Chapter Text
Three years went by at an alarming rate.
The first few months felt like unbearable agony, captured between waiting and fearing, but they passed by. Sherlock remembered how he spent nights with insomnia and couldn't follow a simple conversation the day after. The lack of sleep was dragging him down. How he remembered the clean smell of the thin blanket they used to cover up Liam's body. The same blanket Sherlock found his head on several times as he fell asleep sitting next to the bed. Nurses, replaceable women in white he secretly all named Emma for no reason, occupied the room quietly. They opened a window and rushed to get out, away from him, he knew that. Sherlock wasn't a pleasant visit at this time; he often lost his temper. Every time the fear crawled back into his mind when he thought Liam had finally stopped breathing.
He remembered blurry Visions of people changing Liam's bandages and how he dismissed every conversation attempt at himself. The only thing that mattered to him was Liam's condition – no changes, almost half a year – so he had a few rare chats with a doctor. After that, he turned away, waiting again.
He waited for so long.
From time to time, Sherlock's mind drowned in fear of losing Liam. That was when he grabbed his thin, pale wrist and checked his pulse, again and again. Sure, working with Billy helped him to clear his head. There was no time for worry on his little hunts. But he came back to Liam after every task. To Liam, who still lay in bed, losing more and more of his weight. Liam, who no longer required bandages; besides the one around the eye he couldn't longer use.
Liam, who disappeared all of a sudden.
And no Emma around for Sherlock to ask about him. His fear turned into panic, so Sherlock let his feet do their job; he ran through almost every room he passed, yelling at people about Liam and running again as nobody could help him. There were only a few chances left then, and one of them was the front door. Sherlock remembered the pain in his chest as he tried to catch his breath and the need to flip every stone around in this goddamn city to find him. But there was another option left, and that would be the roof. The last time Liam called for him was in a very high place, and so he would give it a try first before New York City had to face him in anger.
And there he was. And their journey continued from that point.
Sherlock was smiling in silence as the memories occupied his mind. Three years indeed. Two and a half were a mix of cautiously approaching each other and the feeling of coming home to the right place.
Now they were back, and he couldn't believe what a lucky man he was.
Satisfaction was hinging in the room, heavy and consuming. Noisy cutlery and happy conversations, a laugh then and there. He felt comfortable while hearing all those beloved voices. Yet, he couldn't help but keep that stupid smile. How much he wanted to tell him from five years ago that it would get better, get more manageable. That he'll find friends for the first time in his life. That he'll find the love he never thought would happen to him. That he, living as a social butterfly a few steps beside everyone else, would be happy.
Everything worked out surprisingly well, and this was the reward. He let his gaze wander around and consumed the faces he felt so attached. Three years sapped much energy from him, but he would do it again and again. They also gifted him so much. The time he got with Liam, their shared life at the end of the ocean, the feeling of their handy, holding each other…
There were dear memories of both men being too shy or too dense to make the first move. Both knew about their mutual feelings, but neither took the first step. Sherlock carefully tried not to pressure Liam, and Liam had that intense thought he did not deserve love in any way. Thank god they got rid of that.
Still smiling, he lifted his glass of water, observing the room again. Chairs had been pushed back, and little groups had met to chat with each other. There was Miss Hudson, laughing softly about something Mycroft just told her. They both looked at Sherlock, and he knew it was some stupid memory from his childhood. But that was okay, Mycroft was smiling, and he deserved that. Sherlock planned to ensure Mycrofts mental health was okay, but he could do it in the following days. They needed at least one reliable person here, not considering John Watson's morals.
He saw the doctor sitting with von Herder, the genius who was born at the wrong time. All the possibilities someone like him would have in a modern era. The world was changing so much; that technology was rushing forward.
Right now, some brilliant thought must have crossed his mind; the inventor moved his arms as he tried to explain something John absolutely did not understand. But he was smiling politely, which Sherlock liked about the doctor. Von herder couldn't see John's face, yet he tried to make it look friendly.
Someone was laughing a tad too loud, which caught Sherlock's attention. He finally rose from the chair that snuggled his body so comfortably. A premonition crawled under his skin; it was time to find a certain someone.
The source of that loud laugh was Liam, as he suspected.
Liam, whom he hasn't seen in months, sits at a table with his brothers. He did make eye contact with Sherlock during their dinner, smiling at him and spreading so much warmth that the former detective forgot about everyone around him for a few seconds. Louis' fake cough brought him back to reality, and he remembered they were only "friends "here. The only person in here knowing about their relationship was Billy. The poor man saw more than he wanted, and from that point on, he had used that spare key to their Appartement with more caution.
Sherlock approached the table the three Moriarty's were sitting at and was welcomed by Liam's smile. A thousand suns were shining, just for him. There was no chance he could look at that face and won't feel deep affection.
