you could have my heart (and i would break it for you)

-or-

be gay do crime

By: Aviantei

[Shibuya Operation – Story Storm]

The Bustle at Moriarty Manor:

"i'll give them shelter (like you've done for me)"

Albert had been sorting through his stack of social invitations in his chambers whenever he'd heard the commotion. At first, it seemed as if he'd been imagining such things, as he could count the number of times Louis had ever raised his voice in the years they'd known each other on the one hand, but then it became obvious what was going on whenever Albert at last stepped out into the hall to see Maestro Jack marching down the opposite wing, Jameson limp in his arms.

From there, it had been a flurry of movement. Louis had, in passing, reported that Jameson had collapsed with a fever in the middle of training, and that had been all Albert needed to grab his jacket and cane (he'd later realise he'd left behind his hat in his haste) and summon a cab to call upon Dr Burnett. It was with good fortune that she didn't have any pressing clients on her schedule for the afternoon, allowing her to return with him to Moriarty Manor at once, and Albert resolved to give her a substantial bonus on top of her usual payment for her cooperation.

By the time they returned, Jameson was already tucked away in bed, and Louis had done the work of bringing a wet towel to cool his burning forehead. He'd also brought out their medicine chest, though it didn't seem Jameson had awoken enough to partake in any of it. Jameson, for his part, was lying on his back, the fever evident in his cheeks, his breaths ongoing but in short bursts.

"I assume you took his temperature?" Dr Burnett asked, crossing the room with assured footsteps. Louis made way for her, reporting a number that made the doctor click her tongue and Albert wince. Such a fever wasn't impossible to manage, but it was severe enough that Jameson wouldn't be going anywhere for several days; hell, even getting out of bed would be a miracle. "Alright. Has he been experiencing any other symptoms before this? Tell me everything you can."

Albert and Louis exchanged a glance. There were some things about recent weeks that they could not share under any circumstances, but some of the others? Those were things that could be shared, but it felt wrong to do so without Jameson's upfront trust.

Louis inclined his head, as if to say, I leave this to you, Brother. A smart choice, given Louis's general lack of tact.

"Jameson has endured much before coming to live with us," Albert said, because the specifics weren't important at the moment. Perhaps, with how Dr Burnett had already conducted surgery on Jameson, she was aware, but it was difficult to tell when her face showed no indication. "Some days it doesn't impact him. Others, he's reminded of what he went through. These past few weeks have been…more than challenging."

Even when he knew that was the best way to describe the matter, Albert thought the words sounded clinical. Distant. Nowhere near enough to describe just how lost Jameson had been. And Louis—Louis who'd thought that working with Maestro Jack would help, just to see Jameson collapsed upon the ground—

Albert's chest was tight enough just looking at Jameson. Whatever might Louis be feeling; would he consider himself responsible?

"What reminded him?" Dr Burnett asked. "Was it anything physical?"

"No." That much was the truth, though Albert couldn't say any of the precise details. Whatever had happened in that room with Waterford had stayed between Jameson and William, and Albert was near certain that it would remain that way for quite some time, if not forever. "Before he collapsed, though, he was exercising, if that's useful."

"Very well." The doctor didn't seem all that interested in pressing the matter further, and Albert felt grateful. "I'll complete an examination of him. From a first look, other than the fever, it doesn't seem to be anything too outlandish, but better safe than sorry. I suggest that you get ready to take care of him for quite some time, though."

"That's what we planned to do in the first place," Louis muttered, but no one but Albert seemed to hear him.

Waking up was like emerging from the depths of a swamp: slow, sticky, and suffocating.

Jameson's head was heavy, and breathing was also difficult. No matter how many hours passed, the sensation of congestion didn't fade in the slightest, and the slightest movement felt as if it would disrupt the balance, sending snot sliding down his face. Even moving his arm felt like it took far too much energy, but Jameson sacrificed a hand outside of the blankets to attempt to find the handkerchief he'd been keeping by his pillow for such emergencies.

It took far more flailing around than he would have liked to admit, but soon he'd found what he was looking for. Even thinking about sitting all the way up made it feel like his head would burst, so Jameson propped himself up on his elbow the bare minimum he could muster and wiped his face before attempting to blow his nose. The congestion fought him every ounce of the way, and he would have done better with a new handkerchief for all the mess he had, but it relieved the slightest bit of pressure and granted him a minute amount more of fresh air, and it was the little things you had to appreciate whenever you felt as if you were drowning in your own brain.

"Are you awake?"

Jameson blinked, the bleariness not fading from his eyes as he turned in the direction of who had spoken. The whole movement made his head feel as if it were about to pop, but that was nothing next to the confusion of who he saw before him. "Ce…cil…?"

In his current state, the faint pounding in his head prevented him from hearing anything close to silence, but even he could recognise that there was a far longer pause than usual. Being rather used to time passing far too quick, Jameson had no idea how to handle it passing slower, but soon there was a heavy sigh that was nothing like his friend.

"Incorrect," said a familiar voice, and it took Jameson a few beats to recognise the speaker as Dr Burnett. Sure enough, blinking a few times cleared his vision enough to see her very unimpressed expression. "If you're at the point of mistaking me for someone else, then you're in worse condition than I thought. Lay back down."

"Yes, Doctor." Not wanting to earn the ire of his attending medical physician, Jameson did as instructed. It was much warmer inside the blankets at any rate, which still managed to be comforting despite running a fever. In the past, if he could manage to sweat it out in his sleep, he would end up feeling much better.

