Chapter Text
Further research into the case based on the leads gathered by the Holmes brothers was conducted, though it was mostly Sherlock that propelled the intel gathering by showing the direction to take. With a clear idea of what to look for, after two days, the team was in a room together to be briefed on the case as well as the assigned mission of apprehending Riley Withers, the culprit of Jonathan Small’s murder based on what was gathered.
Paula Connor, a servant in the victim’s home, was paid off to report back layouts and observe Small’s movements to establish a pattern and/or routine. She was a young, impressionable lady who had not established an unbreakable loyalty to Small, so it was a likely conclusion that a nice weight within a money bag was enough to convince her. However, that had allowed Connor access to the secret compartment where the stolen contents were. A maid like her would be able to enter private rooms of the employers if that was where the employer frequents, for the reason of doing her job of cleaning and serving.
Pretty straightforward. The events had been drawn before the culprit was pinpointed after all. It was just a matter of putting a face on the doer.
It was established that Connor was just following the orders to the T, as she didn’t know what the contents were. She just knew it’s important (as if it wasn’t obvious from the amount of money paid to her), and only knew which files to take based on the instructions fed to her.
It’s likely she’s lying to make her slate a little less red, maybe she was threatened, either way she was complicit. That’s to be handled on the side. But she did do the right thing by confirming the results of their investigation; that Withers was in fact the one at the centre of the web.
Withers will attend an annual ball where some international parties will join, and their mission was to apprehend him, but preferably catching him in the act of trade to make sure they have something to hold over his head as evidence, for both Withers and whoever was his accomplice. Assuming this was an act of treachery to the country, it was gonna involve someone that acted as a middle man of another country’s rep that wanted something to use against Britain. It had to be delicate.
That’s a hefty amount of information to digest.
Liam (dressed as the lovely Lianna) and Sherlock would handle Withers. Louis and Moneypenny will handle potential threats to clear the floor for the two as much as possible. Albert and Bond (who will be dressed as Irene) will handle surveillance and information exchange from the inside. Moran will act as a shadow and defense from the upper floor. Mycroft will monitor everything from inside since he’s a prominent figure too so honestly it’s just another tree in a forest, and will direct everyone by making decisive matters. Herder, last but not least, will be acting as information exchange on the outside (with Fred protecting him) since everyone would have earpieces on.
“Liam,” Sherlock’s soft baritone called for him as if he didn’t want anyone else to heed attention to him, though all of them were going in their assigned pairs at the same time.
William turned to face him as he fixed his wig, and Sherlock took up upon himself to adjust the strands of hair that William seemed unsatisfied with. Though it was also an excuse for the close proximity between them, Sherlock’s finger grazed lightly along Liam’s skin that was lightly powdered.
“I quite like the sight of you with your hair up like that, Sherly,” Liam remarked as he gestured at the silver kanzashi hairpin holding Sherlock’s hair up in a bun. The detective rarely bothered with styling his hair, and it’s likely someone else helped him with it.
“I could say the same for you being in all that,” Sherlock rebutted.
They did have a relatively matching pair of clothing. A black-focused outfit with red accents with the laces, inner linings and lapels. It wasn’t the first time Sherlock saw William in a dress, nor with his hair adorned with rose accessories, but it was the first time William saw Sherlock with a neatly pressed tuxedo to match. Sherlock’s hairpin was embellished with silver skeletal structure of butterfly wings with red gems, matching William’s dragonfly wings on his headpiece, with blue gems.
That’s not to mention the weapons concealed within and under their clothes, even down to the hairpin itself.
Herder and Fred did handle the general disguises and clothes but they seem to put more effort in matching the two, compared to the other assigned pairs in the team. They could only rationalise it as making sure the two people handling the big rat, to be most convincing as a couple.
“You mean to say you prefer me as a woman?” William teasingly asked, the red of his lipstick seems quite inviting. Sherlock averted his gaze back to the rubies of his eyes instead.
“Not necessarily.” It was the truth—Sherlock would’ve chosen William in any form, “I just think the longer hair and the dress flatter you quite nicely. Does not mean I would rather you change into a woman. Lianna is nice but I think this detective will always prefer his Lord of Crime.”
Such sweet words coming out of a bohemian man, that it made Liam scoff in amusement. For how Sherlock presented himself to the world with no care of an impression outside of his unrivalled intelligence, he was quite delicate with William. Even the way he trailed his palm down Wlliam’s arm, excusing it as fixing the wrinkled fabric, to gently holding the tips of his dainty fingers.
“The Lord of Crime is no longer, or have you forgotten?” he looked down at their hands, seeing the faint scarring that peeked through Sherlock’s cuffs, holding Liam’s hand that donned the skull ring.
The promise of a new life, a free future for Liam, in exchange of Sherlock’s own tribulations in his time away. Despite everything William had to witness since he returned, he’s still the same man he…
Well…The man he lived for.
Seeing the focus lost in William’s eyes, Sherlock had held onto his hand with a comforting grasp. He may not be a mind reader, but he knew that maybe there’s some conflicting emotions Liam was still discovering even now.
“Shall we?” he asked with a gentle tone, gesturing over at the carriage each pair had been provided with to attend the ball.
The event featured a mixer dance routine in its ballroom choreography paired with beautiful orchestral music. Just like most ballroom events, the dance would be the main focus, therefore it would be the perfect moment for Withers to slither out of attention and conduct an exchange with whoever he had made deals with.
