* THE GAME IS AFOOT !

[itachikun]

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐒 no more difficult than taking a gasp of air or reflexively flinching backward from the sensation of pain. It came naturally and easily and as such he did it well and without hesitation… and yet this time he did. 

        Sherlock was… eccentric, yes, oftentimes operating at a volume far above what was considered appropriate and polite, seemingly refusing to wear anything that didn’t look as though it’d been pulled from a crumpled pile on his bedroom floor, tact existing as a possibly foreign concept to the man— just a few of a great many of quirks but not a single one of them bothered William; how could they? They were what made Sherlock as refreshing and as endearing as he was and therefore none of it was anything William would ever provide less than a brilliant smile and mild words of encouragement for. 

        Though he very well couldn’t say any of that aloud. Nor could he manage much more than a sharply bit tongue and a displeased twitch of his brow as Sherlock dismisses himself as somebody anyone would ever be interested in. 

        Candidly voicing his disagreement and the subsequent confession that he, at the very least, was very much interested were ridiculous thoughts. They barely knew one another beyond the uncanny connection they’d discovered between themselves and William was simply still far too uncertain with how Sherlock felt about him to make any leaps forward. 

        That Sherlock had also came right out and denied interest in anyone at all was also a rather hearty discouragement. Confidence and the pursuit of what he wanted took a back seat to humiliation and the very last thing William wanted to bring on himself was the loss of this new friendship and the blow of rejection from the one person he respected above all others. 

        At least it rather settled things though. 

        “You have my word,” William answers pleasantly, already breathing his oath with a lie through his teeth and another of those reassuring smiles that never quite reached his eyes but did the job well enough. “So if I’m ever to catch you dozing off in the middle of one of my performances, I’ll make quite certain that I’m to be the one to march over and tell you off for it.”

       “PLEASE, I’VE ALREADY HAD MY FAIR SHARE AT HOME....”

       Of all people, to have William telling him off just like the rest at home would truly be something to fear, almost even more than his arsenal of devilish smiles and smart remarks. William’s mind is astoundingly brilliant, the very pinnacle of excellence and of crime incarnate, but to have him as another Ms. Hudson simply because he can’t keep his eyes peeled enough without a nice dosage of cocaine would certainly finish Sherlock off in more horrid ways than one.

       “By the way, take your time here, alright?” Sherlock reminds him, placing a comforting hand on William’s shoulder despite knowing very well that the reminder really is kind of useless, because it’s William’s house, and it’s William who feels the most comfortable among the two within the premises. The furnishings that Sherlock call luxuries are comforting necessities to the second lord of the family, and yet, Sherlock doesn’t know what’s gotten into him to be so concerned. “You’ve worked up a sweat earlier, and I know your legs must be screaming in pain despite how long you’ve done this, so take your time to get ready. Take a nap or something. I’ll hold the fort down here with this, if you don’t mind.”

       By ‘this,’ he gestures to the piano; old yet beautifully ornate, and already Sherlock wonders how it sounds. He can tell that the brothers Moriarty regularly play on it, along with a select few others, but he truly wonders for himself as to how it would sound proper. Helping himself onto the stool, he opens the lid and pokes at a random key - B flat - and with a small stretch, he makes himself comfortable.

       Entrée and adage, the pas de dux for the black swan in Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. Hours with the infernal Bolshoi had made him near catatonic with memorizing as many scores as possible from every major and minor ballet work, but he busies himself with his favourites as his fingers fly about. The piano, a beautiful old Steinway, emits a brightly warm sound, and he nods in satisfaction to himself as he simply continues on playing.

       It’s a blessing, Sherlock thinks, to be able to spend time with William like this. It’s a gift to not speak of assumptions, of wondering when will one strike the other with the inevitable dread that one day, something somewhere would absolutely go wrong, because with the both of them already knowing more than what they ought to, it would truly be better off making the most, and best, out of it.

       Sherlock smiles up at William from where he sits and plays, a quiet thanks for allowing him into the privacy of his living space, as well as for nearly everything that has transpired, and will transpire, between them. For there can be no truer joy to Sherlock than being in this brilliant, beautiful man’s presence, although whatever he wishes beyond that - of affection, of love? - would be truly a case of wishful thinking.

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  "𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐃 to say it better myself, Mr. Ho— Sherlock,” William smoothly corrects himself, mirroring Sherlock’s amusement with a small smile of his own curving the swell of his lips. “At the very least things will be more interesting this way, I suppose. My restlessness has led me to wander the length of the ship twice now, I’m afraid and we’re not more than a few hours from departure.”

        He tilts his head a bit to the side, contemplation sparking in his gaze as he considers Sherlock. No, he certainly sees no problems so far in going forward with this silly little hoodwink of theirs. Not even Sherlock’s admission gave him pause, a soft ‘I’ve never either,’ going unsaid when he bites his tongue to keep at least some secrets as they should be with boyfriends who had but a minute’s timer to their name. 

        Dating was admittedly somewhat of a rather foreign concept to William as well; as he was sure that a few dinners or parties or formal events could hardly constitute as such let alone the relative casuality involved in weekend flings or a late evening’s attraction.

        Though how hard could it possibly be?

        William at least had the advantage of having consumed countless books and low-budget holiday romance films to get the gist of what to and not to do, not to mention that Sherlock had already rather proven himself as someone who’d perfected the art of acting along with whatever it was the situation called for in a truly admirable kind of easiness.

        “I’ve an idea,” William announces after a moment, swirling the wine in his glass out of practiced habit rather than any interest in whatever second-shelf pinot he’d been poured. “Come and join my brothers and I in our box for the performance. Admittedly, I don’t quite know what type of tickets they are that you’ve managed to get your hands on but on this ship, there are very few that could hope to beat the view from where our reservations allow us to stay.” 

        It’d also work as a concise, small ‘thank you’ for Sherlock’s efforts in helping William keep a safe distance from his off-putting suitor; not to mention how the other man’s features had visibly lit up while mentioning the ballet. While racking up a karmic tally wasn’t much something that William bothered himself with, he really had taken quite a liking to the refreshing candor and impressive deduction skills that Sherlock had demonstrated all in the two minutes William had known him— not to mention that bright grin plastered across his new companion’s face was a rather attractive expression.

        “Think about it at least?” William says gently; features softening, scarlet eyes rounding just enough to sell the convincing image. “If nothing else, a maritime performance of Giselle would certainly be an acceptable enough first date, don’t you think?”

       “EH — ARE YOU SURE? I mean, I’ve gotten economy tickets, and....well, are you sure that your brothers won’t mind? It’s a box, after all, so I guess you guys would like your privacy, right? But if you say so....”

       An acceptable enough first date is right, but Sherlock really doesn’t trust himself with keeping his attention divided between conversation and the ballet. It’s something like therapy for Sherlock, with each and every step of the choreography blending well in the swelling music, and now would not be a very good time to tell William that if he were to be disturbed even just a little bit with a word or a slight nudge, it would be akin to breaking a most beautiful spell that been cast, inviting an incredibly rude awakening.

       “If you say so, then I’ll come. I’ll try not to be too much of a nuisance, so don’t you worry about that, Liam,” Sherlock grins. William does have a certain charm to him; completely magnetic and wonderfully demure in every way, but there’s no mistaking the sharper undertones that he skillfully hides behind gentle smiles and polite mannerisms. A fine intellectual, Sherlock thinks, because as far as he knows, there’s no one like William that he’s ever met so far, and that’s saying a whole of a lot.

       “The ship’s boring in itself, yeah, but aren’t you the type who likes shopping?” he asks, a little perplexed over the very mention of William being absolutely bored to the point where he’s traveled the world figuratively on the ship. “There’s a lot of designer brands about, and there’s a lot of entertainment; the casinos, the mini library, the epicurean dining if you’re into that....”

       But come to think of it, Sherlock finds everything a little boring too, save for the casino, of course. Purchasable hotspots with set quotas on deck already burned a hole in his pocket so far, and speaking of pockets, he digs his hand into his right slacks pocket to find....

       .....what?

       “Huh....” Sherlock blinks, pulling out the cloth of his pocket to reveal nothing but scraps of a ticket that used to be whole, but now all minced up to bits as if it was chucked into a blender. With a look of utter mortification, Sherlock’s expression contorts into one of absolute horror, and he finds himself shaking even worse than his attempted withdrawal symptoms at the fact that he left the bloody ticket in his pocket while laundering it.

       “Oh my fucking god,” Sherlock murmurs. 

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

       ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄 brow had ticked first at the casual nickname he’d been granted and then again at the boldly-made proposition to play house for the long weekend, William knew for full certain that his surprise was visibly plastered across his features at the impressive little display of just what this man— Sherlock, was capable of. 