Though of course back at Whitechapel, everyone would fuss so much whenever one of us kids would get sick… They couldn't afford doctors, after all, and a handful of children stopped showing up to play whatsoever once flu season arrived.

Dr Burnett watched Jameson close, as if she were searching for something to critique in his approach to curling back into bed. Not seeing anything, she nodded before starting to tuck back into her bag what little supplies she'd pulled out to examine him in the first place. "Good. Now, your illness isn't anything all too serious. It's a typical fever that comes from the flu. Part of the reason I suspect it's hit you so hard is because it's been some time since you've been ill." Jameson didn't have any protest to that; the last time he'd been sick had been back when he'd been staying at Aldborough Manor, and that was approaching being almost over a year ago. Dr Burnett gave him another look, her eyes sharp as they studied him. "Often, I find that high periods of stress can also lead to sickness growing worse. I can give you some medicine to help with the fever and the nausea, but the best thing you can do right now is rest."

If it weren't for the fact that doing so would've no doubt made Jameson feel as if he were about to vomit, he would've chuckled. Stress didn't even begin to cover what he'd experienced in recent weeks, but it wouldn't do any good to argue that issue with Dr Burnett, not whenever that would involve explaining so very much that he did not wish to. Waterford was dead, murdered by his own hands, incapable of hurting anyone again; that Jameson was still trying to fight off his ghost wasn't something anyone else could help.

"I am serious, you know," Dr Burnett said, and Jameson wondered what sort of expression he'd made to cause that reaction. "You are not invincible, nor is anyone asking you to be. Your getting sick here is a warning; if you don't listen now, you'll have an even worse result next time." If Jameson didn't know better just how much worse someone could have it from experience, he wouldn't have been able to imagine something more awful than what he was experiencing in the present. Still, that didn't make the prospect of being put into such a state that he couldn't complete his vengeance any less terrifying. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Good. You have someone who cares about you very much, after all. You shouldn't worry them more than necessary." Jameson halfway froze, attempting to read Dr Burnett's face, but his fever-hot mind wouldn't cooperate. "Don't tell me you've taken me for that much of a fool, Lord Verity. This room is not laid out for just one person to stay in, plus it's in a major wing of the manor. After you received your surgery in the spring, I believe it's rather clear what sort of arrangement you're in."

Good thing Jameson was already red from sickness, otherwise he was certain his entire body would have flushed from the embarrassment. Still, that didn't eliminate his other very real concern. "I'm impressed you've managed to keep your calm upon discovering such a thing."

Dr Burnett surveyed Jameson for a long time before sighing. "You'd think the fact that I gave you that surgery in the first place would give you a hint that I don't see such things as an issue." That was…true, but it didn't seem worth the risk to assume the best in others, not with everything at stake. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll say it: I don't see such attraction as an issue so long as everyone involved is happy. Besides, if I took issue with your situation, I'd be a hypocrite, seeing as my preferences have always been women." Jameson didn't quite choke upon his own breath, since it wasn't all that shocking—if he and William could prefer nothing but the touch of another man, then any woman could feel the same about her own sex—but he also wasn't used to such blunt admissions, either. "Glad to see you understand. Now remember that it's your job to do nothing but rest from here on out. If you stick in bed and start to feel worse or your condition doesn't improve within the week, don't hesitate to call me."

"Yes, ma'am."

And with a look on her face that suggested they'd done nothing but talk about Jameson's health the whole time, Dr Burnett packed up her things, turned on her heel, and exited the bedroom.

The rest of that afternoon and evening was close to a blur. Jameson wandered in and out of consciousness, but even the sleep left him feeling unrested, exhaustion plaguing his body and mind without any sense of reprieve. Dr Burnett had prescribed some medicine, which Albert had brought home after dropping the doctor back off at her clinic, and Jameson was grateful he didn't have much of a sense of taste, as what flavour he could discern was beyond bitter.

Fred had come to visit right after Dr Burnett had left, his face consumed with worry, and he'd even gone so far as to give Jameson a tight hug, not having any concern for the possibility that he, too, might grow sick; it was with that worry in mind that Jameson told him that he didn't need to stay, but Fred just shook his head, keeping silent watch from a chair pulled in from their sitting room until Jameson once again dozed off.

Upon arising in the middle of the night, still feeling awful but thirsty beyond measure, he'd found that William had taken Fred's place, still awake and with a book in his lap. "…Sorry," Jameson said, his voice a croak, that simple word more than enough to have William snap to attention, the book tumbling to the ground.

William made no moves to pick it up, instead reaching out for Jameson's hand where it remained tucked beneath the blankets. "Jameson," he whispered. "There's nothing to apologise for."

"But I've kept you out of bed."

"I wasn't going to be getting much sleep tonight anyways." William was prone to the occasional bout of insomnia, yes, his mind running to keep him up late into the night, but that didn't change the fact that sleeping next to someone who was ill was a poor idea. "You're much more important right now. How are you feeling?"

"…Thirsty." Far more than that, his throat ached, and there was a nasty, sharp taste lingering above his palate, but explaining everything would just make everything hurt more, so Jameson refrained.

"Let's get you some water, then." William's smile was as gentle as ever, and he was up at once to pour Jameson a cup from the pitcher they had waiting in the room. The mug was heavy and earthenware, but that weight helped Jameson feel as if he weren't about to float off into the sky above, so he preferred that. Jameson tested out a sip, the room temperature liquid providing some temporary relief. "Are you feeling hungry at all?"