Bond, as Irene, did approach Withers and managed to have him as a dance partner. A man like that wouldn’t refuse an attractive woman, one that looked somewhat wealthy at that. Plus, refusing it would just risk his own situation, but that allowed Bond to keep him within eye range, and buy the team more time to move around.
Most of those who were on the dance floor were nobilities, while middle or lower class people would spectate more for the reason that they wouldn’t have such privileges for dance and etiquette classes that’d make them presentable in the centre of attention.
And with that, the starting position of those on the dance floor was: Bond and Withers, Albert and William, Sherlock and Moneypenny, Louis and a random noble woman.
It was one thing to dance perfectly, and another to do so while looking over their partner’s shoulders to discreetly gather any and every bits of information without stopping their movements. Being in the moving crowd would inevitably be a more efficient, brute way at doing it, as unconventional as it may be.
Though it couldn’t be helped with their more personal, lingering glances. Of course Albert noticed the way Liam eyed Sherlock’s hand intimately on Moneypenny’s waist, before glancing away to stop focusing on what’s supposed to be unimportant. Of course Moneypenny could see the wall Sherlock had put between them and in his eyes, as if hoping she was someone else even if this was just a part of the mission.
“Wil–Lianna,” Albert called for his name, or at least the chosen alias, “Focus.”
William could only nod, a tad apologetic for not putting his head completely in this.
A new section of the music played, and the formation once again changed. Bond had moved to Sherlock, Louis with William, Albert with a noblewoman, while Moneypenny was with a nobleman. The new pairs were relayed by Herder through everyone’s earpiece, more so for the sake of knowing if information can be relayed safely or who would be close to any one of them.
“Withers was so obvious,” Bond told Sherlock in a low enough voice to only be heard by him, and through the earpiece despite the loud echoing music, “Nervous, kept glancing over me to find someone.”
“And was he?”
“I’m about to say. I did try and be a little seductive asking if he had a date and was just nervous that he’s dancing with another lady. Then he said something about meeting a dear friend from America who would leave the country this very night, and didn’t want to miss him. Must be the other rat.”
“Must be, indeed,” Sherlock muttered, glancing over Bond’s shoulder to catch an eye on Withers to get a general idea of if he had found this guy he sought yet, to no avail. But Bond was right with how jittery and anxious he looked despite the efforts to conceal it.
“Myc. Herder. Need some advice here.”
There were a few long seconds of silence as they contemplated, before Herder’s voice spoke through the earpiece for all of them to hear.
“We’ve narrowed down the list of suspects to four people, based on the guest list of international parties attending tonight. Mr Holmes and Moran had pinpointed the four. One is Moneypenny’s partner,” Herder explained, and distributing roles.
Moneypenny observed her partner as the bright voice spoke in her ear, though the man had no telltales of suspicions. The man just seemed to enjoy the company of a pretty woman, and great music. He might honestly have had a couple of drinks too. At least that put suspect #1 on the bottom of the list
“The partner switch is coming. Considering the routine, William and Bond will partner up with the other two suspects. For visual reference, William’s partner will be the suspect in a dark blue suit, a silver lapel pin, 6’2”, dark brown hair. Bond’s partner will be the suspect with a black suit, red rose lapel pin, glasses, 6’. We’ll refer to them as #2 and #3 respectively.”
A peak in the orchestra arrangement marked the partner switch yet again.
“Where is #4?” Moneypenny asked when she had paired up with Albert, making it safe to discuss it verbally. They didn’t have visuals on the fourth suspect, and Herder’s disarray seemed to indicate that they couldn’t confirm it.
William was with #2, Bond was with #3, #1 was within view from where Sherlock and a noblewoman were positioned after they were paired. Louis who was partnered up nearer the edge of the dancefloor also couldn’t exactly find the fourth suspect, even after Herder tried to give as best of a description of the man, based on everything but the clothes.
It was kind of difficult to get a sense of direction with continuous movement of the crowd, and multitasking their attention with the dance. They would mostly rely on Moran and Mycroft on the upper level of the building, and Herder who operated from the outside.
“Found him,” Moran spoke under his breath, relaying to Herder that #4 as well as Withers was close to Albert and Moneypenny, and Herder gave them all the information.
Maybe Herder needed to consider working on more advanced earpieces for the future because using this for the first time that day proved that it only being a two way system between user and Herder only was making relaying information a little overwhelming.
“Withers and #4 seemed to exchange some sort of signal to the side of the room. Maybe to meet up. But assuming Withers didn’t want to risk putting attention on himself, he will wait until the dance ends before breaking out of the floor,” Albert concluded, and nodded knowingly at Moneypenny, “Moneypenny would be able to slip into position as his partner for the final switch.”
“Understood. I will try and stall him,” she duly agreed to the preposition, knowing she would be the best option at the moment. Bond was a distance away as well as William, and they needed a woman to pair up with Withers.
The last part of the ensemble was accompanied with a decrescendo arrangement to simmer to a beautiful end, and at the final switch, usually the routine would end with the same partner they started with but some pairs had broken up and left the floor at random moments, or with some new pairs joining and matching up. Unless it was a formal, official performance, this was bound to happen in a more casual event like this.
The only planned or expected pair was Moneypenny with Withers. Albert had ended up with a starry eyed noblewoman, Bond ended up with Louis, and Sherlock ended up with Liam—though it almost felt like it was meant to be.
