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Chapter Text

The clock was ticking above, William kept glancing up at it from his desk. He was currently in his office at Durham University, waiting for his students to finish their exams. It was a quite challenging exam, he wanted to see how his students would handle the challenge. How a person answers a question they don’t know can tell you a lot about that person. Will they get angry and blame others for their lack of knowledge, become despondent and give up, or will they stay level-headed and navigate through the challenge the best they can?

He hopes his students will choose the latter. Looking back at the clock, he sees it has just struck a quarter past ten. Getting up from his chair, he headed back to the class. Walking the empty halls back to the class, William wondered if he made that final question too hard. It was part of his own thesis he was working on, it was not something he went over in class; but he thought it would give his students a chance to problem solve rather than just memorizing a formula. 

Walking into the classroom, he announces, “Time’s up, gentlemen.” He notices the proctor get startled awake by his voice, “Professor Lambeau, thank you for proctoring the exam in my stead.”

“No, no that’s quite all right. I had the time, as I’m retired now,” the professor says, shrugging William’s thanks off and heading for the door, patting William’s shoulder and yawning on the way out. 

The students were whispering complaints to one another as they were walking down to hand him their exams. Most talked about how they have failed, this was quite normal in William’s opinion. Students often will believe the worst of their scores only to get back a decent mark. 

The last three students walk up to him, handing him their papers before one of them says, “Professor Moriarty, that test was far too difficult, even for mathematics majors, like us. Professor, please tell me you don’t give problems that difficult to your general studies pupils!”

William laughs, “No, of course not, even I am not that cruel,” he says, letting the students pass him on the way out the door. He slips the three papers into the envelope, when he hears steps approaching him from the seats. He turns around, knowing he took all his students' papers; wondering who snuck into his classroom. 

His breath catches when he meets sapphire eyes that pierce into his soul. Suddenly he was no longer a genius, all of his intelligence wiped away from one look. Sherlock Holmes was walking down the steps, one hand in his pocket the other holding a piece of paper and a lopsided grin on his face. He wore a dazzling dark suit with his collar undone, leaving his collarbone exposed. William has enough sense to know not to linger his gaze.

“Hey, Professor,” Sherlock says, his voice rich and sultry, “Did I pass your test?” Sherlock passes the paper to him, taking him out of his stupor. William shakes himself out of his daze, putting Sherlock’s paper with the others. 

“Holmes,” Williams says as a form of greeting, fixing his composure. 

“Hey, Liam,” Sherlock greets him back, ”So, you really are a university professor at your tender age!” Sherlock says, shifting his weight between each foot. 

“Really, Holmes? You astound me,” William shakes his head, “I cannot believe you snuck in here to take an exam.”

“I do hope you’ll mark it with the others too,” Sherlock says, pointing to the envelope with all his students' papers.

William sighs, trying to sound bored despite his heart speeding up with how close Sherlock is to him, “What brings you here?” 

Sherlock isn’t fooled by it, smirking at him, “I decided I’d like to sit in on one of your lectures and see what it was about. I did a little asking around and was directed here, but to think today was an exam day,” Sherlock laughs, tilting his head by and letting his Adam's apple show. William can’t help but let his gaze linger on the moment. “Besides, didn’t we promise to meet again after the incident on the train?” Sherlock finished, a silly smirk on his face.

William turns around to walk out of the class, not to let Sherlock see his smile nor his presumably dilated eyes, “I don’t recall you ever taking me up on the offer,” William says, deciding to do some teasing back. 

“Oh, don’t be such a stickler. I’m here now, aren’t I?” Sherlock walks next to him, pouting, “I’ve a thousand things I want to discuss with you.”

“Oh? Now I’m curious,” William smirks, “However I’ve another lecture to give shortly.” William thinks for a moment, “I’d planned to spend my lunch break marking these exams. Perhaps we could talk then?” Which William recognizes as a bad idea, Sherlock confuses him, makes him forget what he is supposed to be doing. But the smile he receives in return makes him forget all about that.

“Sounds perfect. I’ll get to sit in on your lecture for real this time. Do you mind?”

Yes. 

Is what he should have said.

“Not at all.” 

Is what he says instead.

“Let me drop these answer sheets in my office and get my lecture notes.”

Heading into his office he is stopped by the sight of a boy in the hallway with a cart of paper.

“Professor Moriarty,” the boy stands tall, tipping his hat, “I’m with Durham Printing, sir.”

“Excellent, I’ll take enough for my coming lecture right now if you don’t mind?”

“Of course, sir, I’ll deliver the rest to your office,” the boy points to the envelope in William’s hand, “Are the answer sheets to your recent exam in that envelope? Shall I take that as well?”

“If you don’t mind, thank you,” William nods to the boy and hands him the envelope.

“Of course, sir, I’ll leave it on your desk,” the boy scurries off with his cart.

William goes back to where Sherlock is waiting for him and they both head off to his next lecture. Sherlock heads to the back of the class, leaning back on the chair and keeping his eyes locked on William the entire lecture. William can feel the heat from his gaze but William makes an effort to avoid it. Luckily even with Sherlock as a distraction he makes it through the lecture without any slips. William could do a lecture in his sleep, but it takes a considerable effort not to look back at Sherlock and his alluring eyes.

After the lecture everyone heads out and William goes to his office to grab the exams and then shows Sherlock to an outdoor table where he normally goes for his lunch break.

“It was a boring lecture, wasn’t it?” William teases, taking out the exams and starts to look through them.

“Hah! No comment,” Sherlock teases back, making William laugh. He has only met Sherlock twice beforehand, but the ease at which they talk is like they have known each other for centuries. 

“Now then, Holmes. What could the most renowned detective in all of London want to discuss so much that he’d come all the way to Durham?” William asks, starting to mark the papers.

“Can’t you guess?” Sherlock spreads out his arms, “The Lord of Crime, of course.”

William is hit with the reminder of who he is, it is like a train has hit him and he is left bruised. He keeps his appearance calm and collected though, making sure not to show the effect those words had on him, “Have you made progress on his case?” he asks, knowing full well that Sherlock had a conversation with Albert a couple of days ago.

“Aye,” Sherlock nods, sitting on the chair with one of his legs propped up on the chair, “In fact, I’ve a fairly complete mental profile of him now.” He lights up a cigarette, taking a drag and blowing the excess smoke carefully away from William.

“Which is…?” William doesn’t look up from the exams, not wanting to seem too interested. He wonders how correct the detective got it, he feels like he is under a microscope and it was surprisingly exhilarating.