Jameson shook his head; just the thought of consuming anything solid was enough to make his stomach roll in protest. "I'm fine."

"You did talk with Dr Burnett, yes? Please remember that you are quite ill right now." William's tone was almost scolding, but Jameson found he didn't mind that, either. "Still, if you're not hungry, I shan't force you to eat tonight. However, I think it's in your best interest to take the medicine you've been prescribed. Can you do that?"

"Mmhmm." He wouldn't have a good time while doing it, but Jameson felt confident in his ability to swallow something, no matter how sick he might feel. Besides, in comparison to how things had been in the boarding house, having ready access to medicine was a luxury that would be foolish to waste. "It's a pill, right?" He'd taken a dose earlier, but memory wasn't on his side.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No. I'll just need more water." His mouth already tasted awful enough; he didn't need to add any lingering bitterness to it. Accepting the pills from William, Jameson filled his mouth with water first, tilted his head back, then dropped the medicine into his open mouth, attempting to swallow as quick as possible. One of the pills brushed against the roof of his mouth, leaving behind a swath of unpleasant aftertaste, but Jameson contained his reaction to a grimace before drinking the rest of his cup in one go. William was at the ready with the water jug, giving Jameson a refill, though those scarlet eyes didn't waver for one moment from Jameson's face. "…What is it?"

"I feel like I've failed you." Jameson had a hard enough time accepting such statements from William on a good day, let alone whenever he was exhausted with fever and the ghosts of his past alike. "Such a serious affliction doesn't just manifest out of nowhere. As someone who is in the closest proximity to you, I feel I should've noticed."

Jameson shook his head, though the movement made him feel somewhat dizzy. He sunk a bit further down into his pillows, taking care not to splash water down his front. "I didn't feel sick—or, rather, I didn't feel ill." They were similar types of awful, though, so anyone could be forgiven for mistaking one for the other. "It's not…your…" Jameson yawned before he could complete his sentence, and William's hands were gentle against his as he retrieved the cup of water.

"Get some rest, Jameson. We can talk more later."

"G'night…Will…iam…"

And then sleep sucked him back down once more.

Whenever Louis was able to take the time to check upon Jameson, it seemed the other man was always sleeping. On the one hand, it was a good thing, since rest would be necessary for recovery; on the other, it was difficult to ensure that he was eating whenever he wasn't conscious, and food was also needed for recovery. Things were a bit easier whenever Albert or William were home to keep an extra eye out, but they couldn't just abandon everything else to look after Jameson, so Louis had to do his level best.

If nothing else, he had a pot of porridge upon the stove, ready to be heated up at a moment's notice as one of the few things Jameson could stomach with his current level of nausea.

Louis was in the process of bringing some of such porridge to Jameson, as he'd caught the other man while he was conscious upon his last checkup. Louis was also bringing some herbal tea (sent by Jameson's friend, Cecil), just in case Jameson could stomach it. He gave one knock before entering, just as a warning. Jameson had managed to sit up with the assistance of some pillows, but his face still looked flushed with the fever that had yet to recede.

"Don't feel pressured to eat all of it," Louis said, trying to head off any incidents. He had a rather clear memory from his younger days of worrying about not having enough to eat, which then led to him stuffing himself while he was unwell, which then led to a large mess as he heaved it all back up in nausea. Louis was certain that he and Jameson alike did not wish to repeat the experience. "Something in your stomach will be better than nothing, but there isn't much point if it makes you feel worse."

"…Thank you."

Well, a show of gratitude was better than the endless apologising that Jameson had done upon first becoming conscious, so there was at least that. Even so, Jameson looked miserable, and it wasn't just from the effects of his illness.

Louis considered letting it be for a moment, but then decided otherwise. "If you keep ruminating about what's on your mind, it's not going to go away," he said. Jameson did little more than give him an apprehensive look, and Louis sighed. "I know well enough I am not the most comforting person, but that doesn't mean that I'm incapable of listening." He would give his honest opinions in return, not sugar-coating an ounce of it, but Louis believed such things could be more effective than overdone sympathy.

At any rate, Jameson understood what kind of person Louis was. If he didn't wish for such opinions, all he had to do was save his worries for someone like William or Albert who would lend him a much more empathetic ear.

"…I feel like an even bigger burden than I did just the other day," Jameson said, and Louis decided to listen first before he started his response. Half the point was to let the words out, since that tended to alleviate a good amount of the pressure inside one's mind in such cases. "Not only did I become so unable to see out of my own mind that I troubled you all, but now I've become ill because of that distress. I feel even worse that William feels as if the blame is his. On top of that, I still feel uneasy from dealing with Waterford, so I've not even the decency to get over one issue before I cause another.

"Furthermore," Jameson continued before Louis could begin, "I can already imagine what all of you will say to me as encouragement." They'd spoken such things so many times before, hadn't they? Jameson had even written some of them down so he wouldn't forget, and yet— "But even if I know the words, I still cannot bring myself to believe them."

The guilt of being an inconvenience was an idea that wasn't going to leave him any time soon.

Louis sighed in response.

"If you know all that, there's not much I can say to convince you otherwise, is there?" he asked, and Jameson let out a mirthless chuckle. "If that's all, be sure to eat while you listen." Jameson complied, picking up his spoon. It was a good enough start to get food in his stomach. Louis waited until Jameson had taken two full bites without issue before continuing, "When I was younger, before I had the surgery to stop menstruating, it used to make me feel sick for the whole week."

