Chapter Text
The walk home from the market had gotten colder lately. William shivered slightly under his thick wool coat, the chill snaking under the scarf knotted at his neck. A mixture of sleet and ice crunched underfoot as he headed towards their flat, gloved hands thrust deep into his coat pockets. He was currently regretting his refusal to bring the carved cane that stood by the door, insisting to a certain overly concerned roommate that he did not need it.
Now, however, as flurries of snow began to stick themselves to his hair William could admit he should have swallowed his pride and brought the cursed thing. His knees were aching and the pain, while tolerable, made his brow crease. It had been months since he had woken from that dreamless sleep. Months since Billy had pulled them both from the Thames. Months since William woke up with his vision impaired and his world forever changed by the one who had followed him off that ledge.
Yet despite the time that had passed, his muscles refused to return to their full strength. His stamina had only barely recovered and still he was out of breath after only a short walk to the market. Admittedly he had not helped his recovery much by exerting himself as he had several weeks ago. Riding day and night on horseback to reach Sherlock and Billy in that remote town had not been an easy journey. The subsequent battle had been even more difficult.
But at the time, he had motivation to go beyond his limits, fresh with the realization that this new life was his to live as he could. And he began it by coming to the aid of the one who had bought him this chance to begin with. Rescuing Sherlock and Billy from such a situation had been the first step on a new path. One he now knew Sherlock would walk with him, their pledge to live on together had solidified that. And it was more than enough.
William watched as a man and woman passed by on the opposite side of the empty road. A wrapped gift was tucked under the man’s arm and their hands were clasped together tightly. The woman laughed at something he said and they stopped in the yellow light of the street lamp to lean towards one another. When their lips touched, William averted his eyes.
How terribly selfish he felt, to be gifted with a new life, a chance to repent for his sins, and to still want more. His eyebrows drew together and he burrowed deeper into the scarf. The winter wind blew through him in an icy gust, while somewhere far off, a church bell rang.
Sherlock Holmes made it difficult to not want more. Everything he had done for William, everything he still did… every day they spent in each other’s company was uniquely torturous. Something had changed between them after the Moriarty plan, that much had been apparent as soon as William had woken up. But now, after this most recent near death experience, it was as if some small piece of their friendship had torn loose.
A tension that hadn’t been there before now blanketed their little shared flat like the snow that covered the streets every night. William had no idea what to do with it. He had known from the moment they met that Sherlock was special. His equal in a way that no person had ever even approached. In London he had known their respective roles well. In Durham he had allowed himself to bend them slightly, to allow the detective to speak to the professor rather than the Lord of Crime.
But now? After the bridge, everything had changed. Their bond had grown in a way that he had never allowed himself to hope for. After this mission in the valley, the confirmation that the two of them would not only live on together but also risk their lives for eachother… it made William’s chest hurt. The only bond he had ever experienced with such meaning was that which he shared with his brothers and comrades.
And yet he knew the bond he shared with Sherlock was different. He also knew the detective cared for him, enough to wait by his bedside until he woke, enough to give up an entire life back home for William. It was a terrifying notion that was impossible to ignore, and yet, there was no doubt in William’s mind that Sherlock would go to such lengths for any of his friends. And for that reason he could not allow himself to hope for more.
Troubled, he almost did not realize when he had reached their building, startled by the very object of his thoughts cursing at their front door. Sherlock stood with his back to William, wrestling with a ridiculously large wreath that William had no memory of purchasing. When he came to a stop at the bottom of their steps, the familiar head of dark hair glanced over his shoulder. William was smiling behind his scarf now, and he was sure the mirth was visible in his eyes, amusement which Sherlock’s loud groan only added to.
“Damn!”
The complicated nature of his thoughts faded instantly as he climbed the front steps, the small smile on his face only widening when Sherlock moved away from the door to face him fully. In the vicious fight with the wreath the other man had acquired a truly impressive amount of pine needles stuck to the front of his coat.
“It seems I’ve interrupted a fierce battle.”
Despite his earlier frustration Sherlock grinned at him, a skull adorned hand coming up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I was trying to put it up before you got back.”
William exhaled softly, this man really did make it torturous at times. He glanced away from the endearing sight in front of him and eyed the crooked wreath that now hung from their door. “I think it looks wonderful.”