        “I am,” William answers politely, if not a bit distractedly before touching a crooked finger to his chin in thought as he considered the man in front of him with new eyes. Before he’d merely extended the invitation for courtesy’s sake, if not with a touch of his own desire to distract himself a bit but this certainly changed things. 

        It’d been a good long while since someone had managed to take him off guard quite like this— no, that was a lie. No one had ever extended such rapid-fire observations about himself with such impeccable accuracy and all at once William’s interest was no longer feigned. 

        He smiles again, this time the corners taking a bit of a sharper edge just like the cat lurking about the canary’s gilded cage. “I believe you, Mr. Holmes, though I suppose I must certainly be very lucky to have a detective arriving on the scene to aid me. Not only that…” 

        William tilts his head a bit in faux consideration though his excitement at the dawning prospect of finally having found an equal, “but you have quite the eclectic background don’t you? Chemistry experiments, violin, some rather impressive hand-to-hand experience of your own…” A drug dependence, fascinatingly enough though he keeps the tidbit respectfully to himself for now, “…mm, and an Oxford graduate? How very prestigious though I suppose that that kind of thing doesn’t much matter to you.”

        Almost reluctantly, he tears his gaze from Sherlock’s to motion the griefed bartender over once more for a dry martini and a charming word of thanks that seems to at least so soothe at least some of the indignity of playing beer-fetch. Two hours was plenty of time as far as William was concerned and neither of his brothers would worry about his continued absence so long as he showed up to their box on time for the premiere. 

        His lip quirks a bit at the thought of the ballet, how near it’d been that he declined to go at all for favour of a spell of quiet at the sprawling Durham manor. “Though I’m the same way myself, after all,” William adds a bit more gently, satisfied now that he felt as though he’d made his point. “So it’s rather refreshing to meet someone like you, Mr. Holmes. Like minds are a rare thing, after all, and your offer— while a bit of an unnecessarily arduous solution to my problem— still remains both far more innocent and interesting than anything our dear friend had uttered within the time he plagued me so…”

        Turning once more with all the eagerness of someone who couldn’t quite wait so see just what kinds of events would unravel over the next few days with this man hovering at his side, William gives Sherlock another once over that’s far less of a scan as it is of approving appraisal before meeting his eyes with a coy smirk. 

       “Let’s pull off a con then, shall we, love?”

       .....HE LIKES THIS GUY.

       William’s got everything down pat about Sherlock, and Sherlock doesn’t miss a beat in explaining that to him. “Like minds indeed — you’ve got everything correct about me, Liam! Man, I never thought that I’d meet someone like you ever; most people usually find me kind of annoying, so it’s a huge boost for me to meet someone like you.....”

      He yawns a little, not because the conversation was boring him  — no, not at all, because the conversation was extremely riveting in itself!  — but because he really didn’t expect an encounter like this to even be happening. Sherlock had spent a literal waking night anticipating the ballet, for it would be the second time in his life that he would be watching it live. You.Tube simply didn’t cut out for it; nothing could ever beat a live performance, and in an attempt to stay awake, Sherlock downs his pint and asks for another one.

      ....He’s not really sure if it’s the beer making him sleepy, or something else.

      “I’m boring, really,” Sherlock chuckles, “but you’re a really cool guy, so let’s do it. Just a disclaimer though; I’m awful when it comes to love, and if you haven’t deduced that part of me already, I have never loved, so I guess you’ll have to put up with me for two days, huh? I mean, really sorry in advance.....but since you trust me, let’s pull of that con, sweetheart.”

       Pretending to be William’s boyfriend is an entirely new thing to him, because for starters, what would William even like? How do romantic couples even behave? On one hand, they don’t act diabetically sweet, but on the other, they don’t treat each other like complete strangers as well, and being outright awful to each other like how married couples were wont to do simply wouldn’t feel right.

       “So I’ll try to be Mr. Right for these few days,” Sherlock says, a lopsided grin fully plastered on his features. “I really hope I can treat you right, Liam; I’ve never done this before, but hey, everything’s a first, huh?”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 suddenly takes it upon their gracious self to interject themselves into William’s space with a warm, steady hand at his waist and a far too overly familiar demeanor the moment is immediately transformed into one of those rare instances where William is effectively shocked into silence. 

        So impeccable he typically is with keeping his reactions as he wants them rather than how he feels them. Schooled expressions and pleasant smiles and a gentle brand of charisma all perfectly designed as to never appear waver, never change. Even when cornered by unsettling strangers in an unfamiliar place William had been almost certain that his crawling discomfort had been confined to no more than a tensed jaw and a steadily downcast gaze. 

        William almost starts in protest before immediately cutting himself off and clearing the surprise from his face as the new development in his situation catches up with him. Not only has the man seated next to him at the bar already started a sheepish and somewhat hurried retreat, but the new arrival is already releasing him with one of the most openly apologetic expressions he’s ever seen plastered clear as day across his face.

        “I—” William begins stiltedly, pausing to glance over his apparent saviour with no small bit of approval. A physical improvement by vast leaps and bounds from the bloke who’d just vacated the stool at his side— to William’s objective eye, at least— the newcomer truly seemed nothing but genuinely concerned for William and had at least possessed a rather impressive ability to not only read that something had been dreadfully off from wherever it was he’d come from but hadn’t at all hesitated to act.  

        “I’m fine,” he continues a bit more gently, relaxing for what felt like the first time he’d crossed the threshold of the lounge. He offers the man a small, sincerely grateful smile and neatly recrosses his legs. “Thank you for that, truly. I hadn’t yet quite puzzled out how to shake him myself so it seems you’ve rather saved my evening.”

        William extends a hand in a combination of greeting and gratitude, “William James Moriarty,” he introduces himself simply with another lovely smile before motioning to the seat at his side with a single elegant motion. “Interested at all in joining me for a drink? I figure it’s but the very least I could do to repay you for your efforts here.” 

        Not to mention that drinking alone has all but entirely lost its appeal, goes bitterly and quietly unsaid as he tries to shake the last bits of his earlier discomfort.

       “SHERLOCK HOLMES,  and while that sounds amazing, I’ve only got like....two hours here before the Giselle premiere, if you don’t mind. I can’t believe they’re doing a ballet on a ship, but they’ve done an opera before at another ship I’ve boarded, so I guess I can’t complain about that. Nice to meet ya’, Liam.”

       With a firm, strong handshake in return, Sherlock plops himself beside William at the bar table, groaning as he realizes that in the process of rescuing the man from his ill-lucked conversation with a completely inconsiderate individual, his pint of half-drunk beer was left unattended and abandoned, as if he’s dumped a poor kitten at the roadside. He waves his hand a little so as to gesture in such a way that he’s too lazy to retrieve it himself, thus the disgruntled bartender takes it upon himself to deliver it to him for a short minute.

       “I’ve gotta say sorry in advance though,” Sherlock sighs, and as his beer safely returns to him, he drinks a little before making a noise in satisfaction. “If we’re gonna be on this ship for a few days, I think he’ll be seeing a lot of you until the end of it all, so if you don’t mind, will it be okay to well....pretend that I’m your boyfriend so that he’d bugger off? You know what they say; an act’s as good as you make one, so -- h-hey, don’t look at me like that, I’m not thinking of anything else, honest....!”

       Because Sherlock knows these kinds of people; they may go away once, but they’ll always come back for more when they see an opening, and then something regrettable will happen sooner or later. It wasn’t as if Sherlock was stupid; there were far too many cases that he handled with the same nature, and he certainly didn’t want the same thing to befall William although they had just met a few minutes ago.

       “I’m....ah,” Sherlock says, scratching his head sheepishly, “I’m not gonna do anything out there, promise. It’s just a suggestion; I know that you can hold your own perfectly enough -- you’re skilled in martial arts, I can see, with fencing as a bit of your background as well as bare-handed fighting. You’re good with numbers; in fact, it’s your profession, so you can guess the probabilities of whatever happens, I guess. And you’re high-born, although it’s the 21st century and if you were born any earlier, I guess you’d be having loads of old money, but other than that, just take whatever I said as me being worried, that’s all.”

       It’s not very often that he offers to help people personally like this, much less jumping through hoops to put himself in the line of danger for someone he’s just met. And yet, Sherlock finds that he’s running his mouth a little too much in such a short time that he really wonders when the hell would he ever shut up in the most inappropriate of situations.

       “So, um......are you here for the ballet too?” he asks, in a lame, flimsy transition of changing the subject.

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 of all is that this isn’t even the first time this kind of thing has happened to him. 

        It’s never occurred before in the decadent first-class lounge of a luxury cruise liner, but William bitterly supposes there’s a first time for everything. Luck has never sought to favor him after all, so it would make perfect sense in that light for there to no longer exist such a thing as being able to enjoy your own company without a leering stranger sidling up to your side with a glass of mulled Bordeaux pinched between his fingers and the kind of smile smeared across his lips that makes William’s skin crawl in discomfort.

