Chapter Text

Chapter 10. Nightly Whisper.

"Well, that went really well, didn't it?" Sherlock settled into the uncomfortable guest bed with his hands under his head and looked up at the ceiling. 

"If by well you mean disastrous, then yes Mr. Holmes, you could say that." Louis turned in bed so that he was lying with his back to his unwanted visitor. He had had enough of it tonight and just wanted to go to sleep. 

"I couldn't possibly have known that Von Herder would have used one of his wild inventions to draw lots, could I?" Sherlock tried along. After Albert had alerted them to the late hour, they had not been able to decide how to distribute the overnight guests consisting of Mycroft, Albert and Sherlock. 

Bonde had suggested that they could just move into his room so he could sleep with Moneypenny since they were basically the only women in the group. But Moran had strongly disagreed with that, and if Louis thought about their earlier discussion in the hallway, it was clear that the gender of Bonde's sexual conquests meant nothing to him, so they had quickly taken that solution off the table again. 

Billy had finally suggested a raffle, but in a house full of intelligent fraud experts, it had gone exactly as you'd expect. All the ways they had tried to draw their lot were ones that any one of them could easily manipulate to their own advantage. Both Moran and William had tried to cheat at it in card games, both with very different degrees of success. In William's case, it had only been discovered because Louis had a suspicion that he would do it, and therefore kept an extra eye on him. 

Albert tried the more classic version in the form of matches, whoever took a short match had to have a guest sleeping, but everyone knew he had allied himself with Jack who held the matches, so they gave that up too. 

The solution was Herder's new invention. Or, invention was perhaps too much to call it. The device consisted in its simplicity of a hollow sphere, with a handle on the side, arranged in a stand that made it possible to turn the ball, as well as its contents. Moneypenny as everyone knew was the most impartial in the case as they had quickly agreed to remove her and Bonde from the pool. Was tasked  with marking three small balls, one with A, one with M and one with S. 

They had chosen to exclude her because she was an unmarried woman and was not supposed to sleep in the same room as a man, unless the mission absolutely depended on it. In principle it was the same with Bonde, he said that it didn't matter to him to be in the pool, but Louis didn't think it was fair and that's why they had left him out as well. The three marked balls, together with a lot of blank balls, were thrown into the sphere, and after Herder had turned the handle a few times, he asked those who already had a room in turn, to draw a ball out of the sphere. 

"Why didn't you just say you're used to sharing a bed with my brother anyway? Then we could have avoided this?" Louis stood up in bed and threw an arm out at Sherlock. Clearly annoyed by the outcome of the draw. 

Sherlock had a shocked and embarrassed look on his face, if there was one thing he didn't want Louis to know about, it was his and Liam's questionable sleeping habits. Which, come to think of it, actually didn't concern Louis. Sherlock could feel himself getting completely irritated, it wasn't fair to them at all that Louis had eavesdropped on their conversation. Sherlock stood up and said in a raised voice:

"It wasn't meant for anyone to know about it!" He looked at Louis angrily with red cheeks. 

Now it was Louis's turn to get mad, not only that he was forced to share his room with the person in the universe he probably least wanted to share it with. No, now the person also claimed that he was eavesdropping, like some ill-mannered brat. 

"I'm sorry that your code system is so easy to pick up, but maybe you should have focused more on your work than flirting with my brother!" Louis had also raised his voice. 

"We weren't flirting!" Sherlock's ears burned, but he continued: 

"It's just been a long time since we talked, just the two of us." 

Louis could hardly hear the last. When Sherlock had brought a hand to his mouth, and turned his head away from him. Presumably to hide his red cheeks and ears. 

Louis began tapping on the edge of the bed:

::"Could it be that you are trying to change the subject, my dear professor?"::

Sherlock looked back at him in shock. It was an exact reproduction of a phrase he had blurted out to Liam earlier in the evening. Not only was the code correct down to the smallest comma, but it was also verbatim, as if cut out of its previous context and inserted now again. Sherlock was equal parts shocked and impressed.     

"It may well be that you consider me to be less gifted than you and my brother, but what else would you call the last part of your not-so-secret conversation?" Louis emphasized the latter by making quotation marks with his fingers.

