Constellations Strung With a Shooting Star | Sherliam

Chapter Twenty-Eight

[apologies for the delay! i meant to post this friday but i only got around to posting it on ao3 - i posted it during school and, for whatever reason, ao3 isn't blocked at my school but wattpad is? and i forgot to upload it here until now so. yehahaa sorry]

With a few questions circling Sherlock's head, he picks his head back up and glances towards Billy once again, eyeing him with narrowed eyes. "So I assume that it was you who saved us, yeah?" He questions, despite being quite sure that he's correct in that presumption. Though, there is a slight chance that Billy could be behind a grander organization existing outside of just himself.

"Yup! Sure did, right on time too," Billy chirps in reply, rocking a little on the chair.

"Right," Sherlock hums with a soft sigh, glancing down towards his broken arm. Though the conditions that they came out in aren't all that favorable, he can at least appreciate that they were saved nonetheless. "I guess I should thank you for that much. 'Cause of you, Liam's still alive. So.. Thank you."

That's especially what eases the detective. If Billy hadn't done that for them, the ending for them would've been far different than this. But even so, he can't even predict what this ending that they've winded up with is exactly. Again, there's that obscure mystery of what exactly Billy is coming from, and what purpose he has with Sherlock and William.

The other man lets out a light-hearted chuckle, briefly glancing towards the one still resting and recovering. "Heh, man, ya talk 'bout him a whole lot different than you did in those books!" He jests, though there's a knowing look betraying his features that no one could miss. "Then again, I did see those purty marks on ya both, so I 'spose I can't be too surprised now."

Right. Holmes can't say that he's shocked that Billy happened to put two and two together, anyone would've; even if it largely opposed the relationship that'd been published across hundreds of copies of books. Just by looking at their marks, every bit of that can easily be discarded. "Those don't depict me accurately at all, mind you," he sighs, pinching the bridge between his eyes, "it's all a big glorification of a version of me that don't exist."

Billy lets out a laugh, rocking back and forth. "That's fair! Can't say I don't relate, what with what they say 'bout my height 'n whatnot. My depictions ain't so accurate, either," he shrugs, "and I presumed that it wasn't too accurate anyhow. Had an inkling that there was more goin' on behind the scenes, with how planned out everythin' seemed."

Planned out isn't a fully correct way to put it, really. On Moriarty's behalf, then yes, but Sherlock was left in the dark until the very end. All of the planning and build-up is to William's credit, not the detective's. He lets out a sigh, incidentally followed by a low stomach growl erupting from him.

"Oh, yer hungry? Whoopsies, completely forgot," Billy giggles in a far too teasing tone, earning a grumble from the ravenet, "I'll get ya some fruits; 'till we reach shore, that's 'bout all I've got right now. But I might've eaten a majority of 'em." He shines a smile, a small piece of red apple skin poking between his teeth as if to taunt Sherlock even further.

The detective rolls his eyes, huffing out a scoff. "Whatever, as long as it's something... Grab some for Liam, too," he hums, briefly glancing back to the knocked out blond, "I'm going to try and help him eat, somehow." Though he could leave that to Henry, he doesn't want to do that and would much rather place Liam's care in his own hands instead. Now that Holmes is awake, he'll gladly take on that responsibility for as long as he must.

"D'aww, sure, sure. I'll grab plenty," Billy smiles, knocking himself back up and onto his feet. He grabs his empty plate from before, and swiftly skips his way out of the room. That leaves Sherlock on his lonesome with a sleeping William, the only sound resonating in the room being the waves crashing and flowing outside the window. His gaze slowly settles back to the blond laying on the bed, finding itself at that stained patch over his eye.