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William knew there was an unexpected guest long before the detective found him in the garden. The name ‘Sherlock Holmes’ had already spread through the invited guests, who apparently knew more about the character of Arthur Conan Doyle’s books than the man himself. But Sherlock had been swarmed by quite a few women asking him to deduce all manner of things about their lives for their amusement, much in the way he had been at the mercy of the passengers on the Noahtic when he and William had first met.
William had ample time to wrap up his own conversations before retreating into the garden, making sure Sherlock had seen where he’d gone without realising William had seen him first.
It was no wonder Sherlock had found his way here to begin with. No doubt he’d gone to the university first peeking through lecture halls and offices before someone finally told him William had cancelled his classes for the day.
William wasn’t above admitting that he was pleased to see him, but that did not change the fact that Sherlock absolutely could not be allowed within the vicinity of Bond, or Fred for that matter. He could recognise either of them, which would give away that the Moriarty’s had something significant to hide. That eliminated the safety of having him near Louis or Moran as well, neither of whom would hesitate to take matters into their own hands if they suspected he had figured something out. William really did not want to have to get in between that, but he reluctantly admitted to himself that, despite his better judgement, he would if it came to it.
The garden that spread out over the yard behind the Moriarty estate was more a maze than a garden, the hedges opening every now and again to reveal ornate concrete and vases of flowers. William followed his usual path to a smaller corner where he kept his own little flower garden.
He wondered whether or not Sherlock would be able to navigate to this section, assuming only momentarily that the detective's natural inclination would be to find the centre. He did not have to assume for very long.
“I’m starting to think you want me to chase you, Liam.”
William smiled, running a hand over the white petals of the lilies he grew here before turning around. There he stood, Sherlock had found William rather quickly. William wondered if he had ever truly lost sight of him at all.
“Mister Holmes,” William said, feigning surprise, “I don’t recall Louis saying he’d sent you an invitation.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Sherlock held a cigarette in one hand, his other shoved into a pocket. He was smirking slightly. “I know you saw me.”
“Whatever do you mean? I just slipped away for a moment. Small parties aren’t really my area.”
Sherlock followed William as he stepped between the rows of flowers. “And large parties?”
“I certainly prefer them,” William said, “large parties are far more private.”
“This is plenty private, it seems,” Sherlock said, taking in the surrounding hedge.
William hummed, following his gaze. Only clouds were visible above the boundary of the maze.
“I hope my inviting myself can be forgiven?” Sherlock asked, turning back to their conversation.
“I’m sure you’ll make it out alive, provided Louis does not find a stray butterknife, of course.” It was rather literal, though William knew Sherlock would only take it in jest.
Sherlock did, and laughed to himself. “Your fellow professors, then? I’m sure you could guess I visited the university first. They didn’t seem pleased with the interruption.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” William said, busying himself with pulling a few weeds from around the lilies, “they are always keen on gossip when it comes to their peers.”
Sherlock looked surprised. “Gossip?”
“Indeed,” William nodded.
“About me?”
About us, William thought, and smiled to himself. “There are still quite a few rumours flying around campus thanks to your last visit.”
“Oh?” Sherlock perked up at the comment, smiling slyly. “What might those be?”
“I’m not sure,” William said wistfully, sighing. “Everyone tends to hush when they see me coming. I hear ‘Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes’ and by then I’ve been spotted and everyone gives all manner of excuses to escape an explanation.”
By now he had circled all the flowers he grew here, and had chosen a direction at random to slip back into the maze. Sherlock was quick to fall into step just behind him.
“My visit to the university today certainly won’t help, then,” Sherlock said, a bit sheepish.
William found his tone of voice to be genuine. He stopped walking and turned around. “What did you do?” He asked, knowing he would probably find the answer quite amusing.
“Nothing much,” Sherlock said, holding his hands up in defense, “just asked after you.”
William tilted his head. “Sounds innocuous enough.”
“I was rather visibly disappointed to learn you weren’t there.”
“Then I can’t imagine the rumours will be changing much, hm?”
“What rumours are those exactly?” Sherlock prompted the question as though he knew exactly what the rumours were, but very much wished to hear William admit them.
William smiled innocently again, shrugging slightly before backing into a hedge. He knew full well it was a small hidden passage, disguised by vines that parted easily. He knew Sherlock would follow him. “They’re rumours that link my name with yours, Mister Holmes,” William called quietly. “I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blank spaces.”