Sherlock was completely shocked, because what else would he call what Liam and him had been up to in the end? Could he lie and claim to Louis that there were no feelings involved? That it was just how they normally communicated with each other. Strictly speaking, it had always been that way and Sherlock loved it, he needed it. The fire that only Liam's words could ignite in him, that made him feel like he was in heaven and hell at the same time. His whole being swallowed it with the greatest relish, if he could live on it alone, he would. But it was probably not something he should confess to right now, and certainly not to an already irritated Louis. So Sherlock's cigarette-addicted brain found the only logical way out.

"I think I need a smoke." 

And with those words he got up from the bed and went out the door. 

When the door was closed again, Louis breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if the air was easier to inhale as soon as he didn't have to share it with a lying Sherlock Holmes. It might be that he had gotten better at taking care of his appearance, but his horrible personality even his brother couldn't fix. On the contrary, it seemed as if William himself had taken on a more loose attitude. Love is making him go blind, Louis thought bitterly to himself. 

Why would it absolutely have to be Sherlock Holmes? His brother could no doubt have anyone he wanted, male or female. So did it really have to be him? He had actually expressed to Billy that he was okay with the relationship as long as his brother was happy. 

However, that did not mean that he would in any way encourage it. No if it was up to him, Sherlock and his brother could stay and beat around the bush like that for all eternity. As long as neither of them directly suffered from it, Louis wouldn't so much as lift a finger to help their relationship along.

No, Louis still couldn't stand Sherlock Holmes.          

--------x-x-x--------       

"I assume that you have trouble falling asleep since you toss and turn that much? Even though I should be the one with the problems, since these guest beds aren't what they used to be." Mycroft lay still in bed looking out the basement window, he had asked for a small opening in the curtain so he could keep an eye on the weather outside.

 "I'm just a little nervous that we won't all survive the night." William said partly in jest, to camouflage his fear of another night of nightmares.

"In that case, I'll put my money on Louis being the one to survive."

William could hear the smile in his voice. Of course, the draw had ended with the two people who cared the least about each other sharing a room. Their reactions had been amusing to almost anyone but themselves. Sherlock looked like someone who had just received a death sentence, and Louis's facial expression resembled someone who had eaten something really unpleasant. 

"You don't have much faith in your own brother's survival skills, Mr. Director?" William knew that Mycroft loved to annoy Sherlock and vice versa as well. It was a strange way they showed each other care, but nevertheless, it always provided entertainment. 

"It's not because I don't have confidence in his abilities, I just have more confidence in Louis's." 

William could feel his heart warm. Hearing Mycroft praise his little brother filled him with pride. 

"It's really great to hear that you are so excited about my little brother, I just wonder why you don't show quite the same enthusiasm for your own?" William was glad that Mycroft and Sherlock had finally spoken honestly during the break. But their relationship had always been described by Sherlock as either (on good days) strained, or (on less good days) stress- or even painful. So now that William finally had Mycroft on his toes, perhaps there was an opportunity to explore the subject fully.  

"Perhaps we should get rid of all the formal addressing of each other first, William?" 

In the darkness it was hard to see, but William could sense that Mycroft had turned his full attention to him.

"You Holmes's with your informality, if you insist on it Mycroft then that's what we do, but I'm curious at how long it took you before getting my brothers to do the same?" Here William meant both Louis and Albert. 

Something Mycroft had no doubts about, but hoped he could divert from by recounting one of his favorite episodes, with Louis.

"It took 1 year, 3 months, 23 hours and almost 14 minutes, (13 minutes and 54 seconds to be exact) before Louis addressed me by my first name, for the first time." 

Mycroft sat up in bed and continued:

"He came straight from a dinner where he had been assigned to accompany the daughter of a senior foreign minister as her bodyguard. Her father had been sent several threatening letters and therefore we did not think it was wise to let the family appear unguarded in public. So I told Louis to go undercover as her fiance." He held back, because William had also gotten up in bed. 

"You put my dearly beloved brother in charge of a young lady?!" William said it with pure disbelief in his voice. It would never have occurred to him to ask Louis the same, knowing how much his brother loathed the company of young women. 

Mycroft let out a small chuckle before continuing:

"Of course he caught the rascal within the first hour, because indeed the perpetrator tried to attack the family, as we had expected. But this led to everyone in the hall singling out poor Louis as the great hero of the evening and thus wanting to toast the hero, who the rest of the room still thought was the daughter's fiancé, in all sorts of wines and whiskey, and so Louis ended up very tipsy. When he finally staggered up to my office, at eleven o'clock that night to report back." 