Despite the lingering thoughts from earlier of hoping their dance partners were each other, Sherlock and Liam were still a bit taken aback when it did happen. Their ears were attentive to the instructions from their earpieces about what to do once the dance ended, while their eyes locked on each other with a sense of longing, every gentle touch speaking what their gazes exchanged.
“Moneypenny, try and stall Withers until Sherlock and William could confirm they could tail him.”
They heard that too, and their minds became alert for the end of the song. Though that didn’t take away from Sherlock’s hand on Liam’s waist and hand, or the way Liam’s elegance showed in the way he moved in the dress with his hand resting comfortably on Sherlock’s shoulder, both moving with synergy under the warm light.
Maybe it was due to the atmosphere, maybe it was the height of the moment, but Liam kept thinking about how this felt right —being close and almost intimate in the dance routine felt too natural for it to not be something they may have been doing in a previous life.
“Sherl—” he didn’t know what he wanted to say. His lips parted to say something that felt important, but he was interrupted and brought back to reality as he was cut off.
“Get ready,” Herder’s voice spoke into their ears, the same time Sherlock pulled William closer by the waist, “Sherlock and William will go after Withers and #4 as planned, Moneypenny and Louis will shadow you two at a safe distance as backup so no one will follow you. The others will keep an eye out on the other suspects as well as the general crowd for any abnormalities.”
“Permission on kills and casualties?” Sherlock asked, a little casually through the earpiece as he kept his gaze on William. It was an expected question—to know if harm should be kept to a minimum, or if their goal was to simply eliminate potential threats, yet it was another side to Sherlock that he didn’t expect. Since when had he been so frank at the idea and willingness to take a life, even if it was warranted?
It made William wonder if he did that in the time he was away and alone. Or…if they simply rubbed off on each other even when apart.
“Killing is strictly forbidden, as Mr Holmes relayed to me,” Herder spoke, “Harm is fine, as long as Withers and #4 would be in a condition good enough to stand trial and be held accountable using appropriate measures.”
“I’m content with that,” he muttered under his breath, as the dance ended with Liam’s twirl, as they met again palm to palm, bodies pressed against each other, too close, too intimate compared to the other pairs and yet they relished in the small silence tuning out the crowd as they waited on the cue to move.
The moment simmered out, as they both parted, and moved as per routine into a curtsy bow—Liam bowing with a hand on his dress' skirt, and the other being held and kissed by Sherlock, the gentle and very familiar press of his lips on the dainty hands.
“You can tell me what you want to say later,” Sherlock told Liam in a whisper as they straightened their back, responded with a small nod by William.
William wasn’t sure what he wanted to say when he had called Sherlock’s name earlier but he knew it’s best if they waited for privacy to do that. A moment with just him and Sherlock, to say what he pulled from his own heart. He did ask Sherlock to be patient before he could ever dare confess his feelings, and perhaps he was getting braver to do so now.
He wished it didn’t take so long to even man up for it, despite voicing out his fear of losing Sherlock.
“Withers and #4 is on the move,” Herder’s voice spoke in their ears, “Third hallway on the left. There should be a route to two public lounge rooms on the same floor and a stair leading to the upper balcony as well as private rooms. Your best bet is the private room at the end.”
Sherlock had kept their hands linked yet Liam seemed to be holding on more, as they walked towards the direction given to them. Louis and Moneypenny will only tail them in a distance once they’re a good distance away to avoid suspicions. The others will just keep control of the floor and handle collateral issues should it ever happen.
“Are you okay?” Sherlock asked as they walked at a leisure pace, just to feign a casual movement.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Liam said instead, “I know another job is what you could benefit from right now, but a job this high stake…”
“I’m fine . Really. I mean it’s no different than doing all those jobs alone. But it is weird to do it with a team. I’m not quite a group project kind of guy,” even though that did technically got me in many unfortunate circumstances…
“That’s not exactly what I mean.”
“You want me to be clean from the opioids. This helps with that. That’s something right?”
…How could he complain about that anyway? He was the one to suggest it in the first place but now that they’re actually on a mission, he was worried if it might trigger something, or if it would cause something that would derail everything. But it’s good that he’s paired up with Sherlock at least.
The music was still loud, the orchestra playing more for entertainment and filling the space than it was for a highlight and dance like it was earlier. It would drown out any commotion, even a scream and possibly a gunshot depending on how far in they would be. At the very least they would be muffled enough to be brushed aside as something insignificant.
“You haven’t been on a mission since when?”
“Since a few weeks before I returned here,” he replied easily, though a glance at Liam was enough to show it was a question of concern, “My mind is still sharp. I won’t break into some panic, you know?”
“If you say so.”
“I mean even if I do, I wouldn’t be able to hurt you. That’s also why I asked Myc if harm was allowed. If I did lose a bit of control, it would be towards the bad guys, just out of instinct.”
“How reassuring,” his monotone voice was deliberately made obvious, as he looked at Sherlock.
Sherlock didn’t respond to that, but he seemed to avert his focus to the hall they had entered after going up the stairs. Herder said their best bet was the room at the end, since his surveillance could only go so far, but the other two rooms closer to the upper balcony were locked with no signs of anyone inside. The last one was also locked but they could hear muffled voices through it when they got close enough.
Hopefully it would be clear enough at a much closer range, or if they pressed up against the door.