        He’s always been rather proud of his ability to keep a pleasant demeanor even in the worst kinds of situations but there was just something… very distinctly unsettling about this man and William couldn’t bring himself to bother with much more than a forced smile and terse one-worded answers as he refuses to touch the drink that the man had slid over to him.

        In hindsight, he really should’ve thought to ask Moran or Albert if they’d have liked to join him but managing to steal moments just enough to hear himself think was becoming more and more difficult to accomplish. The idea of stealing a seat at the glossy oak bar and relishing the sound of live music against dimmed lighting and the gentle clink of crystal glasses had simply been far too appealing to ignore for favor of more aimless wandering around the ship.

        The man— and William couldn’t even remember his name though he’d been given it not even ten minutes ago— leans in a little and William clears his throat to try and make the way he very much shifts away as subtle as possible. If anything, it’s only a matter of time before the man hopefully loses interest in someone that’s too uncomfortable to even manage much more than drawing into himself let alone offer the kind of reactions it was clear he was angling for.

        Pride was the only thing that kept him here and with each nudge of the untouched drink or yet greasy insinuation, William feels less and less like himself and more and more lost.

// @holmesed​*

      BEARING WITNESS TO SOMETHING  that was extremely uncomfortable was something that Sherlock didn’t expect on a fine luxury cruise, but that’s exactly the case right at this moment.

      Often, places too had stereotypes of their own, and they would normally be expected to accommodate a certain type and a certain amount of clientele specifically for what they offer, and for what they provide. In Sherlock’s case, he was one of the more glaring anomalies, in where despite being near penniless compared to the lot of them all, it would seem that his ardent love for operas would be a guarantee for him to bust his wallet on his hard savings. And yet, although he expected something like a good show, he certainly didn’t foresee the unwelcome extras into the mix.

      For at the corner of his eye, there was someone being awfully harassed – one would simply wonder if the other party clearly doesn’t know what any nuances of ‘no’ mean, and seeing as the situation wouldn’t get any better, Sherlock abandons his pint of beer, having been freshly served just a precious few minutes ago, to go over to the impeccably dressed blond gentleman’s rescue.

      These things usually work for girls, but he really didn’t know if it worked for guys either. An attempt wouldn’t be too bad, if only because he can easily just explain the entire situation to the other man as soon as everything’s settled, and with his signature cocky demeanor, he does what’s typically a makeshift rescue operation with a single:

      “There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

      What comes next is a flurry of actions that Sherlock himself did not foresee; him pretending to actually know this guy, him going up against the other in a rather possessive display of a relationship (which was truly nonexistent, to say the least!) being threatened, and him straight out bluffing that the man that has his waist wrapped around with his arm is his boyfriend, and that he’d very much like to know what the hell that guy’s doing disturbing him.

      But on a luxury liner, no one wants to cause the commotion that Sherlock wanted to incite, thus most thankfully, the man backs away, leaving both Sherlock and the blond at the bar counter before Sherlock lets go of his waist, proceeding to profusely apologize for the entire proceedings that could’ve soured his day.

      “Shit, I’m sorry about all that,” Sherlock sighs, looking at the man again once – twice – over, wanting to see if he was at the very least alright. “If he disturbs you again, just let me know, alright? You okay?”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 with hidden things. The shadows stretched too long and too dark to be innocent of what lay behind them and the feeling of eyes watching you from behind every twisting trunk was far too persistent to be an imaginary uneasiness. There were reasons, after all, that no one ventured through these woods and not a soul was to better know why than William.

        It was colder at night, like it always was. Always straddling the thin line between late autumn and the coming winter that never quite arrived but the heavy wool cloak draped around his shoulders did valiantly enough to shield him. As black as the shadows nipping closer and closer to his companions sleeping by the dying fire and as starkly contrasting to the rest of his fair features as the favoured colour always lay against his skin, William tugged it a bit closer out of habit rather than necessity as he finally tore his gaze away from the prone, sleeping forms of John and Sherlock.

        He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept himself. He couldn’t even remember ever needing it or if he’d ever been lost in the way the two pilgrims not 15 feet away from where he sat up against the base of a tree or if he’d simply always been the way he was now. 

       Perhaps it was a fool’s wishful thinking to hope for one over the other. 

        Though he supposed it didn’t really matter either way. William was here now as he was and had already invested far more toil and effort and precious time into these two then he’d ever bothered to before and it was beginning to gnaw at him just how little he cared about that change. People fell here for a reason, after all, became lost in these woods to escape the relentless pursuit of something from their past lives and it would do good for him to remember that when he looked at them.

         But boredom, however, was an evil in itself and so far William had yet to find himself any less than enraptured by at least one of the two he’d promised to lead out from this place. Though throwing the tiny rocks at his feet seemed far more childish a solution to the problem presented of Sherlock being asleep than he was currently willing to stoop so instead William settles for leaning up a bit more solidly against the hard oak of the tree and glaring at Sherlock. 

        “Wake up,” he murmurs under his breath in exasperation, irritated all over that he couldn’t even see the man’s face. False companions or no, a myriad of lies and secrets carefully being hidden away from the near eerily perceptive gaze of Sherlock Holmes, and that strange brand of reluctance William’s never felt before growing heavier and heavier with every day that passed— the least Sherlock could do for himself was experiencing the waking moments he had left. /

// @holmesed​

       HE WAKES TO  the sound of a thunder clap, or rather, the words of someone rousing him awake from his half-baked slumber.

       It really was kind of pathetic to end up sleeping somewhere in the woods as if it’s a survival gig, something that Sherlock would’ve preferred to avoid for as much as possible. Yet, one’s got to sleep somewhere, especially in terms of continuing on a journey to get out of the place where he and John ended up. Sherlock opens his eyes easily enough, not even bothering to rub them as he shifts a little, the movements crackling at the leaves beneath him as he tries to sit up against the strong bark of the tree he slept under.

       “Ugh, is it five yet.....?” Sherlock murmurs, blearily looking at William as he  sniffles a little in the cold; there’s really nothing in this godforsaken forest. Not even a small bit of life - the fact that even the trees looked more than dead nearly knocks the air out of him over the sheer incredulity of it all. Absolutely no one can survive in these woods, and if they were to be looking for the Beast, then this really ought to be the right place.

       “You’re not asleep yet, Liam?” Sherlock asks, shifting himself a little as he takes off his own coat - a lovely plaid Inverness that does more than enough for the job as he places it over William’s eternally cold frame (and oh, how Sherlock worries about him so!). Brows furrow in concern, and they have yet to reach any form of civilization without even the smallest bit of peculiarity and hostility, thus William’s face truly needed a good wash after a little too many scuffles in schoolrooms and rowdy bars. “Come on, I know it’s cold, but you need a little bit of energy to keep going. Speaking of which....”

       He takes it upon himself to light two things; the dying fire, with its small embers dimming and ebbing away in the night, and the small, flickering flame of the lamp that was often carried with them. The trusty Zippo lighter that could, and would never, run out of fuel for at least two weeks did the trick for both, although much less for the lamp for some reason, but it’d have to do.

       “There,” Sherlock smiles. “I bet that’s a little better. At least everyone can sleep warmer, huh, Liam? What was it you wanted to talk about?”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎Sherlock’s infectious enthusiasm has always proved itself something that’s a near given for William. To find himself time after time again shifting from the sidelines of the politely smiling bystander role he most often took to one of somebody eagerly playing along with all of Sherlock’s challenges and bets and just… general shenanigans It was a weak point of his he’d quickly come to realize but one that had (so far) been without consequences or repercussions and it was a sad thing to contemplate on just how rare that was for William to find.

        This was no different. Now here he was, fanning the flames of the fan theories and questions and even the hopes because he was at his very core an individual who much enjoyed setting rumours alight— so eventual repercussions or no, this was still something that William was very much so enjoying himself doing and especially with Sherlock sitting at his side with a wide grin and lack of care for the personal space one usually took with relative strangers.

        “It seems we’ve discovered the secret to internet infamy,” William jokes good-naturedly, posture easing just the barest minimum to allow Sherlock to lean more easily against him. Whether it was ridiculous or not to keep trying, keep hoping, at least he was still allowed the warmth of the man he fancied tucked against his side. “All along it was really as simple as taking a photograph together, imagine that.”

        Though that wasn’t to say that they didn’t have fanbases of their own rights. William had really only glanced at Sherlock’s page so far since following him a scant few hours ago but it was a fact as good as any other that his own account was a rather popular one. Amazing what the combination of a careful eye for aestheticism and meticulously curated outfits could do when posted for the world to see. He liked to take pride in the things attached to his name and the sun-dappled photos of ivy scaling the bricked walls of Durham and long-line silhouette of his form captured in the gold-framed cheval glass all amounted to things that William could very pleased with to have associated with him.

