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May 4th, 1888.
Sherlock's mind was still spinning from the events that had occurred over the last few days. He'd killed Milverton, William had announced his identity as the Lord of Crime, he'd had a fight with John, made up with John, had a frank conversation with Fred and Louis, and now was talking to William.
He'd started the day off with a crow squawking outside his window. How had he ended up here?
Oh, his sweet, beautiful, wonderful William.
Sherlock was hyperfocused on the man in front of him, unable to take his eyes off him.
Liam wanted to die.
And Sherlock didn't know what to do in order to stop him.
For once, this was one problem he didn't know how to reason his way out of. No amount of deduction would stop Willia, not when he was so set on this path of self destruction.
As the blond handed him the envelope with the information, Sherlock took it, staring at it for a long moment as William left the room.
Sherlock's pulse was in his throat as he held the information.
After a moment, as he got his head back in order, he sprung up, chasing after William.
"Wait!" he shouted.
But it was too late.
The blond was already gone.
— — —
Sherlock had talked with John. The doctor, as always, was far more intelligent in the matters of emotion than Sherlock could ever hope to be. The letter that William - the man still hadn't told Sherlock his real name, even when he was trying to kill himself - had left Sherlock's head spinning.
He didn't want William to die.
The fire that had been set had only distracted Sherlock for a short period of time, his desire to get to William consuming him entirely. He did notice, however, the way that people worked together to help extinguish the fire, regardless of class.
Something fluttered in his heart as he made his way to Tower Bridge, sprinting up the stairs.
At the top was William, smiling at him. "Glad to see you're punctual, Mr Holmes."
Sherlock gasped, panting, out of breath from running up the stairs. "William, what the hell are you doing? You-Liam. There's still time. We can still sort this out. You just need to come down. Please, please, Liam."
William looked back at him with half lidded eyes. "Oh, Sherly," he said softly. "If life had been different - if the situation had been different - I would have loved to spend it with you." He stepped forward, smiling at him softly.
The cheers from the crowd below interrupted the moment.
"Kill him, Holmes!"
"Save us from the Lord of Crime!"
"Deliver justice!"
Sherlock's eyes flicked to the crowd, and then back to William. "I won't listen to them," he said fiercely. "Liam, we can sort this out, I swear. It-it might be jail time - it definitely will be jail time, but you'll be alive. You can - we can - make this work."
William looked down at the mob, and then back at Sherlock. "You hear them calling for my demise, don't you? And besides. My plan has worked. You saw the nobles and the common man working together, classes united. It's not a permanent fix - I know that much - but it's a start."
William moved away from Sherlock, stepping backward towards the edge. "You'll be the face of the movement, you know. I suppose I need to apologise for that now rather than…whenever." He huffed, a breathy laugh escaping him. "Dr Watson will have more material for his novel at least. He might even be able to write a whole one just based on this case alone."
He continued to move backwards. "Don't get so close to the edge, Liam," Sherlock warned, raising his hands. It was like William didn't even hear him as he continued to talk. "Thank you, Sherlock. From the bottom of my heart, really. You were…so important in this life."
He stepped back even further, now standing right on the edge of where the bridge fell away. A single tear slipped from the blond's eye. "In another life, I would have really enjoyed getting to know you better, Sherlock Holmes. Not just as an intellectual. But as a friend."
Sherlock's eyes widened. "William, stop, wait!"
But it was too late. The man slipped from the bridge, falling backwards. Sherlock stared at the spot where William had been standing in shock, heart in his mouth as he tried to process what had just happened. His legs shook as he stood there before he surged forward, running to the edge and looking down just in time to see a large splash erupting from the Thames.
The world turned fuzzy as Sherlock dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. William couldn't be-
Maybe this was all a part of his plan. A step that he'd told no one about. Fake his death, run off to France or Germany for a year or two, and then miraculously reappear. Perhaps he had a parachute. Perhaps he had a perfect dive and had managed to glide into the water with no harm done to him at all. Maybe he'd managed to somehow cushion his fall.
Sherlock knew in his heart that that wasn't the truth.
The sound of his name being chanted from below caught his attention. He turned to see people, both noble and not alike cheering and whooping. The streets of London were a place of celebration at the death of the Lord of Crime.
