.
"Do you want me to send it to you?" asked William. Perhaps that way he could get his phone number.
"Maybe later," Sherly declared, leaning a little toward him, pushing his body and almost resting it on William's thigh. "Now I have another interest."
Suddenly, William felt the balm of flirtation and, instead of feeling overwhelmed, as always happened when someone broke through his barriers, he found himself smiling. Sherly took the rest of the ashen consumed cigarette and absorbed its last breath before placing the butt in the ashtray. It was then that he could notice a skull ring on his index finger that William couldn't help but brush with his finger, also sliding toward the back of the hand.
Sherly gave him a smile.
"A bit daring on your part, professor. Perhaps I'm longing for your company again."
"You started it, Sherly. Maybe I want to offer it and help with those accounting books that must be making nests with the dust."
"Don't ask me for work; I'm capable of giving it to you."
It couldn't be. William had let out another small laugh and couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a conversation so much. There was a pause, like in a graph where two lines meet at their exact point; crossed glances, smiles that coincided without the need for words.
"That must be what you tell all your customers, so I don't perceive a special line for me, Sherly," William said with a seductively raised eyebrow.
Sherly, who had already stood up and was resting his elbow on the counter, suddenly turned around giving him his back. He spoke raising his hand to the void, to the empty seat he had previously occupied.
"And tell me, customer whom William James Moriarty mentions and I am unable to see, but he must have special eyes; would you like a coffee or a cappuccino? Let me serve you..."
And he made as if to return to the counter, but, amid breathless laughter, William took his hand to stop his initiatives with a smile.
"Don't go there." He meant for him not to return behind the counter and be far from him. "I understand, Sherly. Stay here."
This time they were closer to each other, looking at each other with that lightness of being with someone who offers happiness to the heart. Sherly was a handspan away from being almost on top of him.
"You know? My theories were wrong when I rushed to a conclusion with few data points, I admit it." It was Sherly who broke the harmonious tension in the air. "I thought you were someone shy, but I see you're not. I'm this close to sitting you on that counter, William James Moriarty."
And he would allow it, of course. But he didn't say it openly.
"And what were the others, if I may have the pleasure of asking?" inquired William, drinking in the taste of a laugh that had given color to his deathly pale cheeks, with no desire to divert the conversation but moving it slightly away from such indecorous borders.
"Perhaps bad love again turning off the lights of a heart in a young mathematician," Sherlock responded, shrugging his shoulders, narrowing his eyes with that palpable serenity. "But I've discovered that it's just the resignation of an old soul."
William let out a little laugh.
"You say that because of my appearance?"
"Can you blame me?"
"Obviously. It's fateful to judge a book by its cover," he subtly mocked. "And what about you, Sherly? Do you enchant all your customers with that smile?"
"In these times, the hunting has been lamentable," he replied, laughing and approaching him again.
"Well..." William extended his hand and caressed his cheek cracked by the sun: "perhaps tonight you've had luck."
There wasn't much drama when their lips approached. They joined. And there was that slight collision that abandoned a tinkle in a cloister suffocated by heat and humidity. Sherly had soft lips, albeit a bit cold, which he didn't quite understand if he had been balancing hot things in his mouth.
William hadn't kissed anyone since he studied at university and discovered it wasn't the spell books had painted for him. He had been disappointed in many ways, and although he tried other times, none awakened any emotion in him. But this one.
God.
It accelerated his heart.
It awoke his anxiety.
It made him feel a tingling in his stomach.
It made him laugh when Sherly did too when their teeth collided, but they tried again, on a deeper axis. He closed his eyes and no longer heard the rain against the glass windows. He no longer heard the beep of the coffee machine or his own heart.
He just thought that Sherly was perhaps what he had been looking for and didn't know until he found him.
Some messages vibrated on his phone and the bubble burst. Sherly sighed against his lips.
"You must go..."
"They can wait." And he kissed him again, taking him by the neck to consummate those lips that handled curves that had entangled in his heart.
But the messages kept coming, and they had no choice but to separate. When checking his mobile with some annoyance, he read the messages.
Indeed, they had found his car.
"I must go."