He kept his gaze on the pleasing sight of bright red ribbon wrapped around green sprigs of pine, Sherlock’s loud sigh coming somewhere from his left. “I’m glad you fancy it at least, bloody thing tried to kill me before you showed up.”
William glanced to his side and saw the thin red scratches that now graced the detective’s palms. Perhaps he didn’t fancy the wreath much after all. “Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.”
Reaching down, he turned the heavy iron handle and pushed in, breathing easier when the warmth of the flat enveloped them and the door shut out the cold. Sherlock was muttering to himself as they both knocked the snow from their shoes, William eyeing the carved cane that leaned against the umbrella stand with narrowed eyes. “Ridiculously overpriced as well, I told the old man who sold them that it couldn’t have cost him more than a few cents to stick a ribbon on some branches.”
“He had the nerve to say he was charging for the ‘spirit of the season’ not the wreath itself, what rubbish.”
William closed his uncovered eye, a smile on his lips as he shrugged off his coat. He undid his scarf and hung both carefully on the hooks by their door. When he turned to Sherlock and began to shake out his coat, the other man was still pouting. William did his best not to laugh, London’s greatest detective, defeated by a festive wreath.
“I am truly impressed you bought it to begin with, I was under the impression every sprig of holly and shiny bauble in the flat was due to mine and Billy’s efforts.”
Sherlock’s ears were tinged with pink when he responded, likely from the cold William reasoned, but the sight warmed him all the same. “I was feeling guilty for not contributing.”
He hummed in response, dusting the last of the needles from the coat and taking it from the other man’s shoulders as Sherlock had done for him countless times. “There was no expectation for you to contribute, I know the holiday is not something you normally make a fuss over.”
Sherlock didn’t meet his eyes when he responded, fumbling with what William knew was the clasp on the cigarette case in his pocket. A nervous habit he had noticed shortly after they began living together. “Well I suppose I wanted to then. Thought it would be a nice surprise for you to come home to. Until it bloody well wasn’t.”
William was thankful he had already turned around, his expression hidden from view as he spoke. “I promise you, I was pleasantly surprised.”
What he didn’t say as they moved to the kitchen and started on dinner, was that coming home to Sherlock every evening was by far the only gift William needed.
~*~
The next morning dawned bright and cold, New York’s blue skies thick with clouds that were clearly the culprits for the snow filled streets. Much like London, William thought the city’s cracked walkways and muddy roads were greatly improved by blankets of glittering white. It made him feel a little closer to home, even though he could hardly remember when London had last received such amounts of the stuff. Much like the rest of this young country the weather seemed to do what it pleased, heedless of any sort of logic or reason.
William stared out the window, only half reading the morning paper he held in front of him. It was too early for Sherlock to be up, and for once he had slept soundly the previous night. Lulled to sleep by the buffeting winds outside and the sound of Sherlock’s tinkering in the drawing room. He kept most of his more explosive experiments to his own room but occasionally the detective spread out a series of beakers and other things on the floor near the kitchen. William would often watch him use tools and powders to do things that were largely incomprehensible to him.
However, this did not stop Sherlock from explaining to him exactly what he was trying to accomplish. Taking William’s every bit of advice incredibly seriously in a way that was most endearing. But often he would have to put a stop to the tinkering when it threatened to consume the whole drawing room.
William looked at where the abandoned beakers filled with various liquids now sat, the carpet now tucked to the side after it had been stained one too many times. He didn’t even know why he called this room that sat next to the kitchen the ‘drawing room.’ It was likely a force of habit but it wasn’t as if they had a sitting room or any other room besides the bedroom, the kitchen, and the small study Sherlock had squeezed a mattress in. He had insisted William have the bedroom, which William of course had fiercely protested. But the accursed hospital had told Sherlock it was extremely important William have a room with plenty of light, so he hadn’t had much of a leg to stand on in that argument.
He glanced over the paper, eyeing the notable crimes and headlines that littered the page. Unlike before, now William waited for Billy to bestow cases upon the two of them. There were no more independent investigations of corruption, but old habits were difficult to kick. He often scanned the papers because of this, noting the differences in criminal activity that made headlines here compared to back home.