Sherlock thought that he was going to be sick.
He couldn't go down there amongst the masses and see them take joy in William's death.
The thought of having to see William's family and friends made his vision go blurry. He'd promised Louis and Fred that he would save William, that he'd pull him back in time from the edge.
He'd failed. What was he supposed to say to them - that it all happened so quickly that he hadn't been able to understand what was happening until William jumped?
No. There was still time to make things right. "Sorry, John," Sherlock whispered as he approached the edge of the bridge, the same way that William had. "You'll have to find a new hero for your stories. And sorry, Ms Hudson," he said as he looked down at the water below. "You'll have to find a new tenant for the room. I know I'm breaking my lease. So sorry about that."
Sherlock took a step forward, feeling the air rush around him. The water below was so, so blue.
He would admit, he didn't expect the water to feel so cold in May.
After that, everything went black.
— — —
Sherlock woke up to the sound of a bird squawking irritatingly outside his window. He groaned, reaching up to run a hand over his face.
He lay there for a moment more, waking up slowly, before the memory of what had happened made him bolt upright in bed with a gasp.
Sherlock jumped out of bed, scrambling for the door, when the sight of the calendar caught his eye. Before he'd left to confront William that final time, Sherlock had crossed out the date on his calendar - May 4th. He was sure of it.
Sherlock quickly made his way down the stairs. John was perched in a chair, reading a book. "John," Sherlock exclaimed as he made his way across the room. "What's the date today?"
The doctor didn't look up. "Why don't you check the calendar," he replied snarkily. It's on the wall, Sherlock. You're aware that I'm not your personal assistant, correct? - oof!"
John was shut up by Sherlock crossing the room in three long strides and leaning down, clutching John's shoulders tightly.
"What day is it?" Sherlock demanded, face nearly touching John's. The blond sputtered, leaning back in his seat as much as possible to get away from Sherlock's intense gaze. "Why, it's the fourth of May, Sherlock."
The dark haired man stepped back from John, mind racing, eyes darting around the room as he solved problems that only he could see.
"Again?" Sherlock breathed, a smile coming across his face. "I still have time then." He squeezed John's shoulders a little tighter. "John. My good fellow. I need you to help me send a letter to Louis Moriarty."
John's brow furrowed, confusion evident on his face. "Sherlock, the Moriarty's London estate is currently under the eye of Scotland Yard and every other available officer in order to try and catch William. No one bar the residents are able to get in or out - I even heard that some of the others living there were denied being able to leave. Something about security concerns."
Sherlock waved him off, scoffing. "John, when has the issue of Scotland Yard ever been a deterrent in our investigation?"
The blond looked at him a little wearily, but Sherlock, rightly or wrongly, ignored him. He had the chance to set things right, to save William. He had no idea how he'd been afforded this chance - some fluke by the universe or an unnamed god was his best guess. He wouldn't describe himself as one to look a gift horse in the mouth though.
He had the chance to make things right, and save William.
That was enough of a present for a lifetime.
— — —
Louis was surprisingly easy to contact, given the fact that there was meant to be a crack team of police surrounding the gates.
He'd been rather surprised when Sherlock had crawled in through the window (after numerous briars cutting his arms and legs, as well as a bump on the side of his forehead that would certainly take some time to clear away), and rather sceptical of everything that the dark haired man had told him once he'd convinced Louis that he wasn't there to try and harm him.
But he'd listened, and so here they were. On top of Tower Bridge. If anything, they were early. Exceedingly early, by Sherlock's calculations. Last time, Sherlock had arrived at about nine thirty in the evening.
This time, they were there at quarter to eight.
"Ample time," Sherlock said with a contented smile. "William should be coming along soon enough. We should be able to convince him, no problems whatsoever."
Louis huffed a little as they stood there awkwardly, cold air rushing between the two. "And you're absolutely sure that Liam is going to come here, and not some other crazy spot, correct?"
Sherlock nodded firmly, hands just on his hips enough to throw in that little bit of attitude that was needed in situations like this. "No doubt about it, Louis. He came here last time, he'll come here this time as well."
Louis looked at him with a wrinkled brow, which Sherlock decided to ignore. "Right. He came here today, which you've already lived through…somehow, in which my older brother made a pseudo-love declaration to you and then proceeded to kill himself, and then you did too."