        What wasn’t pleasing— what really wasn’t a fair thing at all was to not be certain of the direction that his and Sherlock’s relationship was heading; or, perhaps could head was the better way to frame it. Especially when Sherlock is so unfairly warm against him as he scrolls through the notifications for the photo with a wide grin on his face so bright that it could give the very sun in the sky a run for its money. 

        “…It doesn’t bother you at all then?” William asks him quietly, watching Sherlock’s expression with something like sinking dread and something dangerously like hope tightening his throat even as indifference plays out ever so easily across his face. “That there are so many people discussing our relationship now? Asking if we’re dating or now convinced that we’re already doing so or even… amazingly enough, shipping us. Not to mention my comment earlier, and I apologize, I really should’ve thought to ask before I did something like that.”

        “Because; well, there’s someone you’re interested in, right? I wouldn’t want them to end up seeing this if that’s the case and if this picture continues to get more and more popular.”

       FOR A MOMENT,  it was as if he could almost sense the unease from William’s person despite the beautifully placed smile tugging at his lips in an impeccable display of aloofness. The question that accompanied William did somewhat corner Sherlock into actually using his head for once in regards to something as rocky as a relationship, especially when he’s been trying to tread lightly in the face of harboring an incredibly massive crush on the mathematician beside him.

       They have never been simple, him and William. They have never been ordinary people; they have always swept themselves up into the storm that is the intertwining worlds of justice and crime, and it is a web that they could never hope to escape from for the rest of their lives. For the most part, those were their lives - their fates to constantly wind around each other until the greater evil has been vanquished, so to say. Indeed, for that matter, to find a more peaceful turn of events such as this one was a rarity; something that Sherlock dearly wished to cherish and to hold great importance of.

       “Apologize for what?” Sherlock asks, comfortably smiling over at William so as to reassure him in his good-natured concerns. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Liam; it really doesn’t bother me. In fact, how do I say this....I guess I can say that I’m really comfortable with you, so there you have it. No saying sorry and stuff like that, because whenever you’re around, I tend to not look at anyone else. John said so himself, you know? To say that I’m interested in someone’s kinda overkill, because well, who’d wanna date me anyways?” he grins jokingly.

       Whether it was self-depreciating or not, it was the truth - who would want to subject themselves to being Sherlock’s romantic interest? A woman would scream whenever they would see Sherlock’s and John’s shared room ( unless her name’s Irene Adler or Mary Morstan, but even they were transient as their roles as a client and as John’s fiancee respectively ), thus for instance, should William ever step into the thresholds of 221B, he would most definitely have his affections for Sherlock decreasing by the second.

       “It doesn’t bother me whatever you do, Liam,” Sherlock reconfirms, putting his hands in his pockets as he nods in affirmation, “but if anything I do bothers you instead, don’t be shy to tell me, okay? We’re gonna be seeing each other a whole lot from now on, and I really don’t want to get on your bad side outside of the entire crime  business. Promise you’ll tell?”

       Because despite everything, Sherlock is simply in awe over how considerate and caring William is; in fact, that’s exactly why William goes through numerous lengths and measures to become London’s famed Lord of Crime. His ardent love for the country, as well as his desire to see everyone do well without being strangled by the bonds of social oppression was indeed something....something that Sherlock really didn’t have, and couldn’t bring himself to fake having.

       He truly, truly hated this country, anyhow.

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 just stop thinking about it. A near-impossible feat to accomplish when William is precisely the type to mull things over until they’ve long since distilled to cherry wine. But whether what he was getting here was truly mixed signals or simply William’s own incorrect deductions about whatever it was that Sherlock wanted from him was quickly becoming more of a headache to try and predict then it’d be to simply just let Sherlock take the lead on this. 

        A bit relieved that the change of subject went over so smoothly, his cheeks flush with pleasure and a small reserved smile begins tugging at his lips with the compliment. William dips his head just a bit in modesty though he’s positively glowing with the praise— decidedly not thinking about the softened expression on Sherlock’s face or why he’d say something like that aloud.

        “Thank you,” William murmurs quietly before looking up to cast Sherlock a rather demure smile. “Though in that case I certainly hope I don’t disappoint your expectations because next time will definitely have to happen sooner rather than later.” He was sure of how he looked, he had to be when much of both his social and double life called for wide eyes or a pretty smile but it was important to him and not just a joking matter that Sherlock also think highly of him. 

        Especially when Sherlock so rarely seemed to even take notice of others’ appearances beyond what he could conclude about them… in fact, that lack of care seemed to very well often bleed over into the man’s own care about how he looked though in William’s opinion it’d take much, much less of whatever Sherlock was doing now for him to at all be unattractive.

        Taking the phone from Sherlock, William scrolls through the surprising amount of comments commenting on how good the two of them look together— and with a great many of them tacking on a ‘congratulations’ or a ‘good luck’ its very clear to see what Sherlock was talking about.

        Though it’s not as though the picture itself discourages those rumours. Not with how close to Sherlock William had put himself or how Sherlock seemed to leans in towards him, not with the most genuine smile the internet had ever been blessed with from him plastered across his lips in the presence of this one man. 

        No, it wasn’t a surprise at all that there were people reading into the photo as something different than a simple friends outing. 

        “I have an idea,” he says suddenly, a bit of mischievousness springing forth and sharpening the corners of his grin just a little. William locates one of the top comments (’they really look like a couple here?? does anyone actually know if they’re dating???’), hits reply with Sherlock’s wonderfully unique Instagram account, and responds with nothing more than a simple text emoticon smiley face to the question. 

        Neither an approval or denial but definitely something that leans one way much further than the other.

        “Now that will almost definitely make things a bit more fun for you,” William jokes lightly as their driver pulls up to the gates of the manor and rolls to a stop in front of one of the most impressive homes in this burrough of London. “We seem to really be quite popular… Who would’ve thought that a single photo over an Italian lunch would’ve been the final straw to break the internet?”

        “EH....!”

       There it is, the signature mischievousness that William displays oh-so-subtly when given the slightest chance - the briefest opportunity! - and Sherlock had walked right into his clutches in his otherwise seemingly inconsequential gestures of generosity! 

       “Hahaha, you’ve really done it now, Liam!” Sherlock laughs, as he processes nearly everything in a flurried blur. It’s only after paying tips to the Uber driver, walking past the Venus de Milo fountain and heading straight to the door while being huddled close to William that Sherlock’s phone starts blaring with notifications; a most definite cacophony of bleeps disturbing the natural order of silence in a beautifully landscaped garden!

       “Man, look at all this!” he exclaims, showing William all the comments coming in real time - numerous bits of ‘omg omg omg!! ! ! !11′, ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!’ and ‘what’s THAT supposed to mean omg???’ filing in like people in the Tube on the way to work. It’s driving his phone near stir-crazy, especially when he’s never received so much attention before on social media, when....      

       An idea forms in Sherlock’s head as soon as they reach the main hall of William’s wonderfully grand house - a dose of strong encouragement to stir the masses even more. Yet, it wasn’t simply because of the public reaction that he wanted to partake of like a most delectable dessert, but mostly because he found himself incredibly ecstatic over the positive feedback that they were both receiving simply just by being in each other’s company. For the first time, it was as if people understood, simply just by looking, that they were indeed meant for each other, platonic or otherwise.

       Huddling a little closer to William, Sherlock types ‘^ that’s liam btw >:D’ right below William’s comment, and almost instantly, the reception received goes wild - the internet nearly going absolutely mental over the fact that their so-called celebrities were finally responding to them.

       “And there we go!” Sherlock grins, leaning against William most comfortably as he delights in sending it. “We’ll never hear the end of this!”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 blink… and then another… and then once more before William is backing off and out of Sherlock’s space with a rare peel of laughter. He cards his fingers through his hair as he regains his composure, shoulders still shaking with amusement and a tactfully deployed ignorance towards Uber Diver Taylor’s painfully blatant attempts to make meaningful eye contact in the mirror. 

        It was almost a beautiful irony really, that their conversation about their inability to read one another would bleed over so beautifully into an interaction in real-time. And though while it wasn’t an outright rejection, William sobers a bit with a stern mental note to self to lay off a bit. If Sherlock really wasn’t catching on to even the most blatant of hints then it was all the more likely that he simply wasn’t interested and as disappointing as that was it certainly wasn’t going to bring on the end of the world. 