“People bandy about the idea that the Lord of Crime is actually a modern-day Robin Hood figure, but in the end, that’s no more than a hopeful but baseless rumor. No one knows if he truly exists, let alone whether he’s a Robin Hood or not,” Sherlock points the cigarette at William, drawing his eyes up to Sherlock’s, “No one, that is, except for me. The Lord of Crime does exist, that, I can say for certain. And if my deductions are correct— and they generally are, he clearly is a Robin Hood figure.”

“He is, hm?” There was something exciting about being this close to Sherlock as he talked about the Lord of Crime, with the Lord of Crime himself sitting right in front of him. 

“Yes, I’m certain he is,” Sherlock says, placing his chin on the knee that was propped up. 

“Well then, Holmes,” William places his pen down to give his undivided attention to Sherlock, “If you're convinced that the Lord of Crime both exists and is a Robin Hood figure, what will you do about it?” William clasps his hands together, “If you’re correct, and if the Lord of Crime is a Robin Hood figure, couldn’t it be argued that he is serving the greater good? That opens the door for you to simply turn the other way and let him be. On the other hand, it could be said that whatever his goals may be, he’s broken the law time and again and deserves to be punished accordingly. Which side of that conundrum do you take… Holmes,” William smirks, he already knew what Sherlock’s response will be, it is why William chose him to be their detective, the hero in this story William has crafted.

Sherlock takes a moment, looking to the fountain and taking a drag of the cigarette, “Even if the victims the Lord of Crime murdered had a good reason to be killed, and that’s a big if, that doesn’t make it okay to murder them. My way forward is clear, I must catch the Lord of Crime and make him atone for his crimes.”

William smiles, just as he suspected, Holmes is the perfect man for the role, “Indeed, that he does. That’s the only acceptable answer, really. Those who break the law must be made to pay for their transgressions. Whether he’s a Robin Hood or not is irrelevant.”

“Right,” Sherlock sighs, “To be honest, on my way here I still had some niggling doubts. You have shined a light on the situation for me, Liam. I’m glad I got to talk to you like this.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” William says, going back to marking the exam.

Sherlock crushes the cigarette out onto the table before stretching out, “Ah well, if it means solving the mystery behind the Lord of Crime and bringing him to justice, then I’m willing to put my own life on the line— and die for it, if need be.”

William freezes, his hands start to shake but he keeps a calm composure otherwise, putting on a smile, “Really? With dedication like that, I’m sure you’ll succeed.” Before William can think further on this the warning bell rings, “Lunch break is nearly over.”

He looks down at the final exam he has to grade, flying through it until he gets to the final question where he is left stumped, “Well, I’ll be… that is one way to approach it,” he whispers to himself.

“What is it, Liam?” Sherlock asks, leaning forward.

“I suppose you can say the impossible has happened,” William remarks.

“Oh? It isn’t every day one hears that out of you. What is it?”

“It’s simply that someone managed to score full marks on my exam,” William says.

“What?” Sherlock says, “Come now, it’s a university exam. Of course a handful of pupils will get full marks.”

“True,” William concedes, “Though with this exam, it’s nearly impossible. You see, I made the last question one so difficult that even my mathematics majors couldn’t possibly solve it. I added it to find out how they’d react when presented with such an aporia. However, this person,” William held up the exam, “managed to solve the problem in its entirety.”

“Really? Who in the world could solve a problem that not even your pupils could? Sherlock asks, taking the paper away from William.

“Who knows? They never wrote their name on the sheet. I don’t recognize the penmanship either. It seems we may have had another unannounced guest during the exam besides you, Holmes,” William says, taking a moment to think. No one new was in his classroom besides Sherlock. They would have had to pass him to hand in the exam… unless it happened after.

“A mystery pupil, who could solve an impossible problem, huh? Intriguing!” Sherlock smiles, putting his hands together, already analyzing the exam. 

William smirks, pulling out the first paper he marked and showing it to Sherlock, “By the by, you got not a single question correct.”

“Oh…” Sherlock trails off, looking at his own exam, “I was never one for university. The structure never suited me.” Sherlock shrugs it off.

William laughs, handing him his exam, “Ah, well, be that as it may, I’ve got an afternoon lecture to give. Could I ask you to search for whoever turned in this answer sheet?” William speaks before he really thinks, something he doesn’t do often except  when he is around Sherlock. 

William already solved it, but he wants to see how Sherlock will handle the case without the knowledge that William has about the printing boy. There is also the possibility that William just wants to see Sherlock again. William goes to his next lecture with a smile on his face. The lecture is an hour long and his mind keeps going back to Sherlock Holmes. After the lecture is finished one of his students stops him just before he is about to leave.

“Um… Professor Moriarty, I just wanted to say that it was an amazing lecture,” the students says.

William smiles kindly at the boy, “Thank you, that is much appreciated.”

“Yeah, you seemed a lot happier today,” the boy says, before pausing and looking horrified, “Not to say you aren’t happy other days, of course. Or that your other lectures are bad, all of them are amazing.” 

William laughs it off, “It’s fine. I was able to see a friend of mine today that I don’t often get to see.”

“Oh, okay,” the boy laughs off, “Well, I am glad you were able to see your friend. You seem a lot more relaxed today. Have a good day, Professor,” the boy waves him goodbye.

William waves back at him and heads to his office, thinking about the boy’s words. He did feel more relaxed, he took a moment to sit in his office with that feeling. He knew he was playing a dangerous game with Sherlock. He is not ignorant about what these feelings mean, he knows his relationship with Sherlock is inappropriate. But Sherlock Holmes is a temptation that William doesn’t think he has the strength to resist. As long as he doesn’t seek Sherlock out, he thinks he will be fine. After today he won’t talk with Sherlock again until the final act. Nothing will matter after that, he just has to remind himself of who exactly he is, what blood stains his hands.

Bang!

His office door gets slammed open, and in walks Sherlock dragging the printer boy by the neck before pushing him in the room and closing the door behind him. William gets up from his office chair and makes his way up to the boy, surveying him, “Ah, so it was him,” he says, looking at Sherlock.

With a big grin, Sherlock explains, “Finding him was simple enough. The meatier mystery was why he’d bother with all this when he isn’t even a pupil here. His name is Bill, he is with Durham Printing”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Bill says, squeezing his hat between his hands; fear lacing his eyes.

“Bill, your solutions were all quite elegant. Are you self-taught,” William says, grabbing Bill’s exam from his desk; marking the name on top.