Sherlock winced a little as the youngest Moriarty finished speaking. "You make it sound so fake. Having to see someone you care about die is traumatic, you know," he said with a grumble.
Louis simply shrugged. "Just repeating what you told me. Perhaps add a little pizzazz on top next time. You might sound like you're not putting the relaxed facade on every time then."
Sherlock was about to make another biting comment when the door they came up swung open, revealing William. The blond's eyes darted between Sherlock and Louis, a strained look coming over his face.
He turned to Sherlock, red eyes hard. "I thought I said to come alone," he said evenly. Sherlock could hear the strain in his voice though. He forced himself to take a deep breath as William continued to look at him.
Last time he'd come alone, and William had died. This time, if he was with someone else, that surely wouldn't be the case.
William stepped past them both, making Sherlock's breath catch in his throat. He watched the man like a hawk, eyes fixated on William's form.
He didn't want him to get too close to the edge. Not again. Not after the last fourth of May.
"I know your letter said to come alone, Liam, and I'm sorry for not doing so," Sherlock said, stepping forward as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "But what you're trying to do with this - Liam, it's become a suicide mission."
The blond folded his arms across his chest. "Sherlock, you haven't been there for the hours and hours of meetings and discussions that were had. This is the path forward. This has been the path forward this entire time. I'm not stopping now just because you decided that enough was enough."
Louis stepped forward to stand beside Sherlock, in a display of unity that Sherlock would have never imagined, regardless of the number of times that the day repeated. "He's right, Liam," Louis said softly, pushing his hair out of his face. "This is a suicide mission. And - and you're right again in saying that this has been the plan since the beginning."
The man's voice cracked, tears starting to well up in his eyes. "But I don't want it to be the plan! Liam, I don't think I can live in a world without you!"
William stared at his brother, stoney facade cracking ever so slightly. "Louis…" he said softly. "I'm sorry. I really, really am. But there's no recourse now, I can't do anything differently. With my identity confessed, I'd be for the gallows in no time at all."
Louis shook his head fiercely. Sherlock could see through the tears that there was determination in them. He was quiet, letting the moment breath between the two brothers.
"There's always a way. We can get MI6 on it - I know that Albert isn't in charge of it, but whoever is I'm sure we can convince." "It's Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted. The brothers turned and looked at him - William was mild surprise, and Louis with a little confusion - as Sherlock continued.
"My brother. He's a hardass by no small stretch of the imagination, but I have no doubts about me that he'd be willing to help if he knew what it was for."
Louis whirled back to face William. "See! Liam, there's routes and solutions to this. You need to listen to us. You need to come down, and you need to step away from the edge."
William looked down, eyes darting back and forth as he measured the proximity to the crumbling edge. "I suppose I am rather close, yes."
He looked back up at Louis and Sherlock, sighing slightly. "I care about you two very much. I hope you know that."
Sherlock smiled. "We know, Liam. So come off the edge. We can sort out all of this. You may not see it now, but there's always a way out of a situation."
William's eyes locked onto Sherlock's, gaze piercing deep into the detective. "You say that, and yet you didn't listen to what I wrote in the letter." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. But if you can't listen to that, I don't know if I can trust you."
Sherlock felt a sharp pang arc through his chest. "Liam, I'm sorry, but I just thought that having Louis here as well might show you how much you're valued, and why we don't want you to kill yourself."
The blond reached into his pocket and produced a small black pistol. Sherlock's eyes shot open, immediately backing up from William.
"I really didn't want to have to do this," William whispered, a single tear making its way down his cheek. "I wanted to have you get all the glory, Sherlock. You could've had a good life."
He cocked the pistol. "But I can't have you trying to get in the way of the plan. This is my final plan, Sherly. I can't have it all going wrong now."
William's grip on the gun was shaky as he pointed it at Sherlock. "I'll see you in whatever life awaits us after this, Sherlock."
"William, stop-" Louis exclaimed, moving to try and disarm his brother, but it was too late.
William fired the shot, sending Sherlock stumbling back onto the ground. Sherlock heard Louis shouting, but the sounds of the brothers grew fainter and fainter until it faded into nothing.
He'd have to try again.
Hopefully.
— — —
When Sherlock woke again, this time he had a plan.
