Work Text:
“Here, go on and have a taste.”
William dipped a little wooden stick into the jar of honey they kept open for sampling. He gave it a little twirl before pulling it out, a small bead clinging to the end.
“This one came from the bramble field, so it's a bit on the tart side,” he said, handing the sample stick to the young girl in front of him.
She took it gratefully and stuck the end between her lips. Her face lit up at the flavor as she hummed her satisfaction.
“Oh, that's so yummy, Mr. William!” she gushed.
William chuckled and sat back down onto his stool, his knees clicking as they bent.
“I'll be sure to tell the bees you said so, Elena.”
The girl sucked on the end of her stick a moment longer, casting her eyes around the stall.
“Where's Mr. Sherlock?”
“Oh, he's around here somewhere,” William replied, smiling as he rubbed at the slightly swollen knuckles of his left hand. “He went to get us some lunch.”
“Aw,” Elena pouted, kicking her boot across the cobblestone. “He said he had something to show me.”
William’s eyes softened. “He did, did he?”
“Yeah.” The little girl nodded. “But I'll be back later, so it's okay. With Mummy this time, too, so we can buy some honey!”
“Then I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Bye-bye!” Elena called to him as she turned and skipped down the row of stalls.
The smile across William’s face turned quietly wistful as he watched her go before perking back up, another customer stepping up to his little booth.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Harrington.”
The man tipped his hat in greeting. “Ah, Mr. Scott. What are we looking at today?”
“Eight pence for the clover, ten for the bramble, and a shilling for the heather.”
“Prudent pricing as always,” Harrington mumbled, carefully looking over the available jars.
William studied him for a moment before leaning forward on his stool.
“Your wife is pregnant, is she not?”
Harrington blinked and looked up at him. “Yes, with our second.”
"Then ten pence for the heather, as congratulations. I know it's her favorite.”
The man's shoulders relaxed, gratitude radiating off of him as he dug into his pocket.
“That's quite generous of you, Mr. Scott. Thank you kindly.” He dropped the coins into William's waiting hand.
“Think nothing of it.” He grabbed the jar of heather from the table. “Would you like it wrapped?”
“No need, I'm going straight home.”
“Perfect. Have a lovely day, Mr. Harrington,” William said as he passed the man his purchase.
“Thank you again, Mr. Scott.” He started to walk away before looking back once more. “Oh, and—thank your other half for me as well. Until next time.”
William huffed an amused breath and busied himself with the stall once more.
“Undercharging again, are we?”
“Sherly.” William turned around in his stool, a gentle smile curving his lips. “Were you sat there the whole time?”
Sherlock stood at the back edge of their stall, sandwiches under an arm. The breeze picked up then, tugging at his long ponytail. Strands of black and silver danced with the wind.
“Not the whole time,” Sherlock said, a hand raised to shield his eyes from the dust flying through the air. “Just long enough to hear about the Harringtons’ second.”
He moved to set their lunch on the table before facing William. Slowly, he lifted a hand to pluck a leaf out of William’s hair where it had landed in the gale.
He paused.
“You’ve more here.” Sherlock ran a finger down the fair hair at William's temple.
William sighed dramatically. “I was hoping you wouldn't notice.”
“I notice everything.”
“You always have.”
Sherlock swept his gaze over the marketplace before leaning in, pressing his lips against William's in a quick kiss.
“Still beautiful,” he murmured as he pulled away just a fraction.
William placed a hand on Sherlock's chest, pushing him away half-heartedly.
"Oh, you." He shook his head fondly. "Sit down and eat lunch with me."
Sherlock smiled. "I thought you'd never ask.”
He sat down in the empty stool and rolled his shoulder, his hand coming up to massage the muscle there.
“Hah… these old bones aren't getting any younger.”
“I told you we should have paid one of the farm lads to help move the supers, but you insisted on doing it all yourself,” William said as he unwrapped his sandwich.
“Yes, yes.” Sherlock took a bite of his own sandwich. “The consequences of believing I'm still young and spry.”
Unable to resist, William reached over. He swiped at the smear of mustard at the corner of Sherlock's mouth with his thumb before bringing the digit to his lips, licking the condiment from his skin.
“Still handsome.”
He chuckled as Sherlock turned his eyes on him, a familiar heat flickering behind those brilliant blue irises.
"Liam..."
It sounded somewhere between a warning and a promise.
William laughed again, bright and happy, and returned to his lunch.
They ate in companionable silence for several minutes, watching the townsfolk drift past, their shoulders brushing where they sat side by side.
