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The carriage rode through the streets of London, inside Sherlock and Fred were seated opposite each other, idly keeping their thoughts to themselves.
The meeting with Mycroft had been a success in confirming a crucial truth, William James Moriarty, currently confined to the identity of ‘Scott’ and hidden away, was chafing. He was not content to exist as a memory in a quiet corner of England.
Sherlock had seen that familiar, desperate flicker of strategic fire in his eye, the same drive that had carried him through the three years of recovery in New York. Knowing this, that the true, William was struggling to break free, had only motivated the detective further.
The silence had lasted for several full streets, before Sherlock severed it.
“There is something troubling you,” he mumbled, his gaze drifting lazily to the younger man.
Fred sighed, resting his elbow on the seat. “There is a lot on my mind.”
“Is it Liam?”
"Much like his brother's, I believe his safety is paramount," Fred replied, his tone laced with a familiar anxiety.
"I agree."
“So then is this such a good idea?” Fred pressed, the question heavy with doubt. “Involving him further in matters? I want to see that version of William… the one you described, the one unburdened by this world, but at what cost?"
Sherlock smiled to himself, “You saw his reaction back there. He would not be content to sit by the sidelines. No matter what restrictions are holding him in place, he will find a way to break free. I think it’s just better if we’re all there to support him, rather than trying to chase him once he’s already gone.”
Fred offered a slow nod. “You care about him.”
“Obviously. There are a lot of people who do,” Sherlock replied.
“Yes, but you care for him in a different way,” Fred countered, his eyes sharp.
He had watched the unique dynamic between the consulting detective and the former Lord of Crime closely, particularly during the precarious period following their return to London.
There was a pause.
“What do you mean?”
“You care, but you also actively know when he’s in distress, when something isn’t aligning, when he’s unhappy without him having to say a word,” Fred specified. “Back in that office, you knew exactly how restless he was before he even spoke.”
“Yes, living with somebody for a long period of time can make you very in tune with them,” Sherlock said, defensively as he leaned back in his seat.
“But it bothers you,” Fred insisted, refusing to allow the detective to categorise it under simple deduction.
“Yes, it does,” Sherlock confessed, the words heavy with a long-held frustration. “It bothers me that we seem totally alright with hiding Liam away because he is a ‘criminal,’ but he isn’t. Not entirely.”
Fred hesitated, unsure how to respond.
Sherlock cut him off, his voice rising with uncharacteristic passion. “I mean he is, by definition- but is that all we see in him? A title that must be incarcerated or suppressed?”
“No,” Fred acknowledged immediately.
“Exactly. Fear shouldn’t hold us back, and it most definitely wouldn’t hold Liam back from pursuing what he believes is right, now.”
Sherlock looked out the small window, He longed for the version of the professor he had known across the Atlantic, the one burdened by sin, yes, but free of the expectation of atonement through sacrifice, the one who smiled more genuinely.
“We should almost be there,” Fred noted, glancing at the passing streets. He felt a slight easing of his tension, not just because of the destination, but because of Sherlock’s unwavering resolve.
“Yes. And don’t worry, you should know I won’t let anything bad happen to Liam.”
Fred felt a little lighter at the firm vow. “It’s why I trust you. That and William seems to have faith in you too.”
Sherlock smiled faintly at the image of the professor. “We’ve been through a lot. I couldn’t imagine my life without him.”
Fred raised an eyebrow, a knowing look crossing his face. “When you say things like that, it makes me believe you are more than just his friend.”
“In a way I am." Sherlock shrugged, attempting to sound casual about the matter.
The carriage came to a halt outside John’s temporary residence but the pause remained between the both of them as if Fred was contemplating the detective's answer.
“You should tell him how you feel about him,” Fred suggested, gathering his jacket.
“That wouldn’t go well,” Sherlock muttered, reaching for the handle of the carriage door.
“Why not? You’d have to be blind not to see that he felt the same way about you,” Fred countered easily.
Sherlock froze, his hand hovering over the handle. His eyes widened slightly. “So you also saw the way he was looking at me back there?”
Fred shook his head, mildly exasperated. “Why are you getting excited about that? Just tell him.” He slid out of the carriage.
Sherlock stepped out after him, handing coins to the driver. “There’s no need to ruin our relationship as it is. It already functions perfectly well.”