Sherly nodded, his cheeks taking on a new color and a smile that pained William to see because he wanted to continue being a spectator.
"Be careful. It's raining and the ground is slippery. Don't speed up."
"Thank you, Sherly." He stood up and didn't know how shaking his hand seemed tormentous to him. "Maybe I'll come tomorrow."
"Don't come back, Liam." It was the first time he called him by a nickname. "Only people who want to die and find themselves come here."
"No wonder you don't have customers, Sherly."
Sherly let himself be carried away in the waters of a fragrant laugh, throwing his head back, exhibiting the lines of veins that William wanted to bite. He swallowed, clearing his throat. Promptly, when he regained his composure, Sherly approached him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
"Nostalgia has killed many. When you feel bad, come by here. A cigarette and a coffee, and company for those abandoned by the world."
"A cigarette and a coffee," William repeated, smiling.
"...and company for those abandoned by the world."
William didn't want to extend the farewell and didn't turn around to say goodbye because otherwise, he would never leave that place. Without looking at Sherly who smiled, waving his hand in the air.
He faced the onslaught of rain and the slaps of wind. He ran through the spirals of mud and rivers tinged with coffee, like the one he had drunk that had enchanted him to his soul. He brought an arm to his head so the rain wouldn't blind him.
Luckily, he managed to find his way, happy that he could come whenever he wanted and that he had found a friend in that vast world. The involuntary smile didn't leave his lips.
His brothers were under the protection of an umbrella, and in the company of Herder, the family mechanic. His car's lights were on, and that caught his attention.
When he arrived, Albert received him.
"Will, where were you? We were worried."
"How did you open the car?" he wanted to know.
"You left the door open, brother." Louis answered for Albert, joining his side to place him under the shelter of the umbrella.
"You're lucky they didn't take it, Will," his older brother pointed out, without inclination to scold.
There was a grimace on the professor's face. He should have been more careful.
"Did you discover what was wrong with it?"
Herder opened the car door and let out a melodious song muffled by the rain. He was a blind man with an abundance of intellect who didn't need sight to make mechanical diagnoses.
"I found no faults, young Will. It started without problems."
"Perhaps after resting it managed to start." That was William's reasoning.
"Could be," Albert admitted, nodding. "We'd better go. This place is dangerous."
William returned to the wheel, taking off his damp overcoat and tossing it onto the back seat. Herder got in with him, while Albert and Louis went to the second car that turned on its lights behind them, leaving a glow in the rearview mirror. He was the first to start, plunging into the road and maintaining the minimum speed as Sherly had warned him.
When the name appeared in his field of thought, a bite came before he could avoid it.
Right, he hadn't paid for the coffee. Although the photo was a negotiation, he had already told him sales weren't going so well.
"Herder, do you mind if I park further ahead? I forgot to pay the young man who attended to me while I was waiting for you."
"Don't worry about me, you don't stop on my account," he responded jovially, raising his hands.
Going at a slow pace, William drove for several minutes without finding the Lost Coffee sign that had been his guide.
He remembered the arch of trees that opened into an arch and led to the dirt path that led to the café. However, when he thought he had luck, parking at the edge of the road, he found that the place was dark and defeated by the claws of time. The windows were broken, the sign was turned off and consumed by the garments of mold. The letter C was hanging and gently hitting the metal from the gusts of wind, and the L wasn't there. Even the door was destroyed, and thanks to the lightning illuminating the sky, one could see a bit of the funeral interior.
Surprise consumed his face.
"Have you already gotten out, young William?"
Behind, Albert honked the horn, as a question, but William didn't understand.
"Here..."
And he pulled out his phone. He checked his Wi-Fi signal and, indeed, there was Lost Coffee's.
"Oh, you mean the abandoned café?" Herder wanted to know. "It went bankrupt years ago. There was a young man, drugged and drunk, who due to the rain lost control of his car, meeting his death by crashing into the café door. He also killed the only owner."
William's heart sank, and when he checked the gallery on his phone, he brought his hand to his mouth to contain his retching.
It was just him, smiling, in that abandoned café without lights, which could be seen in the background thanks to the flash. However, there was a glow behind him and the small mist of what appeared to be a smile.