Liam took a couple of small disc-like devices from his reticule and they decided to place the recording device on the door, doing as best as they could so their shadows won’t be seen from under the door. They couldn’t just walk in the room, nor could they lure them out without compromising the chance that they do have if it was contained in the room.
The best option at the moment was place a bug, listen in until they’re certain enough information was gathered to pit it against the culprits, before barging in through the door. They were given liberty on how to pull it off after all, as long as they get to apprehend the culprits. Catch them in the act of the trade.
They exchanged nods, as both of them listened in, at the same time Sherlock inspected the lock to figure out if he could just pick it open later. One of the recording devices was stuck on the door, and another on the hem of Liam’s dress where it could be concealed by the ruffles design.
“I got everything in here,” a gruffy male voice spoke, and it’s assumed to be Withers, “You already arranged for my protection and immunity in exchange for the goods right? Some compensation too, I’m assuming.”
“Don’t be too greedy. We could give you some compensation but not as much as you had asked for a week ago. We could let you escape and live under our care in America. The British authority would have a harder time to capture you if you’re under our, specifically my protection.”
They could hear some footsteps, but it seemed to be of a heavier man compared to the information they did have of Withers and the fourth suspect, the American in the room. Must be a bodyguard of some sort. That would explain why they took a risk of discussing it there when the bodyguard would be presumably a bigger man.
Sherlock gestured to William to say there would be 3 people in the room, 4 if they’re underestimating from auditory signs alone.
“Should we, now?” Sherlock mouthed the question towards Liam, and Liam nodded in response.
There’s many ways to go about it but instead of shooting the door open and risking the people in the balcony space hearing it, Sherlock tried to pick the lock open. But in his attempts to be subtle, the faint metal sounds of it had alerted the ones on the inside.
The situation on the inside halted to complete silence, and Sherlock stopped doing what he was doing. Those on the inside must have grown wary, and it made both Sherlock and William be on their guard as well in case they needed to be ready for an attack if it came down to it.
“Who is it?” Withers asked out loud, annoyed. He must have assumed it was some attendant trying to check on the rooms.
“There’s urgent matters to discuss with you, Mr Withers. Please open the door,” Sherlock didn’t bother pretending to not know who was inside. In a public event like that, it’s plausible that someone just said they saw Withers go in a certain direction when an attendant or anyone for that matter, had news to deliver.
There’s always many directions this could take, but those who were inside had opted for the ones that could end as mildly as possible and opened the door. Obviously they would be suspicious of whoever was on the other side of the door, but a reputable group of people like a nobleman, and an American guest in a prestigious annual event would want to reduce as much suspicion as possible.
Being quiet and dismissive would just pin them as someone with something to hide.
Sherlock spared a straight smile when the two doors opened for him and William, and entered the room quite unprompted, seeing the way the two culprits and the bodyguard feigned calmness. They weren’t sure yet if Sherlock and William were any sort of threat, so they didn’t want to risk acting irrationally.
“What is the urgent matter? You are barging in quite an important discussion here,” Withers asked, his tone stern, but there was a slither of concern in it.
Sherlock had kept his eyes on them, eyeing them to try and deduce whatever he could, more so for safety reasons, while William moved to lock the door behind them before joining Sherlock where he stood. Despite being outnumbered, it’s clear who had the dominance of the room.
“You…” Withers’ voice was slow, in disbelief as he took in the sight of the familiar face after a few seconds of squinting.
“You seem to recognise me, so I guess this makes it easier,” Sherlock spoke with his usual cocky tone as he looked at Withers’ growing panic covering his face and even though only he seemed to recognise Sherlock at the moment, it did instil worry in his fellow accomplices.
“Y-you died!”
“Do I look like a ghost?”
“Oh my god—”
“Mmh...Not quite.”
More than the idea that a man had returned from the dead, Withers was more worried about the fact that Sherlock was going to be his downfall. The only reason he was so bold going about everything was the fact that he knew he could’ve escaped if Sherlock was out of the picture.
“Well, since we can get past the introductions…” he cleared his throat. It’s no use sugarcoating at the moment. They managed to have those three in the room with the only way out was the locked door with the recording devices still taking in everything.
“Mr Withers, and Mr Jameson, if you cooperate then everything will be much easier. We have everything we need to convict you, and your response will either make it better or worse for you.”
Sherlock had purposefully redacted the very thing he was taking the two in for since it could sometimes lead to more red in the ledger depending on how the suspects go about it, such as providing false alibis, and in this case…
Withers had pulled a gun on Sherlock, likely hidden from sight on the chair he was seated on, and Sherlock’s first instinct was to move in front of Liam to protect him. Sure it was also to feign this picture of Liam being a harmless woman in heels and that they’re both unarmed, but Sherlock really did intend on shielding him.
“Oh, how lovely. The ever stoic Mr Holmes is protective of his missus,” Mr Withers spoke confidently and stood up from his chair to move closer, now convinced that in some way he had gained an upper hand.
“So this is the famous Holmes I keep hearing about? Shame we didn’t have an equivalent of him over in America but then again…how else are we gonna do whatever we wanted?” Jameson spoke in amusement—the other guy that should be some sort of politician or a man with a link to someone with power.
If it’s true this man could provide protection to Withers but made his effort to come here then he must be nothing more than a representative of someone bigger.
Sherlock and William shouldn’t make a move yet, and they shared a knowing glance to agree on that too. They needed to maintain composure and make the others in the room believe they were preys that talked big. There’s a high likelihood the gun won’t be shot anyway, since people might hear it even if it’s muffled by the thick walls, but it’s just a very inconvenient spot to hurt or kill someone if they didn’t want to get caught.