        Besides, although Sherlock had implied that there was someone it’d been vain of William to push forwards with the hopes it was himself. Just because it’d seemed for a few moments here and there as though the feelings were returned and mutual didn’t at all mean that he was strictly right and this just proved that. Sherlock was almost visibly uncomfortable and William feels a little guilty at pushing the envelope so far that even someone so unphased as Sherlock had been set so on edge. 

        “Well, I’m very glad to have your blessing,” he answers a bit wryly with no beat of hesitation and all in all a very smooth recovery to what could’ve been a far more embarrassing rebuttal to his advances. “It just wouldn’t have felt the same swiping right without your approval.” The stock smile is already on his lips, the tension palpably changing between them to one a bit more reserved as the sting settles into quiet acceptance.

        Looking for a change in topics that would be gratefully leagues from discussing three-ways in the backseat of an Uber, William nods towards Sherlock’s phone, “And? What is it that the netizens have to say about our latest picture? I can’t help but be a bit curious, it’s really not very often that I take photos with someone else.” 

        Though that was moreso a conscious personal preference rather than anything else. Other than the occasional off photo with one or both brothers or an even more elusive one with one of the others, William took great care to steer clear of being associated with the people found in aristocratic social circles. And while none of this was common knowledge, he really was curious about just how the rather sizable fanbase that consisted of both Sherlock’s followers and his was taking to read the latest picture.

       WHETHER HIS DEDUCTION  about William being secretly into threesomes or not was right or not really didn’t matter, for as soon as he mentioned the phone, Sherlock scoots right beside William again, this time with his signature grin being plastered all over his face with absolute eagerness to share.

       “Quite a lot, actually - look, they’re shipping us!” Sherlock laughs, looking every bit the excited man as he hastily keys in his phone password - a flash of numbers, a meaningful birthday, but who’s? - before tapping at the Instagram app. The picture of them beaming at the camera in an otherwise upscale Italian restaurant a few minutes back is booming with popularity, with the numerous netizens who are their most undying fans - and new others - lauding them for even meeting up!

       “One’s asking when we’re going out again - no, wait, that’s almost half the comments,” he smiles, angling closer to William to show him. “Gosh, what should I say, huh? We’re definitely going to meet up more than this, and we’re definitely going to make so many more memories together, Liam, so.....”

       The very prospect of people wishing them well was so utterly foreign to Sherlock that it rubs him off in the best ways possible. It was incredibly good to know that there were others who, at the very least, wanted them to be together, and that they would certainly enjoy it if they were to hang out again. Needless to say, they were simply more than minor celebrities meeting up coincidentally and treating one or the other out for good food - but the public certainly doesn’t need to know more than that at all.

       “Here, take a look at all this,” he says, passing his phone over to William’s for his personal scrutiny. “Or....you know what? You can put in a reply of your own on this account; let’s see what they’ll say, hm? Maybe we’ll take our next picture somewhere else in some fancy place, or maybe it’ll be us at 221B, or maybe it’ll be just us at some pretty scenery and you’ll....”

       He trails off; the very thought of William looking beautiful against the backdrop of a wonderful sunset almost seizes at his heart and makes it beat again a little faster right afterwards. It’s his blinding smile that he imagines; the strands of gold being illuminated in the setting sunlight, the wind blowing through as William looks on with everything and nothing in his mind at the same time.....

       “.....you’ll look incredibly, astoundingly beautiful,” Sherlock finishes, his voice containing the unmistakable hints of awe.

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  "𝐀𝐇, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐘 that chivalry is dead,” William quips in amusement with a grin of his own as he climbs into the backseat of the car. Whether the thoughtful special treatment was strictly needed or not when William had long since become adjusted to the aching after-effects of rehearsals, he certainly wasn’t one to turn down extra attentions and particularly not ones that Sherlock seemed so insistent on delivering. 

        Flashing their driver— a young, tired-looking man with a mustache that appeared as though at any moment he were about to begin twirling the ends and reciting a well-rehearsed megalomaniacal monologue— a smile that could be labeled as nothing short of seraphic in the reflection of the rearview mirror, William confirms the London manor address with him before settling back and humming in agreement with Sherlock. 

        It’d been a source of both curiosity and frustration for both Sherlock and he that to one another it was so nearly impossible to puzzle out a great many of facts and tidbits. Never before had William encountered someone that possessed the ability to make him second guess himself so completely at every turn, every scan was riddled with contradictions and just plain blanks and the only comfort of which was knowing that Sherlock too was having such difficulties. 

        ‘As above so below’; and so strengths must also have their weaknesses. 

        “Perhaps,” William offers mildly, looking out the window himself to smile at the rapid read of innocent sidewalk bystanders. “Though it does make things rather interesting, doesn’t it?” 

        No predictable solutions to the puzzles put forth or bluffs laid out on the table, no boring preliminaries or needlessly basic problems that every person thought was going to be the cause of armageddon lest one Sherlock Holmes or William Moriarty came to their immediate rescue.

        “There’s never been anyone else like you,” he adds a bit more quietly, the sentiment feeling a bit more private than something he was willing to let a clearly very curious Uber Black driver eavesdrop in on. “And while I’ve never been one much for the unpredictable, I’m so very glad to have met you that day on the Noahtic. Nothing’s ever been quite the same since and I mean that in the best of ways.”

        Finding your twin flame in a world where such a thing seemed very much the concept of legend was an incredibly exceptional thing. Sherlock was both William’s perfect foil and the missing pieces of everything that he lacked. Whether what they had now ever developed any different from offbeat rivals to friends to (Willam couldn’t help but hope) anything more, William was very much intending to enjoy the ride there as he reveled in the unabashed light that Sherlock shone on everything he came into contact with. 

        Whether that meant he was shouting at full volume in a league dedicated to silence or laughing bawdily in the upscale dining car of a train to London.

        “And thank you for the vote of confidence for my love life, although…” William speaks, continuing in the same low voice just close enough to Sherlock’s ear that it was for him alone but not quite intimate enough for it to strictly be read as flirtatious even as the teasing smirk at his lips was truly attempting to say otherwise. “Who says I’m interested in just ‘someone’?”

      THAT WAS…DEFINITELY SOMETHING, wasn’t it?

      Had it been anyone else, Sherlock would’ve easily made a deduction right then and there, and ten out of ten, he would be absolutely spot on. Had it been anyone else, he would’ve concluded that they were coming onto him in the most skillful ways possible, but William wasn’t just anyone else, was he?

      Absolutely not. There’s got to be more – or less – to this than the hundreds of possibilities racing in his head right at that moment.

      It’s the telltale signs of nervousness sinking in; the clammy hands, the incoming feeling of heat flushing up from his neck to his face and the way that William has successfully rendered Sherlock momentarily speechless floors Sherlock to no end at the amount of skill and finesse William possesses even in otherwise normal situations. Had it been the old days in where they were going around with their usual game of cat and mouse – with the detective chasing around the crime lord, ring-around-the-rosies around London – Sherlock would definitely say that William was doing this on purpose.

      But he simply couldn’t tell – and he simply couldn’t say! – whether William was playing around with him or not at this very time, in the backseat of an Uber car as they cross Vauxhall Bridge. It’s the velvet-like smoothness of William’s voice and his incredibly charming, knowing smile that catches Sherlock completely and utterly unaware, and to salvage any remaining bits of composure he’s had left, he leans a little forward to get a whiff of the air-conditioning before he checks the notifications on his phone on Instagram.

      The comments pour in, all voicing their surprise over his surprise meeting with William, and he finds that he can, at the very least, smile again in response to such overwhelming feedback. Most surprisingly, however, they were all amazingly positive, with wishes that they would continue to meet up again impromptu, demands for ‘more pics or this didn’t happen!’ and the one that stood out the most: ‘we stan, we ship ayyyy’.

      “So….not just anyone, huh?” Sherlock says, pocketing his phone as he swallows; he’s really not sure as to what approach to take exactly, especially when he feels like a blushing schoolboy fresh out of a meeting with a crush – but surely, that analogy couldn’t be applied here, right…? “Wow, I didn’t expect that from you, but you do you, I guess, Liam!” he chuckles. “Wishing you the best threesome of your life, then!”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  “𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎—” 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 thickly, the swell of emotions choking him as William rips his hand away from Sherlock’s as quickly as he can manage. He hated just how much it made him feel to watch Sherlock press his lips to his knuckles as though he were a sovereign king being begged for pardon. The expression bleeding across Sherlock’s face as he played card after card for a second chance that made no rational sense to give. 

      That was the difficult thing about moments like these. When logical reasoning and rational thought gave way under the heavy weight of longing and desire and hurt and all those other vexingly human emotions that time and time again had proven themselves stronger than William could weather.

      This was no different. 