"Sherly! Come on, sit by my side! "Damn, he knew it. Slowly, Sherlock got close to Liam, who slipped half off his chair only to pat eagerly on the cushion he was sitting on. Sherlock organized himself a chair and pushed Liam back on his own, then he sat beside him, eyeing the empty wine bottles. There were eight, and he witnessed in silent dismay how Albert's still steady hand opened the ninth one.
Hasn't he seen him outdrinking Moran with at least six of those? So two more emptied by the time Liam got here, and… oh god. Louis wasn't so happy either, but he hasn't the heart to stop his finally freed brother this evening. Not now. But there was concern between his eyebrows, and it was not about Liam.
"So the wine is good? "Sherlock couldn't scold Liam in front of his brothers and saw him reaching out for his glass, but he only got it with the second attempt. The glass merged in front of Sherlock's lips – after he dodged the first swing of Liam's arm and let him get back to his mouth. His eyes quickly rushed to Louis, who shot him a glare. Well, Sherlock's existence was acknowledged by him a few hours ago as he thanked him for saving Liam. A welcoming surprise, but right now, he saw his life in danger. If eyes alone could kill a man…
So he pushed Liam's arm away, the latter immediately sipping at the glass by himself.
"You shoulda taste, Sher'y. Albert stored up boxes of this. "
More questions were popping up; how and when? The older one just got out of that tower yesterday, and Sherlock doubted that he had gone shopping in that time. They locked eyes – no chance he was still sober, right? - and the usual smile came up. The one he already knew from Albert. Mild, meaningless. Unbelievable dangerous.
"The magic phrase is vitamin b, Mister Holmes. "
"Yuck, Mister Holmes is standing there. The old, wrinkly one. I'm young and fresh; call me Sherlock. "
"Why not Sherly? "Albert's smile was growing, but Liam's finger poked him at the cheek as he tried to hit Albert's lips. Sherlock knew he was too drunk to aim correctly, so Liam worked his way from that cheek down to the mouth.
"Ah-ah. You' not allowed. Only me and My'coff. "
Albert followed Liam's finger with amusement as the younger tried to grab the bottle and failed. However, Albert had absolutely no problem with Liam getting drunk, so he poured him another glass while Sherlock prepared himself for the night. It was okay, though. Nevertheless, Sherlock would get Liam some water in the next few minutes, and he'd make him swallow that, no matter what.
Louis fake coughed again, and Albert shot him an apologetic smile as the bottle emptied quickly again.
"Come on. We're celebrating. When was the last we were able to be just ourselves? "
Louis remained silent, but he sighed. Liam's glass filled up again. Sherlock saw himself soon emptying Liam's glass to avoid him getting intoxicated by alcohol. Not now, and he was looking for the water again. As he wanted to stand up, a hand sneaked over his leg and lay down there, very present and not really welcome at the moment. His eyes rushed down to the hand, covered by the tablecloth. It was just his thigh, but Sherlock knew what it would look like from a certain angle. He tried to shove Liam's hand away, but he grabbed Sherlock's pants and held himself there; fuck. He felt Liem's fingernails digging into his skin, and Sherlock gave up. Liam's fingers were just a few inches away from his crotch, but he hadn't planned anything. He was laughing again, loud and happy, and Sherlock decided to let him have this.
He just turned around a bit – as far as he could, considering Liam's nails – so he could catch the blond with his knee if he'd fall from the chair. Sherlock feared the moment they'd to stand up and leave. Or rather, he would, but that was not managed at this point. He knew that Louis had prepared two bedrooms for his brothers to stay in, and Sherlock himself was under the emotional pressure that his flat was still waiting for him. But he doesn't want to separate from Liam tonight. After those months, he missed him dearly. Also, he feared that Liam, drunk and disoriented as he was half asleep in the middle of the night, would get lost in this unfamiliar place. This wouldn't be the first time he'd been out in the streets talking to strangers, asking where his bed was. And the cheese, he was always looking for cheese.
Sherlock knew they wouldn't make decent conversation tonight, nor would they get busy with each other. So instead, he just wanted to wake up beside him, nagging Liam about his bedhead in the morning.
Fingers were tracing over his hand, and Sherlock dared to look at Louis, who shot him nonverbal warnings. Finally, when Liam's fingers danced over Sherlock's arm, Louis opened his mouth. A first vocal came out before Albert's fingers squeezed two stacked appetizers between his youngest brother's lips. A slight, angry sound came from him, but he remained silent.
Liam got rid of Sherlock's arm, grabbing one of the fabric napkins and a little slur as he talked eagerly. He twisted the napkin, rolled it out, weaving with it, and finally lost it somewhere behind him on the floor. At this moment, Sherlock took Liam's glass of wine and emptied it. He knew his limit; Liam overstepped his own four full glasses ago.