“Ruin it? I doubt you'd do that.” Fred stated, turning back from the steps of the house, his expression surprisingly serious.
“Why are you so encouraging of this?” Sherlock asked, slightly bewildered. This was far afield from the concerns of MI6 and international conflicts.
Fred merely shrugged, moving toward the door. “You make William happy.”
The simple truth of the statement hung there. Sherlock glanced down at the cobblestones, the noise of London fading into the background as he considered the sentiment.
Perhaps, talking about feelings wouldn’t be so difficult after all, especially if the objective was the preservation of William’s happiness. He followed Fred through the door, his mind temporarily overtaken by a heart that had begun to beat wildly.
Covent Garden's morning market was as busy as ever. Sherlock moved quietly through the crowd. His eyes scanned the stalls and the people, he had been searching for a particular ingredient.
Then, he saw something. Not the ingredient, but a familiar head of dyed black hair. The figure, dressed in respectable but unremarkable clothes, wore his usual glasses and carried a basket.
"Sherly?"
The voice, carried over the market noise, seemingly surprised. Sherlock turned, a rare, soft smile gracing his lips.
"Liam."
The disguised man offered a faint, teasing smile in return. "That's Scott to you."
"No one is paying attention," Sherlock reassured, his voice low, instantly dismissing the facade. His gaze, however, lingered on the basket clutched in the professor’s hand. Inside were a carefully selected array of vegetables, milk and a loaf of bread.
"Your brothers are sending you out for groceries now?"
There was a hint of disapproval in his tone, his brow arching. He didn't like the idea of William’s brilliant mind being confined, even for his own safety.
William blinked, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before he shook his head. "No, this was my excuse to go out today. I promised them I would be fine... they worry, naturally." His tone was gentle and almost apologetic.
The detective frowned at that. Without another word, he gently took the basket from the professor’s grasp. His fingers brushed William's, a fleeting spark.
"Then allow me to accompany you."
William’s lips twitched, a faint ripple of amusement showing. "Surely having London's famous detective with me will only attract people's attention more than if I were by myself."
"They'll be looking at me,"
"And then they'll look at the person you're with and realise, 'Oh, that's not Doctor Watson'," William chuckled softly, "Truly, I didn't mean to interrupt your day. Were you busy?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Hardly. I was here to look for some more ingredients for an experiment, nothing of importance. I'm glad I ran into you, actually. There's something I need to tell you."
The mention of an unspoken 'something' made William tense. The teasing tone vanished from his voice, replaced by a tightening dread he could neither name nor silence. His thoughts began racing ahead of Sherlock’s words, filling the quiet with possibilities he didn’t want to consider.
He froze, his good eye darkening, the calm facade briefly faltering.
"I think I might know..." His voice was barely a whisper now, the market around them suddenly feeling too loud.
"You know?" Sherlock asked, a hint of genuine surprise, quickly followed by relief. He placed a hand over his heart, "Oh, good. I thought this was going to be difficult… but let's go somewhere quiet.”
With the detective still holding the basket, they began to walk. The market faded behind them, the stalls giving way to quieter side streets, then to a small park.
As they walked, Sherlock glanced at the man by his side. The glasses, the dark hair, the slight scar barely visible from this angle. This was Liam, yes, but not the free spirit he’d known in New York. That Liam, though burdened by his sins and his own mind, had been less restricted, his brilliant intellect not confined to the shadows. An ache settled in Sherlock's chest, a longing to see that unburdened light in his eye again.
"It's about the tension between nations, isn't it?" William murmured, breaking the comfortable silence, his tone resigned, yet firm. "And what you believe I should do."
Sherlock paused, turning fully towards him as they reached a secluded area of the park. He gently placed the basket on a nearby bench. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before settling on the professor's shoulder, a reassuring weight.
"I suppose in some ways it is about that yes," Sherlock confirmed, his voice low and earnest. “But it isn't only that. There's something else I-”
“I understand,” William sighed, leaning subtly into the touch. “You think I’ve been reckless lately.”
“Reckless?”
He offered a bitter, self-deprecating smile. “I’ve been pushing, I know it. I am not exactly inconspicuous, despite the dye and the glasses. You’re here to remind me to slow down.”
“Liam- that’s not what-” Sherlock began, shaking his head.
But William was determined, speaking over him. “But I should tell you firmly, I have no intention of stepping down. No intention of hiding away, if I can help it.”