Jameson came to such an abrupt stop that some of the porridge came out of his spoon, falling back into the bowl. Lucky for him, the resulting splash wasn't enough to make a mess, but Louis remained silent until Jameson recovered himself and got a fresh spoonful. Louis didn't wish to hear any comments, at least not until he was done, and keeping Jameson's mouth occupied was the quickest way to accomplish that

"It was…difficult. We had already started going to boarding school by that time, so it already wasn't easy to hide my differences. I hadn't started developing much of a bustline, but the blood was difficult. I was lucky enough to not bleed much—" a fate Jameson hadn't shared, if the sheets they'd had to throw out back at the beginning of the year were any indication "—but everything else always knocked me out.

"The nausea was the worst of it, and I tended to throw up at least once every couple of days. We were able to use the fact that I'd been sickly before to explain why I needed to take several days off every month, but doing that meant we'd end up with doctor's checkups, and sooner or later, we'd run into the issue of them discovering the truth.

"Of course, you know my brothers well enough to guess what they did. Albert has always hated that he was firstborn to an Earl, but he used that influence to make it so Brother and I shared a room, to bring in a private doctor. And Brother…he spent his time researching, looking up whatever remedies he could to make my life easier." The memory of a school age William with a serious look on his face as he perused medical textbooks and collections of folk remedies alike brought a faint smile to Louis's lips. Jameson made a similar expression, no doubt imagining something similar. "They did all that because they cared, and it's the same situation now.

"We want to help you, Jameson. Now stop being foolish enough to worry that you're a burden and focus on getting better… Your baking has started to surpass mine, so I could use more help in the kitchen." And with that final declaration, Louis spun on his heel to head for the door. "Be sure to eat whatever you can stomach, then have some tea as well. Whenever you get full, don't push yourself. You can ring the bell whenever you're ready for me to clean up."

"Louis," Jameson said, and Louis looked back over his shoulder. If there was anyone he would have allowed to comment on such an experience, it would have been Jameson, who understood better than anyone else, though it was still a strange sensation to have someone he trusted enough with the matter so close at hand. But Jameson didn't discuss any of that, instead offering a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Between them, saying anything more would have been pointless.

Due to a combination of both natural aptitude and practise, William was skilled at a great number of things. Some of them, however, weren't as pleasant as others, such as being able to orchestrate a perfect crime to get away with cold-blooded murder or deducing people's very worst intentions. But, out of all them, the one that William disliked his experience with the most was being on high alert whenever someone was ill.

It was no surprise where such a habit had originated from in the slightest: Louis had spent much of his younger years frail, even before his heart condition had begun acting up. Anytime a cold went around, it would take him to bed for a while—and sickness was common in Whitechapel. Whenever Louis's heart had begun to seize up on him, the chance that he would just collapse from pain was just added to the mix. William had had to scramble to move up his plans, and they'd been fortunate enough that Albert hadn't taken long at all to invite them into his family.

Louis's health, of course, had improved very much. First there had been the surgery to fix his heart, which eliminated his coughing fits and unpredictable bursts of pain. Several years later—whenever Louis's unwanted menstruation had started—new issues had presented themselves, but surgeries were able to handle most of that as well. On top of that, Louis had taken his physical training with a serious attitude, and that had contributed well to his constitution, so William had very little logical reason to worry about such matters anymore.

From a non-logical perspective, William had never gotten over it. Even nowadays, he still felt that rush of anxiety whenever Louis coughed, even if nothing else was wrong. Whenever his younger brother did fall ill, no matter how simple the sickness, the worry took over William's mind, and such concerns didn't just apply to Louis, William bracing himself for bad news whenever even Albert came down with a cold.

And then, on top of everything else, Jameson had fallen sick, which just made matters worse.

William had been worried about him enough already since they'd returned from disposing of Waterford, and that had been with plenty of good reason. Watching Jameson get lost in the darkest corners of his mind, while William couldn't go in and lead him out, instead left to shine a light at the entrance and hope it could guide Jameson out with no guarantee if it would even reach into the depths—William despised the situation in no small part for the utter helplessness it made him endure.

The following illness just served to make everything worse. Though he had important work to handle, William's concentration faltered plenty, and he'd gotten nothing more than the bare minimum of his workload done before heading home each day. Even worse, William couldn't bring himself to worry about such matters, wishing for nothing more than to come home and see if Jameson was still alright, if his situation had improved in any way shape or form. The result was often that he would spend his evenings monitoring Jameson's bedside, though anytime Jameson was awake he would often attempt to chase off whoever was there, saying they all had better things to do.

William didn't wish for Jameson to have to waste any of his precious energy that could be used for recovery on arguing, so he would listen. It did nothing to stymie the worry in him, not even as Jameson's condition improved in the smallest increments. But a quick check-in after returning from work was plenty acceptable, and so William deposited his hat, cane, and coat by the entrance with haste and then headed up to their room soon after arriving home…

"Would you care to explain to me why I haven't heard a single word from you that you've been ill for about a week?!"

…just to hear a frustrated shout upon soon opening the door to their shared chambers.