“If Sherlock Holmes is here, then someone must have tipped us off.”
“Would the detective and his lady be able to do anything anyway? They’re at gunpoint and they’re outnumbered,” the American said smugly as he stepped closer towards William, and teasingly played with the ends of William’s hair.
They had never agreed on when to strike, but they would always work in synergy. So in the moment of annoyance from the teasing, Liam had decided to strike first.
Liam stepped on Jameson’s foot with his heels with his whole weight and force—the narrow stiletto with a metal rod in it truly lived up to its name of ‘little knives’ when it punctured through the leather shoe, stabbing the guy in the foot, and he had swiftly lodge his fingers into one of the guard’s throat—one that had been near the door the whole time.
That had automatically prompted Withers to shoot at them the same time Sherlock took Liam’s attack as cue to lunge forward towards Withers. His aim was clearly for the head, and was aiming more towards Liam’s direction, but had instead hit the wall. A wasted shot, but it gave Sherlock the perfect opportunity to lunge Withers directly against his stomach and toppling him down.
Withers’ muscle memory from his years of service did him good for a short while when he instinctively used the back of the gun to hit Sherlock across the face to buy himself a bit of time as the detective was disoriented from the attack, but his one mistake was not hitting Sherlock straight on his chin. Sherlock was disoriented slightly, yes, but he still had full control of his mobility. So when Withers’ next attack was to shoot Sherlock point blank, Sherlock had managed to grab his wrist and averted the aim to the ceiling.
Sherlock attempted to twist both his hand and the gun away to avoid misfires towards Liam, or even lock his arm so he could pin him down on his front but he was underestimating Withers’ veteran strength cause he couldn’t budge him more than holding his aim away while straddling him in place.
It was a risky move to move one hand away especially when he couldn’t easily look back to Liam, but Sherlock let one hand go from his grip on Withers’ wrists to pull his hairpin off, quickly stabbing Withers’ wrist to force his grip off from the gun.
It worked, but Withers had managed to shoot another shot the moment his muscles reacted at the stab. In panic seeing the bullet go past his head, he turned around towards Liam. Perhaps it’s pure luck that the man he’s literally in love with was also a proficient fighter because he had managed to buckle Jameson’s knees as he was struggling, and made the American into what essentially was his human shield and prevented the bullet from hitting Liam’s abdominal area.
Sherlock had never felt that kind of anxiety in what was probably a split second in real time, but the relief in his exhale was obvious, and the rage in his eyes was just as prominent when he turned towards Withers under his who was writhing at the hairpin that was lodged between his wrist bone, straight through his flesh.
The gun that had fallen on the side was now in Sherlock’s hands, and he held it onto the national traitor’s head, the hot barrel pressed against the wrinkled temple.
“You’re lucky,” Sherlock muttered, “If you had actually hurt him, you wouldn’t have made it out alive, no matter if they needed you alive.”
“Sherlock,” Liam’s voice finally spoke, sharp, and that tone meant only one thing— calm down.
He did just that. Or at least Sherlock did try and take a few deep breaths as he reassured himself that they’ve got it all settled with. Considering Louis and Moneypenny not breaking in the room yet, he had to assume that from where they stood, they really didn’t hear the gunshot. So if either Sherlock or Liam had actually gotten shot, they wouldn’t know until Herder tells them, or until they check on the room after a certain time had passed.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Sherlock asked William, not turning to him again just to keep an eye on Withers.
“I’m fine. This guy isn’t all that strong in the first place,” he reassured Sherlock, while he cuffed the other guy to a nearby chair, “He was basically useless after getting his feet stabbed, but he’s alive despite getting shot from the back. He’s bleeding a lot though. And his bodyguard…”
The guy’s groaning in pain—that much was obvious. His voice mixed with Withers’ own groaning and whining. But that meant the shot didn’t hit anywhere vital if he was still conscious. The bodyguard seemed knocked out from Liam’s initial attack, but Sherlock did trust he could handle himself even if he couldn’t keep an eye on Liam.
Liam walked closer to Sherlock as the latter pulled the culprit on his feet, as Liam helped cuff him to a chair too, and for him, it’d be more painful if he struggled considering the pin stabbed through his wrist that would move if he writhe against the handcuffs. He seemed to give up fighting though, as if knowing it’s either he was gonna get caught, or he would be straight up killed.
“I didn’t think the hairpin was hard enough to be a weapon,” Liam commented, looking at Sherlock’s now-loose hair that fell against his shoulder. His hair seemed wavier now after being kept in a bun for a good while.
“Herder had modified it for me. I wanted it to be sharp, like a dagger and maybe made with obsidian, but making it into a dagger would just end up cutting my hair. So it’s just…a very hard stick instead, but narrow enough to cause damage easier. Sort of like your heels I suppose.”
“I had expected the heels to do something but not that efficiently. It wasn’t modified but I guess a typical stiletto was already made as such to withstand weight.
He smiled at the casualness of the topic, and he did miss that. The past few weeks were filled with just Sherlock struggling with his addiction, his trauma, his return, with Liam trying his best to hold his hands through it, that they couldn’t indulge in the partnership they share in crime solving.
“Are your feet okay?”