Generally the news preferred to report on political affairs, the country’s current leaders and various riots or workers’ strikes. It was all similar to the issues William had sought to resolve at home and yet altogether different because of America’s youth, the idea of class mobility fluid and possibilities for wealth far more optimistic. Most recently however, the papers had all been concerned with one thing. The death of one Henry Moore, famous philanthropist and railroad baron, who had died suddenly last week at the age of forty-two.
It was not unheard of for a man so rich to die at such an age but the circumstances were suspect, especially in the eyes of journalists. Moore had been loved by many, had gone from being a boy who sold papers on the street to a man who had made a fortune in the railroad business, a shining example of the ‘American dream’ come true. The papers had been filled with headlines about foul play and stories of Moore’s fabled inheritance, worth a fortune and now sitting unclaimed in his estate. Though William did not quite understand why that was such a mystery, the man had apparently left behind a widow and their young daughter if the journalists were to be believed. He assumed the fervor would die down soon, in Sherlock’s words “a rich man dies and suddenly there has to be sinister plots at work.”
William had thought about teasing him after that particular comment, after all, for a while in London if a rich man died there had been a sinister plot at work. One of William’s own design to be exact.
His reminiscing was interrupted by a loud and cheerful knock at the front door. It surprised William slightly, as their only house guest these days was Billy and the man in question had told them he likely would not see them until after the upcoming holiday. When William crossed the hall and pulled open the door, however, there his friend was standing on the step with fresh snow in his hair.
“Hey Mr. Will! Sorry to drop by unannounced and all but could I come in?”
William swung the door wider, “Of course Billy, it’s good to see you.”
He ushered him into the hall and went ahead to the kitchen to make coffee for their guest. Also for a certain detective that he could hear moving around in his room, no doubt woken by the knock at the door. When Billy entered the kitchen and saw William making coffee he smiled, taking his usual seat by the dining table and folding his hands in front of him.
“I’m glad to see you up and about, Mr. Ponytail won’t say it but I know he’s been worried about ya.”
William frowned a little bit, he hated that his frailty was still causing Sherlock grief, after the other man had already done so much for him. “Yes, well…”
He trailed off, fiddling with the paper coffee filters, “Is there something that brings you here Billy? Sherlock and I are always happy to see you but I don’t believe this is a social call.”
Billy laughed, “You two are so funny! Mr. Ponytail is the exact same, always able to tell right away when I’m here with a case. Although you’re much more polite about it Mr. Will.”
“That’s ‘cause Liam’s too polite to tell you to bugger off.”
William looked up from the coffee he was pouring to watch Sherlock enter the kitchen, hair a mess from sleep and still in his night shirt. It was one of the many versions of Sherlock Holmes that William had the pleasure of experiencing in this new life of their’s. And, if he was being truthful with himself, probably one of his favorites.
“Coffee Sherly?”
He saw Billy grin at his use of the nickname and winced, sometimes it slipped out when he wasn’t careful. That inconvenient swell of affection that came with seeing the detective still clinging to sleep occasionally led to William’s use of the name. But Sherlock at least, never seemed to mind.
“God yes, sorry I wasn’t up early enough to make it.”
William placed a mug in front of him and then one in front of Billy, “Nonsense, I needed something to keep my hands busy.”
Sherlock shot him a smile and sat beside Billy at the table with a sigh, “Alright what’s the job then.”
Their friend shook his head in exasperation, “I still haven’t even said there is a job you know. What if I’m just here to visit my two favorite Englishmen?”
William and Sherlock glanced at each other and then spoke at once, “You’re not.”
Billy laughed and pulled a paper envelope from his jacket, “Yeah okay alright, I do have a job for you two.”
~*~
The job in question, as it turned out, was to do with the death of Henry Moore, the very man that had been gracing the cover of William’s morning paper throughout the week. But they were not to investigate the circumstances of the man’s death. Rather, they were being commissioned as discreet security for Mr. Moore’s widow and young daughter. The two were apparently moving their lives to a more remote house in the countryside, north of the city, and would need protection.
As for why Billy needed them specifically to complete this job he wouldn’t say, but William suspected, and he was sure Sherlock did as well, that it was because the last few assignments they had handled had been perfect successes. Their track record was impeccable and this was a high profile task, the Moore family could not be more in the public eye, and so the price for failure would be steep. The Pinkertons likely did not want to risk more of a scandal than the rumours that Moore’s death were already creating.