William couldn't imagine his own brother in a drunken state at all. Louis always endeavored never to drink more than one item in a day. Mostly because in the past they had never had time for it, but also because Louis generally disliked it when Albert had too much to drink, as he then became very affectionate and clingy. 

"I can't imagine he was quite happy?" William finished saying. 

"No, he was, to say the least, not happy with the outcome. For which he also spent 10 minutes scolding me." Mycroft had a hard time holding back his laughter, but continued anyway:

"Imagine my surprise. Until that night, Louis had never commented on the missions he was assigned. I delegated them and he carried them out, without complaint or negative comment, no matter how bad they must have been at times, and there have been some really challenging ones along the way. As the head of the entire department, I push my agents to the breaking point to make sure they can keep their cool in even the most life-threatening situations. Something everyone but Louis, has expressed that on several occasions is not okay.  

But that night obviously made the cup run over for him. The alcohol probably also played a role, because he didn't put a finger to his mouth. He accused me of, among other things, for being manipulative, sadistic and tyrannical. That no one could handle the unreasonably high work pressure and finished the sentence with the words: "I quit, Mycroft!" 

William lit his oil lamp and looked at Mycroft in horror. He almost felt obligated to apologize on his brother's behalf. He was about to say something, but Mycroft raised his hand to stop him. 

"And I agreed." 

William's ruby ​​red eye reflected exactly the same confusion that Louis' crimson had done that night. Mycroft couldn't help but laugh. 

Meanwhile, William became more and more confused. 

"I apologize for the laugh, but your reaction just now was incredibly reminiscent of Louis's, you are very similar in some aspects." Mycroft's sharp midnight blue eyes looked at him warmly. 

William's cheeks warmed when it suddenly became very difficult for him to ignore Mycroft's own resemblance to Sherlock. 

"I'm afraid that's part of the joy of having the same genetic parentage. Something you and Sherlock certainly can't shake off either." He said smiling at Mycroft, whose eyes were now shining with glee. William had the strange feeling that Mycroft had led him onto that topic on purpose. So he tried to get the conversation back on track, but before he could find the right words, Mycroft tilted his head slightly, and said with a teasing smile that caused William's brain to idle: 

"Don't let them fall in love with me Professor, or you'll break my brother's heart, and Shakespeare has already written enough tragedies for the next eternity, and we certainly aren't in need of any more."

If William had warm cheeks before, it was nothing against the blush that he now felt spread over his whole body. He looked totally dumbfounded at Mycroft. 

"I... have no idea what, what, what they are talking about Mr. Director!" 

Mycroft's little stunt had obviously caused William's brain to reboot from the factory settings, as he had gone back to calling him Mr. Director. 

 It amused Mycroft to the point where he couldn't help but laugh out high pitched, exactly as effortlessly as Sherlock used to. 

William acknowledged that Mycroft was just teasing him, but it annoyed him that he had managed to pull his leg that easy, so he wasn't going to let him get away with it completely unseen. He said:

"Then how did you get Albert to say your first name?" William had always sensed that there was more than words between Mycroft Holmes and Albert James Moriarty, but had never been able to gather the evidence for it. There was something about the way they could communicate silently that always made William wonder. 

That made Mycroft hold back the laughter he was trying to stifle and instead continued his account of Louis´s story:

"I talked Louis into not quitting if I promised never to subject him to having to escort a young lady again. In return, I'd forget the whole thing if he started calling me Mycroft even when he wasn't under the influence of alcohol. He had already begun to open up to me on late nights when we sometimes celebrated a successful mission with a glass of Whiskey, but he had stubbornly maintained his formal habit of calling me Mr. Director. Normally that's something everybody else calls me, but Louis had meanwhile become the first agent whom I could sincerely call a friend, and so I also wished that we should dispense with the formal indictment." 

William smiled to himself, for it might look like Louis to make such a settlement.

Mycroft meanwhile had laid back down, he tried to settle into the bed, hoping William would do the same.

"So what about Albert? You have no problem talking about Louis, but have you tried to avoid talking about Albert on several occasions? Why Mycroft? I know you´ve known each other for a long time, but I don't know how it started?" William looked at Mycroft with genuine curiosity. 

It wasn't because he didn't want to talk about Albert, but because it was hard for him to figure out where to start. Mycroft got up from the bed and went over to William's bedside table, where the oil lamp was still burning. He was about to turn it off when William grabbed it and pushed it further onto the table. He looked down at William, his ruby ​​red eye stubbornly holding his gaze as if to say that Mycroft could try to shut down the conversation as madly as he wanted, but it was useless. Mycroft sighed and sat back down on his bed. He pushed the curtain aside more so he could see better in the windy dark night. 