Sherlock followed along behind him as William led them through the maze. It had been a while since he had taken a leisurely stroll through here. William had truly forgotten how vast the garden was. Was this the turn towards the centre, or… that one? He masked his hesitance well, if anything.
“And the professors are really joining in? Gossiping all day behind closed doors?”
“If they are? I suppose we will have to find a way to prove what they say is quite untrue.”
"Yes," Sherlock said, nodding with a feigned seriousness that had William laughing under his breath. "Quite untrue."
They were well into the maze now, and William turned again to find Sherlock right behind him. There was no hidden passage to another part of the maze to escape to this time, only the solid wall of the hedge. Sherlock took a step forward just as William took a step back, and William had a hard time deciding who was leading or following, pursuing or retreating.
“We should make a list,” Sherlock said. “Do’s and don'ts. Or all ‘don’ts’, I guess.”
From behind his back he procured a small handful of daisies and held them out in the little space between them.
“Well, first,” William said. “Don’t throw bouquets at me.” His actions were entirely contradictory to his words. He took the flowers, making sure to let their hands touch for just long enough that it was obviously intentional.
William slipped from between Sherlock and the hedge just as Sherlock began to lean closer. His playful smile seemed clear enough, conveying the unspoken request that Sherlock continue to follow him.
“I told you,” Sherlock said, shaking his head knowingly, “you want me to chase you.”
William made it to a turn in the maze before he called back, imitating something of his expression from that day on the train. “Come and catch me, if you can,” he said, “Mister Holmes.”
William disappeared behind the hedge, only able to hear Sherlock’s surprised laugh before he lost sight of him. He moved quickly, and in two turns was just behind where he knew Sherlock would be. He approached quietly enough that Sherlock didn’t notice.
“And you really mustn’t please my family so much,” William said, the words conversational even as Sherlock practically jumped out of his skin. William merely waited for his response, or rebuttal.
Sherlock looked at him incredulously. “I’m not sure Louis is pleased with me at all.”
“Fair,” William conceded. “But Albert was delighted when you appeared at the party.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know I was here before you disappeared into the garden.” Sherlock said triumphantly.
William hid his face behind the flowers in his hand as though he was enjoying their scent. He gave Sherlock a rather amusingly guilty expression. “Why do you think I went into the garden?”
Sherlock’s face lit up. He let out a quiet, breathless laugh.
William let the flowers fall and pointed with his other hand. “That’s another thing! Don’t sigh and gaze at me,” he said, “your sighs sound quite like mine, don’t you think? And your eyes, you practically glow when you see me.”
Sherlock had already closed the distance between them again, though this time William stood his ground. William did gaze at him, that was true. Why shouldn’t he? Sherlock was handsome, and William felt lighter when he saw him, like he was floating. He could spend hours staring.
“People will say we’re in love, Mister Holmes.” William whispered. He glanced quickly at Sherlock’s mouth before meeting his eyes again.
“Will they?” Sherlock asked.
“Mhm,” William hummed his acknowledgement, leaning in slowly.
He stumbled forward slightly when Sherlock abruptly pulled away, and suddenly it was William’s turn to chase him. He did, looking up every once in a while to wonder whether the clouds gathering were going to put a damper on the tea party going on back at the estate. They were easily ignored, however, in favour of the detective winding between hedges in front of him.
“You know, Liam,” Sherlock started, matter of factly, “some people may say you are to blame as much as I am, we can’t pin all these ‘don’ts’ on me.”
“Can’t we?” William asked, teasing.
Sherlock clearly did not know where to lead them, so William fell into step beside him as he spoke and guided their path again.
“For one, you mustn’t praise my charm so much,” Sherlock said, acting as though he was thinking quite hard about his little list.
“Perish the thought,” William said, “charm?”
Sherlock was charming, quite charming, actually. But goodness, William was not going to admit that out loud.
He startled slightly as he felt a small raindrop hit his hand. Another soon fell on his face, he felt them in his hair. Sherlock put his hand out, absentmindedly letting them hit his palm.
“I suppose the tea party is cancelled.”
William looked back towards the direction of the estate. Of course, he could not see even the top of the house with how far they were into the maze, but he looked all the same. He had full confidence in his team’s ability to keep the mansion secure should they have to move inside. They had taken precautions against nosey party guests, but he couldn’t help but want to be there to make sure everything ran smoothly.