He met the intense blue of Sherlock’s eyes, a defiant spark in his own.
Sherlock stared at the professor, completely derailed. This is going terribly wrong.
“So please,” William continued, his voice hardening with the effort of self-control. “If you’re about to tell me I should be more careful or that I should restrict myself further, I already know. I’ve been told. I don’t wish to hear it from you as well.”
“That isn’t what I was going to say.” Sherlock frowned deeply and reached for William’s hand, lacing their fingers together.
William glanced down to their joined hands. “But it’s true, I have been reckless.”
“I’m not scolding you,” the detective insisted.
“You should be,” the professor countered, pulling his hand back slightly, though Sherlock held firm. “I should not be out here. The trip to the market, even this walk with you, is pushing the boundaries of what’s considered safe.”
“You’re misunderstanding,” Sherlock murmured, stepping closer. “I wasn’t going to tell you to hide or be cautious.”
“Of course you were. Why else would we be in this quiet corner with nobody in sight?” William’s voice came out slightly strained. “You think I don’t recognise the expression people wear just before they tell me what I should and shouldn’t be doing?”
“Liam,” Sherlock whispered, his grip tightening gently. “This conversation isn’t about restrictions.”
“It doesn’t matter,” William cut in, voice suddenly cold and distant. “If you’re going to tell me what I already know, then spare us both the speech. I’ll stay out of sight. I’ll behave. I’ll be the ghost I’m supposed to be... until I simply cannot any longer."
Sherlock’s heart sank, a heavy weight in his chest. “That’s the complete opposite of what I wanted to say.”
William, momentarily silenced by the depth of true distress in the detective’s voice, finally looked up, his defenses momentarily lowered.
“What did you want to say?”
Sherlock stepped even closer, eliminating the space between them. “You are the last person I want hidden away.”
William’s breath hitched, the unexpected reassurance breaking through the wall he had built.
“Remember New York?” Sherlock asked, his voice softening, slipping his arms around his waist gently.
“We’re not in New York now,” William replied breathlessly, the reality of their current constraints pressing in.
“Yes, but close your eyes for just a moment and think about it,” the detective whispered, his lips near the professor’s ear.
William allowed his eyes to close, shutting out the oppressive grey of London for just a moment.
“Remember those mornings together?” Sherlock prompted, his chin resting lightly on the professor’s dark hair.
“The bitter scent of your cheap black coffee?” William smiled at the memory, the tension easing slowly from his shoulders.
“Yes, and the way we didn't have to think or plan. We could just leave our apartment whenever we felt like it,” Sherlock continued, painting the picture with careful detail. “No aliases, just the next adventure awaiting us.”
“The freedom,” William whispered, a sense of loss mingling with the sweetness of the memory.
“Mhm… and the smile you’d give me when I returned from a case. When you saw me in the doorway and knew I’d made it home safe.”
The professor's eyes remained closed, but the smile on his lips was genuine, relaxed, and perfectly reflected the man Sherlock knew and loved.
“See, this is the Liam I want to see again,” Sherlock said, lifting a hand to his cheek gently. “My Liam.”
William opened his eyes, noticing the detective staring at him with a loving intensity. The look wasn't pity, and it certainly wasn't a warning.
“So then, if you’re not here to warn me, what did you want to tell me?”
Sherlock shifted his arms, holding William steady, his own gaze stern.
“I wanted to tell you that Fred agrees,” he began, “We need your mind, Liam. Not hidden away, but active and out in the open where I can see you. The world is changing too fast for you to simply sit and wait.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a quiet promise.
“I wanted to tell you that while the world is on the edge of war, I refuse to let you become a ghost again, hiding in the shadows of someone else’s decision. I need to know you are safe, but I also need to know that you are you, utilising that beautiful, terrifying mind you possess.”
Sherlock looked deep into William’s eyes, the moment of an absolute confession.
“To tell you that I don’t love the ‘ghost.’ I love the man who pushes boundaries and acts selflessly for those in need and if it is reckless for you to be beside me, then let us be reckless together. Because I will not, under any circumstances, allow you to walk this path of atonement alone, or bound by chains of fear that others have imposed.”
He paused, touching the scar near William’s eye with tenderness.
“I want to plan our next move, not to tell you to slow down.”
