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Knock, knock!
“Liam,” Sherlock called through the bathroom door. “You’d better not have fallen asleep in there again.”
No response.
“Alright, I’m coming in. It’s my turn anyway,” he grumbled, turning the knob.
He pushed the door open—and sure as the tide, William was dozing in the bathtub. His glistening scarlet tail flopped uselessly over the edge, water lapping gently at his skin as his chest rose and fell.
Sherlock sighed and knelt beside the tub, nudging William’s shoulder.
“Hey, Liam. Time to wake up.”
Blond lashes fluttered as William surfaced from his nap.
“Hm? Sherly?”
“You’ve been in here nearly an hour and a half,” Sherlock told him, the back of his hand stroking softly down William’s arm, passing over a puckered scar. “Your scales are starting to dry out.”
“Oh.” He blinked the sleep from his eyes and pushed himself upright, water shifting around him. “It must be your turn. Here—I’ll get out.”
Sherlock helped haul him onto the lip of the tub before reaching for the towel set aside and wrapping it around him. Slowly, as the cloth soaked up the last of the damp, William’s tail began to ripple, the scales shifting unevenly beneath the towel.
He let out a broken sound, biting down on his lower lip.
Sherlock moved in at once, cupping his face in both hands and pressing their foreheads together.
“I know, Liam—just breathe through it…”
William’s hands came up to squeeze his as he exhaled sharply.
“Almost done,” Sherlock murmured, gently brushing their noses together.
Finally, William’s shoulders dropped and he slumped into Sherlock’s chest, his head coming to rest against his collarbone. He sighed as the last of the pain and discomfort left his body.
“Mm—give me a moment. It stings if I walk too soon.”
“I know,” Sherlock said, pressing a kiss into his still-damp hair. “Take your time.”
It was another minute before William made a move to stand, his knees still weak and unsteady. Sherlock kept his arms around him as they stepped away from the tub, securing the towel tighter around his shivering shoulders.
William pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away, only to lift his hands to Sherlock’s shirt, undoing the buttons down the front.
“I swear,” he said, “as soon as we can, we’re getting a bigger bathtub. I want to be able to get in with you.”
“Done,” Sherlock agreed, shrugging out of his shirt and starting on his trousers.
William sat on the closed lid of the toilet as Sherlock shed the rest of his clothes.
“Our families would have sea cows if they saw the way we live…”
Sherlock glanced back at him as he lowered himself onto the same edge William had occupied only minutes before.
“They’d also have a war.”
The bathroom fell silent.
“Sorry,” Sherlock muttered after a moment. “I know you miss your brothers.”
“I do,” William said softly.
He let out a quiet breath, then shook his head.
“You should get in, Sherly. You’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
Sherlock nodded and finally eased himself into the cramped tub. The moment his skin touched the water, relief washed over him. The itch that had been crawling beneath his skin all day finally eased, soothed by the return to his natural element.
The shift took only moments. Legs he could never quite grow used to gave way, fusing into a single length as his tail reformed beneath the surface. Scales—shimmering between blue and silver—caught the harsh bathroom light, glinting faintly with each movement.
He shifted slightly, the tail pressing awkwardly against the porcelain curve of the tub.
William stayed where he was, towel clutched loosely around his shoulders, watching as the tension slowly left Sherlock’s body.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
William stared quietly out the window, eyes calculating. An oppressive sheet of grey clouds covered the sky, dark and heavy with inevitable rain.
“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked, stepping up beside him.
“We’re out of tuna,” William said plainly, not looking away from the sky. “And the bath salts are almost gone.”
“Then we go shopping.”
William’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It’s going to rain.”
“It's always raining here,” Sherlock huffed, “but we have an umbrella.”
William stayed silent for a moment, arms wrapping around his middle.
“I know,” he said at last, turning from the window and reaching for his coat. “It just always feels like a risk.”
Sherlock followed just behind, tugging on his own coat and slipping into shoes that always felt a bit too tight.
“A risk we knew when we ran.”
He pressed a soft kiss to William’s temple before pulling the door open.
“Shall we?”
The main door of their building opened onto a narrow street with little foot traffic. The air hit them, cool and damp. Rain hadn’t quite begun to fall, but Sherlock could already feel the moisture clinging to his face.
He paused just long enough to glance up at the sky before reaching for the umbrella, snapping it open with a practiced motion.
William stepped in close beneath it without a word.
They started down the street together, William wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s.
Two minutes in, Sherlock was already uncomfortable. His shoes felt too tight. The fabric at his throat pressed in, the collar digging just enough to be distracting. Looking over, he could tell William felt it too—if only from the faint crease between his brows, one Sherlock knew intimately.
Sherlock’s free hand came up to undo the button at his throat.
“Why do humans insist on wearing clothes?” he grumbled. “It’s all so uncomfortable.”
William hid a quiet snort behind his hand. “I’ll help you undress when we get back.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “Now that just sounds scandalous.”
