It's been several weeks since the affair in Vermissa. Several weeks since William's rather intimate vows to Sherlock. Maybe Billy was right. In hindsight, they did almost sound like wedding vows.
Billy. William had decided to take the talented, young gunslinger up on his offer for work. Though, it was mostly a desk job and only a couple of days a week at the moment. He's supposed to be recovering after all. However, it leaves him with far too much time on his hands. Too much time spent thinking about his sins and how he will ever be able to atone.
In truth, he is in a much better place than he was when he first awoke, but being as prone to overthinking as he is, he still has bad days where he just wants to wallow in self-hatred. On days like that, Sherlock becomes his anchor, tethering him to reality. William doesn't think he'll ever be able to thank the man enough. Between sitting at his bedside day after day while he was in a coma and holding him while he sobbed after another scarlet filled nightmare, Sherlock had become his rock.
So he started volunteering at a nearby church, tutoring children and adults alike in a variety of subjects. He'd always loved teaching. To be able to mold young minds, leave his mark on people in an everlasting good way. It's one of the things he misses most about home, right behind his brothers and the motley crew he calls his family.
I may never be able to fully atone for what I've done, he thinks, but maybe this is a step in the right direction.
It's starting to get dark outside; his adult class just let out. He'd set the time for it so people would be able to come after they got out of work. It had been a good turnout tonight, men and women of various ages looking to further their prospects and expand their horizons.
William clears off the chalkboard that had been graciously donated to the church. It is situated in front of the pews and his back is to the large doors that open into the nave. He hears a creak as one of the heavy doors is pushed open.
"You just missed the class—" he starts, only to be cut off by the door slamming back shut. He rushes to the other side of the room before checking outside, only to catch a glimpse of a woman with long dark hair turning a corner. He's about to follow her to see if she needs help, but a cry coming from just inside the church catches his attention.
He turns back inside to see a bundle of blankets. The sharp cries coming from the parcel pierced the evening quiet. He knew what was happening. It wasn't uncommon for churches and other safe havens to have babies dropped off by down-on-their-luck mothers who couldn't afford another mouth to feed. He just hadn't expected it here. Though the neighborhood consisted mostly of labour workers, the people here got by well enough most of the time.
Thoughts flit rapidly through his head as he decides on his next course of action. There weren't many options this time of day. Realistically, there was only one way this could go.
William stoops down to pick up the crying bundle. He can feel the warmth of the small body and its meager weight as he settles the infant in his arms. He pulls the slightly scratchy fabric away and finds a tiny face, scrunched with tears, nary a tooth in its wide open mouth. There's a dark tuft of hair on the top of its head, slightly tangled from the blankets. He rocks the infant in his arms, gently crooning to try and calm it down. He rubs away its tears with a soft thumb as the cries start to quieten.
"Well, little one, it looks like you'll be coming with me tonight. Though, Sherly isn't going to be very happy about this."
When William opens the apartment door, the ever present scents of coffee and tobacco greet him. He can see Sherlock sprawled across their small sofa with his nose buried in a book, one arm pillowed behind his head as he reclines.
"I'm back." William calls to him as he steps through, the door shutting behind him.
"Welcome home." is Sherlock's absent-minded reply, still enamored with the book in his hand.
Sherlock says the word so casually. William still doesn't really feel like their apartment is home. This isn't one of his family's large manors. His brothers aren't here to greet him, to ask about his day. Fred isn't here to talk softly about the roses in the greenhouse, about how they're blooming spectacularly. James and Colonel Moran aren't here to bicker and disrupt the peace. Master Jack isn't here to pinch his cheek when he falls asleep on the couch. This place is so far from the home he once knew.
But there is Sherlock. Sherlock and his amazingly forgiving nature. Sherlock and his embrace when William's eyes are laden with tears. Sherlock and his steadiness when William feels he is about to fall. Sherlock is here, and he finds that just that fact is enough for their little apartment to maybe be home someday.
He's broken from his reverie by the small body wriggling in his arms, and suddenly his nerves rise again.
"I need to talk to you about something." William tells Sherlock, feet shifting skittishly under him.
His discomfort must be easily heard as he sees Sherlock's shoulders tense slightly. He slowly gets up from the sofa and turns to William, a serious expression on his face. Then it turns stricken, eyes wide and face paling, as he catches sight of the bundle in William's arms.