Albert shot him a smile as he sipped his drink.
"Spoilsport. "
Sherlock eyed the older one, searching for any information on his face. He knew Liam and him weren't as subtle as they should be, but no one would mind that behavior from him. He had done worse. Louis seemed to sense something, but Albert certainly knew it. His smile grew into a grin as he saw Sherlock frowning at him.
"Is there something you might want to ask me about, Sherly? "
Liam turned so fast on his chair that he nearly fell off, but his index finger missed Albert's cheek again and pressed at the temple.
"Ah!"
He laughed softly, grabbed Liam's hand, and placed a kiss on the back of it.
"I'm sorry, dear brother. The alcohol occupies my mind. "
Then he leaned back and grinned so goddamn cheeky at Sherlock, looking at him behind Liam's back. He took another sip at his glass, and before Sherlock could make up any poor lie, Liam stood up. He was swaying alarmingly, and his decision to hold himself at the salt shaker was pretty bad. Before he'd hit the table, Louis wrapped an arm around him, and together they went off. Sherlock had thought of the desire to hold Liam, mainly because he couldn't explain a bathroom tour with him. He really did not want anyone to know about their relationship. And Liam was very clingy when he got this drunk.
A hand was patting his lower arm. Sherlock followed that one at was looking straight into Albert's eyes. Albert, who still had himself together so well.
"I'll keep your little secret, no worries. For now, at least. "
"Ah. "Right, ah. Of course, the lovely, polite Albert. The sought-after, always superiorly bachelor. What a pain in the ass.
"I only can imagine how to pay you back. Of course, I don*t know what you're talking about in the first place. "
"We figure that out later. Right now, I'm happy with the circumstances. William seemed very happy. I like that. "
Sherlock likes that, too. But right now, he felt as if he was in danger. If he'd lie his way out of this situation, maybe Albert wouldn't remember the next day. There were people in this room he absolutely didn't want to know. So he took Liam's glass and poured himself a little drink.
"But who wouldn't be happy finally getting laid, huh? "
Holy cow, who knew wine would burn so bad? Sherlock was coughing and hammered his fist on his chest. A few people stared at him, but he got his water glass – where did that come from? - and swallowed nearly all of it. To avoid any other conversation, he fully turned to Albert. Sherlock couldn't explain, but for some reason, he did not want this conversation with the oldest brother. It somehow felt like he was meeting his parents-in-law and tried too hard on his first impression. Nothing would change his relationship with Liam; in the end, they will return to America, where they're living together. But he also doesn't want to destroy Liam's kind of healthy brother relationships. This was a vulnerable topic; only a few people were accepting two men in love. It was a crime, simply stated. A crime against god and Sherlock wasn't sure where morals were clicking in.
"I don't want to be impolite, but whatever Liam is doing-"
"- or with whom he's doing it."
"- is none of my business could you stop that!? "
Albert's eyebrows rose, then he put his glass back on the table. He also turned around and faced Sherlock ultimately, one leg crossed above the other and fingertips pressed together. It was remarkable how mannerisms could adapt in family, even tho they're not blood-related. Sherlock knew this body language. The body leaned against the chair, the slightly tensed shoulders, that lifted chin. The face was relaxed, a smile only a predator could smile.
Liam does the exact same thing when he was about to end an argument. There was nothing Sherlock could do at this moment; he had lost to Albert before it even got started.
This was the way kings sent off thousands of people to death. This man won't need a throne, though.
"Please don't see me as your enemy, Sherlock. I'm not looking for something to hurt or harm you. I know you think that, and I understand the reason behind that. I am just very thankful, and I want you to know that. You saved my little brother, something I couldn't do, and I doubt anyone else could've done. I am happy to see you being there for him, no matter what way that might be. Can you imagine the last time I heard William laugh free from his heart? Almost ten years ago. I couldn't care less what your life together looks like, as long as he's happy with it. "
"Is this the wine talking or Mister Moriarty? "
"Albert's talking, not Mister Moriarty. "
"And the wine? "
"Only helping the words get out. "
He was smiling softly, and Sherlock felt the need to believe him. He sighed and took a sip of water.
"Could you please keep that for yourself, at least now? Some people here wouldn't be pleased about that. "
"Leave Louis to me. "Albert also got some water, together with some appetizer.
"I did not tell any names. "
"You don't have to; I know my family. I'm pretty sure you can stay tonight, don't think about that. "
"I could take Liam with me. "
"In that case, I can't promise no one would get hurt. At least one of you, and we both know who that might be. "
He was smiling again, and Sherlock felt a tingling sensation at his neck, unsure which Moriarty brother would be the most dangerous tonight.