      “You’re so infuriating,” William bites past the knot in his throat in something that’s barely above a hiss. The frustration is making his eyes sting and he’s still so unable to understand why Sherlock is still pushing for something and twisting the knife in the wounds they’ve given one another. “I can’t stand to hear you go on about ‘my happiness’ when you should well enough know by now that any kind of future that has a chance of you rotting in prison somewhere is a nightmare for me. 

      “…I hate having to worry about you,” He adds a bit more quietly, voice raw as the crescents of his nails cutting into his palms at such a confession. It already felt as though he’d given so much of himself away tonight and here he was cutting away more and more secrets and dark vulnerabilities to offer them up for ridicule or dismissal. “I just— I hate wondering if you’re dead somewhere or being held up in some foreign country a thousand miles away… I hate that you lied to me and I hate that you pretended to be an obnoxious coworker and I hate that you’re trying so hard to keep this now when I’m trying so very hard not to be selfish.”

      William meets Sherlock’s gaze again, exhaustion and despondency darkening his features as he reaches out almost reflexively to cup Sherlock’s cheek against the palm of his hand in a way so very bleeding tender that it makes his chest ache all over again at the thought of all the wrong turns taken to bring them to this particular crossroads. 

      The rustle of the bed linens is stiflingly loud in the quiet of the room as William moves a bit closer. There’s nothing but the soft huffs of baited breaths and the dull thrum of the rain outside as though it’d all faded away into nothing in preparation for highlighting this very moment.

      He kisses Sherlock and its so very painfully bittersweet.“Sherlock…” William sighs, “love, sometimes things aren’t for the best and that’s alright. It’s not that I don’t believe you have a plan or some miraculous way to get out of this but…”

      Sighing again, he shakes his head before resting their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “I’m not going to tell you to leave,” he whispers. “In truth, I don’t think that I could even if I wanted to. It’s in your best interest to continue on with what you were planning on doing, I shouldn’t have encouraged you to change course. Mycroft surely wouldn’t let you throw your life away so completely.”

      “At the very least… we have these two months you were planning on taking. But things will be different if you stay: no more lies. No more pretending.”

      Maybe… just maybe they could figure something out within that timeframe. Maybe William could work past this sticky residue of anger and distrust and the rest of the slew within that time. But it was a lot of weight to put on ‘maybe’ and it was only because William was so weak for this man that he was bothering to allow what was bound to be an extended and especially painful goodbye.

       NO MORE LIES, NO MORE PRETENDING  —  it’s the least he can offer up to William in this latest development of their relationship, or whatever it ought to be called, and it rings like a plea and a command to Sherlock all at the same time.

       “I’ll confide everything in you, I promise,” Sherlock whispers, closing his eyes as well in return as he keeps William close; the proximity and the simple touch of their foreheads meaning the absolute world to him. “Where I am, what I’m doing, what I’m thinking....it’ll be as if we’re sharing one heart. I won’t...I won’t hurt you again, I promise you this.”

       Risks and chances were things that ought to never be taken lightly, but he wants this closeness with his most beloved to continue, to repeat itself again in the future. It’s the feeling of William with him and the knowledge that he’s safe in Sherlock’s arms makes him all the more determined to resume his bitter fight against the powers that be, but for now, this is all he can ever ask for.

       “Sometimes, things aren’t for the best, but it’s not always alright,” Sherlock says softly, pressing another kiss to William’s lips as he feels the warmth of his face in his calloused fingertips, the feel of it being so intimately sacred that Sherlock wills for the feeling to be committed into his memory. “It’s not for the best when you’re sick with worry, and it’s certainly not for the best that this mess exists in the first place...which is why I’ll give it my all to fix this. Because as I’ve said, I’m not just going to take a measly two months.....”

       He truly doesn’t know where on earth he finds remnants of forgotten self-motivation within himself in a given period of time, but he does it anyways. It’s not even the silver lining in the sky that he finds himself searching for and grasping, but it’s the briefest speck of light instead, no matter how small, that propels him to find the one in a million chance that things would get better. 

       “It’s gonna sound cheesy as hell.....but I’ll make us last forever,” Sherlock grins confidently, brimming with the long-lost confidence that he’s known and accustomed to having. “We’ll work this out slowly, and we’ll have as much time as we need on our hands. No more smoke and mirrors; we’ll have none of that between us anymore, because my heart is yours, now and always, Liam.”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 barest of seconds as he tries to keep up with the newest revelation coming from none other than his long-time rival, William manages a faint answer the best he can as he reflexively grants Sherlock a smile in return at the genuine sentiment. Spontaneous confessions and casual teasing were almost a given with present company but William was still trying to adjust to being around someone who always wore their heart on their sleeve for the world to see. 

        “No… I don’t mind it in the slightest,” he says, sounding just a little distracted still even as he truly does try and sound present and not as though he’s stuck up completely on the earlier bit of conversation. “As long as I’m not imposing on you or the Doctor by doing so this suddenly.”

        The very last thing William would want to do was make Sherlock uncomfortable or put him off and he truly was touched by all the sincerity. Especially when William really wasn’t all that big of a fan of ‘hanging out’— not when he could be home reading or practicing or doing anything other than having to spend hours of nonrefundable time on yuppies he couldn’t possibly care less about and who looked at him and could only see the prestigious name and pacifying demeanor. 

        One-dimensional people provided very one-dimensional company and William really only had so much patience (and personal tolerance) for dealing with the kinds of people that unfortunately seemed to attract themselves to him like moths to a flame. 

        Clearing his throat a bit, William checks the distance of their driver before deciding that yes, they do have enough time to properly get into this. His brows had only climbed higher with each turn of Sherlock’s story from the bit of irritation he felt towards John to the— irrational and he knew it but it couldn’t be helped— green flare towards this… Miss Violet Hunter who was apparently still associating herself with Sherlock, to finally—

        “Ah… No, I didn’t know,” William admits quietly, reaching out to squeeze at Sherlock’s arm. He’d tactfully left off the fact that he’d assumed at least some kind of curiosity on Sherlock’s part— he was nearly certain that he hadn’t been entirely imagining at least a gleam of interest from the other man over the short course of their relationship. “I don’t believe anything that I hear second hand anyway, so even if I had heard something from someone other than you…”

        Trailing off, he waves a hand in dismissal. “Either way I’m happy for you. Whatever it was that made you realize—” he arches a brow in silent questioning, too polite to outright ask what it was that would inspire a sexuality crisis in Sherlock Holmes but just the smallest bit too nosey and personally invested in knowing the answer to just let it slip by unaddressed, “—I’m glad that you seem to have things figured out.”

        “As for me though I suppose,” William continues easily, taking pity on Sherlock for what very much seemed like nervousness? An unheard of mood on him but William supposes that this topic reaches to a place a little more raw and vulnerable than most. “I like men. Exclusively, if we’re going to be specific. Though if we’re being candid I am a little surprised that you haven’t heard things or even guessed it yourself. It’s not like I’m exactly bothering with subtlety here.”

       IT’S TRULY CHRISTMAS COME EARLY  for Sherlock as soon as he hears those words coming out from William’s lips.

       “You’re gay? That’s great!” Sherlock exclaims  —  a little too excitedly for good measure, because it truly means that he, at the very least, stands a chance!  —  giving William a sporting pat on the shoulder. “If you haven’t found anyone yet, don’t worry about it; you’re basically every guy’s dream guy, so you’ll snag up someone soon real easy. And about subtlety...”

      Being subtle is more of a careful mechanism that most people tend to employ, especially when it comes to protecting themselves from otherwise unsavoury happenings that might come along the way. For William, however, he’s made it into an art; hiding his true intentions behind artfully beautiful smiles, with every action unwasted and properly measured to give off the particular impression that he wishes to portray. Sherlock, on the other hand, is a batting ram with no regards to almost anything that comes his way, and it wasn’t as if he really cared about being subtle unless he’s faced with a most wonderful mind like William’s in intellectual combat.

       “Yeah, that’s something that I’ve been curious about too, you know?” he shrugs, taking William’s hand in his as an instinctive protective measure against....anything, really, or probably he simply wanted to hold his hand. “When we first met at the Noahtic cruise a year back, you got stuff pretty spot on about me, and I got stuff pretty spot on about you. No one would ever guess that this is in memory of my Mum,” Sherlock continues, holding up their held hands as he points out the skull ring for further illustration, “and no one would ever guess that you’re a mathematician at first glance, and yet....”

       It’s an episode of social experimentation, and Sherlock looks on across the street at a handful of people waiting for their rides as well from the other side. “We can tell that the lady in the red coat’s straight, that the guy with the weird bag’s asexual, that the other lady in that beige office getup’s trying really hard to hide that she’s lesbian....but for some reason, I can’t tell when it’s you. I guess that’s the same about you with me, huh? That’s kind of odd....”