"Ah, Miss Penny," William said, catching the woman's attention. Her manner of dress hadn't changed, but she had bothered to pin up her hair, no doubt in an attempt to attract less attention while visiting a noble's home. In contrast, Jameson was still in his pyjamas with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, but it was an improvement that he'd made it out to the sitting room without looking wiped out—though that was to say nothing of the chagrined look upon his face at being scolded so. "I wasn't aware that you planned to visit today. I would have attempted to get home sooner if I'd known you'd be here."

Miss Penny waved him off. "It's nothing. I'd rather that than someone not even bothering to tell me he's fallen ill, and instead having to hear that information second-hand." Jameson, at least, looked abashed enough. "The one thing I ask is that you take care of yourself, and then I find this out—and from Carol of all the girls at that." It didn't take too much effort for William to recognise that Fred must have passed the news on in a check-in—doubtless a mix of friendliness and seeing if any new incidents had come up around the boarding house—and it was just a matter of time before Miss Penny heard as well. "If you can't even tell me simple things like this, boy, then it's going to make me wonder what else you're keeping secrets from me about."

Miss Penny had sounded much more exasperated about the present affair than having any sense of genuine suspicion, but William knew the blow had struck home; Jameson was keeping a much worse secret than any week spent in bed due to sickness. "I'm sorry," Jameson said, hanging his head.

"If anything, I believe we also share part of the blame," William said, at last settling himself into the seat on the couch beside Jameson. "Jameson hasn't been in much of a state to send letters himself, so we should have done so in his stead. I would say our negligence was in part due to our concern, but that's still no reason not to let you know at once." It was no wonder the thought had slipped their mind; until the beginning of the year, the Moriarty brothers hadn't had anyone else to be concerned about them save for themselves.

Still, if their roles were reversed, William would have wanted to know.

Miss Penny let out a heavy sigh. "Whatever am I going to do with you? You were like this when you were younger, too." His curiosity piqued, William focused on Miss Penny, and she noticed his gaze with a conspiring smile. "He would run around, pretending he wasn't sick so he could still go out and play with his friends."

"Mama an' ya were always busy!" Jameson said, his Queen's English starting to bleed back into street speak.

"You think I'm not busy now? None of that matters to taking care of your child." Jameson pouted, and William attempted to contain his amusement. "You wouldn't believe him," Miss Penny said, reminiscence starting to mix with her exasperation. "One time he was near delirious with fever and still insisted he was fine. I'm pretty sure the other kids had planned to go on a big adventure that day, and he didn't want to miss it. We kept him in bed, though, and then he slept the day away." A chuckle slipped out of William; he could picture it all too well. "And here he is, still acting like nothing is wrong."

Jameson crossed his arms. "I've stayed in bed this whole time."

"I daresay that's because you haven't been able to stay upright on your own," William said, keeping his tone gentle so that it didn't come out as a scolding. Jameson gave him a mock scowl in response. "His fever has been going down, though, Miss Penny, so there's no need to worry. We have a doctor on standby as well, should we need it."

Given her position as a matron in the slums, William had no doubt Miss Penny shared many of his concerns whenever it came to illness—and perhaps even more.

Sure enough, his reassurances seemed to hit the mark, some of the tension draining out from her shoulders. "I should hope so. With all the money he sends my way, if he couldn't take care of himself, we'd be having words."

It took about half a week longer than first predicted, but Jameson's health did improve.

With that well and over with, it was easier to get back into proper focus with his work, much to William's relief. Of course, some part of his mind still couldn't help but worry, but such concerns came with less frequency than before. Classes were going well enough, his stack of recent mathematics research publications to read was going down, and the end of the social season meant that William had much more free time on his hands at home. As it were, a decent handful of that time was spent keeping an ear out for any incidents that might require his services as a crime consultant along with monitoring Duke Beauclerk's vacation arrangements, but not having anything pressing after a whirlwind of a summer was a good thing.

And it was with such free time now on his hands that William found himself wandering a shopping district once his lectures were over for the day.

William did not consider himself one to idle his time away with shopping, but he'd found himself with the urge to do so that afternoon. Perhaps it was a desire to stretch his legs, perhaps it was a pure whim and nothing else, but the fact remained that William had foregone calling a cab to make his way home and instead went about the streets.

The bite of autumn was undeniable in the air, and it was no doubt that winter would be knocking on their doors soon, but the weather was much milder than it had been as of late, making it the perfect time to enjoy the streets before everyone holed up from the cold. It also seemed that William wasn't alone in such thoughts, as a decent number of people were out and about, making a somewhat bustling atmosphere that left William feeling in good cheer.

His plan had been to do no more than window shop. Such an activity was a good way to keep abreast of the trends, which, while not something he found great interest in on his own, William pursued as a means for conversation with Albert and others. Plenty of new types of products had released since his last such exploration, with clothes shops showing off new fashions and even a toy shop having come out with a new line of plush animals, and William's memory allowed him to spot the differences without any trouble at all.

As a further sort of brain exercise, he enjoyed picking out items on display that he thought his family and comrades might enjoy. For example, there was a top hat with some embellishments he could imagine Albert donning with grace, or even an updated household utensil that Louis would be glad to receive. Even if he tended not to buy things on such excursions, it did tend to give him an advantage whenever it came to selecting gifts for the holidays, so it was worth the while. For example, one shopfront had an impressive display of tins of cookies, including one which the display labelled as Hallongrotta.