A soft buzz interrupted the easy quiet, drawing their attention. A honeybee settled on the lid of the sample jar, her antennae flicking curiously.
Sherlock set down his sandwich.
"Hello there, old girl," he said, holding out a finger for the little insect to climb aboard. "Fine day we're having, isn't it?”
The little bee ambled across Sherlock's finger before pausing to clean one tiny foreleg.
William smiled to himself.
"She's a friendly one.”
The bee explored Sherlock's finger at her own unhurried pace. He made no attempt to hurry her.
William watched the little bee make her way to the tip of Sherlock's finger.
"Back to work with you, then," Sherlock said softly.
The little bee lifted from his fingertip with a lazy buzz and drifted back into the warm afternoon.
Sherlock had just picked up his sandwich again when—
"Mr. Sherlock!"
William looked out into the market square as Elena darted through the crowd toward their stall, weaving expertly between skirts and baskets. A few paces behind, her mother hurried after her with the weary expression of someone who had already called her daughter's name more than once that morning.
Elena skidded to a stop in front of the table, cheeks pink from running.
"You said you'd show me something!"
Sherlock looked up from where he'd just reclaimed his sandwich. "Did I?"
Elena nodded so vigorously her curls bounced.
“Ah, yes, I remember now.”
He set the rest of his lunch aside before crouching to reach beneath the table. William smiled faintly to himself. He already knew what Sherlock was looking for.
Sherlock straightened again and held out a hand.
“Eyes closed, hands out.”
Elena gasped and squeezed her eyes shut at once, both hands thrust eagerly toward him.
Sherlock turned her palms upward and placed something small in them before gently cradling her smaller hands in his.
"All right," he said. “Open.”
Elena slowly opened her eyes. Nestled in her palms sat a tiny flower of golden beeswax, each petal delicately shaped by hand.
Her mouth fell open. “Pretty…”
"Made it myself," Sherlock said with quiet satisfaction.
"Mummy, look!" She hurried to her mother, holding the little flower as though it were made of glass.
The woman's expression softened the moment she saw it.
"Oh, Elena... that is beautiful," she said, tone gentle as she sent them a grateful look.
Elena beamed before launching into another excited question for Sherlock.
The girl's mother offered William a kind smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Scott.”
“To you as well, Mrs. Alder.”
"I think we'll take a jar as well.”
“Oh!” Elena looked back over to them. “Mummy, can we get the bramble kind? It tasted so good.”
“Bramble it is then, Mr. Scott,” she said as she pulled out her coin purse.
William reached beneath the table for one of the neatly labelled jars before wrapping it carefully in a sheet of brown paper stamped Scott & Scott Apiaries, tying it closed with a length of string as he ignored the familiar twinge in his left hand.
"A fine choice," he said as he handed the parcel over. “I hope you both enjoy it.”
“Come along now, Elena. We have more shopping to do,” Mrs. Alder coaxed her daughter away from Sherlock's storytelling.
“Okay.”
“And be careful with your flower, dear. We don't want anything to happen to it.”
“Right!”
William watched them walk away together, hand in hand, the little flower clutched carefully to little Elena's chest.
He sighed as he settled back onto his stool, absently flexing the ache from his left hand.
“Tired?” Sherlock asked, taking William's hand into his own.
Gently, he pressed his thumbs into the sore joints of William's knuckles, massaging some of the pain away. William closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of Sherlock's hands as the ache slowly eased.
“Yes,” he replied after a moment. “It's been a busy day.”
Sherlock continued his careful ministrations. “It has. We'll pack up soon.”
“...Alright.” William leaned heavily against Sherlock's side, his head resting against the man's shoulder.
Still so strong. Even now.
“Hey, now.” A chuckle rumbled deep in Sherlock's chest. “Don't go falling asleep on me. Who's going to balance the books?”
“You'd manage.”
"I would not." Sherlock snorted, still working his thumbs over William's knuckles. "I'm shite at maths, remember? I'm fairly certain you still have that test paper somewhere.”
“That was a highly advanced algebra test. We both know you can do basic maths just fine.”
William pressed his lips to the underside of Sherlock's stubbled jaw, marking the end of their debate, before sitting back up. He stretched, trying to wake his body a little, and did his best not to wince at the numerous pops and crackles that followed.
“Hah,” Sherlock snickered, watching him with fond eyes. “You're getting old.”
William shoved him lightly, sending him temporarily off balance in his seat.
“What does that make you then, Sherly?”
“Distinguished.”
“Is that what we're calling it now?”