Meanwhile, he remembered the time he met Albert for the first time. Fragments of his 14-year-old self replayed in his mind. His father had taken him and Sherlock to a birthday party at a popular politician who was also a close friend of the family. 

There were many children present and Sherlock played pirates with them. Mycroft remembered that he found it very amusing since it was basically illegal, even then Sherlock didn't stick to the rules very much. He remembered running past a room full of grown people, but stopped because in the middle of the floor stood a boy a little younger than himself. Something about the boy had made him curious. Maybe it was his big beautiful emerald colored eyes that made him look almost elfin, that made him stand out from all the others that made Mycroft notice him, or because he looked extremely sad. 

William brought him back to the present when he tapped gently on the headboard of the bed. He had gotten up and walked over to Mycroft's bed.

"I first heard of Albert when he started in the military. He rose through the ranks incredibly fast, so it was almost impossible not to notice. But it wasn't until I had him made the first M, on your account William, that he put the formalities aside." 

William looked at Mycroft very skeptically, it sounded more like a rehearsed story he could take out and tell anyone. It didn't have the same warmth and personality as the one Mycroft had just told about Louis, maybe William had been wrong? Was what connected them perhaps really a form of hatred? Or was Mycroft lying too? Whatever it was, it was too late to mess it up that night. William thought that some tea might help him fall asleep. 

"It's late and we should be sleeping, I'll go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. Hopefully Louis has bought plenty of lavender, that tends to calm me down. You can just turn off the lamp when I'm gone, sleep well Mycroft. " And with that, William disappeared from the room. 

Mycroft lay resignedly in bed, why didn't he just tell the real story?

That he had not been able to lose sight of the young boy who stood so out of place in the middle of the room, and that his words, subsequently, had made a real impression on him, and that Albert's whole person had taken him by surprise, almost knocked his legs out from under him in a way that no one else, not even Sherlock, had been able to manage. It had been one of the best and last days of his life as a child, and he often thought back to it. The story had seemed too intimate and personal for him to bring himself to tell anyone. 

Perhaps it was also because he sometimes still felt like the slightly clumsy boy he was during his first meeting with Albert. Especially now after three years when he could finally face the eldest Moriarty brother again with whose eyes who could still easily rival the gem in beauty they so clearly resembled.    

--------x-x-x--------

Billy's room was more empty and cold than Albert had imagined. In fact, it didn't look like anyone lived there at all. The room consisted in its simplicity of a bed, bedside table, a small closet, and a desk with an accompanying chair, everything was furniture that each room was originally stationed with. The only thing that seemed to belong to Billy was a small suitcase in one corner. Albert thought that since he had moved in not long ago, all his belongings from America might not have arrived yet. 

They began to set up the guest bed in silence. 

"I'm a little worried about Mr. Ponytail and Louis." Billy mumbled quietly, while he was about to unfold the last of the bed.

They reminded Albert of the fold-out beds they used in the military. He sighed:

"Yeah, they really didn't look too excited, but they'll make it. Louis would never kill someone who means so much to Will." 

Something about what he said caught Billy's attention, for he looked at Albert inquisitively, as if trying to confirm something. It suddenly struck Albert that perhaps Billy could help him explain the mystery that had frustrated him so much earlier in the evening. Then, with a cheerful twinkle in his eye, he asked:

"Billy, why were you laughing like that during the meeting?" Billy met his gaze with the same glare. It occurred to Albert that this could be interesting.  

"Is this an interrogation?" he asked teasingly. 

Albert's smile widened, if he couldn't get Billy to talk like that, maybe he should try another way. He raised his arms in surrender, but it was only to make him lower his parades, and make Billy think that Albert wouldn't ask any more that night, but he would be so terribly wrong.

"Don't worry, I'll leave the interrogation methods for when you tell me, why you and my dear brother Louis took almost 20 minutes to find a cake in a pantry, that's probably not much bigger than the room we're in now." Sure enough, he smiled at Billy, but it was a murderous smile. That told him he really had to have a good explanation on hand, if he wasn't going to become more worried about himself than he was about Sherlock. 

But Billy didn't let himself be intimidated, he returned Albert's smile while casually saying:

"The light went out, finding something in the dark is harder than you think." He then got up and went over to find some extra bedding from the closet. Albert said nothing but followed him. 