William was a little worried that his own physical capabilities would not be up to scratch for the task, but he emphasized to Billy and Sherlock both that he had no intention of sitting this one out. The fact that they were needed as added security at all made him deeply suspicious of the nature of this job and of the enemies of this family. All the more reason to not leave Sherlock to handle this on his own.
By the time Billy left, after making them promise to get in touch if anything went wrong, William was thinking deeply about the safest routes to take out of the city. Sherlock, on the other hand, rubbed the back of his neck and sighed causing William to look up. “I was hoping we’d have a quiet holiday, it’s been a tiring few weeks.”
William bit back a frown, was that really what Sherlock wanted? Usually the man leapt at the opportunity of interesting work that could get them out of the flat and into exhilarating danger of all kinds. Was he only saying this because he wanted William to rest? Perhaps he thought the mission would be too much for him since last time William had overexerted himself?
These thoughts were at the forefront of his mind when he said, “I think it will be good to help that family, things are likely difficult for them right now as is.”
Sherlock looked at him when he said it, something unreadable in his eyes as he took a sip of coffee and looked away. “Yeah you’re probably right.”
~*~
“When are they meeting us again?”
William shook his head slightly, smiling as he examined the many multicolored ornaments that were on display. “Just after three o’clock according to the instructions.”
Billy had specified to them that they were to meet their charges, the Moore family, at the public market downtown. An instruction that had told William several things about the safety precautions the family was taking. As they waited, Sherlock had been pacing beside William at each stall, anxious to begin their mission.
William, however, was quite content to peruse the wares in front of them, the entire market bedecked for the holiday season with wreaths of holly and red flowers. It was reminiscent of London’s own Christmas markets, but different in ways. William was reminded, as excited children passed them by with toffee apples and candy canes in hand, of when Albert took both he and Louis to their very first holiday market.
Father Christmas had never been a figure young orphans put much faith in, but their eyes had been wide that evening. Wrapped in expensive coats and spoiled with purchasing any sweet they desired. It had been like a warm sugary dream that had put such a smile as William had never seen on Louis’s small face.
His wistfulness was of course not unnoticed by his discerning companion, who bent near him and stared at the ornaments William had been examining. To others it would appear that Sherlock was interested in the baubles as well but William knew better. The detective spoke quietly, his elbow brushing William’s, “Should we get a tree for the flat? I don’t think it’ll be as fancy as the one you had back h-”
He cut him off with a smile, “That’s alright, it would be impractical.”
Sherlock frowned slightly looking like he was going to disagree but William walked on, a pang in his chest at the other man’s thoughtfulness. Truly William did not know what part of his blood drenched past had made it so that he deserved this man’s compassion.
Not to mention his traitorous heart swelled far too easily whenever the other man spoke that way to him. Voice low and caring, an inevitable warm part of him brushing William’s back or arm. It pricked at that greedy desire within him for more. And he hated himself for it.
“Liam! Wait, come over here!”
William stopped to turn over his shoulder looking to where Sherlock now stood, by the large tree in the center of the square, a young woman and a little girl beside him. As he made his way to the small group William noticed four men surreptitiously placed around the square, outfitted in plain street wear but with shifting gazes that made it painfully obvious what they were doing here. Likely the existing security for the remaining Moore’s.
As he came closer however he noticed the young woman who he recognized as Moore’s widow darting her eyes around the square nervously. That explained why Sherlock had called him over loudly, anyone that anxious about hiding their presence would be too afraid to draw attention to themselves. Therefore Sherlock’s purposeful shout in a crowded place made them more likely to be overlooked. William greeted both their charges with a tip of his hat, gesturing subtly towards the street corner opposite them where a carriage was waiting.
He walked beside the young Mrs. Moore and spoke just loud enough to be heard over the other market patrons. “I apologize for my partner and I’s forthrightness, please rest assured we will exchange the appropriate pleasantries later. For right now, it is very important that you answer a question for me, do you and your daughter currently have any means of ensuring your safety?”
The young woman raised a glove hand to her face, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear and under her hat. “Yes. Two guards from my husband’s household are in the square.”
William nodded, “Thank you.”
Immediately he reached for Sherlock’s arm in front of him. The man had been watching the chipper little girl trotting beside him warily, but when William’s hand brushed his arm he turned immediately. Quickly and without speaking, William gestured to the square in the direction that they had come from and Sherlock looked.