"Please tell me that's not what I think it is." William chews on his lip, searching for a reply when a cry rings out. He starts to rock and shush the baby as he formulates a response in his head.
"They were dropped off at the church just before I was about to leave for the night. It's too late to go to an orphanage or the hospital. I wasn't going to leave the child at the church." His last sentence sounded a little pinched. Sherlock heaved a sigh and stepped close, clasping his hands on William's arms.
"I never would have asked you to. You are far too kind a person to even think of that as an option." Williams tense shoulders relax, the tension falling away. He looks into Sherlock's eyes and smiles softly.
They hadn't talked about their feelings yet. They both knew what they felt for each other. But they both were unused to feelings of attraction and affection and wordlessly agreed to let it happen naturally. Despite all that, William really wanted to kiss him just then, but there were more important matters to think about.
"We are so not prepared for this," Sherlock said. He takes a step back, his toe tapping and his brow furrowed as he glares out the window in concentration. The baby is still fussing, though not as loudly.
"New plan," it's a testament to how frazzled this situation has made William that it is Sherlock making a plan and not him. "Mrs. Bolton downstairs has an infant, so I'll go down there and ask if she has any spare supplies we can use for the night. You stay here and try to calm it down, check if it needs changed, and what have you."
Even in such unforeseen circumstances, Sherlock is always so confident. It makes William feel light as a feather with the love he feels for this man.
"Yes," he nods. "That is sound judgement."
"Great, I'll be back in two shakes." As Sherlock steps past him to the door, he gives William's upper arm a gentle squeeze and his cheek a chaste kiss. Just a slight brush of lips, but the contact makes William's heart skip a beat. He's out the door before William can say anything, a light blush high on his cheeks.
He gives himself half a second to relish the moment before he turns his face down to the small chubby one in his arms and is startled at the large grey eyes staring intently at him.
"Well, little one, let's get to it."
The door clicks as it opens.
Sherlock stalks in with a small sack hanging over his shoulder. William is sitting on their sofa, one leg crossed over the other and the baby nestled securely in his arms. He looks up at Sherlock and can't help himself.
"Congratulations, it's a girl." Sherlock throws his head back and gives a hearty laugh. "Looks like the mission was successful."
"Yep, though I did have to promise your help tutoring Mrs. Bolton's oldest son for a week if that's ok."
"It's not a problem. I'll work out the details with her tomorrow." Sherlock takes the sack from his shoulder and rummages through it.
"She was quite generous, two extra flats, and she even threw in some of her emergency stock of powder formula. Didn't even know that kind of thing existed. There's also a feeding bottle in here too."
"She's very kind. The baby is calm for now. She was clean when I checked, though she'll probably be hungry soon if she isn't already."
"Right then, I'll pop the kettle on the stove and warm up some water for the formula then." Sherlock turns to do just that, and William watches as he rummages about their small kitchenette.
When he makes his way back to the sofa, William decides now is the time to strike.
"Sherly, could you do me a favor?" He asks as he stands up from his seat.
"Of course, what can I do?"
"Could you hold her while I use the lavatory?" Sherlock's face goes a little pale, his eyes darting nervously as though he's being asked to handle extremely volatile chemicals rather than hold a baby.
"I—I suppose I'll have to, won't I?" William laughs softly before smiling, hoping to reassure him.
"You'll do just fine. Come here, and I'll show you how to hold her." Sherlock timidly shuffles forward to meet him. He settles the baby gently into Sherlock's arms before reaching around him to guide his arms in the correct position. "I've swaddled her back up so she'll be nice and comfy. Just make sure to support her head. Yes, just like that." William smiles and rests his chin on Sherlock's shoulder for a moment, savoring the contact between them, before pecking him softly on the cheek and extricating himself from the embrace. Just as he's about to make his way out of the room, he hears Sherlock call out to him.
"Liam, I'll give you a proper one later, alright?" William meets his eyes with a smile that's just a little more smirk than not. His single uncovered eye twinkles with mischief, the same devilish flair that once made him say 'Catch me if you can.'
"I look forward to it, Mr. Holmes."
After using the facilities and freshening up, changing into more comfortable house clothes, he makes his way back into the living room and stops short at the door frame.