It couldn't be.
William saw no need to tell anyone about this incident. They wouldn't believe him, and it would be a waste of energy. He investigated the event on his own and discovered that indeed, the young man who had died last year in a tragic accident was named Sherlock Holmes. The circumstances surrounding the case remained unclear; they had only determined that he had underestimated the rain, causing his car to crash into the establishment. One of the letters from the sign had fallen onto the car, and combined with the impact, had ultimately delivered the poor boy into the arms of death.
His older brother had paid compensation to the family who owned the establishment for the damages and a lifetime annuity for the death of the elderly man who couldn't protect himself from the impact. Two crosses were placed on the roadside, as many locals had spread rumors that the old man and the young man appeared at the café.
To ease his conscience, the following week, with terror coiling in his stomach and remembering the words of Sherly, or rather... Sherlock Holmes, he went to lay flowers.
The crosses stood in front of the windows, and the names were already fading from the humidity. The second time he went, he found a well-dressed man with a tall, athletic and herculean build, strong jaw, steely face, blue and particularly penetrating eyes that had lost none of the strength and activity of youth.
The man had already left two honorary wreaths. William placed his alongside them. They remained silent for a moment before the man, swallowing back tears that William didn't want to interrupt, spoke:
"Did you know my brother?"
"I don't know..." William answered honestly.
The brother needed no further explanation.
"Did you see him?"
"I think so..."
"I understand," was his terse monosyllabic response.
William gathered the courage to speak for the first time about that conversation suspended in his memory.
"He said you visited him often and that's why he didn't feel alone. That's why I decided to come too."
The man pressed his lips together. He knelt before his brother's cross and caressed the letters with his hand.
"I'll come more often, Sherly, I promise."
He sighed, his breath tangled in his throat, rising and then turning toward him to extend his hand.
"Mycroft Holmes."
"William James Moriarty."
"Perhaps my brother would have lived longer if he had met you earlier."
Tears streamed down William's face, and although he had never cried in front of anyone before, this time he broke down before a stranger, kneeling and releasing such pitiful laments that would have moved the stars.
Doesn't one find their love twice in the same place?
For two years, William visited the place where Sherly had died. He went to his grave several times but knew that he felt no traces of his presence there. It was in that café where he sometimes heard him calling.
Once, he brought his own coffee and smoked two cigarettes, leaving the third to burn in the ashtray as a tribute to those who were gone.
"A coffee and a cigarette, Sherly, that was the deal. But this time I smoked two, in honor of you."
A year later, when the rain lashed the trees and the road was dangerously slippery, he encountered that same pothole that had made the car jump. William remembered Sherly's warning.
He pulled over to the side, waiting for the rain to subside its spectral roar. He didn't want to take any chances.
The sensation gave him a nostalgic jolt, and although he knew it was a terrible idea, he took his umbrella and decided to walk to Lost Coffee. He could use the Wi-Fi at the establishment, which William later discovered Mycroft paid for to help those who got stranded on the road, kept behind a safe that no one had been able to break into.
The wind bit fiercely, and although he tried to cover himself, it was in vain, as he ended up soaked anyway.
He was approaching the establishment when the scarlet glow cast beams on the ground.
His breath caught in his throat, and he ran like he never had in his life to find the café in its most blessed form.
It couldn't be.
He tried to contain his tears and straightened his suit. His hand trembled as he touched the door handle and pushed gently, letting the bell tinkle.
Sherly was behind the counter.
"Oh, Liam," his face lit up. "It hasn't been long since your last visit."
It was true; William had left flowers the week before.
"I came for a coffee and a cigarette, Sherly."
He leaned on the counter and gave him a smile.
"I told you that one doesn't come to this place twice. Didn't I warn you about the rain?"
William shrugged, looking back at the door and at the storm breaking apart the road, understanding Sherlock's words.
"I was looking for a job as an accountant. Is the position still vacant?"
Sherly walked around the counter and approached him. His image was just as he remembered. When he caressed his cheek, his touch was cold, now equal to his own in brotherhood with death.
In front of the shattered window, a week later, there began to be three crosses.