On the other hand, there was one nosey party guest only he was equipped to handle, and then only if said guest stayed far away from everyone else. William glanced at Sherlock.
“Case in point,” Sherlock said, pointing towards the sky. “Don’t stand in the rain with me.”
As he spoke, there was a loud clash of thunder, and the rain became much harder very quickly. William laughed at Sherlock, who actually did not seem too pleased with being out in the rain. He looked around and realised this part of the garden was rather familiar.
“Come with me!” William called over the heavy rainfall.
He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him along, running around a corner and finding, as he suspected, a small gazebo with benches lining each side. William had found this once by accident and had returned multiple times, finding it to be a nice place to read.
They ran up the steps, laughing. William shook his head a bit when they were finally under cover, brushing wet hair from his face with his hand and finding he still held the flowers Sherlock had given him. His other hand still held Sherlock’s. They both seemed to realise at the same time.
William felt Sherlock’s hand tighten gently, even as he added yet another ‘don’t’ to the list.
“Don’t keep your hand in mine,” Sherlock said. Something of their teasing manner from earlier had been drowned out by the rain, Sherlock didn’t sound convinced of his own words even as he said them.
William knew, logically, this was an awful idea. When this day was over, when they left the garden, they would have to go back to being the detective and the Lord of Crime. Eventually he would need Sherlock to chase him for more than just teasing banter and a handful of flowers. But they were still in the garden. Today was an ordinary day, and it was not London’s detective and the Lord of Crime under the gazebo, it was just Sherlock and William.
William looked out at the pouring rain just feet away, then down to their joined hands. “I like how your hand feels in mine.”
When he met Sherlock’s eye the detective wore a poorly hidden, complicated expression. William wondered for a moment if Sherlock had been thinking something similar. That outside of this place, outside of this day, they were not just themselves anymore. Eventually the spell would break.
William knew he knew. Deep down, Sherlock knew exactly who he’d been following through the garden. He returned to his previous supposition, they were still in the garden after all.
“They're suspecting things, Sherly,” William whispered. "People will say we're in love."
Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly, from William's words, or the nickname, or both, but he held William’s hand still. He rather awkwardly shrugged one shoulder, as if making his mind up about something he’d actually made his mind up about quite a while ago. “I think,” he started, staring at their joined hands, “I think that is alright with me.”
It felt like gravity, pulling William in to kiss Sherlock. Sherlock responded immediately, and William pushed until Sherlock was against one of the pillars of the arbour.
William was well aware their little garden tryst was in no way an opportunity to go further than this, but that did not mean he could not kiss Sherlock the way he wanted to. Sherlock’s lips were a bit chapped, his mouth was warm, and William loved every bit of the feeling that spread through him when their tongues brushed together. Sherlock deepened the kiss further yet it remained gentle and slow, and at times just sordid enough that William seriously considered the possible consequences of sneaking Sherlock back to the estate, to his room, to his bed. The consequences of allowing this to last through the night and well into the morning.
When William felt Sherlock’s hand at the small of his back, drawing him closer, he let out a heavy breath and pulled back. Sherlock instinctively leaned forward, chasing after him before realising that it was almost time for that pesky little spell to break.
“I don’t suppose there’s a chance we can do something like that again?” Sherlock asked, breathless.
William felt warmth spread through him even as his heart seized painfully. He let his hands fall from Sherlock’s face, and busied himself with gently straightening the lapels of his jacket. He knew what his answer would be, knew what it had to be, and felt as though he had to enjoy this, because it would have to end, even though the thought of it hurt him. When he was done with the lapel, he flattened his palms over Sherlock’s chest, over his shoulders, let his fingers glide through Sherlock’s damp hair, brushing it away from his face before finally meeting his eyes.
Sherlock had unbuttoned William’s jacket, slipped his hands inside it and had a firm hold around William’s waist. His movements were more subtle, his thumbs rubbing slowly back and forth, but William felt them.
William couldn’t stop himself from kissing Sherlock again, more chaste, this time, less feverish and less promising. William drifted to the side, kissing the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, his cheek, the curve of his jaw. He stayed close, so he could speak softly and Sherlock could still hear over the sound of the rain.
