Post chapter 59 spoilers
Canon divergence (ish?)
Their first month together feels like a blur.
William is still healing from his wounds - his movements and sense of balance still awkward due to his injured eye - and getting used to the fact that now, he wakes up to the sight of Sherlock sleeping on the bed next to his, instead of Louis or Albert. He remembers the mornings where he would stare at the broad back while not saying a word.
He knows Sherlock is awake. He also knows that Sherlock knows he is staring. And Sherlock probably knows that he knows.
It feels strange having to rely on this man - His enemy? His friend? Something more, perhaps? A name he wouldn't dare to utter just yet? - for even the smallest of things, like picking up a fallen item or changing his clothes. Sherlock sometimes even feeds him when his wounds feel too much to bear. What's even more strange is how willing William is in letting Sherlock help him even if he protests internally, sometimes out loud.
The thing is, he just doesn't know quite what to say to Sherlock. And it's ironic because he's well aware of the long nights in the past where he daydreamed for a day where he could spend it just with this man - talking about the things that fascinate them, even if when it comes to William, the subject for that conversation would undoubtedly be Sherlock. But now, all words seem to fail him.
Sherlock makes for good company, regardless. He does most of the idle chatter and lets the silence settle in between them without too much of a fuss. He doesn't force a conversation out of William, though he seems almost unreasonably excited when he manages to draw out a small smile from the latter. It's a small victory, he said to William once, to see a real smile on his face.
William makes a point to smile a little more around him and to make sure his smiles are a little more genuine.
He comes to know that Sherlock now works for someone in the American government. He doesn't really tell William the details and William never pushes him for any, but from the gist of it, he's aware that the one who holds the most weight - or perhaps even all of it - in the agreement Sherlock has bound himself to is him.
While it causes a flash of unease, he cannot deny the warmth that creeps into his chest.
Sherlock Holmes. The man who saved him. The man who became his ray of hope that night in London, the brightness that came swooping down to save him even when he thought he was beyond any redemption. And even now, Sherlock continues to save him. And this time, William finds himself yearning more than ever before to be saved.
The door opens. Sherlock is home again for the evening. William stands up from his bed, still a little wobbly on his feet as he walks towards the man.
"Hey now," Sherlock cautions, arms already reaching out to him. The movement feels natural, like it has now become muscle memory. "Don't push yourself, Liam. You wanna get better, don't you?"
There is a rush of soft fragrance when Sherlock catches him. The soap from Sherlock's skin? The cologne on his clothes? It calms William's senses, enough to push him into saying his next words.
"Sherly," William says. The name tumbles out of his mouth naturally. Perhaps that, too, has somehow become a muscle memory without him realizing it. "Welcome home."
There is a flash of surprise across Sherlock's face. William finds him smiling in delight at the sight of it, which in turn, earns him a breathless chuckle from the man.
"See, I told you your smile is a treat to see," Sherlock teases. Then, with a softer gaze and an even softer smile, "Mm. I'm home, Liam."
