I never loved myself like I love you

1

The first thing he feels when he regains consciousness is the throbbing pain in his whole body. He feels the beginning of a headache creep towards the front of his skull, feels his arms lay limp by his side. He can barely move a finger, let alone his legs. Still, however impossible moving feels, he manages to open his eyes, squinting against what he guesses is the early-morning sun. But he is not greeted by the sight of his own room's ceiling.

He looks around the foreign room in panic, looking for anything resembling familiarity or for the fastest possible escape route, before his eyes finally settle on the figure on the chair next to the bed. Messy dark hair, a weird mix between blue and black he has grown fond of, lays about in every direction around its owner's head. William feels his body relax a little and his panic die down. Sherlock is leaning forward on the bed, hiding his face in his crossed arms. The pace at which his back rises and lowers tells William that he is asleep.

He feels his own fatigue lull him to sleep again, but not without the occasional flashes of memories coming back to haunt him. Usually, he would've let them rip him apart to pieces, would've cursed himself for all that he's caused and for the life he almost took, unintentionally this time. But for the first time in his life, William, too tired to deal with his emotions and thoughts, finds himself succumbing to sleep instead, trusting that the man peacefully sleeping next to him would be there when he wakes up.

William feels the merciless wind, as merciless as the God awaiting for him on the other side to deliver his punishment. He's never been much of a believer, but now, with his end so near, he can't help but pray and hope his brothers and friends—the little family he's created through his plan—will live well in the new world they've created together after he's gone.

"You expect to me to just stand by and watch while you go to your death? Is dying really your idea of atonement? Don't make me laugh, Liam. Don't just use death as some cheap escape route. You're just trying to avoid the pain this way, aren't you?!"

Sherlock's words get carried by the wind, surrounding William, making him feel as if he is drowning, even though he hasn't even touched the water waiting below him yet. He knows what Sherlock is accusing him of is true, yet it's still unnerving to hear it. In his twenty four years of life, he has never said it out loud before, and if others seemed to know the truth, they did not voice it either. Because voicing it would give it power, make it true, and not even William himself felt strong enough to face that truth.

The blond looks at Sherlock, and his hands start shaking when he eyes the thin crimson line on his cheek again, barely just a few minutes old. The detective doesn't bother to wipe the drop of blood that trickles down his cheek this time. He's entirely focused on the criminal in front of him.

Fighting Sherlock felt unnatural, like something against the laws of nature themselves, and yet it had been crucial for the plan. So, even though his heart had throbbed in his chest with every action, he had willed his body to move and put on a convincing act for the people of London that were still watching from below.

If Sherlock notices the way William grasps his sword tighter to stop the trembles, he says nothing of it and continues with his previous thoughts instead. "If you truly want to atone, then make the harder choice for yourself!" A pause, and then Sherlock whispers, "I killed Milverton with my own hands. I'm a criminal now, just like you." It's so quiet that, at first, William thinks he must have imagined it. "So... let's atone together."

William's eyes widen slightly, something that doesn't go unnoticed by the detective. Sherlock offers him a small, soft smile, and William's heart clenches in his chest when he sees the dark-haired man reach out a hand to him. And he feels his resolve crumble, little by little.