“Yes, sir. I go to the library in my spare time between deliveries. I made a point to study your work, Professor Moriarty,” Bill says, stepping forward with a bit of a grin, “Your essay on binomial theorems was particularly fascinating. The solutions were so dynamic I couldn’t help but read and reread them,”  his excitement turns into shame, “So, I thought I might, erm… I’m sorry, sir.”

Sherlock laughs, hitting Bill on the shoulder before looking over to William, “It’s clear as day that Bill’s got a passion for mathematics. Letting that passion go to waste is a shame, no matter what anybody says. This place lets new pupils transfer in mid-semester, right, Liam?”

William couldn’t help but agree with Sherlock’s assessment, and Durham does allow for transfers. It took a little convincing for the boy to also agree, with him not thinking he is worthy to be more than a printer boy. In cut open William’s heart that this boy would give up on his dream solely because of his social position. It lit a fire underneath Sherlock, giving a passionate speech to the boy to convince him to go after his own passions. The boy agreed with little work from William. 

Talking with the Chancellor about the boy went swiftly, with William already being on good terms with him. And with Sherlock’s quick-wit and sharp tongue was able to negotiate the boy’s tuition costs. It was a wonder to see Sherlock in action, the passion in his eyes. Exiting the Chancellor’s office, William turns to look at Sherlock.

“That was quite successful.”

“I would say so as well,” Sherlock says, smiling wide, “We make a great team.”

William’s heart fluttered, “I will walk you back to the train station.”

“Oh? Don’t want to leave my company yet?” Sherlock teases.

William turns to look back at him, eyes half-lidded, “Based on your exam score, I worry for your mental capabilities.”

Sherlock bursts out laughing as they make their way to the station, “You wound me so, Liam. And here I thought you enjoyed my company.”

“What a weird thought you had,” William laughs, before thinking back to their early conversations. A cold goes over his body. It was only when they are at the train station and Sherlock is stepping onto the train, that William is able to speak up about it, “I have to mention, when you said that it’s a shame to allow a person’s passions to go to waste, I couldn’t have agreed more. That’s a way of thinking this country desperately needs right now.” William makes sure he has captured Sherlock’s eyes, “Also, I know you said you were willing to give your life to see the Lord of Crime brought to justice, but I think the world will still need you after this, Sherlock.”

The train horn blares at the end of his sentence, making the last word impossible to hear but Sherlock was watching closely and leaned out of the train, “Hold on, did you just call me ‘Sherlock’?” Sherlock yells, a giddy smile on his face.

William composes his face, acting confused, “Hm? No, I didn’t. I said ‘Holmes’.”

Sherlock lets out a big laugh as the train starts moving, “See you again in London, Liam!” he waves obnoxiously out the train door.

“Of course! I’d love to see you again sometime,” William yells back at him, then whispers, “Sherlock,” with a teasing smile. Knowing full well that is the last time they will speak to one another until the reveal.

At least that is what he thought until a week later, Fred comes knocking on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” William calls out.

Fred gently opens the door, and walks in with a letter in hand, “I believe this was addressed to you,” he says, handing the crisp white letter to William. His pulse quickens when he reads, “Liam”, on the front of the letter.

“Ah. Thank you, Fred,” William says, and Fred nods and walks out of the room. He is thankful that it was Fred that found the letter, as the others would most likely pry. William sets down the letter on his desk and just stares at it for ten minutes. He knows that he shouldn’t open it, he knows he should not entertain this relationship more than he already has. Yet here he is carefully opening the letter.

Dearest Liam,

I know it has only been a couple days since we last met, but I was thinking about you and couldn’t help but pick up my pen and write to you. I know we are both busy men therefore can’t visit each other often, but through writing I thought we could bridge that gap. If not for anything else but to have a physical object to remind me of you.

I believe I made my intentions clear each time we have met, but if I have not, I will say here. I wish to know you, Liam, and I wish for you to know me. So, I thought I would start with talking about my day with you, and I have a mystery I would like you to help me solve.

Today I have seemed to upset John, which isn’t uncommon for me to do, but I have no idea where I laid offence. It started in the morning at breakfast. We were having a normal conversation about a case we were working on when suddenly he got all quiet on me. Hasn’t spoken to me since and refuses to come with me to the crime scene. He won’t even tell me what I did wrong. How am I supposed to apologize for something I don’t know I did?

Yours,

Sherlock

William’s brain pauses on “Yours, Sherlock”. Yours, like a stake of claim that William has on Sherlock. William obsesses over it, moving his fingers over the ink. Analyzing each mark on the paper.

He shouldn’t respond, he should ignore Sherlock Holmes at all costs.

He opens his desk drawer and takes out a piece of paper. From the moment he met Sherlock he was doomed.

Chapter Text

Sherlock Holmes,

It was lovely receiving your letter. If I am truthful with you, and I wish to be, I would have to say I wish to get to know you as well. Despite the impropriety of that. You fascinate me, Mr. Holmes. 

For your little mystery, I would have to ask you what you said to Dr. Watson to see if you might have laid offense somewhere. We have met a few times but you seem to be a person who does not mince your words. I can see if you were talking about a case during breakfast that Dr. Watson could have gotten upset over a ruined meal. I am sure he will discuss it with you soon. And I do hope you apologize once he does.

Sincerely,

William J. Moriarty

William was finishing up the last lecture before lunch. It has been a week since Bill has joined the class and he has settled in fantastically. It has been a joy to have him in class, his classmates seem to have agreed. As students head out of his classroom a group of four boys surround Bill, the same group that has been hanging around him this entire week. It puts a smile onto William’s face.

The group stops just shy of his desk. Bill was whispering to the boys, “You guys go ahead, I will catch up. I need to talk with the professor real quick.”

William was organizing his papers as he heard a single set of footsteps approach his desk, as the others walked out the classroom.

“Professor Moriarty?” Bill says.

William looks up from his paper, smiling gently, “Bill, how have you been settling in?”

“Great!” Bill assures him, “I just wished to thank you again for all you did. You and Mr. Homes as well.”

“I can assure you there is no need for thanks, to either of us. Everyone should be able to pursue their passions, regardless of their class,” William says, patting him on the shoulder and seeing him out. 

“I know you don’t wish for any thanks,” Bill says, stepping out of the classroom with him, “but I do wish to emphasize that I would have not gotten this opportunity if not for you and Mr. Holmes. You are a good man, Professor Moriarty.”

