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To put it simply, he had a fate befitting him.
The man was a social recluse. Maybe at first he had been invited to the various parties and gatherings hosted by other members of the higher class. But over years of countless declined invites, those around him gradually put a cease to it.
A wicked man, truly. He had no reputation but that of a cruel employer, unless including the frequent rumours of improper behavior regarding young women in the royal ballet.
To the surprise of few, the rumours were indubitably true. Countless women had come to complain in their adulthood at various parties- none of which the man had been invited. None in words, but rather simple comments. The kind that protected their image while working to gradually diminish his. It was about all they could do. All within their power.
“Baron George Hillsphere.” William muttered as he took a step back from the body crumpled on the floor. To be dealt with later when the day maids came to clean and inevitably called for Scotland yard to investigate
It hadn't been hard to get to the man, not in the slightest. He had no night staff in the manor, paranoid they would watch him if given the opportunity. As such, the home was practically free reign. Having deemed it to be a solo mission, William came to fulfill it alone.
Taking the pocket square from the man’s suit pocket and wiping the blood from his sword, he breathed a small huff. He walks toward the office desk -now covered in scattered papers and cigarette ash- and leans against the front, pulling his cigarette case from his pocket. Deciding for the occasional indulgence.
He had never been one to enjoy smoking, but he supposed a gentleman must have a hobby. And it was a good way to relax after thinking and performing too much for too long. A form of respite if you will.
Lighting his cigarette and taking a breath, he takes a moment to reflect. Is this really what it takes for reform to come? When he makes his final sacrifice, will England truly change for the better?
Of course it will, he decided. After all, debating will have no impact this late in the process. And he was rarely ever wrong at all. No point dwelling on meaningless hypotheticals such as this.
He hadn't wanted to die, but he understood it was the true and final last step. The only way to truly conclude his mission. And at this point, the blood on his hands was too immense to wash away. It was only fair he pay the price for his sins.
Just as he reached the butt of his cigarette -and of course the end of his reflections- he heard a faint click to the office door.
Reflexively, William grabbed his pistol and pointed it at the door. He came alone and his intel stated the baron never had employees in the evening hours. Considering the facts, whoever was entering would not be anyone expected.
Unless of course…
“Why if it isn't the Lord of Crime himself! It's always a pleasure to see you Liam.”
Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
William couldn't help but smile. A reflex really, he couldn't help himself when Mr. Holmes was around; him being the only man who would match him in intellect and wit. And he couldn't ignore he was quite entertaining in his eccentricities.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to find me here” He calmly stated, gently setting his pistol upon the desk.
The bluenette laughed, taking gradual steps towards William at the desk. “It would be a shame to take any time at all! You did call me here yourself, to state the facts.”
A decision William deeply regretted at the very least.
“Knowing you I'm sure you had to have depleted every other option before coming to me. So do tell, what came to be so great that the Lord of Crime himself can't do it alone?” Sherlock said, finally arriving at the desk. Choosing to lean just beside William.
William breathed a deep sigh, gathering himself up for what would prove to be a rather humbling admission.
“As I'm sure you've gathered, in order for my plan to work in its utmost capacity, the figurehead of the movement can't persist once it comes to a close.”
“Such a realization is child's play, Liam. Pray, don't mock me with such underestimations.” he jokes.
“Then I figure you know why I've called you here.” William breathes, reaching the window overlooking the Thames, a blood red moon reflecting in its waters. Taking a moment to gaze out before pivoting to look Sherlock in the eye.
“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me such yourself.” He says, moving from the desk and once more finding himself beside William.
He always had the tendency to notice the small details. It was what his career was built on after all. Unfortunately, noticing Williams' typically collected composure begin to falter through an uncontrollably quaking hand made him wish he had not had such a skill.
Clearly this wasn't easy for Liam. Calling him here like this, having a discussion beyond that of wits. The man hardly spoke to others unless through his carefully crafted persona. This matter was apparently far from trivial.
“I had debated for a while whether or not any statement should be made at all. All reality seemed to point to unfavorable outcomes.” He muttered. “I could just conduct the plan as it had been created. Commit the murders, make a practically complete confession, and die to bring the movement to an overall close.”
Sherlock noted his composure continued to fall.
The blonde continued in attempt to maintain it.
“However, despite these truths,” he says now clenching his fist. “I have decided to tell you regardless.”
Sherlock wanted ever so badly to interject, seeing William so blatantly uncomfortable had rendered him upset in a way inexplicable. (Well, he could think of one way, but had determined months prior to ignore such a topic.)
William continued. “From our first introduction I have been inexplicably fascinated by you. I had considered the possibility of it being the result of my first introduction to an intellect comparable to that of my own.”
He faltered before continuing, hesitant to go on. Closing his eyes and breathing in an attempt for composure.
It didn't go unnoticed.
Sherlock, being unable to take any more, reached for William’s hand, placing his atop William's closed fist. Not to stop him, but just to provide comfort.
“However, I have come to terms with how this is not just simple interest. But it falls rather along the lines of..." he paused, "infatuation.” He glances up to search for any sign of disgust or ill content from Sherlock, but is surprised to find a look of affection instead. He looks away, back to the rushing waters of the Thames.
“Will” Sherlock states, loud compared to the silence of the darkened room, but gentle nonetheless. “Can you look at me?” opening William's clenched fist to hold his hand.
William is hesitant to do so, but chooses to nonetheless.
Their eyes meet, a mutual sense of affection emanating endlessly from both of them before Sherlock moves his hand out of William's. Moving it to rest gently upon his cheek, pausing for reassurance from Will as his breath hitches, waiting for something more- anything more.
Taking this as confirmation, he slowly moves his lips towards those of the other's, breath quickening from a rush of excitement and anxiety before gently kissing William one small time.
Pulling back slowly to see his response, Sherlock is met with a gaze composed of equal parts surprise and adoration. Both of which completely ephemeral.
Left with no time for reaction, Holmes is suddenly once more lip to lip with Moriarty, much more aggressive this time. A mutual fight for dominance through their reciprocal affections. A continuous pushing and pulling as the moonlight illuminated the two through the window. In this moment there was no one else but just them. There was no need for Moriarty to continue, it was apparent the feeling was mutual.
Eventually pausing for breath, the two came to the mutual understanding that despite what could have been between them both, the demands of their circumstances left them with no option but to leave it at that.
William took a step back, hesitant, but there regardless. An acknowledgement of how they needed to stop before anything got out of hand. Before minds got changed.
Understanding the message beneath the action, Sherlock just as hesitantly moved away from him. Step by step to the door. Before being halted just as he reached the handle.
A small utterance from the blonde, almost unheard. “If only this had been different.”
Turning from the waist up to address him directly in return, a pause. Before a small, “It still can be.”
Opening the door and stepping outside, slowing to make one last regard.
“I love you, Liam.”
With a gentle click as the door sealed shut.