There in their small kitchen, Sherlock is holding the baby girl with probably the softest smile he's ever seen on that handsome face. One of his long fingers brushing up and down the child's face while listening to her babble at him.
William's heart squeezes with fondness and… longing, maybe. Longing for what he's not sure. He'll have to puzzle that out later. The kettle is starting to steam.
"Sherly," he calls out softly so as not to startle him. "The water."
"Would you look at that," Sherlock coos softly at the little girl, "you'll have your meal soon."
William's hand comes up to cover his mouth and stifle a giggle. He can tell that Sherlock is slightly reluctant to hand her back to him.
"How about I prepare her bottle, and I'll take her back when it's ready?"
"Yes. Yes, that's fine." Sherlock rattles off the instructions Mrs. Bolton gave him, and William sets to work.
It takes a few minutes to prepare and wait for the formula to cool down to a reasonable temperature. When it's ready, he gently pries the girl from Sherlock's arms and takes a seat on the sofa.
It strikes him then that he's unsure of how to go about this. Thinking for a moment, he remembered seeing women breastfeed their infants several times as a child and chose a position similar to what he'd seen. It was slightly awkward for him, but the baby latched as soon as he put the bottle to her mouth. He sighed in relief. He must be doing something right. He quickly goes over his mental library to pick out any useful information he might have on infant care. It's not much, but it will have to serve him for the night. He looks up to see Sherlock reaching for a cigarette.
"Out the window, please. No smoking indoors around the baby." Sherlock chuckles and makes his way to the window.
"Yes, Mum. I wasn't going to anyway." William stares at him, somewhat bewildered, unsure how to take that comment.
Sherlock turns to open the window and mutters a quiet "Well, you do sorta look like a mum right now." William can't help but agree that he probably looks rather domestic at the moment.
The comfortable lull in conversation between them highlights the other sounds surrounding them. He can hear the baby girl in his arms sucking at her meal. The pub a little ways down the street has a live band playing tonight. He could just barely hear the rhythm of a drum. There's a pigeon that roosts above their apartment. He and Sherlock often listen to its soft coos as they get ready for bed in the evening.
The little girl in his arms finishes her meal as Sherlock conveniently stubs out his cigarette.
"Sherly, would you please bring me a kitchen towel?" He asks as he sets the bottle down.
"Sure, what's it for?" William trades the baby bottle for the towel Sherlock hands him.
"Now, I have to burp her. Babies don't have the muscles required to expel gas, so you have to pat them on the back to get it moving. The towel is to mitigate any mess that may occur."
"You sure know a lot about babies, Liam."
"Oh, not really. It's just, my early years were spent in an abandoned library, so I consumed just about every text I could, including the parenting books. Aside from that, I was one of the oldest children at our orphanage, so it fell to me to help with the youngest where I could." All of this is said as he lays the towel over his shoulder and holds the child to his chest, firmly patting her back.
It takes a minute for the girl to burp, but she seems content afterwards, so he hands the dirty towel to Sherlock, who scrubs it clean in the sink before hanging it up to dry. He comes back over to sit next to them, throwing his arm around William's shoulder and pulling him into his side. The baby is cradled safely in William's arms, and he lets himself relax into the arm holding him.
"Sometimes I forget that you spent your childhood on the streets. High society suits you well."
"Only because that is what I have fashioned myself into. Almost every aspect about me is fake. My name, my birthday, my public demeanor." He feels Sherlock's lips press into his temple.
"I don't think you give yourself enough credit," he whispers into William's hair, "You've never been anything but genuine with me. Even when you had a part to play, I could always see your true self."
William's eyes flutter closed. He feels so full of love at this moment. It fills him to the brim, and he can't help but feel giddy.
"You bring out the best in me, Sherly." A rough hand cups his cheek and gently tugs his attention to Sherlock's face.
William's one good eye meets Sherlock's deep sapphire irises, and all he can see in their depths is love and affection. No judgement for his past. William can feel the warmth of Sherlock's breath and can't help his vision darting down to those lips before landing back on his half-lidded eyes. William can't stop himself anymore, and his uncovered eye closes as he slowly leans forward, his free hand coming up to grip at Sherlock's collar. Sherlock's hand migrates to the nape of his neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin just behind his ear.
This is it, he thinks. He's been waiting for so long, never wanting to push for anything more than Sherlock is willing to give. He can't help but hold his breath in anticipation for this next step in their journey together.