William watches Bill meet up with his friends again with a heavy heart, if only he knew the truth he would not think William as a good man. He walks back to his office, Bill’s words echoing in his ear. He is taken out of his melancholy state once he opens his office door to be greeted with Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock was leaning on his chair, propping his legs up onto William’s desk. His eyes were closed but a smirk on his face made it clear that he was awake and aware of William’s presence. William watches him for just a moment, taking in Sherlock’s appearance. He is wearing a crinkled button-up shirt that has the two top buttons undone. The sleeves were bunched up to his elbow. For all intended purposes, he looked improper and a mess. At least to anyone other than William, who caresses Sherlock’s body with his gaze.

Sherlock Holmes was a man that had little love for societal rules, he made that clear with how he acts, dresses, and by his accent that he doesn’t try to hide. And all that made William so endeared to him. 

“Mr. Holmes,” William says, “You come to my office, yet not my lecture. Did I bore you so?” 

“To miss you talking for an hour! I don’t think your voice could ever bore me,” Sherlock says, opening his eyes which were all too clear for William not to be affected by. No mask, nor shield protecting Sherlock from his true emotion. He lets it all shine on his face. Not hiding a thing, not because he can’t but because he doesn’t want to.

“Sadly, I couldn’t make it until now. But it is your lunch break is it not?” Sherlock asks, removing his feet from the desk.

“It is,” William confirms.

“Great! There is a small restaurant near here that looks delicious,” Sherlock jumps up from the chair, not letting William get a word in before heading out the door.

William stands there for a moment, a silly smile on his face, heart racing, pulse quickening. Sherlock didn’t even give him a chance to reject his offer. William doesn’t think he would have been strong enough to, and he definitely isn’t strong enough to not follow after Sherlock now.

“So,” William starts, “Did your little mystery get solved?”

Sherlock chuckles, “Yes, yes I did. Apparently he wasn’t upset with me. Just absolutely disturbed with the case. It was reminiscent of something that happened while he was at war.”

“Oh, how tragic. That is why he didn’t want to go to the scene with you.”

“Yes, indeed. He shared it with me after the case was done. Despite my intelligence, emotional intelligence is one I struggle with,” Sherlock confesses.

“I would disagree,” William shakes his head, “You recognize that he was upset, not only that but he got upset by your words. You didn’t have the information about how the case related to a bad memory so your best guess was it was something you did. And you wished to fix it. I would say that is quite emotionally intelligent.”

Sherlock gives him a small smile, bumping his hand against William’s as they walk, “Thanks.”

Sherlock takes them to a small Indian restaurant on the corner of a building. It had about eight tables in the whole restaurant, two of the tables were taken up by small families in the middle of the room. There was a man at the host stand, tall with dark curls and dark rich skin. He looked up from his stand when Sherlock and William entered.

“Welcome! Is it only the two of you dining with us today?” the man smiled at them.

“Yes, it will be,” Sherlock says. Only then does William worry about how this all looks, how improper it is. Two men, clearly from different backgrounds, sitting together alone. Assumptions can be made, and those assumptions wouldn’t be so far off from the truth. He does not let any of this show on his face, but he must have made a slip somewhere because Sherlock sees it and corrects it. “And if we can have a table further down from others. We are discussing some business, and seeing as I am a detective it might not be appetizing to overhear.”

The host's eyes widen, “O–Of course,” he stutters out, picking up two menus, “Follow me this way.”

He leads them to a small round table that seats two people, it was right by a window that looked out into the street. William sits on the chair facing the entrance, looking out the window at the passing people.

The host sets the two menus down in front of them and says, “Your waiter will be right out,” before heading back to the host stand.

William picked up his menu, looking over the various options, various curries and rice dishes; along with some soups and desserts that piqued his interest. He glances back up at Sherlock to see him staring at William.

“Already picked out what you want?” William raises his eyebrow.

“Pilau,” Sherlock responds quickly, “It is a rice dish. I had it at other restaurants before and liked it so I decided to try it here.”

“You go to restaurants a lot?” William asks.

“My jobs can land me in various areas, not very suitable to cook for oneself,” Sherlock says.

William hums, “Is that why you are up here, for a job?”

“No, but I did get a job that I will have to travel out for soon. Not far, probably will take me two days, possibly three, to complete.”

“So why has the detective graced me with his presence?” William jokes.

Sherlock laughs, “I wished to see you again. Did I not tell you that in my letter?”

William is forced into silence, luckily the waiter comes by saving him from his embarrassment. Sherlock orders an alcoholic beverage along with the pilau, and William is left with picking the first thing that catches his eye on the menu, the rabbit curry, and a water. The waiter walks off just as William has recovered from Sherlock’s words. It is one thing to see them written, another to hear them come from Sherlock’s mouth.

“That is quite a trip to see one person,” William resumes their previous conversation.

“This one person is quite worth it,” Sherlock smirks.

William coughs into his hand, “Well, what case are you about to work?” he says, changing the conversation to something more appropriate.

“It’s quite simply actually, a tragic tale of a man killing his own brother for his title,” Sherlock explains, “Left behind a widow as well. I just have to prove he was the murder.”

William hums, “Tragic. I couldn’t imagine doing that to your family.”

“You have two brothers, don’t you?” Sherlock asks, “My last letter explained that I wish to get to know you as well as you get to know me. I remember sharing about myself, but you didn’t return the favor.” Sherlock managed to flip it back into the realm of personal rather than work. Or maybe he did, he did give Sherlock an opening.

“Yes, you met Louis, my younger brother. He was adopted, and then there was Albert, the oldest and the one to hold the title,” William says.

“You aren’t looking to get that title yourself, are you?” Sherlock jokes.

“No,” he laughs, “I have no wish to claim that title as my own. Do you have any siblings,” William asks in return, despite knowing the answer.

Sherlock sighs, “Sadly. I have an older brother, Mycroft. We are not close, like you seem to be with your brothers.”

William knew the brothers didn’t interact often, but from the care Mycroft had displayed William assumed that he and Sherlock had a decent albeit distant relationship, but from Sherlock it is clear that there is some strain “I am sorry to hear that.”

Sherlock waves him off, “Family can be complicated, and I am known to hold a grudge. Tell me about your brothers.”

So, William does. Every small adventure, every happy memory. Like when he and Albert got into a prank war that only ended when Louis, with the help of Jack, played a prank so big on the both of them that they had to admit defeat. Or when they went on vacation to France and explored so much that they got lost in the city. 

He does not discuss the harsher memories, the ones that got worse as he grew up. How the sins he kept making was weighing on him worse and worse each day. How despite his love for his family he can’t help but create a distance from them. How the guilt of dragging them to sin with him is too much some days.

He does not tell Sherlock any of that, yet a part of him so desperately wants to. Wants to share the sin with him like Sherlock was a pastor that could atone him. Like Sherlock was some Angel that could redeem him.