Billy could feel Albert following his every move with his eyes, like a predator stalking its prey. He didn't know much about William's older brother, neither him nor Sherlock had talked much about him. However, his experienced intuition had become good at alerting him to potential enemies, which it clearly did right now. But unfortunately Billy liked to play with the dangers a bit, and therefore ignored it at first.     

"If I may ask, what else did you think we could do while the light was out?" It came in a completely innocent tone from the cowboy.

Since Albert's trust in Billy was minimal, his list of options was surprisingly long. Blackmail, torture, psychological manipulation, assault, threats, violence, murder. Okay, maybe the last one was going just a bit too far. After all, they had both come back in good health, and Louis even in relatively good spirits. So he could rule that one out, but should something ever happen to his beloved brothers, there was no place in the world that could withstand Albert's anger. Something he certainly wasn't shy about letting Billy know either. 

Albert grabbed Billy's wrist tightly as he reached for a sheet in the closet, and pulled him so close that their noses were almost touching. 

Billy held his breath as he looked horrified into Albert's intense emerald colored eyes, which held his gaze with an evil smile. 

"If you ever do anything to my brother, I'll take you to the darkest part of London. Where they know exactly how to treat pretty boys like you, and I'll let them do to you what they want all through the whole night, until you can neither think nor feel anything anymore. Then when the first ray of sunlight hits the city, I will drag you down to the Thames and hold your head under water, until you have no more strength to resist and let what's left of you, disappear into its depths. And no one will ever remember even meeting Billy the Kid. Get it?" Albert didn't think the threat in itself was enough, so he pulled hard on Billy's chin to make sure it had seeped in. 

Normally Billy was not swayed by such threats, he was after all used to working with rough and violent people, but the glare in Albert's eyes that shone with the purest evil made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. There was no doubt that Albert would make good on his threats if it came down to it. Billy swallowed a lump and nodded calmly. 

Albert seemed to be satisfied with that reaction, because he released him again and began to make the bed. 

"I'm glad that we understand each other." Albert's smile turned back into the harmless seductive smile he wore most of the time. No one, and by that he really meant absolutely NO ONE, was going to get too close to his brothers. And least of all a lawless cowboy, whom he knew nothing about other than his many victims. Louis and William were his family, his one and only siblings, maybe not by blood, but that certainly didn't matter to none of them. They were his little angels, regardless of what others and themselves thought. He had let one jump off a towering bridge, something that had nearly killed them both, - William psychically and Albert mentally.

No, even if he would be damned for the rest of his life, he would never let anyone take them from him again.

 He was about to begin accepting William's choice of lifepartner, even though his brother himself wasn't there yet. But no one was to lay a finger on Louis without his consent first. He had heard how his little Loulou (yes he had grown incredibly fond of that nickname quite quickly, he had better send Bonde a gift basket for the idea as soon as he had time) had almost worked himself to death, for the past three years. But even though the days were hard, his brother had still found time to send him letters several times a week, often these were even accompanied by a package of fresh home baked goods. Louis was truly his pure little angel.

Albert still remembered the first day he was alone with Louis. William had gone out to buy medicine for him, that was before Albert got his parents to pay for the operation. Albert sat quietly in his father's armchair and concentrated on reading a book about healing plants. He thought he might find something that might help Louis. 

At the same time, Louis had passed by in the corridor and had seen him reading, but did not dare to enter. He instead watched him from the doorway. Albert had to lure him to him with a fruit pastille that he had stolen from his father's desk draw. He curiously asked what Albert was reading, and after he had read the title aloud to Louis, the boy asked if he could read along. Apparently it was something he and William did often. Especially since they lived for a period in a disused bookstore. It was also for this reason that they had learned to read earlier than the other orphans of their age. He sat down in the chair with his side right up against Albert and together they read pages up and down until Louis had fallen asleep. It was the first time Albert had felt a real closeness to another human being, and to his great surprise, it wasn't a bad feeling.

"Why Henry really?" 

Billy had just come back from the bathroom, wearing night clothes. He had quietly slipped out to give Albert peace, to change his clothes himself and get ready for the night. 

"What do you mean?" Billy asked quietly.

"Why does Louis call you Henry? I thought we all agreed to call you Billy?" 

At that Billy just started laughing, after catching his breath he explained. 