“It hurts a little when I stomped him but it’s fine. Probably would just be sore later,” Liam said as-a-matter-of-factly, though now one of his heels had blood on it, and the back of his ankle was now red.
“Do you want me to carry you out later?”
“No need to go so far, especially in such a public event outside…”
“It won’t be the first time I carried you.”
Liam shook his head at the insistence as he took the recording device off from his dress, one clipped to the inner side of the ruffles, and then the one on the door when they had unlocked the door. Sherlock was just quite amused by William’s reaction, but he knew he couldn’t say or do too much in the moment when they had earpieces on, and the recording devices as witnesses.
“Herder, where’s Louis and Moneypenny? Did they not hear the gunshots?” he paged Herder once he left the room, assuming it would be clearer without the walls obstructing anything for how Herder had been quiet the whole time.
“Didn’t you tell them not to move until you cue them?”
“I did?” he turned towards Liam as if asking him for confirmation, and Liam nodded as if it should have been obvious, “Whatever, get them here and arrest these people. Two’s passed out, one is in pain. Essentially they’re all hurt.”
“I’ll tell them right away.”
Within seconds, Louis and Moneypenny came to the room they were in, and another minute after, Moran joined in to help with getting the three men. Considering the circumstances, it’s unlikely there’s others they need to arrest unless they’re given a name during interrogations, but the others in the team were still keeping an eye out.
“Liam,” Sherlock called for him as he went through a briefcase next to the chair Withers sat on earlier, and brute forced the locks open.
He sat down on the chair and handed half the stack of papers to Liam to read, while he himself skimmed through what was on it. It wasn’t a hefty stack of papers by any means but reading through it did show that it was enough to be used against a number of important people in the country.
“Why would Withers have these?” Liam muttered, reading through the mission reports of black operations conducted under the military over a decade ago, involving a few nations and countries. Exploitations and abuse done to build a kingdom over it.
“He did have a reputation in the army, leading teams and all. He likely had these reports because he was involved with them.”
Hypocrites and backstabbers would function like Withers. It didn’t matter whether or not they regret what they did, because they saw it as something they could benefit from. In this case, Withers could use it as some form of blackmail, as he himself acted as a witness and accomplice that was granted protection if the trade had gone through.
Who knows what would get demanded from the British government if some Americans had gotten these documents.
“And here I thought we had killed most if not all corrupt nobles years ago.”
“Evil never fully disappears. That’d be a fruitless effort if your goal was to eradicate all of them, but that’s never your aim,” he put the papers back in the briefcase and closed it up, “You just wanted the world to be more colourful for everyone.”
Sherlock stood up and walked closer to Liam, his finger caressing across Liam’s cheek to wipe off a splatter of blood that had gotten on his skin. He wanted to say something, but a glance over towards Louis, Moneypenny and Albert handling the culprits and even talking amongst themselves (and probably telling Herder everything that’s happening), he felt like it wasn’t the right time.
He dropped his hand and held his tongue.
“We should be done here.”
As if on cue, Mycroft had entered the room, heading straight to Sherlock and the latter handed over the briefcase promptly. There was no need for more words since he would’ve heard everything from Herder already. But Mycroft decided to say something anyway.
“Good job. Especially your first mission since returning to England,” he won’t mention the torture he underwent in that cell, or the drug abuse—he figured it wasn’t necessary, but the gratitude was warranted, “You two seem to work very well together.”
At that, Sherlock and Liam looked at each other in acknowledgement and perhaps a bit of pride over that. Chemistry couldn’t be faked easily. It can be with cracks and defects, but if the synergy was undeniable, then why try refusing it?
“I guess we do.”
After everything was done and dusted with, they got into separate carriages in the pairs they came with earlier. Mycroft had Moran and some of his backup agents bring Withers, Jameson and the bodyguard to get treated before getting locked up for interrogation. Louis had gone separately with Fred to handle the reports with Mycroft while the others were dismissed after handing in their earpieces and tools back to Herder.
Sherlock had offered to accompany Liam as he send him back home first, but Liam insisted he’ll come with Sherlock to 221B. Sherlock thinking it was just to play off their couple disguises even further just went along with it. There was no reason to deny him that.
So when they reached 221B, Sherlock promptly led him to the bedroom assuming he would want to rest or change into something. The both of them would want to rest after a day’s worth of work after all.
“Do you intend to keep wearing that dress, because you can borrow my clothes if you will. If I had known you’d insist on being here, I wouldn’t have returned your clothes from the other day.”
“You don’t like how I look?”
Sherlock was rummaging through the closet when Liam decided to ask that, making him stop and turn towards Liam in a bit of confusion. There was a bit of contemplation as Sherlock kept his eyes on Liam. On the longer wig in his exact hair shade, the light makeup and the red lipstick, even the mascara enhancing his eyelashes. Not to mention the dress hugging his waist and accentuating certain curves of his.
This felt like when William asked if Sherlock preferred him as a woman.
“It looks uncomfortable, so I’m just offering you something to change into,” he said frankly but after a bit of pause, he spoke again, “But you do look beautiful.”
Sherlock got closer to him and carefully took the wig off from Liam’s head, fixing his hair that was flattened underneath.
“It’s just not a version that I’m…familiar with. Doesn’t mean that I don’t like it,” he used the ends of his sleeves, wiping off the lipstick as best as he could without smearing it, “I just prefer you as just Liam. No disguises, no facade. Just you. But perhaps it’s just my sentiment talking, reminiscing on the past.”