Half way through his talk the food comes. He talks through it, eating his meal when he needs to take a breath. He can’t stop himself. Despite knowing the horrific consequences, William wants to share his whole life with Sherlock. 

Sherlock, for his part, does not interrupt him. Instead watches in rapture, keeping almost uncomfortable eye contact with William. 

After they finished their meal, William wipes his mouth with a napkin and says, “Sorry, I went on a bit of a ramble, didn’t I?”

“Never apologize for talking about yourself,” Sherlock says so seriously that it makes William squirm.

“Well, let’s get you back to the train station,” William says, getting up from his chair. 

After a small debate on how they were paying, Sherlock eventually relents and lets William pay for the meal. He still grumbles and pouts about it, amusing William. Walking out of the restaurant, William is hit with how long they were in there for. He has to get back for his next lecture soon.

“Will you be able to make it back in time?” Sherlock asks as they walk to the train station.

“Yes.” 

Which is very much a lie. William was already working up an excuse in his head to tell his students. The look Sherlock gives him is one of disbelief, seeing through his lie effortlessly. Yet there was a smile on his face, it wasn’t one of pride or arrogance but a soft kind of joy. 

The train comes and goes, William watches Sherlock leave again. William sighs, looking down at his hands, examining them. The hands that have so much blood on them, hands that caused pain and suffering throughout the nation. Yet, when Sherlock comes into his orbit those thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind. His sins feel not as heavy, not as damned.

“What are you doing to me, Sherlock?” he whispers to himself. Forcing his feet to move, to leave the train station and head back to the university. A part of him struggles, wishing to stay here, waiting for Sherlock to come back like a wife waiting for her husband to come back after war.

Until next time, Sherlock.

William was in his sitting room, reading a newspaper when Chief Inspector Paterson came walking in.

“Chief Paterson, what do I owe the pleasure?” he says, setting the newspaper down.

“I have a case that I thought you would be interested in,” Paterson says, “The Baron Clifford of Chudleigh has been murder. No proof has been found on who has murdered him but the prime suspect is his brother.”

Paterson hands him the case file, just skimming through it becomes obvious that this is the same case Sherlock was telling him about the other day.

“Yes, I will handle this,” William says.

Paterson nods, exiting the sitting room just as Fred enters. They both nod to one another in acknowledgement while continuing on their way.

“Another letter has come for you,” Fred says, handing a letter addressed to ‘Liam’ . “Would you like me to wait for you to send a responding letter?” Fred says it with no curiosity or speculation, no judgment or worry.

He should say no, should stop indulging Sherlock.

But if Sherlock taught him anything it is that he is a weak man, “Yes, that would be lovely, Fred.”

Fred nods, leaving the room to give him privacy, but just on the other side of the wall for when William needs him again. William carefully picks open the letter, reading over the words carefully, like a prayer.

Dearest Liam,

The meal we shared the other day was lovely. I cannot wait to see you once again. I know you said I shouldn’t bother with the trip but to see you will always be worth my time. Every moment with you leaves me wishing for more. I am known to be a selfish man, and I see no point in changing that now. So, every moment I can, I will be selfishly in your presence. Our writings give me a little moment of reprieve from the pain of not seeing you, but they cannot sustain me for long. I yearn for you every moment we are apart and dread every moment we have to say goodbye. And the moment by the train I could tell you felt the same. 

Yours,

Sherlock

Chapter Text

Dear Mr. Holmes,

I have come to the conclusion that you do not feel shame, or more accurately you refuse to let it control your actions along with your words. It is fascinating to see, if not a little flustering. I have had to find a hiding place under my floorboards to put these letters because if anyone reads them they might get the wrong idea on our relationship. 

Regardless, I will admit that I find enjoyment in your company as well. It is not often where I have free time to enjoy myself in the company of others. In a couple days time I will be going out of town for a while but even that is related to business. Your visits are the only time I have been able to not think of business. It is a strange phenomenon, that the only times my mind has quieted was in your presence; and yet at other times you make my mind race.

Sincerely,

William J. Moriarty

The bell tower rings out, signaling the end of class and the end of the school day. William sets the piece of chalk down and turns to face his class, “Well, that is all we will be able to cover today. Remember that we have our test at the end of the month. It will be our last test before the finals, so make it count.”

The students shuffle out of the classroom, waving goodbye to their professor and talking with their friends. William watches them leave, making an active effort to not look to the back of the class; where Mr. Holmes sits. His legs propped up on the table as he leaned back in his chair, eyes piercing into William’s skull.

Sherlock was the first one in the class, already sitting down when William entered the room. He froze in the doorway when he spotted him. A teasing smirk placed on Sherlock’s face, but neither could speak to one another before students started to arrive; pulling William out of his stupor. Finishing up his lecture without looking at Sherlock once, though he always stayed in his peripheral. A fact that no doubt the detective caught.

Instead of looking to the back of the class, William shuffles some papers at his desk. It is only when the last of his students leave does he hears the harsh scrap of a chair moving. Anticipation fills William’s veins as he hears the long strides of footsteps heading his way.

“Professor,” a deep voice says. Hands appear in his sight, leaning onto the desk. 

William forces a smile down, keeping his gaze locked on his desk knowing it would irritate Sherlock; with how attention seeking the detective is, “Did you need help with anything?” he says, keeping his voice leveled.

“Oh,” Sherlock moans, “Desperately.”

William wasn’t quick enough to suppress his snort, coughing in his hand in an attempt to cover it. He finally looks up into the smug face of the one and only Sherlock Holmes, “What do I owe the pleasure, detective?”

“Trust me the pleasures all mine,” Sherlock says, “I am heading on a train tonight for a case. I wanted to see you before I left.”

His pulse quickens at the detective’s words, “Well, you have seen me. I bid you luck on your case.” William gathers up all his papers into his arm, ready to leave when he hears a chuckle come from Sherlock. 

“I don’t get a kiss goodbye?”

William's skin flushes, “Sherlock!” he yell-whispers. The boldness of this man will be the death of him. The idea of kissing the detective puts butterflies in his stomach, then he remembers where they are and it sends a different kind of nerves to his stomach.

“You said my name,” Sherlock beams. He looked giddy, like a child on Christmas; William delivering him the best present.

He ignores the detective, making his way towards the open door. Quickly scanning the area, looking down the halls. He sees no one nearby, most students and faculty having already left. With a sigh of relief, William shuts the door firmly, before turning back to Sherlock, “That was highly inappropriate of you to say.”