It was always an absolute joy to see the detective’s mind at work, William had enjoyed watching the man puzzle through countless difficult situations, some of William’s own crafting, and still he never grew tired of the sight. In less than a breath Sherlock turned his gaze back to William and gave a short nod, turning to hurry the girl beside him to walk faster. When Mrs. Moore looked at William with concern at their quickened pace, he smiled reassuringly.
“It’s best that we leave the city as soon as possible.”
They were walking briskly now, the carriage coming into sight, and William’s eye lost his targets in the crowd. The young widow beside him was lifting her heavy black skirts to quicken her pace. “Is there something wrong? Were we not discreet enough?”
William shook his head gently, offering his arm to help steady the shorter woman as they moved. “You both did very well to make it here as you did, but two men that were not your guards were already waiting for you here.”
Alarm passed briefly over her already drawn face, clear grey eyes now locked on the salvation of the carriage up ahead. William was on high alert, eye scanning for any sign of the men he had seen earlier. The two guards had not shown themselves and would likely not be coming to their aid. He glanced briefly at the woman on his arm when he spoke again, “Who did you tell about this trip? To see your sister?”
Mrs. Moore’s breathing was a bit labored now as she spoke under her breath, “No one I swear!”
There was a pause where she furrowed her brow in thought and her eyes closed in frustration, their brisk walk now bordering on a run. “Oh no, the housekeeper I told our housekeeper, Mrs. Holland.”
William held back a sigh, he supposed she couldn’t have known. “That’s alright, thank you for telling me. In the future you really mustn’t tell anyone.”
Her eyes were wide with fear when she nodded, and William tried to ignore the painful aching in his legs. He was sure the relief was visible on both of their faces when they saw Sherlock and the young girl reach the cabin safely.
When he reached the carriage Sherlock immediately waved him off to the front, helping up Mrs. Moore and securing the passenger door behind them quickly. William ignored the burning protest of his legs and hoisted himself into the driver’s seat of the cab, gathering the reins in one hand and waiting until the solid thud of Sherlock falling onto the bench beside him signaled they were ready to depart. Immediately he urged the horses down the road, probably faster than was appropriate for this particular time of day but he could not bring himself to care. Mrs. Moore’s own visible fear had frightened him a little as well.
There were few things William liked less than being thrust into a situation without every single detail accounted for. He slid his gaze off the road for a moment to look at Sherlock, who lay against the carriage in a rumpled heap. When he met his eyes William looked away quickly.
“Want me to drive?”
Instinctively he wanted to say no, his appreciation of Sherlock’s similar ability to gauge everything about a person in a glance severely lacking at the moment. But instead he took a breath and said, “I can get us out of the city at least.”
Sherlock straightened a bit on the bench beside him, “Alright.”
While William focused on the sleet lined road and their carefully planned route out of the city he heard Sherlock slide a wooden slat open in the wall of the compartment behind them. “Everyone okay in there?”
He heard the same forcibly calm feminine voice from earlier respond, “Just fine, thank you.”
“Great.”
And without saying anything else he slid the opening closed. William quirked his lips a bit, keeping his eyes on the road and their surroundings as he felt Sherlock digging around for something else now. It was fascinating how short and to the point he could be when the topic was not related to something the man was interested in. Eventually he seemed to have found what he was looking for, as there was suddenly a thump and a satisfied “Hah!”
Next thing William knew, warmth was encasing his legs, a heavy fur arranged on his lap and the smoky slightly chemical smell of Sherlock surrounded him. The detective was much too close. But William could do nothing to move away, focused on keeping hold of the horses in his charge. Sherlock in the meantime busied himself with tucking the fur around William on the bench, his disheveled ponytail flicking across William’s cheek at points. He had to crane his head slightly to keep his eyes on the road, stomach swooping as Sherlock leaned away and rubbed a hand along his shoulder in parting.
“Sorry.”
William knew he was apologizing for distracting him while he drove but it was said so bashfully that he almost didn’t believe it had been Sherlock. Even though there was only one person seated beside him. He shook his head slightly instead as he drove, not trusting himself to speak after the brief touch to his arm which had no doubt made him flush pink.