Perhaps it was the part of him that grew up in the streets that made the jam in the centre seem like jewels. Perhaps it was a newfound appreciation for such things thanks to Jameson's enthusiastic remarks as he attempted making new sweets. In any event, William found himself lingering at the shop window far longer than he anticipated, half looking at the cookies and half imagining Jameson's reaction were William to bring a tin of them home as a gift.

He was walking inside the shop before he'd even made a conscious decision, and, by the time his mind caught up with his body, he had no regrets about his purchase whatsoever.

By the time that William had arrived home, it seemed that the majority of the household chores were taken care of, save for dinner preparations and the cleanup that would come from them. As such, Louis and Jameson alike were taking time to unwind, the latter tucked away in the corner of the library reading a novel that (by a quick glance at the title and a deduction of its more salacious content) had been recommended to him by Albert. While William himself would often fly through tomes at a rapid clip, Jameson took his time, reading in small bursts but considering each and every word with careful consideration. As such, he wasn't even a quarter of the way through the book, but he seemed to be enjoying himself regardless, and wasn't that what mattered most?

William hadn't meant to interrupt, but the quietude of the library meant that his footsteps made his approach obvious, and Jameson glanced up as William emerged from the stacks. "Oh, you're home," Jameson said, his smile blossoming to life. "Welcome back, William."

"It's good to be back. I hope your day went well?" Ever since dealing with Waterford and Jameson's subsequent sickness, William had been trying his best not to hover, but it was rather difficult. That Jameson nodded, adding another tally to the number of positive days was a blessing. "I'm glad to hear it."

"It wasn't anything special—but somehow I've come to appreciate those days the most." Yes, William could understand that feeling very well, and he would never begrudge Jameson the opportunity to feel at peace, and all the more so after having his routine disrupted by illness. After taking a quick moment to doublecheck his place, Jameson tucked his bookmark into the volume in his hands before setting it aside. "And I'm guessing that your day was well also? You seem to be in good spirits at any rate."

"I'm not so certain I would call it anything exceptional, but I wouldn't call it a bad day by any means. Though I will confess to being excited about something…"

William smiled, the softness of the expression plenty to capture Jameson's attention, though his curiosity was soon to follow. "Would you be kind enough to close your eyes and hold out your hands?"

It was with those words that Jameson registered William had been keeping one of his arms behind his back since he'd arrived, which implied some sort of surprise. Jameson's first instinct was to lean to the side, as if that would do any good, but William read his movements and kept the mystery item out of Jameson's line of vision. Perhaps it was just Jameson's imagination, but he thought William looked amused at the exchange, and that was plenty for Jameson to acquiesce to the request (though he would have also been happy to enjoy William's adorableness for even longer).

Once his hands were offered, William didn't leave Jameson in suspense, instead turning over his prize with a gentle motion. The coolness of autumn-chilled metal seeped into Jameson's fingers from the outset, and the texture of paper also suggested there was some sort of label upon the tin to indicate its contents. The shape wasn't all that large, so that limited what could even fit inside in the first place, but it was the familiar sound as the contents shifted inside that allowed for Jameson to figure it out.

Biscuits.

Feeling rather like a child, Jameson let his eyelids lift so that he could open the tin without causing any incidents. Wanting the full effect of the surprise, he didn't check the label, enjoying the moment the tin popped off revealing round biscuits with dollops of deep pink jam in the centre.

Jameson's mouth watered.

"I thought you might enjoy them," William said, which Jameson couldn't help but think of as an absolute understatement; they looked incredible enough that he doubted he would've been able to make it home without cracking open the tin were he the one to purchase them. "Since your tastes when it comes to confections are rather broad, it seemed like a safe assumption to make."

"A safe assumption indeed." Jameson had already plucked a biscuit from the box, taking a bite as soon as he could, the sweet to tart flavour of the raspberry jam crashing into him in a perfect harmony with the buttery texture of the biscuit it was upon; a sound of satisfaction slipped out of him. Whenever Jameson returned from his momentary bliss, William was smiling, and Jameson flushed. "S-sorry. I should have gone ahead and thanked you first, but they just looked so good…"

"You do realise the whole point of buying those is for you to eat them, yes?" There wasn't much else one could do with a biscuit, after all, Jameson supposed. William held up a finger to his lips in a shush gesture. "Though if you happen to spoil your dinner on them, let's keep the reason between us, alright? I wouldn't want Louis to scold me."

Jameson giggled. "In that case, we should be accomplices then, shouldn't we?" He offered the tin to William along with a sly smile. "I shan't be alone in earning Louis's displeasure, and you are the one responsible for bringing me these. We should take the risk together, darling."

William took a moment of pause before returning Jameson's look with a conspiring smirk. "I suppose that's fair. Very well, I'll accept your offering." He plucked a biscuit from the tin with a wink. "Our little secret, dearest." He took a bite, humming his approval. "It's quite good. I'm glad I didn't get you anything subpar." Since Jameson had taken on more baking as of late, his standards were growing higher for sweets. William popped the rest into his mouth, taking his time before he swallowed. "I hope you enjoy the—mn."

Jameson had stood, kissing William without warning and licking the lingering crumbs off his lips. The addition of everything William was enough to enhance the flavour to even more spectacular heights. "What a joy," Jameson murmured, "to be able to kiss you whenever I like without worrying about getting you sick." Such a thing hadn't been his largest complaint about his illness, but it was indeed a benefit to his recovery. Though if William did ever fall ill, Jameson would do everything he could to help.

"A joy indeed," William said, rubbing their noses together. "We'll have to enjoy the opportunity now that it's returned to us."