Sherlock shrugs, “Yeah.”

“So you understand that what you said was inappropriate?”

“Yep,” Sherlock says, making meaningful steps towards him. William tries to back away, hitting the door just as Sherlock grasped his waist. He grips loose but hot; burning his handprint onto William’s hips. William is frozen once again under Holmes; somehow becoming trapped prey under Sherlock’s gaze. He can’t say he hates the feeling.

“You know it is wrong for two men to kiss,” he says in a weak attempt to stop Sherlock. But his mind keeps telling him. 

‘What’s one more sin to the list of sins on his hands.’

‘This one will be a lot sweeter .’

This is a temptation he doesn’t think he can resist.

“Says who?” Sherlock says, his eyes focus on William’s lips rather than his eyes.

“Says,” William stumbles over himself, distracted by how close Sherlock was to him, “The Queen, the Pope, God himself.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock flushes their hips together, noses brushing against each other, “Never cared for any of those people.”

William grabs the arms that encircle him, staring into dark sapphire blue eyes, “I— this is wrong,” he whispers onto Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock lets go of his grip, taking a step back and immediately William misses his warmth, “If this is not what you want then that is fine. But if the only reason you are denying me is because you think it’s wrong then you will find that I am pretty hard to get rid of.”

Sherlock then moves back into William’s space, brushing his nose against William’s temple, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. The door opens up from behind him, Sherlock holds onto his hips to keep him from stumbling, “Until next time, Liam.”

William watches as Sherlock walks down the hall, his cheek tingling where Sherlock kissed it. William resists the urge to run after him, to pull Sherlock down for a kiss, to ravage him, claim him. Instead, he walks calmly back into his classroom, gathering all his papers and decides to head off for the day. 

The walk home allows him to get a hand on his composure, it was a peaceful walk. Still, the image of Sherlock against him plagues his mind. He takes a calming breath before entering the manor.

Quickly, just like any other day, Louis and Albert greet him at the door. William smiles at them, trying to keep the flushness off his face, “Louis, Albert, lovely to see you.”

“Welcome home, brother,” Louis says, the strain in his brother’s voice making William pause in his steps. He turns to fully look at his brother, noticing the tense posture.

“Is everything alright, Louis?” he raises his eyebrow, taking a step closer to examine Louis, trying to see the cause of distress for his younger brother.

“Moran and Bonde decided to have a spar in the hallway. Made a right mess,” Louis mumbles, turning a glare down the hallway.

William laughs, relaxing, “I hope they are the ones cleaning it up.”

A smirk creeps onto Louis’s face, relaxing back with William, “They are at work right now. How was your day, brother?”

William pauses for a moment, a small smile gracing his face, “It was quite lovely.” He could still feel Sherlock’s lips pressed against his cheek, he has to resist rubbing the area.

“Well, I better watch over those two. Make sure they are actually cleaning rather than making more of a mess.”

“Good luck with that,” William says to Louis. James and Sebastian can get up to a lot of trouble, he does pity his brother. William finally turns to look at Albert, “Albert, we must go over the plans for tonight.”

Walking into the parlour with Albert, he can’t help letting his mind wander. Sherlock was likely on his way to the train station to Chudleigh right now. Probably, hopefully, thinking about him just like he is thinking of Sherlock. He would be unaware that their next meeting will be sooner rather than later. It puts a smirk on William’s face just thinking of the shocked look on the detective’s face. 

“Have you gotten the invitation to the Baron’s party?” William asks, turning to face Albert.

Albert clears his throat, “Yes, I have. But I have other news to share with you.”

“Oh,” William raises his eyebrow, “What is it?”

“I will not be able to accompany you to the party. Mycroft has assigned me to a case, so I won’t be able to make it,” Albert sighs, “I have told the Baron that you will go in my stead and you still have a plus one, so you can invite whoever you wish to help you with this assignment.”

“Ah,” William says, he can’t say he isn’t disappointed. With how busy everyone’s schedule is, they rarely get time to see each other. “That will be fine. I will take…” a thought comes to mind making him smirk. “Bonde. I will take James Bonde with me.”

Truthfully it is a stupid choice, knowing that Sherlock will be there; but it will be entertaining for William. 

“Solid choice. He has been doing well here,” Albert nods, chuckling, “Though I would wait until Louis is finished with them. He is in quite the mood.”

William raises his eyebrows, "How much damage did they do?”

Albert sighs, “Quite a lot, shook the floorboards. Left us all quite shocked.”

“Ah,” William chuckles. “Those two can cause a mess when they want to.”

“Very true, it’s—“ Albert moves his gaze past William’s shoulder. Turning his head back, William spots Fred waiting in the corner of the room, holding a slip of paper.

William wrinkles his brow, turning back to Albert, “I won’t bother you any longer, brother. I wish you luck on your assignment.” He turns and makes quick steps to Fred, a questioning gaze on his face. Fred kept the note tucked in his hands, away so no one could see. A clear sign that it is from Sherlock. Yet, he had seen Sherlock just a couple of moments ago.

“The detective and I stumbled upon one another as I was heading back here. He wished me to give you this, wrote it right on the spot,” Fred keeps his voice low, his words only for William’s ears, and slides the note in William’s hand before walking away.

William carefully tucks the note in his pocket, careful not to wrinkle it and takes measured steps to his room. The weight of the note lays heavy in his steps, feeling like an explosion that is meant to go off any moment. He passes James and Sebastian on their knees, cleaning up the news they made as Louis towers above. The wall opposite to his door has a dent in it where, presumably, Sebastian knocked James into. 

Walking into his room, shutting his door tight, he carefully takes the note out of his pocket. It was a single sheet of loose paper ripped into a small square. The edges were jagged and uneven, except for one corner which was a perfect right angle.

Dearest Liam,

I have stumbled upon your messenger boy and couldn’t resist the urge to write to you. Currently he can’t decide between glaring at me or keeping up his look of neutrality. I hope you pay him well. 

Regardless, I just wished to inform you that I don’t have any expectations of our relationship, just a desire. But I will take whatever you give me happily. 

Yours,

Sherlock 

Willliam can’t help the smile pulling at his lips. First at Sherlock calling Fred a messenger boy, and second to the sweet message he left. In truth, it is best that he gives Sherlock nothing. When he is away from Sherlock that is what he tells himself to do. But when he is in the detective’s orbit he can’t help giving bits of himself; hoping Sherlock will take the rest.