"I told Louis to just call me by my first name if he didn't want me to call him Mr. Moriarty. Thought that way I could get him to call me Billy, but apparently he is a little more stubborn than I expected, so he stuck with my real first name instead."

Now it was Albert's turn to laugh.

"Oh yes, it could really look like him, he's more cunning than you may think he is." Albert wiped away a tear of laughter from his eye. 

Billy agreed with his statement by nodding at him. And then they both went to bed.

--------x-x-x--------

Sherlock turned the lantern back on. Luckily Louis had left it in the kitchen. If someone needed it until the power was back. He flopped down on the sofa tiredly and found a cigarette. It wasn't that bad. The couch was actually more comfortable than the guest bed. So he could always spend the night on it, if it turned out that Louis had locked the door before he came back again.

Sherlock could have just held his own against him, but instead he had fled the conversation like a wretched coward. He was annoyed with himself, normally Sherlock was never a coward but when it came to Liam he was unsure because even though he had now loved the man for over three years he still didn't know if Liam felt the same. There had been quite a few episodes recently, where the line between friendship and something more romantic really seemed to be especially much on the verge. But whether it was Sherlock's ever-thinking brain that just overinterpreted the whole thing. He could neither confirm nor deny. 

For example Sherlock had come home to their apartment one early evening in January. There were lit candles on the table and it smelled wonderful of food, it actually smelled very familiar and Sherlock was also incredibly happy when he discovered that William was putting the finishing touches on the dinner that evening being Lancashire stew (Sherlock's favorite dish). Sherlock had never dealt much with food in the past, it didn't matter to him, he only ate when others reminded him that it was actually necessary. But since he had started cooking himself, he had started to appreciate it more. 

Especially since there was a lot more work involved than he had thought. 

He looked at William in wonder, usually they were cooking together but he had done it all without him. The rule was that when the clock approached 7 in the evening, whoever got home first started preparing dinner and whoever came later joined in as soon as they could. Normally Pinkerton closed at 6, but sometimes there was overtime, or people like Sherlock who were so engrossed in their work that he forgot the time. This evening, however, he was right on time.     

"Are we having guests?" He looked over William's shoulder as he stirred the pot. 

Liam turned his head so their cheeks were almost touching and smiled at him.

"Sherly don't you know what day it is?" He went to open a bottle of wine, this was his way of giving Sherlock a hint. 

Sherlock thought it must be something big if Liam wanted to have wine to celebrate. 

"Did you get a raise?" Sherlock hung his overcoat on the coathanger, William's jacket, hat and eyepatch were already there. 

"No Mr. Detective, try again, you should be able to do better." William smiled happily and handed him the plates so he could start setting the table. 

Sherlock took them and walked over to the table, deep in thought. Liam had asked him what day it was, so it had to be something to do with a specific date. It wasn't a known holiday as far as Sherlock knew, so that was out of the question. He crept over to the desk where there was a newspaper, maybe it could give him the hint that he needed. At the same time, William entered with wine and accompanying glasses. Sherlock hurriedly put the newspaper down again.   

"Does it have anything to do with an anniversary?" 

William let out a small giggle, but then shook his head and disappeared back into the kitchen. So no, it wasn't that either. Sherlock was tired and hungry and couldn't think until he was fed, something he didn't have to wait long for because just then William came back in and put a bowl of Lancashire stew on the table. 

He continued over to Sherlock. He put a hand on each of Sherlock's shoulders and turned him a quarter of a turn, so that he was now looking directly at their calendar, which, in addition to showing the date January 6, also showed the name Sherlock. 

"Happy Birthday Sherly." He kissed Sherlock lightly on the temple, then walked over and pulled the chair out for him to sit on. 

Sherlock was afraid his heart was going to explode, of course it was his birthday and Liam had just given him the very best present ever.

And it was like it just escalated from there. Sherlock could find himself kissing him on the forehead when they said good night. William often reciprocated with a loving pat on Sherlock's head, or a kiss on the hand the next morning. It was like the body contact just kept growing. Sherlock loved it, but now that they weren't living alone together anymore, he had suddenly become more aware of how transgressive it was, especially when others were around. They were used to Billy's teasing, but now that they were back among their friends and family, there were more curious eyes on their relationship. Liam never rejected his touches and had even started initiating them himself. But it could just as well be a sign that he had just been living with Sherlock for so long that he was starting to affect him. 