Hopefully Sherlock would chalk up his coloring to the cold. The very same man was seated closer to William now, rubbing his hands together a bit and eyeing the fur that now lay on William’s lap. When he spoke it was quite close to William’s ear, since he likely did not want to shout over the biting wind. “You really don’t have to hide when you’re hurting, you know, I know how strong you are.”
William almost sent the carriage careening into a building, his throat tightening at Sherlock’s words, so blunt and yet said so calmly, as if he was commenting on the weather and not William’s obvious flaws. “I don’t want to see you recovering from something like that again so just, tell me when you aren’t feeling well.”
As he spoke William felt that warm hand brush his elbow, retreating just as fast as it had come when Sherlock chuckled forcefully, clearly attempting to lighten the mood. “After all, that old doctor made me your primary caretaker, you know. That’s not a responsibility I can shirk now is it Liam?”
William took a steadying deep breath, smiling in spite of himself and the wave of feelings cresting within him. “No Sherly.”
He could not take his gaze off the road but he knew Sherlock’s eyes were probably sparkling with his use of that particular nickname. So in a rare moment of weakness he transferred the reins to one hand, reached out, and patted Sherlock’s knee. There was more emotion than he liked in his voice when he spoke but hopefully the wind would carry it away.
“Thank you… you’re doing a wonderful job.”
~*~
When they left the muddy streets of the city behind, the quiet countryside of New York revealed itself in all of its glittering beauty. Thick blankets of untouched snow covered fields and dense thickets of trees. Maple oak and elm all looked the same with bare branches and coats of snow, the nature only broken by solitary homesteads every few miles. William was utterly enchanted.
They almost never left the city on horseback, usually taking the train or going by ship to certain far off destinations when they could. But after Sherlock had forcibly taken the reins once they had left the boundaries of urban and bustling New York, William was left to pull his fur tight to him and soak in the serenity of the land around them. There was so much space here, endless rolling hills and tree lines all frosted in white, not a soul to be seen but them and their carriage.
It was also so quiet, just peaceful nothingness broken only by their rickety wheels and the horses’ soft snorts as they marched along. William had, of course, not solely been surveying the land to enjoy the scenery. He had also kept a sharp and wary eye on the road behind them, zeroing in on any strange rustling when they passed patches of snow-laden foliage. Sherlock was steering the horses well, eyes focused on the road and occasionally glancing sidelong at his companion on the bench, which did not go unnoticed by William. But he didn’t comment on it, staying silent and keeping watch on their surroundings instead.
If he was being honest with himself though, occasionally he did glance at the detective. Watching how the sunlight reflected off the snow and cast Sherlock’s profile in flattering relief. William had always thought his strong nose and brow to be most striking, but lately, with all the time they now spent together he had been noticing smaller things. Subtler features that had been less important before but that he now found himself with time to appreciate. There was an ever so faint beauty mark near his temple for example that William found particularly fascinating. He had also taken to studying the divot near the top of the other man’s right brow, no doubt a scar from some near-death escapade.
Certainly not one he had orchestrated, William was sure. He would kill again even now to ensure no harm would come to the detective beside him. The surety which he knew that with was startling, and a little frightening. The strong emotions the detective evoked in him frankly always were. Before, it had been all for the benefit of their plan and Sherlock’s part in it all. Now, with the benefit of hindsight William knew it was more than that.
Eventually, as if able to sense it, the subject of his introspective thoughts spoke. “You can lean on me Liam.”
William turned and stared, what? His confusion and palpable fear that Sherlock was trying to get William to speak to him about his warring thoughts must have shown on his face because as soon as his partner turned to look at him he backtracked, one hand leaving the reins and waving in the air. “Uh sorry I just meant, if you’re tired you can- um, yeah lean over.”
He shrugged one snow-damp shoulder and William stared, simultaneously relieved and surprised at the gesture. Although really he should be used to such thoughtfulness from this man by now. Sherlock was rubbing his thumb between his brows aggressively, eyes squeezed shut. “Sorry, stupid thing to say. I’m sure you’re fine I’m just-”
William spoke before he could stop himself, cutting the detective off. “Thank you, but I’m not tired.”