Eventually, after tracing each letter that Sherlock wrote, he moves to the floorboard just under the edge of his bed. Peeling it up with ease. First thing he notices is that his letters have shifted around. He keeps each letter, each train stub that he got whenever he walked Sherlock to the train (for the reminder, printed out on a date), the exam Sherlock took and got a zero, all of it was ordered in the perfect way to prevent wrinkles.

In the tussle Sebastian and James had, his letters must have gotten shuffled around. Yet, something tells him that there is more to it. Maybe he has another investigation on his hands?

Chapter Text

William laid out all the documents on the table in front of him. Memorizing each detail with a calculated precision. The information that Chief Paterson gave him was quite sparse, the reason he probably handed it over to William in the first place. The Yard was struggling to bring justice to the late baron; probably also why Mr. Holmes was called in as well. 

Sebastian and Fred were able to gather more information in a day than what the Yard couldn’t do in weeks. Looking up from his pages, he sees James Bonde on the other side of the compartment. He was looking out the window as the train sped by the landscape. William clears his throat to get Bonde’s attention, setting his notes down and sitting up straighter. Bond turns his head to William, his eyes sharp at the ready.

“The late baron, Charles, from what we could find, was a good man. Gave his money to build roads, advocated for free schooling, and gave his servants triple the pay than what was normal. We could not find anyone that spoke ill of him,” William sighs. Another good soul lost, a man that could have changed the world for the better, through better means than William is taking. “On the other hand, his younger brother, Lewis. Not much was known about him, a fact which I believe did not sit right with him. He has no wife but from what Sebastian gathered, he partook with a lady of the night frequently. She recalls him being quick to anger and cared greatly about his appearance.”

“The most arrogant are often the most insecure,” Bonde laughs.

“How right you are, Bonde,” William smiles, a small chuckle escaping him before sobering, ““It seems this all led him to resent his brother. Jealousy and pride filled him to commit a heinous act, leaving behind a widow. And not even six months later throwing a ball in the same house. Very bold of him.”

So arrogant that he doesn’t even try to abide by the rules of mourning, spitting on the dead by throwing a ball. The man truly doesn’t think he will get caught, well he has another thing coming. 

The train eventually stops at Chudleigh. A beautiful town that had various estates and was bustling with people. They head off to the ball, to Ugbrooke House, a stately home. The first thing William notices as they ride up to the house is that it was smaller than most barons’ homes but was well-cared for with a beautiful garden. The sun has started to set, making the house glow in golden light.

Getting out of the carriage, William and Bonde walk up to the house. Around fifty people were already outside, filing into the house. All dressed up in bright colors, and adorned with gaudy jewelry. The new Baron Clifford of Chudleigh is there to greet the guests as they pass by, wearing a bright red coat tail with no black band around his hat. When William and Bonde make it to the steps of the entrance the man holds out his hand for William to take.

“You must be Lord Moriarty’s brother, it is lovely to have you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” William smiles, knowing both of their hands were stained with blood but only one will continue with their work after tonight. 

Behind the baron, William spots what must be the widow dressed in a mourning outfit contrasting violently against the rest of the crowd. She had a scowl on her face, her eyes red with tears. William has to shove down the urge to slice open the baron right here and now as he notices a protective hand that she places across her stomach. This has turned on its head quite quickly. William glances back to Bonde, signaling for him to keep an eye on the widow before they head into the ball.

The parlour was packed with guests, decorated to the heavens with a bright airy look. If the baron followed proper mourning this place should have been shut down, layered in darkness like the widow and the servants around are. And yet, here people are dancing and laughing in a dead man’s house. Saddening what society has become, one that lacks the basicness of empathy. 

William is taken out of his dark spiraling thoughts by a rich laughter coming from the entrance. His head snaps back to see Sherlock Holmes twist his arm around the baron, dressed impeccably and tilting his head back in laughter. For the baron himself, he has turned a pale white. One could say he saw a ghost; or saw his end. Just behind the two, William spots Doctor Watson talking with the widow as she guides him past the two men. 

William can’t resist a smirk playing at his lips, turning to whisper to an unaware Bonde, “Do not tilt your head.” Sherlock will be looking over here any moment, and he can’t get a good look on Bonde’s face, he is bound to recognize him. William watches in amusement as Bonde tenses under his instructions but forces himself back into a relaxed state. A casual smile on his face as he makes sure to not move his head. 

“It seems that Mr. Holmes has taken up this case as well,” William says, angling his body away from Bonde, “You must avoid him. I will distract him; he will see me any moment. You walk off calmly and go after the baron. Mr. Holmes must be my alibi for the baron’s death.” He thinks he is supposed to feel some kind of guilt for this little deceit and manipulation but the sight of the detective wipes any of those thoughts out of his mind. 

When the man catches his gaze his eyes widen in a giddy shock but quickly turns into a perplexed amusement, “Liam!” he laughs. Leaving behind a bewildered baron, Holmes races up to him. “Fancy meeting you here.”

William hears the steps of Bonde racing off as he smirks towards Sherlock, “Yes, this doesn't seem like your scene,” he says, eyeing up the detective's very formal outfit, “I wasn’t aware that you knew how to put on a tie.”

Sherlock scoffs, “I don't, John forced me into it.”

William chuckles, the image of Watson putting a tie on a pouty Holmes was an amusing one, “Well I would say it suits you.”

“Really,” Sherlock gives him a cocky grin before narrowing his eyes, “I am here on business. What are you doing here? This scene,” Holmes moves his eyes around the room, “doesn't suit you either.”

William hums, “My brother was invited, he had other plans to attend to, so I went in his stead. It is quite the surprise that we both ended up here.”

Sherlock smiles with an all-too-knowingly grin, “It is definitely a surprise for me.”

“So, you are here for a case. What is it about? Should I be worried?” William tilts his head.

Sherlock laughs, “I think you will find that you already know about this case. I told you about it a few days ago.”

William gasps, “That is right! How could I forget? So, Baron Clifford is your suspect, if I knew this was a party of a murder I would have never went.”

“I am sure you wouldn’t,” Sherlock replies with a toothy grin.

William hums, “So, are you here to arrest the man?”

Sherlock glances over to the baron, who looks to be sweating bullets, “Yeah, John is just getting some documents so there is no doubt about his guilt. I am here to make sure the man doesn’t run off while John is doing that.”

“Ah, the widow is helping you,” William nods.

Sherlock laughs, shaking his head, “Observant as always, Liam.”

William observes the baron, who is throwing glances back at them or more specifically Sherlock. He doesn’t believe the baron even knows William is watching him. The baron makes sharp steps to a group of women conversing. He wraps his arm around one of the women, whispering into her making her giggle. The gaudy woman glances their way, making a heated display of looking Sherlock up and down. 