       And with their ride pulling over soon enough, Sherlock goes over to open the car door for William almost as if he’s at the blond’s beck and call, if only to make things a little easier for him. It wasn’t that he saw William as particularly weak at this given time, but dancing for several hours straight must’ve really hurt, thus proper consideration ought to be given.

       “After you,” Sherlock grins. “Slowly now, okay?”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 easily. One moment their lives are falling into place like the missed signs had never even happened along their journey and the next William can scarcely make sense of the flurry of earth-tilting new information being hurled his way. So many hours had been spent essentially framing Sherlock for crimes, even more spent in the narrow window between pining and obsession and all of it felt so hollow now.

        He was tired. William didn’t want to be angry, he didn’t want to still feel as though to best solution to this entire thing was to simply flee out through the door and onto the streets and never once look back. He didn’t know how to separate himself from this, to view it rationally with a level head set upon his shoulders. The anger was well-enough past, the tide of it barely lapping him and instead giving way the to the suffocation of hurt and exhaustion.

        At least with anger you can hide behind it. The red clouds your gaze until there’s nothing to see at the end of the tunnel besides whatever it is that drives you and anger is something William is well enough familliar with.

        But this…

        “How?” he speaks up bluntly, driven more by what may just be a masochistic desire to drag out this charade in a coward’s fashion rather than just end it and bear the heartbreak. “How is it that you plan on protecting me or even on protecting us when you’ve already dug yourself 2 metres down? If you stay you’re to be convicted for crimes you’re not solely responsible for and if you defect then you’re a traitor to the crown and things will never change from how they are now.”         A brief pause and then William’s glancing back at Sherlock, bitter sorrow dulling his gaze as a defeated smile plays at his lips. He should’ve known better, Lord knows he’s had his hopes crushed into ash more than enough times in this lifetime to learn something from it; he should’ve known better than to think for even a second that this story could’ve ended in anything other than flames. 

        “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life sneaking around like that?” William asks softly, “What you have to lose is so very much more valuable than what you have to gain here and— Sherlock, look at all the rules you’ve already had to bend and break just to get to this point with me.”

        “Sometimes… things just aren’t meant to be.”

       “I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.  I ain’t gonna believe that shit.”

       There are times to be pessimistic — usually, those are the times when things wouldn’t be so consequential to the point where one would either know when to fold them because the time’s not right, or because it simply matter at all. However, this wasn’t one of those times where Sherlock would simply agree with whatever William said and to call it a day to take the easy way out and subject himself to the very limited two options of a Morton’s fork.

       “If they’re not meant to be, I’ll change that,” Sherlock says, the ever-growing determination bubbling up within him as he takes William’s hands in his  —  the only reality he’s ever known and will ever accept. “It’s....alright if you don’t want this, it’s alright if you want to forget this entire mess and stuff, but....”

       He doesn’t know when he’s given his heart away so freely like this, especially when he’s taken to quashing it down and hiding it instead of wearing it proudly on his sleeve, bleeding for the man before him. He kisses William’s pale, cold knuckles, silently wondering if this would ever be the last time he would be permitted to do as such before he would ultimately walk out the door with the inevitable rejection that would come with WIlliam’s mistrust, thus he commits the feeling to memory the best he can if only for his own aching heart.

       “Please know that you’re the entire world to me,” Sherlock whispers. “Please know that I’m not losing anything for you, because you’re.....you’re all I’ve got. If only to keep you safe and happy, I’d do anything, even if I’m afar and even if you don’t want me near you.”

       Whether the storms that would plague them would let up or not is entirely up to him, truly. Sherlock knows that it wouldn’t be easy; he knows he’s hurt William beyond repair, and he loosens his grip on William’s hands so as to give him a most proper out should he wish to take the chance. 

       “I’ve been planning extensively just to find a third way out of this mess,” he explains, “and so far, so good. I know that it’ll work; I’ve spent too much time on this to the point where it’s absolutely crazy, because i’m not giving the crown shit. If what it takes is everything I’ve got to ensure your happiness, I’ll go for it.”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐋-𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐀𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 chuckle escapes him before William can think to stifle it at the horribly indignant, wistful tone to Sherlock’s voice as he rambles on about John’s (unexpectedly active— he’d admit that he’d been rather surprised himself!) love life before cementing himself as the first person to ever name William as a “babe magnet” to his face in the same kind of cavalier fashion that no one else took with him whether it be in conversation or in jest.

        William pats Sherlock’s shoulder in a bit of sympathy, rather entertained by the inaccuracies in the impression he’s apparently given Sherlock to land himself a spot next to casanova John Watson. “Come on now, I’m sure you do well enough,” he soothes, though the teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips quickly ruins the attempt at friendly reassurance. “A handsome man like yourself? I couldn’t possibly see the problem!”

        He doesn’t bother commenting on the obvious— surely Sherlock knows by now at least that William very well couldn’t be less interested in the leading lady beyond a strong desire for someone that actually knew what they were doing in regards to the performance. The infamous Act III pas de deux was technically complicated enough without William having another thing to worry about in form of his partner and it truly was a lucky break that he and Miss Aurora were such a seamless match.

        But really, it’s not as though William’s been exactly subtle this entire time in regards to who it is he’s interested in and honestly bringing it up at all would begin to sound borderline desperate. The very last thing William wanted was to be running shamelessly after either a straight— or straight up disinterested— man. 

        "I personally wouldn’t say excited,” he finally settles for mildly, slowing his pace a bit as he swipes through his phone to locate the nearest driver. “More like… she’s glad to have someone she’s comfortable with. We’ve been cast as partners in the past and that makes an entire slew of things far easier. No having to learn and adjust to individualistic quirks, no awkward introductions— just… far easier.”

        A notification blinks at the top of William’s screen and he moves to tap on it after hailing the car. He’s already brushed Sherlock off of him albeit as politely as he could manage before settling up against the corner lampost. Every bone in his body seemed to have a snarky protest but what William didn’t want happening was Sherlock witnessing him at any less than 100%— particularly when he’d flat out missed the biggest performance that William had ever given up on the roof of the parliament building while he’d off been doing God knows what. 

        The picture really did turn out quite lovely, though William had rather been expecting that. And there it is, new and shiny on his Instagram feed, Sherlock and he huddled in close to one another while looking nothing like fated rivals and everything like… well, a couple though perhaps William was a little biased to seeing something he wanted to. He double-taps and screenshots for his own copy of the photo and looks up to smile at Sherlock. 

        “This is nice,” he speaks honestly, “this entire afternoon has already gone very differently from the handful of times I’ve met you before and yet I do believe I prefer it this way. I don’t know what you have planned for tonight, if anything at all, but I’m already looking forward to it.”

       AS MUCH AS SHERLOCK  ironically prides himself in being humble to the point where he would deflect all praise and credit although due, it’s only when William acknowledges whatever he is and whatever he does that brings out the absolute narcissist in him.

       “I know, right? I can’t see the problem myself,” he chuckles, winking over at a random woman who walked past them, only for her to give him a rather unsettled look in return. “I mean, see? That chick totally digs me, right, Liam?”

      But it’s not really anything about his looks that gets him concerned whatsoever, especially when he’s already dead set on being fixated on one person, and one person only. It’s truly a wonder as to how such a person like William could even exist in the world - a mind as wondrous and a personality so magnetic to the point where Sherlock wouldn’t mind being the moth to his flame. If anything, he rather liked the analogy - for despite the danger, he simply can’t see himself being interested in anyone else at all.

       “So it’s mainly a professional thing, huh....?” Sherlock says, looking a little pensive himself. “You know, it’s the same thing with me before; there was this case where I had to help out an au pair slash school-teacher - she’s coming to the performances too - and John was dying to hook me up with her. Said that we had chemistry or something like that, and that it was definitely there, but really, I didn’t think so. Besides, I think it was then that I realized that I wasn’t at all straight, and-”

       And here, Sherlock dearly wishes that he’d keep his big mouth shut! It’d take less than a second for William to deduce quite a lot from him just from that statement alone - because really, if William can deduce his issues with his late mother, then he’d definitely catch on more than expected with just a sentence! Cheeks flushed, a nervous chuckle, Sherlock realizes he’s dug himself a nice hole to bury himself in.

       “A-Ahahaha....y-yeah, you heard that right, I’m bi,” Sherlock admits. “Kind of surprising, huh? Though, I don’t know about you, so....”

       A quick change of subject would do the trick nicely, but Sherlock wasn’t very good at it compared to William. He does, however, give it a shot, since really, it’s all he’s got.