Sherlock nodded, eyes downcast and fixed on the horses as he put his hand down to rest on the bench beside William. “Earlier, when I said I wanted a quiet holiday…”
William tilted his head, not quite sure what had brought this on. “It was just because I- I was hoping that we could-”
He felt the tip of Sherlock’s little finger brush his on the bench and William froze, his other hand grasping the furs in his lap. Sherlock was continuing to speak, “Just because we haven’t had much time between assignments lately and-”
A few of their fingers had somehow tangled together on the bench, gloved hands just barely touching. The cold could have been causing William to hallucinate the sensation, but it felt real and possibly purposeful. His breath, fogging out in front of him in the cold, was coming shorter with each passing moment.
“I suppose I just wanted-”
“Excuse me! But are you a pirate?”
William turned his head sharply at the same moment the horses swerved on the road. The warmth from Sherlock’s hand was gone in an instant, the man beside him cursing under his breath as he attempted to wrangle the horses back into a straight gallop. William attempted to stabilize his breathing, heart still beating out of his chest and one hand now acutely aware of the cold.
The initial turn to see where the voice had come from revealed two wide brown eyes blinking up at him from the carriage compartment. Clearly oblivious to the conversation that had just been interrupted. Both of them had somehow missed the sound of the window to the driver’s side opening. The eyes belonged to the young girl in the carriage’s cabin, and it took all of William’s scattered willpower to muster up a gentle smile for her.
“Just because you have an eyepatch! And I’ve never seen someone with an eyepatch that wasn’t a pirate mister!”
He sighed a little, “How many pirates with eyepatches have you met exactly?”
The girl’s face was pressed up close to the small opening, but she looked like she was processing the question thoughtfully. “I guess none! But I’ve read about them lots!”
“Hmm I see, well I don’t have a ship I’m afraid, so I don’t think I count.”
The girl blinked again, considering this, “The carriage could be your ship!”
William put a hand to his chin, pretending to think about this option. “That is a good idea… but then would that not make you and your mother my prisoners?”
A little gasp left her, “No! Capture the ponytail man, not us!”
He laughed a bit, looking sideways at Sherlock before leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “Alright but you have to help me, I can’t capture such a strong fellow without a first mate.”
Her eyes widened and she nodded eagerly, looking at Sherlock with wariness. “Yes! I can be your first mate! But, he doesn’t look that strong. I'm sure we can capture him!”
William stopped himself from chuckling any louder at this, "Believe me he’s stronger than he looks.”
She looked doubtful, turning to focus on William again instead. “What do I call you for our mission Captain?”
Goodness, interacting with children like this brought out his more embarrassing sentimental side. “You can call me William, but don’t mention the Captain bit in front of others alright? It’s best if the secret mission stays between us… Miss…?”
The girl, who had been nodding seriously while William spoke, gave a start and excitedly finished the sentence for him. “Juny! Well my mother says people should say Juniper but I like Juny best!”
Another wide smile was directed at him and William could do nothing but return it. “Very well Miss Juny let’s get you safely to the treasure and then we can worry about capturing the ponytail man here.”
He staged a whisper which seemed to delight little miss Juniper who giggled and nodded again, reaching her little hand part way out of the carriage window. “Let’s do a handshake! My dad always does handshakes for important business!”
William’s smile faded a bit, but he extended his hand for her to grasp. “Of course.”
~*~
The whinny of a horse startled William awake, a voice beside him speaking as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Sorry to wake you, but we’re here.”
The familiar voice was very close to his ear and embarrassingly he realized, despite not being able to recall falling asleep, he had nodded off against Sherlock’s shoulder. The very spot that had been offered to him earlier and that he had denied upon the grounds of ‘not being tired.’ With that thought coming back to him William sat upright quickly, putting a hand to his eyepatch worriedly as Sherlock bundled the furs back into the driver’s compartment. “You should have woken me earlier, you weren’t meant to drive the whole way.”
His partner gave him a look, the one that William had come to know as the ‘we are not arguing about this again’ look. ‘This’ of course being Sherlock’s tendency to do anything and everything for him even when William himself had not requested he do so. The pink color in Sherlock’s cheeks and his worn gloves told William more than the detective would ever say about the length of the drive.
It was nearly dark for goodness sake… they really needed to have a conversation about this imbalance. William’s temporary physical frailty aside he petulantly resolved to carry Sherlock himself the next time they had to come all this way for an assignment. He shook himself, a slight frown still lingering on his face as he watched Sherlock approach the door of a large house, greeting a woman in a dark green gown who was waiting for them.
