sherliam canon

all the better to drown with you, my dear

Sherlock Holmes had just been shot, and yet the only thing he could think about was how goddamn pretty his Liam was.

And the burning, sweltering hole festering in his right shoulder, that was. 

But Liam. From Sherlock's skewed vision as he leaned against the wall next to him, legs trembling and head spinning slowly, threatening to send him to the ground, he could only see Liam partially. He was a couple of feet ahead, engaged in elaborate hand-to-hand combat with the asshole who had just placed a bullet into Sherlock's arm, and somehow, even sweating and in the midst of what should've been deemed as unattractive action, he was so fucking pretty.

Blonde hair flying, brief flashes of crimson eyes shining with contempt and determination and also- maybe- lust, delicate arms and delicate movements. A clash of metal on metal, and the two men stumbled back in their respective directions; Liam ever elegant, the armed robber far from it.

"Sherly, how're you fairing back there?" Liam called out to him, words ever so slightly tainted with the beginnings of fatigue while he stepped towards the man again. Sherlock grimaced, unable to answer as his voice seemed to crumble in his throat. "Sherly?" Concern. Shit, he was concerned now.

Sherlock growled softly, hand firmly pressed to the spot in a feeble attempt to... do something. Slow the bleeding? He couldn't see how his shaking hand was going to stop a two-inch hole from dribbling crimson. "I'm good," he responded back, cringing at his own meek voice.

Another cling. "Wonderful. Now if you wouldn't mind," Liam panted, pinning his opponent against the wall opposing him, "Would it be possible to throw me that gun?"

Oh yeah.

"Gimme a sec."

"Take your time," Liam deadpanned.

"Jesus Christ, Liam, I was just shot!"

A sudden grunt. They were fighting again. Sherlock dragged himself off of the wall and stretched out for the fallen revolver with his good hand. "Oi, catch!"

Liam outstretched his left hand, smoothly plucking the gun out of the air without adverting his attention from the fight in front of him. In another swift movement, too fast for Sherlock to even pick up on, the man was shoved against the wall and Liam had the barrel of what Sherlock knew was an unloaded gun to his forehead. "One more move and whatever brains that head of yours contains will be splattered on this wall."

A sharp intake of breath from the shivering figure, any cocky superiority he had been feeling vanished with the threat to his life. "You.. wouldn't.."

"Oh but I would," Liam hummed, fingers dancing on the trigger. "You've heard of the Brooklyn Ripper, I assume?"

"Uh-huh.."

"And of the terrible fate to befall the dastardly man?"

"..."

"He was done in by my hands. This very gun, you know, was the one that was shoved down his-"

"I surrender, okay?" The man shouted suddenly, struggling under Liam's grip. "No fucking money is worth this! I ain't being tortured!"

Sherlock had managed to get back to his feet and now stood behind Liam, a pair of handcuffs clutched in his hand, materialised from wherever secret places he kept his shit. "Can I do the honours, Liam?"

"Be my guest."

"Aight. Let's get going, buddy,"  Sherlock tightened the cuffs around the still-terrified man's wrists, holding him tightly by his good arm.

Liam trailed the two through the alley, until they exited into the slightly brighter plaza, already completely filled with police.

"..Wait! Wait, no, how'd you.. Doncha need to know where the money is?" The man chuckled nervously, eyes scanning the crowd of officers in front of him, before desperately turning to Sherlock to beg.