Feel free to ignore it, that’s what he meant with that. But how could Liam just breeze past those words? The unblinking eyes looking at Sherlock were the eyes wanting only the truth, and when granted that, he wasn’t certain how to take it.
When granted the world and the moon, one rarely could figure out what to do with it—that’s how he saw it.
“Why did you insist on coming over if you have so little to say?” Sherlock had asked in a lighthearted manner, seeing the way Liam looked almost stressed when he lost his words to speak.
As someone who was a professor, and was a formidable man, he was much more eloquent than this. Why was he so nervous with Sherlock at this moment?
“I wanted to speak with you but…I suppose when confronted with the moment, I realise I have not prepared those words as well as I had hoped.”
“I think that being rather unrehearsed has its charm. It would mean that it’s fully honest and from the heart,” he responded with a smile, tilting his head in amusement but he won’t poke fun at Liam more than that, “You can use the bathroom and clean up, change into my clothes, and maybe in the meantime you can clear your head up.”
Liam didn’t immediately agree, and he was reluctant as if he would forget everything and lose the courage if he actually went.
“Will you help me with the dress? The layers are quite troublesome.”
It was quite an excuse to remain there a little while longer. He didn’t want to run away when Sherlock had been so patient with him, and not just about these past few days. Even way back when they first separated a couple years ago, when he had hurt Sherlock. When Liam refused to be his when Sherlock was so willing to be Liam’s.
At the end of the day, Liam realised he was the coward who always avoided the conflict of his heart, when Sherlock was more honest than he could ever be to himself.
“I wanted privacy away from my family. I quite like it when it’s just you and me, even if the circumstances can be a little unsavoury. And maybe I could…” Liam reconsidered his words, averting his gaze to anything else in the room as he spoke, “...Would you mind it if I just sleep here for the night?”
It won’t be the first time he spent hours there or even slept there but it’s often only to help Sherlock on his worse days. Not in this casual manner.
“You can take the bed. I’m used to dozing off randomly on the couch anyway so I’m fine,” Sherlock had no reason to say no, and to be honest he did want him there. To shoo him away just felt offensive from what they have in fact built these past few weeks.
Sherlock threw aside the corset he had managed to get off of Liam.
“That’s…”
Maybe beating around the bush wasn’t the right thing… Liam realised that Sherlock was taking his words at surface value intentionally. In a way it felt like Sherlock was forcing him to confront it.
“Sherlock,” he had turned to face the man once again, and his eyes showed a mix of determination as well as uncertainty. He knew what he wanted to say, but not how, “There are things I wished I could have said, or did earlier. And I probably will fail in articulating it as best as I could even in this moment.”
“I will take in every word however it’s given to me, please don’t worry,” he took Liam’s hand by the ends of his fingers, a delicate hold to say that he’d be patient. He always had been.
Liam looked down at their hands, and how Sherlock still held him with care despite going through hell and back. He pressed his palm against his, replicating the moment in the ballroom when the orchestral music ended with a gentle descending of the melody.
“This feels right,” Liam sighed, feeling his heart beating a little louder in his ear as the seconds passed by, “The closeness, the…intimacy. When we danced earlier during the mission, it made me wish it wasn’t for that, and simply for leisure where we can just soak in the moment.”
Sherlock smiled endearingly at that, knowing now why he appeared a little distracted for a short while during the dance. But mentioning it in that moment would not be appropriate, and yet he was given an answer without asking.
“Even when you were paired with someone else, I felt envious for some reason. I pushed it aside, but when we got paired up together like that, I think I understood why. I understood the reason why you felt dejected when you tried to tell me how you felt only for me to react the way I did,” Liam continued as his voice became more pensive, laced with a tinge of regret, “I understand why you felt hurt by the idea that my devotion is only to my brothers, and not to you when you have been nothing but devoted to me.”
“You had a different definition for friendship, for relationships. It would be unfair of me to wrong you for that, but it would be unfair to myself to let myself be just another asset up your sleeve in your little loyal family,” Sherlock wanted to stand his ground in this, not willing to go into something one-sided, as genuine as his feelings were for Liam, but Liam wouldn’t easily let this go. Not again.
“Sherlock, I’m trying to tell you that I love you,” Liam confessed, his exasperation in Sherlock’s dismissiveness had taken the words out of his mouth, “If…if you’ll have me. I want you to be mine, that much is known, but I also want to be yours.”
Sherlock could have read into it as another ruse. If anyone could take advantage of his emotions, it could only be Liam—practically everyone knew that. So when he had heard the confession spoken straight to him as their eyes fixated on each other, he was torn, and he was perplexed.
“...Huh?”
“There is no trickery here. No layers, no facade. Just…” Liam cleared his throat as he gathered himself, their fingers intertwining with no effort, “If I were to let anyone hold my heart and soul in their hands, it could never be anyone but you.”
Something as simple as love could stump Sherlock, who would have thought? Not just love, but one coming from Liam specifically. It made sense why he was trying to understand the situation hitting a wall, lips parted with no words spoken.
“I was stubborn, or I guess I was a coward. When you had offered me your heart and soul two years ago, I wished I had trusted my own emotions more. If I had told you this way back then, maybe you wouldn’t have left. You wouldn’t have suffered,” Liam lamented softly, making his grief known of the two years apart.
Maybe that’s true—maybe he wouldn’t have left. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so close to death, and maybe he wouldn’t have relapsed so horribly with no regards of his own life for it to take multiple people making sure he didn’t cross that line.