The cold was more biting now that they were further upstate and William braced himself against the chill, swinging open the carriage door and putting on a smile for their charges. Having fallen asleep while on watch the least he could do was get them inside to safety now they had arrived.
Juniper Moore was bouncing her legs against the carriage seat when William opened the door, her mother fast asleep on the bench opposite her. Her head was cushioned on the shoulder of her shawl until the young girl stood from her seat and tugged on her skirt. William winced a little at Mrs. Moore’s startled gasp, Juny almost yelling in her ear, “Mother! Mama look, we're here!”
It did save William the trouble of getting the young widow up but he gave her an apologetic look all the same, helping them both down the carriage steps and into the road. Sherlock returned to his side as they were making their way up the walkway, William a half-step behind the mother and daughter. When they reached the older woman in the doorway, the three embraced, Juniper immediately exclaiming loudly that she wished to see ‘Blackberry’ which William gathered was the household cat.
As they watched the pleasant reunion unfold, Sherlock spoke to him quietly. “The aunt seemed genuine, concerned for their safety, eager to see her sister and glad they arrived in one piece.”
William hummed, watching Mrs. Moore hold her sisters hands as she spoke anxiously about something.
“She told me we can spend the night in a spare room and leave in the morning since the snow will make traveling tonight a pain. She was very thankful that we escorted them and all that.”
Sherlock had both hands in his pockets and William could hear the clasp of the cigarette case latching and unlatching. He turned his gaze to the detective, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice when he said, “I am sensing a ‘however’ Sherlock.”
The latching and unlatching ceased and the man next to him turned his way with his eyebrows raised slightly, as if he too was still surprised at how easily they had fallen into knowing each other. The preferred way one took their tea, the time at which they were likely to get out of bed, their dislike of certain holiday gimmicks. Yes, even familiar patterns of speech. William was suddenly a little frustrated with himself for saying something so telling, speaking so obviously to their newfound intimacy with one another.
His longing for more was probably humiliatingly obvious to Sherlock, and being the kind and patient person that he was, he simply chose not to mention it.
At least for now, the other man was grinning at him, nothing but delight in those deep blue eyes that William was so familiar with. “However, she struck me as a little too nervous and a little too grateful, Liam.”
William closed his eyes briefly, tabling tumultuous thoughts related to Sherlock Holmes and focusing on the almost giddy tone the other man had spoken with just now. “You believe something more is going on?”
His companion rocked back on his heels eagerly, “Indeed.”
Mrs. Moore’s sister had started to wave them in, the warm lamplight from the house spilling over their shoes as William sighed. “And you believe it would benefit this assignment to find out what exactly is bothering Mrs. Moore’s dear sister?”
Sherlock held out his hand for William to take as they ascended the steps to the door, “Precisely.”
They stepped into the foyer of the house and shook the snow from their boots, William pausing to hang both his and Sherlock’s scarves on a hook by their coats. It was only when Mrs. Moore and her sister had retreated to the kitchen with the promise of preparing tea that he spoke again. This time making sure to fix Sherlock with a serious, appraising look.
“And you are absolutely certain that doing this will help keep young Mrs. Moore and her daughter safe?”
The detective in front of him nodded, unable to hide the excitement on his face, the sight making William’s attempt at firmness crumble immediately. At the end of the day no matter how he attempted to repress it, he was not immune to the allure that came from unraveling a good mystery. It was just that as Sherlock had a particularly spectacular weakness for them, William found it was his responsibility to temper the unnecessarily dangerous leaps.
But this did not seem to be one of those, more so, it seemed that investigating Sherlock’s hunch at the very least would mean increased safety for their clients. And at the most an immensely satisfying holiday for the mystery-starved detective. With that in mind, William did not stop the small amused smile that made its way onto his face, “Very well then.”
Before Sherlock could voice the elation that William saw in his eyes as soon as he had agreed, the sound of porcelain shattering sent them both turning sharply towards the kitchen. Accompanied by a shrill cry of, “Elaine!”
William turned back to look at his partner but Sherlock had a look of fresh excitement about him, “The game is afoot Liam!”
And then he was gone, thundering down the hall to the kitchen as William followed after, surprised to find himself affected with a bit of the very same excitement.
~*~