He knew what he had to do - the trouble was simply executing it. For the next few loops, it was trial and error.
He tried breaking into the Moriarty house directly - no good. He was arrested by Scotland Yard before he could even think about getting at all close to William.
He tried to shut the bridge down so that William couldn't fall off of it - a failure. The man just found somewhere else to kill himself.
Sherlock tried every single route he could think of, trying different people and tactics to no avail.
Eventually, a sense of hopelessness started to settle into him, deep into his bones.
He found himself waking up, day after day after day, only for it to still be the fourth of May.
Sherlock didn't have a clue on how he was meant to get out of the loops. Gone were the thoughts that this was a sense of salvation, a gift from on high - instead, Sherlock believed that this was some cruel joke. Something meant to torment him.
Every day went something like this.
He'd wake up at quarter past seven in the morning, regardless of how early he had gone to bed the night before. There would always be a bird squawking outside of his window - Sherlock had memorised its call by this time, and would often parrot it back to the animal as he got dressed, or as he lay in bed.
It depended on how he was feeling during that cycle of the loop.
After he was up (on his good days), Sherlock would go downstairs, have a cup of lukewarm tea and sliced bread with honey on it, choke it down, and then head out into the bustling streets.
Sometimes he'd try something new to save William - he had to, otherwise he'd feel like he was genuinely going mad with guilt. His goal, after all, was still to save William. He just…was taking a break while he figured out how to do so.
That's what he told himself when he couldn't sleep at the end of the loop, at least.
Most of the time though, Sherlock found himself simply ambling around the streets of London. He'd seen clowns, jugglers, and fortune tellers on his first few days of his…break. And he'd seen much more since - some of which he didn't particularly care to recollect.
After his morning amble, Sherlock would find himself heading down towards one of the many restaurants in Limehouse, one of the few places in London that did good Chinese food. There was something so invigorating about having a simple bowl of thick, hearty food, that after sipping at it Sherlock could almost say to himself that he was going to go out and sort out William's suicide once and for all.
Almost. But not quite.
Sometimes, Sherlock found himself walking over to stand in front of the Moriarty estate and just look up at the facade of the exterior. It was fascinating to him, seeing how the true other half lived - not just in regard to whether or not they were criminals. The sheer wealth did tantalise Sherlock a little.
It would be so much easier to leave here if he knew what had sent him here in the first place, he thought on more than one occasion.
Hope became something far out of reach.
Loop after loop, Sherlock found himself failing to save William. All his attempts to do anything to save him became sporadic, and then his attempts to do anything at all became nothing.
John knocked on his door in most of the loops to check on him. He was a good friend that way. Ms Hudson often did as well. Louis and Fred even tried to visit him in some of them - he wasn't sure what was the cause in the variation. He hid on the roof when they tried to, though. He didn't want to talk to anyone.
Hypothetically, the same thing should have happened every time if he did nothing.
Sherlock couldn't bring himself to care about what was the reason though. Every day was the fourth of May.
Every day William died.
— — —
On maybe the seventh hundred loop, Sherlock managed to drag himself out of bed.
He wandered along the streets of London - the same streets that he'd walked over and over again.
There was the woman spilling her washing in the street.
There were the children chasing each other around the tree near the bank. The boy would trip, and lose his tooth. The boy had never seemed too sad about this in all of the other loops though.
As Sherlock made his way to the small park in the center, he listened to the birds chirping away. He walked to the bench he had sat at for all the other hundreds and hundreds - maybe even thousands - of loops, before stopping.
He could sit wherever the hell he wanted. He could do whatever the hell he wanted.
So he stared at the bench for a moment longer, before continuing on walking.
He found a shaded little spot - a small ledge off the corner of a building that looked out onto the city below. Sherlock sighed in contentment as he sat down. He didn't know why he'd never walked that little further before - the view that the spot afforded him was beautiful.
As he sat, looking at the view, two birds flitted into sight - a robin redbreast and a bluejay, neither of which was particularly common for the area. It was much too polluted normally to see such wildlife.
Sherlock smiled to himself as the birds landed on a low hanging branch not too far from where he was sitting. The birds pecked at each other, seemingly grooming the other. They twitted and tweeted at each other as they hopped back and forth on the tree.