But Sherlock knew he would have been made to take the mission anyway. That mission was in a way, to let Liam paint colours in his life without worry. It’s to keep him safe. The separation they experienced, the rejection he experienced did help Sherlock in being resigned to fate when Liam was home with the people that cherished him.
Everything was to keep him safe and happy. Sherlock was just a lone wolf keeping the red riding hood to himself when he had a family of his own.
Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping by some grace that his tongue would cooperate with his mind and heart when he decided to finally speak up, even if he ended up sounding more rueful than intended.
“How are so certain the feelings won’t pass?” Sherlock’s voice was low, doubtful but also tired.
Just like how a person is more a river than a home, emotions flow like one too. But who was he kidding? Sherlock loved him too. Still does. If a person is a river then maybe the relationship they shared could be the home they rest in stillness next to it.
“It never did pass, Sherlock. Believe me. I was just stupid for not acknowledging it sooner. You told me not to let my heart rule my head but that doesn’t mean I should ignore it altogether. You didn’t, and it made you save me,” Liam’s voice was growing assertive, determined to have Sherlock believe this was truly mutual, “The words I had written in that letter were spoken from the heart too. In another life? You gave me a new life to live in, so why can’t we be together in this life?”
Sherlock’s brows furrowed, trying to read into any iota of lies for how much this felt too good to be true. His hand held onto Liam’s, his eyes bore into his, wanting it so badly to be real, and everything he could deduce, was far from a lie. His expression softened, more from disbelief and his emotions stirred with.
Liam let his hand go, and carefully reached up to hold Sherlock’s face between his palms, a solemn smile on his face as it reminded him of that night. It was Sherlock asking for his hands then, seeking comfort from it as he leaned into his palms, and now Liam was giving it to him, yet seeking the same thing.
“I hope I’m not too late in telling you all this, but I understand if you need more time to give me an answer, and…I understand if this doesn’t mean anything to you anymore. I took too long, I’m sorry.”
The last thing he wanted to do was make the mistake of forcing an answer from Sherlock especially when he’s still recovering and especially when Liam had dropped all of this onto him within just a few minutes. He was willing to drop the topic for now if it was a thoughtful thing to do.
Liam had always been a man of few words, so when he had spilled everything that was long buried in his chest like that, Sherlock was quite overwhelmed. His brain was overloaded, and in response, he mostly just stayed frozen and quiet the whole time.
What snapped him out of it and made him get his shit together, was Liam’s small apology and his demeanour as if he wanted to give Sherlock some privacy alone to think. As Liam attempted to move away, Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pulled him even closer.
“Liam.”
He didn’t want Liam to leave. Not yet. Not now.
Sherlock rarely, if never, ran out of remarks to put out, but in that moment, no words could form. No words could articulate what he wanted to say. So he did what he always did when it comes to Liam—to let his heart dictate his head, placing his hand on Liam’s jaw and pressing his lips against his.
He knew it must have been too sudden. Liam’s delayed reaction said enough, but nothing could compare to the euphoria he experienced when he felt Liam’s arms wrapping around his neck, threading through his black hair and allowing Sherlock to pull his waist to close more of the distance into mere atom’s wide.
There’s a language that couldn’t be conveyed with words, and Sherlock spoke it through the way his lips moved against Liam’s—the faint hint of the waxy residue of lipstick and the taste that’s so very Liam , made Sherlock crave more and more. This was the liquid gold he was seeking in his veins from all the drugs, and all this time the drugs were just a substitute of the man he loved.
“You weren’t lying,” he breathed out as the passionate kiss had broken, the tips of his ears reddening the same shade of Liam’s cheeks. He couldn’t stop smiling, feeling his heart race and his face tingly as he pressed his forehead against Liam’s when he didn’t want to lose the warmth just yet.
The kiss, the reciprocated passion and eagerness was the confirmation he needed, and by god it was much more than he could ever hope for.
“I wasn’t,” Liam was panting, feeling a bit lightheaded and hot from the kiss. He closed his eyes as he let their breath linger and mix, trying to calm down, “I just…didn’t expect to struggle so much in being honest about my feelings. I didn’t understand it, and it didn’t feel like something I could take lightly. Truthfully I was scared of it.”
The more you love, the more it’d hurt when you lose it. It is scary.
"Please don’t take this away from me. Don’t run away from it anymore.” Just once, this once, he was willing to beg—his plea merely a soft whisper, “I want you, only you. Whatever of you that I can have. I’ll take one night, one hour, one minute —whatever you’re willing to give me, I’ll take it.”
Liam didn’t think Sherlock was one to say such things, and it sounded innocent, desperate even. He opened his eyes to look into the deep blues he had adored, his thumb brushed against the side of his neck as he felt Sherlock’s pulse against the skin.
“And if I give you my whole life?” Liam’s voice was gentle, and the smile that came with it was honey to Sherlock. It must have tasted sweet because it was real.
“Then I’ll bound myself to you for the rest of it and more.”
To feel this light in his chest and so content with time that didn’t flow was what Liam assumed being high above the clouds must have felt like. Perhaps that’s why people equated love to a personal heaven, where they rested after all the blood, sweat and tears being spilled with every kiss and every touch they would share being the bandage they needed.
If this was love, he would not have minded if the world ended tomorrow, for he had already experienced the taste of an angel’s touch.