William hesitates a moment longer before he leans in. Or maybe it's Sherlock that leans in, he can't tell. But finally. Finally, their lips slot together in what is maybe the most perfect moment of William's life. Their lips move slowly in tandem, and he can almost taste the tobacco Sherlock was smoking not ten minutes ago. The kiss is soft. They aren't in a hurry, and nothing is pressuring them to go further than this. It is full of love and the longing they have felt for almost as long as they've known each other. It is a closure to one part of their story, and at the same time, the beginning of their life together as partners in every sense of the word.
They start to pull back from each other, chasing the other's lips with smaller kisses. The world floods back as their foreheads knock softly together, eyes catching once more. They continue to stare into the other's eyes for several moments before they hear the coos and gargling of the baby girl still held securely in William's arms. Sherlock lets out a chuckle, pulling away from his love.
"Feeling left out, are you, little one?" He moves to take her from William's arms, more assuredly than the last time he held her. His eyes sparkle with the happiness he still feels from their kiss.
Sherlock stands up with the infant in his arms and starts to slowly twirl with her and rock her in his arms. For all his nervousness earlier, it comes to him quite naturally.
That's when they smell it, almost simultaneously, judging by the grimace Sherlock now sports. The less glamorous side of parenting.
A half hour later, the soiled flat is washed and left to dry, the baby is clean, and a new one adorns her. She's starting to settle in William's arms, babbling softly while trying her hardest to keep her eyes open.
"Sherly, can I ask you another favor? I know tonight has been full of demands on my part…" William asks as he shifts from side to side on his feet, trying to put the little girl to sleep faster.
"There are no favors between us, Love. Just— ask, and it shall be done." Sherlock whispers to him as his arms circle William's waist, chin on his shoulder, swaying with him. It's almost like a dance. "Ask and it shall be done."
William blinks back the tears threatening to escape his lashes. He still doesn't know what he did to deserve such a kind and caring individual in his life. He doesn't really feel like he deserves it at all. Not after everything he has done. Not after everything he put Sherlock through. He shouldn't even be holding this sweet, innocent child. Still so pure. Untouched by the hatred in the world. All he would do is taint her with his sins. His hands still felt like they were coated in red most days.
"You're spiraling, Liam. Come back to me." Sherlock's words are pressed into the curve of his jaw, his warm breath grazing his cheek. The sensation startles him out of his dangerous headspace. William takes a deep breath to center himself.
"Sor—" he starts to apologize, but a peck on his cheek cuts him off.
"No apologies. There's nothing to be sorry for. Was just bringing you back to the here and now."
"You're right, so—" he cuts himself off, feeling more than seeing Sherlock's flat stare. William clears his throat. "Would you sleep in my bed tonight?" he asks. He can feel a blush rise to his cheeks at the implications of such a question. Hurriedly he goes on to explain. "I'm a heavy sleeper, and we don't have a bassinet for the baby, so she'll have to sleep in the bed with me. I just want to make sure she can be taken care of if she wakes up in the middle of the night and you sleep fairly lightly."
"Liam, Liam, Liam. I understand. I'm not going to leave you alone in this. We're partners, remember? We're in this together." William presses his lips together and nods his head, hoping he's exuding as much gratitude as he feels. He looks down to check on the little girl in his arms. Her eyes are shut, and her face is relaxed. "Not a care in the world, that one." Sherlock whispers into his ear.
"She can't perceive the world yet, Sherly. We are the only thing she knows right now."
"Oh." Sherlock steps back from their embrace. "That's sort of scary to think about."
"It is," William starts as he makes his way to the bedroom, "but we're in this together. And it's only for a night," though a deeply buried, unacknowledged part of him disagrees with that part. "Let's go to bed, Sherly. It's gotten rather late, and we have much to do come morning."
The room is alight with the soft glow of the moon shining through the sheer curtains of the window, as they quietly make their way into William's bed. Now in bedclothes, having taken turns holding the baby so the other could get dressed, they settle onto the bed. They turn to face each other on either side of the little girl.
"Sweet dreams, Liam." Sherlock leans in carefully for one more kiss, and William complies, returning all of the adoration he feels from his dearest.
"Goodnight, Sherly," he whispers back as they part. He lays his head on his pillow, and for once, sweet dreams take him quickly.