William trembled, the sudden weight of acceptance and trust crippling his composure. His breath hitched in his throat.
“I-” William’s fingers tightened around Sherlock's wrist. “I am sorry.”
“What for?” the detective questioned,
“For assuming the worst of you. For thinking you’d come to… contain me. I’ve been told to ‘be careful’ so many times lately that I suppose I started hearing it even when you were not saying it.” A fragile, self-mocking curl touched his lips. “I should have known better with you.”
Sherlock’s stern expression melted into a gentle concern, and he brushed his thumb along the mathematician’s cheek, pushing the glasses back into place gently.
“You don't have to apologise for that.”
“I know that you care for me, I never doubted that,” William clarified with urgent need, fearing any misunderstanding of their bond.
There was a heavy pause.
“But love?” William whispered, gazing up at the detective, his eyes wide with bewilderment. “That is not a word I’ve… ever used for myself. Not a word I was certain could apply to me. Not after everything I’ve done.”
Sherlock's expression shifted again, becoming aching and fiercely protective.
“I didn't realise caring could mean wanting me beside you... just as I am."
“Of course I want you as you are,” Sherlock affirmed, his voice firm.
William felt the last of his resistance crumble. He leaned closer, the truth bubbling up, ready to spill.
“Sherly, I-”
“Holmes!”
The single shout burst through the intimate bubble, shattering the silence and the moment.
Both men froze. William reacted first. He loosened his grip on the detective’s wrist, seamlessly stepping back. He snatched the basket from the bench, turning to slip out of the park and into the street. He dipped his head in a brief apology for the hasty retreat.
“Liam-” Sherlock whispered, his hand reaching out reflexively, wanting to go after him, but the shout was closer now.
“Sherlock, are you even bloody listening? Don't you hear me shouting?” Lestrade’s voice was strained and ragged as he approached the bench.
Sherlock exhaled sharply, jaw clenching as William’s silhouette disappeared between the trees, blending instantly with the flow of pedestrians. He felt the intense, burning heat of frustration.
He turned to the Inspector with the expression of a man who’d just been violently pulled from a profound dream and thrown in front of a heavy, oncoming carriage.
“What?”
Lestrade blinked, leaning forward, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
“Well- sorry for interrupting whatever that intensely emotional encounter was, but we’ve got a situation.”
“Handle it,” Sherlock said immediately, turning back toward the direction William had taken.
Lestrade stared. “Handle it? You’re joking, right? Murders don’t solve themselves.”
“I’m certain there are plenty of officers with functional eyes. Use one,” Sherlock retorted, his tone cold.
“Oh, for gods- Sherlock, it’s not that simple. The Commissioner specifically asked for you. This is highly delicate.”
“And I am specifically unavailable.”
Lestrade folded his arms across his chest. “You’re sulking.”
“I don’t sulk.”
“You do when you get dragged from something you actually care about,” the Inspector countered.
Sherlock’s eyes flickered with annoyance. “Unless the corpse has gotten up and walked away, I assure you I am busy.”
“Actually, it did! The body is missing!” Lestrade explained, throwing his hands up in defeat.
The absurdity of the claim momentarily pierced the detective’s fury. Sherlock lowered his gaze, running a hand through his long, loose hair.
“Fine... I’ll glance at the case, but then I'm leaving. Give me the details.”
Lestrade immediately began to list the details of the case, the victim’s identity, the scene of the crime, the baffling absence of the deceased, as they walked toward the park gates.
But Sherlock was not listening entirely. His thoughts clung stubbornly to William and the unspoken confession.
It was important that neither of them acted suspiciously or revealed too much, especially when the police were involved.
He would find him soon.
It was early evening by the time the detective finally managed to appease Lestrade and he fully expected William to be long gone, hidden away in the safety of the exports building where he currently resided.
But when he rounded the corner onto Baker Street, he saw a familiar figure perched on the doorstep outside 221B. The way his head was tilted slightly, observing the empty street. It was most definitely William.
The sight softened Sherlock significantly. He approached slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing.
“As you can see,” Sherlock said softly, pulling his keys from his pocket, “I am not currently taking clients.”
William turned his head and he offered a small, knowing smile. “A shame. I’ve been waiting here for a while. I feel as though you owe me your services for making me wait, Mr Holmes.”
“Oh? Is that so?” Sherlock grinned, fumbling slightly with his keys.