“Perhaps it was meant to.”
The sky seemed to open then, the light patter of raindrops against their umbrella drawing their attention.
Sherlock stretched his arm out from beneath their cover, letting the drops strike his fingers. The cool water eased the ache beneath his skin, if only a little.
William’s grip tightened around his arm. “Be careful, Sherly.”
“A little won't hurt.”
“Always so reckless,” William said, shaking his head.
“Calculated risk, my dear Liam.”
The rain picked up as they reached the shop, the steady patter against the umbrella growing louder.
Sherlock didn’t hesitate as he pushed the door open, letting the umbrella dip just enough for the rain to brush his sleeve.
Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped, as William pressed a damp cloth to his back—only wet enough to wipe the day away.
He sighed as it passed over his prickling skin, leaning back into William’s practiced touch.
There was a brief pause before Sherlock felt a finger trace a line across his shoulder.
“This one looks nearly healed,” William said quietly, before setting back to his task.
Sherlock hummed, letting the cool damp and William’s careful hands settle over him.
“You took good care of it,” he replied after a moment.
William worked in quiet, steady motions, the cloth passing over Sherlock’s shoulders, down the line of his spine, careful where skin still felt too tight or too thin. Each pass was deliberate, never lingering too long in one place, never careless.
By the time he set the cloth aside, Sherlock’s posture had softened, the tension that had followed him home finally beginning to ease.
“Turn,” William murmured.
Sherlock obeyed without question, shifting slightly on the edge of the bed to face him. William’s hands were already moving again, gentler now as he wiped the last traces of the day from his chest and arms, careful even in the small things.
When he finished, he reached for the small bottle at the bedside.
Sherlock huffed softly. “If you use any more of that, we’ll be out again by morning.”
“Then we’ll buy more,” William replied simply, warming the lotion between his hands before smoothing it over Sherlock’s skin.
Sherlock stilled at the first touch, breath catching just slightly as William worked it in—slow, methodical, nothing wasted. It wasn’t indulgent. It was necessary. Familiar.
By the time William drew his hands away, Sherlock felt… settled.
“Better?” William asked.
Sherlock nodded once, then reached out, catching his wrist before he could pull back completely.
“Your turn.”
William hesitated only a moment before allowing himself to be guided forward. Sherlock shifted, standing just enough to move him into place before sitting again, drawing William between his knees.
The cloth was cooler now in Sherlock’s hands, but he handled it with the same care—wrung out just enough, never dripping. He started at William’s arms, slower than necessary at first.
William’s shoulders eased under his touch.
Sherlock’s thumb brushed over the same places William had lingered on him—small, quiet echoes of the care he’d just been given.
“Too much?” he asked, quieter now.
“No,” William murmured. “It’s fine.”
Sherlock nodded, continuing on, more certain now. When he reached for the lotion, he didn’t comment this time—just warmed it between his palms the way William had, then worked it carefully into his skin.
William leaned into him slightly without thinking.
Sherlock didn’t comment on that either.
When he finished, his hands lingered where they rested against William’s sides, reluctant to let the moment end.
William shifted slightly between his knees, just enough to close the space that remained. His hands came to rest on Sherlock’s shoulders, steady and warm, thumbs brushing absently against the curve of muscle there.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then William leaned in.
The kiss was soft—barely more than a press of lips, familiar and unhurried. Sherlock exhaled into it, his hands sliding further around William’s back, pulling him closer, as though he could anchor him there.
William’s fingers tightened slightly at his shoulders.
Sherlock tilted his head, deepening it by degrees, careful in the way he always was—never taking more than William gave, always matching him. William answered in kind, the rhythm of it settling into something quiet and known between them.
Sherlock’s hands moved slowly along his back, tracing the line of his spine before settling again at his waist, holding him there.
William hummed softly against his mouth, the sound low and content, his grip easing as the tension of the day slipped away piece by piece.
When they finally parted, it was only by a fraction, foreheads brushing, breath shared in the small space between them.
“Excited, Liam?” Sherlock murmured against his lips.
A small, embarrassed sound escaped William’s throat. “I can’t help it. These human bodies are so… sensitive…”
He nipped gently at Sherlock’s lower lip. “You have no room to judge, Sherly. You’re in the same situation.”
Sherlock huffed softly, though the sound lacked any real protest. His hands tightened slightly at William’s back, drawing him closer, as if proximity alone might steady him.
“Hardly my fault,” he muttered, even as his breath hitched just a fraction.
William’s fingers pressed more firmly into his shoulders, grounding, familiar.
“Mm,” he hummed, unconvinced.
The kiss that followed lingered, warm and close. Sherlock leaned into it, one hand sliding up along William’s spine, settling between his shoulder blades as he drew him nearer.
William shifted closer between his knees, closing what little space remained, his touch steady even as his breath grew uneven.
They stayed like that for a while—kissing, pausing, returning—never quite pulling away, never needing to.
For now, it was enough.