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Louis had been missing for three days after the mission.
William's pen was pressed against the last unmarked area on the London map, the nib blotting ink onto the paper. Albert swirled the red wine in his glass, though the liquid sloshed more erratically against the sides than usual.
They both tacitly avoided mentioning the worst possible outcome.
Sherlock wove through the alleys that had already been searched by MI6, mostly expecting to find nothing.
After all, this place was a good seventeen miles from where Louis was last seen, so he held little hope.
But as Sherlock entered an inconspicuous narrow lane, the dim streetlight caught a familiar silhouette in his peripheral vision at the corner... and that faint glimpse of gold.
Sherlock quickened his pace until he stood directly facing him.
"Louis?" Sherlock's Adam's apple bobbed, and he narrowed his eyes slightly, as if confirming. Ever since the bridge incident, Sherlock hadn't seen Louis with his fringe down at all.
The young man before him was drenched, dark red blood mingled with rain clung to his black coat, and his hair, soaked through with either blood or rain, was matted into strands plastered against his cheeks.
Sensing Louis's poor condition, Sherlock couldn't afford to stand on ceremony and spoke bluntly.
"Finally found you. I'll take you back. There's a carriage just outside the alley."
Louis stood his ground, not moving. His wet hair covered half of his pale face.
"...Could you take me to 221B for the night instead?"He remained silent for a long moment before finally replying.
"I'll go back tomorrow." Perhaps feeling Sherlock's strange gaze, Louis added.
While Louis spoke, Sherlock noticed his breathing was uneven, as if deliberately suppressing some physical discomfort. He wasn't opposed to Louis's request, but 221B was still a fair carriage ride away.
The night was deep, and finding a clinic willing to take patients at this hour would be difficult. Getting him back to Liam was the only way to prevent his wounds from worsening.
"Liam and the others have practically turned London upside down. Do you want them to pull all-nighters until they've scoured the whole of Britain?"Sherlock took a deep breath and said.
Seeing Louis sway slightly, he knew the remark had hit its mark.
Clearly, Louis understood his brothers' anxiety, but he just turned his head away, nervously fiddling with his hair to better cover half his face, his gaze fixed on his blood-and-rain-soaked clothes.
Louis really didn't want to meet Sherlock's eyes, not when he was in such a wretched state. He sighed softly and slowly replied to Sherlock, "...In my current state, it's not good for me to see my brother."
Louis's voice was so faint it seemed it might dissipate in the air the next second. If Sherlock hadn't been standing right beside him, it would have been hard to catch his words. Sherlock frowned. Was he still being stubborn even in such a bad state?
Reaching this point in the conversation, Sherlock couldn't bother with excessive politeness anymore.
"...Hah? They're your brothers, right? Is there really a need to be so concerned about appearances?"
Perhaps thinking Louis wouldn't take it in, Sherlock frowned almost imperceptibly and suddenly added,
"Liam certainly wouldn't care about how you look when you see him! What are you so worried about anyway?"
The moment his brother's name was mentioned, Louis's body trembled slightly. If it were anyone else casually speaking for William, acting as if they knew him so well, Louis would probably think, 'What right do they have to talk to me like that, pretending to understand my brother?' But the one saying it was Sherlock.
Sherlock was the man his brother had chosen, the one his brother trusted most, the one who had saved his brother.
Since his brother had once entrusted the weight of the entire world to Sherlock, how could he, Louis, question that trust?
Perhaps he should believe that what Sherlock thought was also what his brother would think. That his brother wouldn't care what state he was in when they met?
Sherlock didn't say anything more. He knew Louis, like William back in America years ago, needed a little time.
Tonight, Louis's thinking time was exceptionally long... He suddenly felt Sherlock was right. His brother wasn't like those nobles, all glamour on the outside but rotten within. He wouldn't be hung up on meaningless appearances.
After who knows how long, the steady patter of rain was finally broken.
"...Alright. I'll go back with you."