William picked up his basket and moved to stand. “It’s only fair.”
Sherlock laughed and managed to unlock the door, ushering them both into the warm, familiar darkness of the hallway. The minute the door clicked shut, William broke the fragile moment unexpectedly.
He moved forward, his good eye meeting blue as he spoke the words he had been holding back for a long time.
“I love you.”
The detective almost tripped over his own feet on the bottom stair. He held a hand out to steady himself on the banister, his breath catching.
“A little warning next time?”
William reached out, not hesitating this time, and tugged at Sherlock's sleeve. “I just want you to... no, I need you to know that. We had been interrupted before, and you had said it so casually.”
“Believe me, I was debating on keeping this to myself.” Sherlock admitted, a sense of adoration washing over him.
“Why would that even be a debate? When have we ever kept things from each other?” William asked as his hand slid down to intertwine their fingers
“Well, actually-”
“I mean recently!” The professor tugged him closer. “It does not matter now.”
Sherlock met his gaze, and the last of his resistance vanished. He practically melted, stepping fully into William’s space.
“It doesn’t,” he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper as his hand cupped his cheek.
“Liam, you don’t have to follow your brother’s orders,” the detective insisted.
“I know.”
“You don’t even have to follow my brother’s orders, and yet you still do…”
“Director Mycroft grants me a certain measure of freedom,” William replied. “I’m grateful for that.”
“A certain measure,” Sherlock scoffed. “Say the word, and we’ll catch the next boat back to America.”
William smiled faintly at the thought. “And spend the rest of our days in domestic bliss? You’d grow restless.”
“When it comes to you, I’ve never had to worry about that.”
“Oh? Unless my attention wanders elsewhere.” William raised an eyebrow.
“Then I’d be terribly bored,” Sherlock pouted.
A soft chuckle escaped William. “They need our help here, Sherly. You heard the Director- together, we’ve made real progress with MI6. Britain is safer for it.”
“At the cost of your happiness.”
“I am happy,” William said.
Sherlock pulled back, studying his face as though reading every subtle movement.
“You answered too quickly- that suggests denial. But your lips are curved just enough to show mild amusement… and yet there’s distance in your eye. I know what you look like when you’re truly happy. This isn’t it.”
William exhaled softly and brushed past him, heading upstairs.
The detective sighed and followed him into 221B, watching as William set down his hat and slipped off his jacket.
“It feels as though you’re the only one who truly understands me,” William murmured.
“Perhaps because I’m the only one thinking about you, not just how to protect you from absolutely everything,” Sherlock said, gesturing around the room.
“…They think so little of me,” William replied quietly.
“No- they’re afraid of losing you again. That’s only natural, they are your brothers they will come around eventually.”
William sank onto the sofa, looking worn and defeated. “I know… but I am capable of taking care of myself.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them,” Sherlock huffed, dropping back onto the sofa beside him.
“At least I have you in my corner.” William let his head fall against Sherlock’s shoulder.
Sherlock rested his own head lightly against his and smiled to himself. “Always. I couldn’t bear to see you unhappy.”
After a few moments William lifted his head and reached up, tilting Sherlock’s chin toward him. He studied his face for a moment before pressing their lips together in a desperate kiss. One he hoped conveyed everything he could not quite say.
“Does that make you happy?” Sherlock whispered once they parted for air.
“Immensely,” William replied, and drew him back in without hesitation, capturing his lips once more.
Sherlock shifted, easing William down against the sofa as he leaned over him. “Then, for now, forget about everything else… just focus on me.”
There was a brief pause.
William let out a quiet breath, his arms slipping around Sherlock’s neck. “Say it again. Properly, this time.”
Sherlock blinked in confusion for a moment. Then understanding dawned, and a small, fond smile touched his lips.
“I love you, Liam.”
At last, William’s mind seemed to still. He gazed up at the detective, warmth spreading through him entirely. The restrictions placed upon him suddenly felt distant, almost unreal in the presence of the one man who allowed him simply to exist as himself and the world beyond 221B, with all its judgment and hatred faded into nothing at all.
“And I you… obviously.”
“Obviously.” Sherlock let out a soft laugh before capturing his lips once more.
The path ahead would be difficult. There would be obstacles to overcome and dangers to face. But no matter how hard things became, they had each other. They had promised to walk side by side, and that promise remained strong.