       “I really want to meet up and hang out with you more often than this, you know?” he says sincerely, smiling warmly at William as he expresses nothing but his most honest of joys with being in William’s company. “I’d travel anywhere just to hang out with you - I mean, you already know that from the Durham trip, so I guess that says it all. And don’t you worry; you can count on me to show you a good time tonight - that is, if you don’t mind staying out late and spending the night at 221B afterwards?”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄, 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃𝐋𝐘 as Sherlock crowds in closer with all of his usual tact (or lack thereof) and an easy-going smile that has William studying the lines of his profile when brightened with such a grin for just a beat too long. Then he’s blinking himself out of it and instead bringing himself back to the present and the current task at hand which first and foremostly includes not looking like he’s currently distracted with checking out his rival cum blossoming friend. 

        At least pictures are something that William rather excels at. He knows his angles and lightings better than most people even know the backs of their own hands and is also well enough aware of what he can get away with here. Smoothing a hand over Sherlock’s shoulder he leans in close enough that William can smell the cling of cigarette smoke on his jacket and flashes a smile that’s no less than radiant up towards the tiny camera. 

        “Is that alright?” He murmurs very nearly against the shell Sherlock’s ear before pulling himself away and directing a second smile the musician’s way that may or may not have come across as flirtatious as he meant it to be. Everything was a bit of a shot in the dark here until William grew to know him better but he well enough knew that he wasn’t about to have a bad picture of himself floating around the internet or embellishing the home screen of Sherlock’s phone. 

        “Be sure to tag me, okay?” William tells him as he busies himself with gathering up all of his things in preparation to leave. “The first documented evidence of the two of us spending time together outside of cases and performances— it’s really about time don’t you think? You have my word that I’ll try and make sure I keep the evenings after a show arrangement-free… I really don’t know why we’ve never thought to make plans before this when I’m already rather looking forward to tonight. ”

        Oblivious he truly was to the trials and tribulations Louis posed to houseguests, as proven with a mildly confused “I’m quite sure that the sofa would be fine…?” in simple response to Sherlock’s nervous ramblings before William is picking himself back up to his feet with a well-concealed wince and hooking his bag over his shoulder with all the grace expected of a classically trained danseur. 

       He arches a brow towards Sherlock as a smile quirks at the corners of his lips. “Well? Are we ready to go then?” 

       “NO, WAIT A SEC.”

       It’s the ghost of William’s whisper against the shell of his ear that makes Sherlock double-think about what just happened  —  surely, it can’t be that William’s teasing him, is he? A mouthful of pasta, a glassful of water and a quick post on Instagram while tagging William with a: ‘at #Pezzo’s with liam!!! liam and his a+++ looks >:D’ later, Sherlock gets up, saunters over to the counter to pay for their meals and in an instant, he’s at William’s side with a hand in his to guide him.

       “Lean on me if it gets too painful to walk, okay?” Sherlock says, keeping close to William as he slowly leads William out of the restaurant into the busy streets. “I know it’s absolute hell to walk right after practice, so if you just want to hang over at your place, that’s fine too.”

       It’s really typical of William to look amazing in every picture he takes, candid or professional, to the point where Sherlock could’ve sworn that he’s taken acting lessons before. The memory of the news with the emblazoned headlines that detailed the ‘Lord of Crime’’s appearance on top of the roofs of the House of Parliament was really something that Sherlock was indeed surprised at, yet wouldn’t put past him to do with his ever-dramatic flair. But William was always a show-stopper for all the right reasons, and Sherlock was all too happy to be part of the stunned audience that William displays himself to.

       ....He missed that particular night though after getting too high. Bummer.

       “So, I bet that the lucky lady playing Aurora’s hella excited to dance with you, hm?” Sherlock grins, carrying on with the small talk as he sets his lock and home screen wallpaper to the picture that he’d taken earlier. It looks so much better than his dreary old wallpapers that he’d tend to save from online, as well as having it a lot more personal than most. “Man, you’re a babe magnet wherever you go - I don’t know how you and John do it, especially when John’s technically engaged to Mary. Does Mary even know that John’s got that vibe? Not sure. Wish I had it though, gee.”

[holmesed]

wjmoriarty‌:

         ⌜ ♔ ⌟  —  𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 another to William’s already tentative trust. How foolish he must’ve been to let himself for even a moment that their story would end in something other than arguments and misunderstandings and layers of deceit and hidden feelings no matter the original intentions behind them.  

        Sherlock had tricked him. He’d tied himself so completely into every aspect of William’s life that William could scarcely breathe without wishing for Sherlock beside him. He’d made a fool of William and lied to him and then even after all of that he wasn’t even the person he’d said he was. Sherlock wasn’t the obnoxious American at work or even the criminal with a crooked grin and a motive that William had begrudgingly come to respect. 

        He was a stranger after all— and one that William was already fearing that he related less and less to as the secrets came bubbling up. Sherlock wasn’t even the only one in on the farce and that almost stung just as horribly.

        “I think you need to stop talking,” William says stiltedly, not risking a look over at Sherlock, not wanting to see the defeated slope to his shoulders or the apologetic hang of his head. He needs to leave but he still feels as though all the wind’s been knocked from his lungs. The ache of loss had been something he’d grown accustomed to but this? Hurt and debasement and the guilt over his not wanting to forgive though he full well knew he was justified. 

        “Perhaps you should’ve just stayed away from me entirely,” he continues blankly, “someone else would have taken up your case and spent nowhere near the time I did on it for nothing apparently— I’m rather sure now that my reports nicely line the bottom of Mycroft’s rubbish bin which I suppose is a bit of nepotism I should’ve well-enough seen coming.” 

        William feels his jaw tick, raising a hand to rub at the crease at his forhead. This is precisely why he far preferred keeping people at an arms length. Held far away from yourself so that even in the worst of instances their teeth and claws couldn’t hurt you.

        Inevitably they would always try. 

        “I really don’t know you all that well at all then, do I?” William asks Sherlock bitterly as he glances back to watch him for the first time. “My story is public knowledge within the Security Service, you knew full well that yours was a secret and yet you approached me twice with a character.”

        The decorations and kitsch lining the shelves and end tables now in this room seem uncomfortably unfamiliar now, William trying to tear about every instance of him and Sherlock’s relationship where he bore something personal about himself only to receive what was all the more likely nothing more than another deception in return.  

        Once upon a time ago William had been the criminal. Once upon a time not all so long ago he’d been detained and given a deal that would grant his freedom in exchange for a debt to repay. He’s known from the beginning that this government played crooked cards and that Mycroft was the worst of them and yet here he was being taken by surprise all over again by something that made perfect sense with a second look. 

        He scoffs, whether at himself or at the unraveling absurdity of the situation. “Sherlock, does any of this really seem to you like something that could possibly work out? We’re strangers and if you really are who you say— this time around at least— why would you ever pursue something with me?”

       TRUTH BE TOLD, SHERLOCK KNOWS  absolutely nothing about whatever it is that the Security Service knows, but he holds himself back from saying it in the event that it would incite William’s wrath once more.

       The cost of lies were always hefty  —  worse when found out, even. The numerous justifications that the Queen and the country explained to the Holmes brothers were things that they simply had to lap up due to the faults of a distant ancestor, and upon receiving every verbal blow thrown to him when he and William almost had it all, Sherlock doesn’t even bother to brace himself.

       “.....Actually, your reports matter,” he admits quietly, recalling the memory of seeing William’s reports on a rather particular tray on Mycroft’s desk, neatly stacked up with the numerous bits of crimes that Sherlock had orchestrated himself. “.....Your reports matter a whole lot, apparently; because after everything’s over, after this entire business is done, I’m set up to be the one complicit in each and every crime that happened before, along with the other mastermind that you and I are trying so hard to catch.”

       It’s taking the fall, and the government expects sacrifices. It’s a system that Sherlock had abandoned himself to when there was absolutely nothing to live for; the death of his mother had wrenched every inch of desire for him to live to the point where he started turning to narcotics for a cheap bit of consolation, as if the feeling of being high would comfort him and keep him at his wits. It was a hopeless situation at first that Sherlock willingly thrust himself into, until....

       “....And I’ll make it work out, no matter what,” Sherlock says determinedly, looking straight at William as he steels himself for whatever promise that he may make, solely because he wants out of this hell that the government’s dug the both of them into. “You know me better than anyone, Liam  —  and I’ll make this work out if it’s the last thing I do. Whoever you are, whatever you do, I really don’t care, because you don’t need a reason to love someone to the point where you’d give your life for them.

       “Because fuck the crown,” he says, gritting his teeth as he takes deep breaths himself, trying his hardest to push down the bubbling anger of having to uphold a debt that wasn’t even his. “I’m not gonna let it do this to us. I’m not gonna sit down and do whatever they tell me to do anymore, and even if you want to push me away, even if you don’t trust me....I’ll protect you with my life, no matter what.”

       It’s a promise that Sherlock hopes to uphold, even if everything goes south.