Work Text:
William sat on the sofa with an expression that could make anyone think twice before speaking to her. Her usually composed and refined face was locked in a look that clearly warned, please don't ask. She'd been trying to ignore the pain since morning, waking with a heavy weight pressing low in her abdomen and a dull throbbing in her head, like a tiny hammer tapping from the inside. She'd swallowed some aspirin and tried to focus on the agency's financial report, but the letters on the paper seemed to dance and blur, pulsing in time with the ache beneath her stomach.
"You look pale today."
William lifted her head. Her eyes were sharp as ever, but her lips were dry. She saw Sherlock standing before her, worry written all over his face.
"I'm just tired, Sherly. Nothing to worry about."
Still, Sherlock didn't look convinced. He leaned in closer, frowning. "That doesn't explain why I can smell something metallic—"
William's glare cut him off instantly. "If you say one more word, I'll throw a knife at you."
They'd lived together long enough for time to lose its meaning. Yet Sherlock still struggled to understand the subtleties of the human body and emotion especially those of women. Faced with someone like William, he often felt like a man lost in a puzzle with no clear solution.
Even after all her disguises were stripped away, William remained a mystery. After years of living as a man, it had become more than just an act, but it was a second skin she wore without even realizing it. Sometimes she herself forgot where the line lay between the Lord of Crime and her true self.
The only thing that reminded her she was still bound by something beyond her control was the monthly cycle that came with frustrating regularity. William despised it because it forced her to confront her body's limits. She'd endured it for years without complaint even during the busiest days of her reign as the Lord of Crime. But after her fall from the London Bridge, after those three months teetering between life and death, her body was no longer the same. It felt as if every system inside her had grown fragile.
As she sat there, lost in thought and fighting the dull ache in her abdomen, Sherlock disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he carried a tray with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, a few soft biscuits, and a hot water bottle wrapped in velvet. He set it down carefully, moving like someone cautiously testing a new skill.
"I heard chamomile helps with cramps. And this—" he nodded to the bottle, "—for your stomach. I figured it's more efficient than sitting there grimacing."
William stared at him for a long moment, confusion and a flicker of warmth passing over her face. "When did you start learning things like this?"
"That aunt who often visits us. She told me how to take care of you."
They were living under new identities now as an English married couple who had come to New York to start anew. The neighbors greeted them as newlyweds. No one knew they had once stood on opposite sides of the law.
"I'll make sure to thank her," William said softly.
But Sherlock didn't look satisfied.
"What about me? Don't I deserve some praise too?"
He looked so hopeful, almost proud of himself like a child who'd just completed his first experiment without blowing up the lab. William couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips.
"Fine, fine. Thank you, Sherly."
"Your thanks should come in the form of a kiss, Liam."
Her cheeks flushed slightly. She leaned forward, brushed her fingers against his cheek, and pressed a quick kiss there.
"Happy now?"
"Very."
Sherlock looked utterly triumphant like someone who'd just won something important. William could almost swear she saw an imaginary tail wagging behind him, if humans could have tails.
She shook her head and leaned back against the sofa. But before the moment grew too tender, she added,
"For the next few days, I don't want you anywhere near me."
The detective's expression changed instantly, like a puppy scolded for climbing onto the bed.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to be sniffed at like that. If your sense of smell's as sharp as usual, you'd better keep your distance till next week."
"But—"
"No buts."