Work Text:
Sherlock closed his trunk for the final time, the metal clasps latching with a decisive click.
Morning light spilled through the apartment windows, warm and golden against the floorboards. Sherlock found himself resenting it a little. The city beyond the glass was already awake, entirely too alive for an hour that ought to have felt quieter than this.
William stood near the window, quieter than usual, morning light catching softly against his hair as he watched him.
Sherlock reached for his coat, shrugging it on with practiced familiarity before pulling his hair free from where it had caught beneath the collar. It had grown longer in their time here in New York—long enough now that the dark strands fell past his shoulders entirely.
His fingers found the silver skull ring at his index finger almost immediately after. He turned it once. Then again.
Thinking.
William’s gaze shifted toward the movement, quiet and observant in the way that always made Sherlock feel as though very little escaped him.
“There’s something on your mind,” William said at last.
Sherlock huffed a faint laugh beneath his breath, eyes dropping briefly to the ring again.
“When is there not?”
William crossed the room then, closing the distance between them with quiet certainty.
“What is it?” he asked softly. “You’ve been somewhere else entirely all morning.”
Sherlock looked away with a faint huff of laughter, fingers turning the ring once more against his skin.
“I'll be gone a long time,” he said. “That’s all.”
It sounded insufficient the moment it left his mouth.
William’s expression softened further, something quietly aching settling behind his eyes as he stepped closer still.
“Sherly—”
Sherlock inhaled sharply. If he didn’t do this now, he never would.
His hand caught at William’s waist, pulling him in before he could think better of it.
“Look—Liam.”
William’s hands settled lightly against Sherlock’s chest as he looked up at him. “What is it, Sherly?”
Sherlock opened his mouth once. Then closed it again.
Ridiculous. He had faced down murderers, blackmailers, men with guns drawn on him without so much as a tremor in his voice, and yet this—this—had his pulse stumbling unevenly somewhere beneath his ribs.
His gaze lifted to William’s at last.
“I love you,” he said softly.
The words settled between them with startling ease.
William’s expression gentled almost immediately, something warm and quietly aching touching his features as one hand rose to rest against Sherlock’s cheek.
“I knew that part,” he murmured.
Sherlock laughed once beneath his breath, breathless and faintly disbelieving all at once.
Then, before he could lose his nerve, his fingers slipped to the silver skull ring at his index finger. He twisted it free and caught William’s hand carefully in his own.
The motion felt suddenly awkward beneath the weight of William’s attention. Sherlock tried William’s ring finger first on instinct, only for the ring to slide loosely past the knuckle almost immediately.
“…Right.”
Heat crept unhelpfully into his face as he adjusted, guiding it instead onto William’s thumb where it rested securely at last, the silver stark against pale skin.
“I know it’s not much,” Sherlock muttered. “You deserve a proper ring.”
William stared down at his hand in silence, thumb brushing once across the worn silver.
Sherlock swallowed.
“So when I see you again…” He hesitated only briefly before forcing himself onward. “I’d like to do this properly. Or as properly as two men like us are allowed to.”
For one terrible moment, Sherlock thought he may have said too much.
Then William’s fingers curled carefully around his hand, the skull ring glinting softly in the morning light between them.
“Yes,” William said quietly. “When you come back, I would like that very much.”