And so they spent some time indulging in each other's lips, the biscuits left forgotten for the time being and preventing dinner from becoming spoiled.

Ever since Fred had come to join their home, Jameson had made a point of doing something with him every week. Or, at least, that had been the plan until the case with the Marquis and Jameson's subsequent illness had thrown him off kilter. Those incidents had had Fred coming to visit almost once a day to keep him company, so Jameson supposed he hadn't broken his intentions, but it still felt very lopsided. But after about a week and a half of sleep, medicine, and piecing together his appetite, Jameson was at long last back in functioning health, allowing him to eat, exercise, and work at his usual pace once more.

And so: returning to his plans to do something special for Fred on a weekly basis.

It didn't matter if it was something as small as sharing scones together or taking him out for a meal; Jameson had wanted to do everything he could to make sure Fred felt appreciated. Even so, sometimes going out had seemed too overwhelming for Fred's energy levels, as he'd often retreat out of sight for several days, but that was why Jameson always met him where he was and didn't push any further, though Fred never seemed to object to the idea of spending time with Jameson outright.

"Fred, is there anything you want?" Jameson asked as they shared a pot of tea in the downstairs parlour. Jameson had thrown open the window, wanting to relish whatever decent weather days they had left before autumn fully settled in; he was rather cross at himself for wasting almost the whole of September on not being able to appreciate it at all.

Fred, as he was often inclined to do, stared at Jameson with wide, curious eyes. "Anything I want?"

"Yes. You have been here for a while, after all." It was almost impressive how quick the time seemed to have passed when looking back, seeing that it hadn't felt that way in the moment. "I was just wondering if there was anything else I could do to help you feel more at home." Fred was going to be with them for a while, after all; Jameson felt responsible, having been the one to bring him in in the first place.

Fred's eyes jotted down in that way he always seemed to do whenever thinking of what to say next. He did at least fidget with his teaspoon, which Jameson couldn't help but think of as adorable. Still, Jameson wondered if it was a bit of an unfair question to ask, seeing how quick Fred's lifestyle had changed in a short amount of time.

There's every chance he can't even think of having more than this…

"Um…the flowers," Fred said, pulling Jameson from his thoughts. So surprised by the admission of something he wished for, Jameson hung onto every word. "I was reading about them, and they sounded interesting. I was thinking about getting one, if you wouldn't mind me keeping it in my room?"

"Fred, sweetie, you can do whatever you want in your own room. That's the point." Fred looked a bit uncertain, but he nodded. "But I think that sounds lovely. We do keep some vases of arrangements, but we haven't quite had the resources to have anything alive." That took a substantial amount of effort that Louis and Jameson couldn't quite afford atop of all their other duties. If such a thing would make Fred happy, it was already worth it, and the idea of Cecil's excitement at the prospect was also appealing. "In fact, if you want, I'm sure Louis would agree to letting you handle the gardens, or at least to you trying it out. If you like it, we could even have a greenhouse installed."

Was Jameson starting to get ahead of himself? Oh, there was no doubt about it whatsoever, but he'd gotten rather used to exploring options, even if he never went through with them. Fred, not having such resources at his disposal in his life and already proving himself as someone who didn't think of much more than necessities, wouldn't have the skill. Jameson was more than happy to help.

It took careful observation, but Jameson caught the way Fred's eyes lit up, though it was such a subtle change one couldn't be blamed for missing it. The boy could give William a run for his money with how difficult he was to read, but Jameson was getting the hang of it. "Since it's alright, I'd like to at least try raising some plants, then."

"Alright, then we can arrange everything soon. I have a friend who enjoys such things, so we can get some advice on what would be good for beginners from him. Hm, and you'll want to keep practicing your reading, too, so you can look up things on your own, which means we should invest in more books on the subject…" Was such excitement how Albert felt whenever he came upon an excuse to shower others with gifts? Jameson decided not to ponder upon such a dangerous parallel for long, instead focusing on the matter at hand. "Louis asked for my help with cleaning the foyer's chandelier today, so there won't be much free time, but I'm sure we can squeeze it in tomorrow if we let him know in advance we'll be out."

"…tomorrow?"

"Yes. There's no time like the present for such things. Plus I'd like to go out after being cooped up inside for so long." Jameson smiled, thinking of his own experiences. "If you're interested in something, then it's often best to try it as soon as you can. After all, if you end up discovering something you love, then you'll have all that much more time to enjoy it, won't you?" And if there was anything Jameson could do to help Fred live a fulfilling life, then he would do so with enthusiasm.

Fred seemed to ponder the idea for a while, and it was no doubt a good thing that he wasn't getting caught up in Jameson's enthusiasm. Jameson may have found the idea compelling, but that meant very little if Fred himself didn't enjoy it. Putting undue pressure on the boy could lead to him feeling as if he had to enjoy the process, which defeated the whole point of letting him explore and discover something he liked.

"I think…I'd like to try," Fred said at long last.

"All of what I said, or just keeping a flower in your room?"

"All of it." Jameson smiled, already excited for the day to come. "Something about it sounds nice, so that's a good enough reason to try, isn't it?"

"Fred, sweetie, that's the best reason to do anything."

Fred was still trying to adjust to his new life at Moriarty Manor, and it didn't seem he'd be falling into a routine anytime soon. Already, the fact that he had a roof over his head every night was surreal enough, but then add in regular meals, fresh clothes, the opportunity to read more, and now the latest project of having a greenhouse built just for his sake, it was just one impossible thing after the other.