- "Were you kicked out?" Sherlock almost jumped up on the couch when he heard a voice behind him. Even after three years, William's ability to move around silently was something he couldn't figure out how worked, and that despite the fact that all three of the brothers apparently possessed this slightly uncanny ability.

"Liam!" Before Sherlock could say more, William put a finger to his lips to silence him. After all, it was late in the night and not all walls at the intelligence service were equally thick. He walked over and sat down next to Sherlock, and whispered: 

"Should I talk to Louis?"

Sherlock looked at him, his dyed black hair would make it even more difficult to spot him in the dark, something Louis had probably thought too. He couldn't get over how beneficial it really was. 

William took the cigarette out of his hand and took a puff. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. They enjoyed sharing a cigarette together after a successful mission, thus halving their consumption. Something Sherlock in particular needed. It made Sherlock feel at home again. 

"No, I volunteered, needed a smoke." He smiled at William and reached for the cigarette again, but William just moved it out of his reach.

"You smoke too much Sherly." His ruby ​​colored eye looked at him sternly. Sherlock could see that he was still wearing his eyepatch. 

"You haven't taken the patch off yet?" 

William looked away and took another puff of the cigarette, the smell calming him.

"I would not offend Mycroft with my disfigured face." He smiled sadly and handed Sherlock the cigarette again. 

Sherlock took the cigarette and put it out on a piece of damp paper that he had prepared earlier. He turned in William's direction and was about to undo the eyepatch when the shine of his newly dyed hair caught him. He ran his fingers through it instead, now that parts of it weren't held back with a band, it looked a bit like Sherlock's own. Except that his own was sometimes a wavy nightmare. Liam's, on the other hand, was smooth as silk. 

William's cheeks flared up as Sherlock's hand obviously had no plans to stop.  

"Honestly Sherly, does it look terrible?" 

Sherlock stopped the movement, and instead undid the patch, looking at him seriously.   

"Liam, you could easily pass for being a very good-looking pirate." 

William burst out laughing and Sherlock hit his head, maybe that wasn't quite the way he should have said it. 

"What does that even mean?" Said William slightly out of breath as he still wasn't quite over his fit of laughter. 

Sherlock avoided his gaze, he was a little embarrassed because he had come to reveal a bit of his earlier thoughts. He cleared his throat and tried to be honest: 

"My biggest dream as a child was to become an infamous pirate. I wanted to sail the seven seas and explore the world while I was content to loot merchant ships and escape from the fleet, with my brother leading the chase of course." 

"So you think I look like a villain too?" William raised an eyebrow challengingly.

 Sherlock stroked William's bangs away from the bad eye, which was now free from its hiding place behind the patch. He nodded.

"A very handsome villain." He looked lovingly at William. Whose heart could hardly handle much more. His ears were burning, but he still couldn't bring himself to look away from Sherlock. He grabbed a lock of his wavy hair and kissed it gently. 

"Then we match." 

Sherlock dropped the eyepatch that he had been holding in his hands until now. William's words made Sherlock blush, his heart pounding like crazy and he undid the first button of his pajamas hoping the cool night air might help cool him down, but nothing helped and William moved even closer. 

Sherlock grew desperate and stood up.

"Well maybe we should go to bed, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." But before he could take a step, William grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the sofa, with such force that Sherlock ended up lying half on top of him. 

William hugged him close and whispered:

"Stay and sleep here with me, Sherly." William's seductive scent of lilies and mint almost stunned Sherlock and made him unable to do anything other than return the hug. He finally felt at home, even though he had never slept at the Secret Service before, but with Liam by his side, he could sleep anywhere. He turned over on his side, the sofa was not meant for two people lying down, but if they both laid on their sides it was fine. 

William also turned so that he was lying with his head right against Sherlock's collarbone.   

 "Just until I fall asleep?" He looked up at Sherlock with pleading eyes. It was rare that he asked for something so earnestly.

Sherlock stroked his cheek with a finger before nodding. Then he stood up and extinguished the lantern. He then took off his dressing gown and unfolded it like a blanket over them both before laying back down again.

William pressed himself so close to Sherlock that there was no more space between them. Sherlock could feel that his legs and hands were cold, he must be freezing. He put his free arm around him while using the other as a pillow. 

"Sleep well Liam." Sherlock kissed him gently on the forehead. 

William could already feel all his worries for an upcoming nightmare disappear.

And with that, it wasn't long before the familiar embrace of their closeness lulled them both safely to sleep in each other's arms, completely without a care in the world.