William feels his lip curl up as Sherlock lets out a boastful laugh, “Oh, this is about to be fun,” Sherlock whispers to him. An ugly feeling starts to stir in William’s stomach. As the woman makes sultry steps toward the both of them, William feels an itch to his sword.

“Hello,” the woman says, placing a hand out for Sherlock to take, “I am Lady Thompson, lovely to meet your acquaintance.”

Sherlock grabs a hold of her hand, bringing it in for a kiss. William watches the moment her skin meets those lips and feels his body heat up. “Sherlock Holmes. What a lovely evening this has turned out to be.”

“For a celebration in a dead man’s house, I would say so as well,” William intervenes, and both their gazes are thrown to him, one of horror the other of amusement.

“Oh, um…” Lady Thompson stumbles over her words, a blush rushing over her face. “Good day, sirs.” She makes steps back away from them, before turning around and rushing away. 

Sherlock chokes out a laugh, “Liam! And I thought I was known for my lack of propriety.”

“Are you also known for going around and kissing any person that meets your fancy?” William asks, his breath heated. 

“Liam!” Sherlock shouts again, but his mouth is pulled in a wide grin.

“Good day, Mr. Holmes,” William takes a deep breath in as to not storm off, walking calmly away as Sherlock shuffles his laughter in and calls out for him. William spots Bonde on the indoor balcony and gestures for him to follow after.

He makes quick steps away from the parlour, heading further into the house as the people become sparser. Until he is in an empty hallway, a burning heat in his blood. He takes measured breath to come back to his mind as he hears the canter of Bonde’s steps joining him. He turns to face him with a cold exterior. 

“The widow is pregnant,” Bonde says; his voice wary, sensing William’s foul mood.

“I figured,” he replies, voice tight. He kept looking past Bonde, waiting to see if Sherlock followed after them. Which was foolish since the detective has more important priorities to get to.

“How?” Bonde asks.

“She was holding her stomach, protecting it, whenever the baron got close to her. She is the one to call in Mr. Holmes,” William says. She must have not liked how the Yard were handling her husband’s case and took it into her own hands to get justice.

“Should we let him handle this? We could get the baron in his jail cell. John has the widow with him, protecting her,” Bonde asks.

William takes a moment to pause, fiddling with his fingers. It would be best to leave this to Sherlock for now. Especially since it could lay suspicion onto him if the baron was murdered. Though that would mean that their role at this ball has come to an end, “Yes, that will be for the best. But we should monitor the situation, making sure nothing goes wrong.”

Bonde nods before they both separate back into the party. William quickly scans the crowd, seeing that Sherlock and Watson have reunited. Watson sliding a document over to the detective. His eyes glides past them to see Baron Clifford making steps towards the exit door, the one right next to William. Just as the man grabs the handles, William joins in step next to him, “Baron Clifford, nice to see you again. I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

The baron’s eyes dart to him, a bit wild and manic, “Um…sorry, I am in a bit of a rush.”

William grabs the hand holding the handle, forcing it in place, “It won’t take long, I can assure you.”

“Uh…” the baron refuses to look him in the eye, his face wincing at the tight grip William has on him. “I really must go.”

“Aw, leaving so soon Baron Clifford?” Sherlock makes steps toward them. “But the ball has only just gotten started.”

The baron tenses, his shoulders hiking up to his ears, “Look, whatever you think you have. I promise you don’t. That wench has been framing me.” William starts to crush his fingers under the grip, popping them out of place.

“Fascinating how I haven’t even mentioned anything yet and you are already this defensive,” Sherlock smirks, “Don’t bother trying to leave, my dear Doctor Watson has already alerted the Yard. They are surrounding this place as we speak. There is no escape Lewis.”

The baron’s eyes wide, looking back and forth from Sherlock to William. Tears fill his eyes, cowardice in the face of others more powerful than him, “Please, good sirs. I am sure that we can come to a mutual understanding.”

“I am sure we can,” Sherlock smirks, clearing his throat loudly for the crowd, “Baron Clifford of Chudleigh, you are under arrest for the murder of your brother the late Baron of Clifford of Chudleigh.” He announces it for the crowd to hear, pulling the man out of William’s grip and putting handcuffs around the man. Sherlock pulls the man in whispering into his ear, “Here is our understanding, you can either come with me and have a grand old time in a cell or you can go with my companion here,” Sherlock gestures over to William, “And trust me when I say he can do much more than break your hand. So what will it be?”

William's face doesn't shift, except for a slight sinister smile he aims toward the Baron. Mr. Holmes was testing him, still had the suspicion of him being the Lord of Crime. Be defensive, or not play into the role Sherlock gave him can look suspicious. But on the other hand, he already played his hand. Crushing the man’s fingers showed a violent tendency. Playing into Sherlock's role for him won't make him look any less innocent. It would just show how easily he can play the role. A lose-lose situation

Smart detective.

The Baron gulps, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. All eyes on him, not a guest that didn't hear Sherlock's words. “I will comply,” he says, head down obscuring his face. 

“Until next time, Liam,” Sherlock nods, dragging the baron out the door. William lazily hums, turning away from him and walking away to find Bonde once again.

Two days later, William sat in his study reworking a lesson plan for his non-majors. The last test most graded below expected and so William was reworking his approach. A rhythmic knock sounded off the door, letting William know that Fred was behind it.

“Come in,” William called out, putting his students' work away. Turning around to see Fred, his muscles freeze as he sees a letter in Fred’s hands. Only one person it could be.

Fred approaches William, handing the letter off. William grabs the crisp letter, staring at it for a moment before throwing it to the side, “Thank you, Fred,” he says, going back to his notes.

For what William thinks is the first time, Fred hesitates in his steps, standing there awkwardly next to William, “Do you wish to write a response?”

“No,” William says simply, not looking up from his notes.

Fred doesn't ask again, for which William is thankful for, just nods his head and exits without another word. William lasts all but five minutes before he is opening the letter, feeling a bit weak-minded.

Dearest Liam,

I quite enjoyed our last meeting. You appearing while I was working the case was a delightful surprise. I wish we could have spent more time together, alas we were both busy. I am hoping to get some free time in a couple of weeks, so I will hopefully be able to go up to Durham to visit you. Miss Hudson is hounding me for my fair share of the rent so I will have to take some odd jobs to pay her back. If it gets desperate, Lestrade does offer some money in exchange for meaningless paperwork. Though I would have to be truly desperate to take it.

Yours,

Sherlock