They reminded Sherlock of himself and William.
The thought came to him like a gut punch, Sherlock's eyes widening as he realised the notion.
He wanted to save William. Much like the birds, he wanted to see William again.
He wanted to have a life with him outside of the fourth of May.
Sherlock stood up from where he was sitting. "Thank you," he said to the birds. "You've been very, very helpful."
The birds being birds of course, said nothing.
— — —
Sherlock started the loop with a fresh mind and new ideas.
He knew from all of his previous attempts that there were a few things that would work, and a few things that most certainly would not.
As he ran towards the Tower Bridge, the fire raging through the streets emboldened him further. "Look, Liam," he whispered. "Your plan is working."
The sprint up the the top didn't wind Sherlock this time, despite his legs protesting as he took the stairs up three at a time.
The conversation with William started as the majority of them had - Sherlock knowing exactly what to say this time to make sure that the blond didn't react poorly.
The cries from the crowd below were tuned out as Sherlock and William looked at each other - hopefully doing this fateful dance for the last time.
"There's still time!" Sherlock called out to him, a fire ignited in his heart. He wasn't about to let William go this time. "No one is so far gone that they're entirely irredeemable!"
William looked at Sherlock with wide eyes, seemingly taken aback by the man's declaration, before his gaze hardened. "What a pity that even you would try and tempt me like this. To try and tempt me to live."
Sherlock heard the rising panic and anger in the man's voice, hand still outstretched towards William. "You are the devil, not I, Sherlock Holmes!" William continued, now shouting.
Sherlock simply stood there, reluctant to move until William took the first swing. They did the dance that they'd done so many times before - a duck, a weave, a punch. As they exchanged blows, Sherlock swore that he could feel more eyes on him than just from the crowd below.
"Are you watching?" Sherlock silently asked the universe. "Is this what you wanted?"
After a while of the two fighting, William stepped back, seemingly defeated. "Enough of this," he said wearily. "The fight is over. We both know how this is going to end."
Sherlock's hands balled up into fists. "Don't take the easy way out, Liam. Death isn't a cop out. I should know that better than anyone."
The blond backed away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw something arcing towards the bridge before the world around him exploded into flames, and William falling off the now-destroyed bridge.
He lunged forward, grabbing the man's hand before he could plummet like he had the first time. Sherlock had never experienced this series of events in any of the loops.
William refused to make eye contact with him as Sherlock held onto his hand tightly. "Why," William asked lowly. "Why bother trying to save me?" Sherlock looked down at him, a swathe of emotions passing over him.
"Because you're my friend," he called out after a moment.
His true feelings for William could wait until they were out of the life and death situation.
"Liam, we ought to be there to see the same future together." He squeezed the blond's hand tighter, all of his anguish and stress from however many loops he'd suffered through finally culminating.
"So dammit, William! Live! You need to live!"
The blond finally looked up at Sherlock, eyes half lidded. "These boards won't hold our collective weight for much longer," he said. He smiled up at Sherlock. "I think that at least one of us should live through tonight."
With that, the blond let go. Sherlock felt his heart drop into his stomach. Without hesitating, he jumped after William, pulling him tightly into his arms as they fell.
If they died, there would be another fourth of May.
Sherlock wouldn't let time tick on without William.
— — —
Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, the world tilting in and out of view as he tried to sit up. "I wouldn't recommend that if I were you," an unknown voice said.
Sherlock mumbled something incomprehensible even to himself. The voice laughed. "You'll adjust. Sea stomach takes a while to develop."
The dark haired man nodded, feeling the clutches of sleep pulling at him. There was one important question that he had to ask though.
"What day is it?" he asked, voice soft. His throat hurt.
The unknown person hummed. "Uhh…well, let's see here. Got a handy-dandy calendar, it's so easy to lose track of the days at sea without it."
The voice was silent for a moment, clearly consulting the calendar. "May fifth," it said after a moment. "Or, the fifth of May, as you Brits like to say."
Despite the exhaustion consuming his body, a broad grin spread across Sherlock's face. "I made it," he whispered. "Is William okay?"
"The blond? Yeah, he's fine. Out for the count, and he'll probably need to go to hospital, but what else can you do?"
"So much," Sherlock whispered as sleep claimed him. "So much, now that everything will be different again."