“I need you to chase me, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s hands tensed, William could feel him suppress the urge to pull him closer. “And do I have any say," Sherlock asked, "in what happens when I catch you?"
Yes, William thought. The Final Problem. Sherlock would have a say in it, of course, William just needed to ensure that his say would be killing the Lord of Crime. William couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t give himself away so blatantly. Sherlock would deny him the ending he’d worked so hard for if he confided in him as a friend, or a lover, rather than coaxed him towards what he’d been planning for the better part of a decade.
“You’ll have to catch me first,” William said. He tilted his head playfully, trying to conjure up something lighthearted, then added, “if you can.”
“I can,” Sherlock said, suddenly more sure, “I will.”
William smiled, not quite masking a melancholy contentment at the thought. “I believe you,” he said.
He knew Sherlock’s mind was already working over time, searching desperately for some way William’s words fit the profile he'd been building of his infamous Lord of Crime. William was sure he would reach the conclusion that they did. After his gamble with the envelope containing his name, he was sure Sherlock understood that the Lord of Crime wanted to be caught. Eventually, at least, but not yet.
It was fairly obvious to both of them, they were dancing around something far more serious than a few kisses and a lunch date. Sherlock had entered this story late, as the leading man, but it did not diminish his agency in it. William alone knew how weak he was to the detective’s whims, how enticing it was to imagine a life where he and Sherlock could let whatever had taken root between them grow deeper and stronger, where they could enjoy each other without distraction.
“We really should be getting back,” William said.
Neither of them made to let go of the other, neither of them moved.
“Liam, I have to ask one more thing,” Sherlock said seriously.
William felt a bit anxious, not knowing how far Sherlock was willing to take this little game. If Sherlock decided to play a card like he had in the dining car of the train, William harbord serious doubts about how convincingly he could respond so long as Sherlock held him the way he was now.
“When I visited you,” Sherlock started, “you asked me not to risk my life in my pursuit of the Lord of Crime. Why?”
Well, that was easy. William said, with an easy, honest conviction, “because I have grown rather fond of you, Mister Detective.”
Sherlock’s face softened just so, but he still had something on his mind. “Then may I make a request of you as well?”
William nodded.
“I want you there,” Sherlock said, “I don’t care what happens, I really don’t. So long as on the other side of it all, you’re there waiting for me. No one else. Just you.”
William felt his heart stutter in his chest, Sherlock’s expression, his tone, it conveyed everything he couldn’t put into words. I want you there on the other side. Not the Lord of Crime, not even William James Moriarty. I want Liam. I want you.
William opened his mouth to respond, and found he couldn’t. He couldn’t conjure up a lie, a yes, but he couldn’t deny Sherlock this, either. So he kissed him again, and he knew Sherlock took it for what it was: a consolation.
“I would like that.” William whispered the words against Sherlock’s lips. He felt rather than saw Sherlock's small smile, as though he knew at least in this William was truthful.
Sherlock kissed him again, placing quick pecks over his cheeks and nose until William was laughing gently. He knew Sherlock was intentionally trying to cheer him up but it worked anyway. William felt the heavy weight on his chest become lighter, kiss by kiss, until he realised the rain had let up as well.
“Now, we really should be getting back,” William said, laughing as Sherlock whined pitifully against his shoulder.
“If anyone sees us turn up together I think your brother might actually make an attempt on my life,” Sherlock said.
William laughed again. “He would never do so in broad daylight where anyone could see, you’re safe for now,” he said, “besides, we have a bigger problem.”
“What’s that?”
William stooped to pick up the flowers Sherlock had picked for him. “The house is swarming with party goers who have a love for gossip that rivals only my own students,” William pointed out.
They both descended the stairs and took a random path back into the maze. “People will talk.”
Sherlock whistled. “What will they say, do you think?”
William shrugged. “Probably that you’re smitten,” he said.
“Oh?” Sherlock scoffed. “I’ll bet they say you’re smitten!”
William laughed. “And if we don’t work diligently to deny these accusations? What then?” He gave Sherlock a sidelong look as they walked.
“I reckon people will say we’re in love,” Sherlock said.
William hummed his agreement. “I can’t imagine where they would get an idea like that.”
“No,” Sherlock agreed, shaking his head, “I don’t either.”
William smiled when Sherlock pulled him in for another kiss, and decided, since the rain had cleared up and the sun shone again, perhaps their time in the garden wasn’t over just yet.