And all of those impossible things were possible thanks to Jameson Liam Verity.

Fred's first impression of the man hadn't been poor, but he couldn't claim it had been in the best of circumstances, either. Being in an unknown place with a stranger was enough to put him on edge, so running had been all he'd been able to think of doing in the moment. It wasn't until afterwards that he regretted his hastiness. He'd then gone through the trouble of finding the place where Jameson had lived, though Fred hadn't quite been able to bring himself to visit, despite being invited.

The situation with Miss Carol and Miss Alice almost felt like some sort of dream, as awful as it was. Not because it was something Fred wanted, but because it felt almost like a different world. Not only had Jameson and the Moriartys been willing to help, they had also solved the case, returned Miss Alice back home safe (with some injuries she'd recover from), and eliminated those who were praying upon Whitechapel for their own desires. Furthermore, Fred had been part of it, his ability to disappear into the background perfect for gathering information.

And that now he had a permanent residence (if he so wished) and everything else Jameson had offered, Fred was having a hard time registering his day to day—let alone the fact that he was getting dragged around to shop for something as involved as a greenhouse and garden supplies. It spoke to the power of money that Jameson had at his disposal, and every moment was as disorienting as the last.

The immediate day after Jameson had broached the topic of gardening, he'd taken Fred out to a bookshop, and they'd returned home with a rather large stack of books on the subject. Once Fred had picked one up, he'd gotten rather immersed in it (his reading was still slow, but his concentration was high), which Jameson had taken as a signal to send letters and make appointments. By the time the next week had rolled around, Jameson and Fred helped tidy up after breakfast, summoned a carriage, and were then seen off to their various appointments for the day.

First they'd gone to a construction company that had a good reputation for building greenhouses. Size wasn't an issue there, but instead it was a matter of sorting out the type of environment they would like. Most of those elements could be fine-tuned one it was set up, but things like size were important. While Fred had thought they'd start small and build on if necessary, Jameson went right for a substantial build, where it wouldn't be impossible for one person to work on but still enough to have a variety of plants inside. With Jameson following several pages in the scarlet red journal he'd taken notes in, they were able to get the order settled without much fuss.

Their next stop was a plant nursery so that they could pick out what plants they would like. Of course, there were limitations; not all plants thrived in the same conditions, so they'd need things that could survive in the same greenhouse environment. Fred had spent a couple of days studying with his low reading speed, landing upon a mix of plants he was interested in, plants that were simple to take care of, and plants that would all be fine in the same greenhouse so long as he was attentive. It was there that Jameson showed some restraint in his purchases, ordering a small fraction of Fred's list so that he wouldn't be overwhelmed right out the gate.

With the delivery of the plants scheduled for after the estimated completion of the greenhouse, Jameson then decided it was time for lunch. Fred, still adjusting to eating three meals a day (in Whitechapel, he never expected more than one, counted himself lucky if he got two, and wasn't surprised if he went to sleep without having eaten at all), didn't have too much of an appetite until he smelled the restaurant, and then it was a struggle to not wolf it all down. He'd already vomited several times at Moriarty Manor from eating more than he could handle, and he wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

Jameson, who'd come from similar origins, understood well enough, so he didn't press the issue. Afternoon tea, which Jameson always indulged in whenever possible, wouldn't be far off, and Fred was at least capable of asking for food if he grew hungry again. It would be fine.

He would enjoy the after meal tea, though. Building up warmth inside to counteract the slight chill outside was always appreciated.

As they finished up there, Fred reviewed his own list of the things they needed, taking his time on each and every word on the scrap of paper he'd been using. He'd reviewed the list often enough that he had it memorised, but he still wanted the practise with reading, as if the skill would slip away if he didn't use it often enough.

Finished with double-checking the list, Fred was satisfied that they'd gotten everything they'd need for the greenhouse project; now it was just a matter of returning home and waiting for everything to arrive, in which time Fred wanted to focus on rereading the plant care guides so he would know what to do when the time came.

Except, whenever they hailed a cab and Jameson gave the driver the address of their next destination, he did not ask for Moriarty Manor.

The surprise was enough to throw Fred off that he didn't notice their destination until they arrived, and even then, he was lost—which made him antsy. He'd done a lot of work over the past several years to learn the layout of Whitechapel, then the surrounding areas, and feeling lost? That meant he didn't know where to hide, didn't know where was safe—

"Fred," Jameson said, his voice soft but steady enough to help Fred orient to something familiar. "Fred, what do you need?"

"I…" Had his voice always sounded so small? "Where are we now?"

"It would be silly to ask you to garden without any proper supplies, yes? We've gone to order some." That made sense, though Fred still took a bit more time to observe his surroundings, while Jameson's smile was apologetic. "I'm sorry. Did I put too much into today? We can go home if you need to."

Home. The word sounded strange, but not in a bad away. Taking a few more breaths, Fred shook his head. "…I've just never been here before," he said, and Jameson's expression lightened in recognition. Without even thinking about it, Fred took hold of Jameson's sleeve. "If we go together, I should be fine." At the very least, he trusted that Jameson wouldn't take him anywhere dangerous without warning.

Jameson smiled, starting to walk at a pace that let Fred keep a hold of him. "Alright. Let's go get you stocked up."

It seemed that getting stocked up wasn't to stop at gardening supplies, though Jameson made sure to let Fred know where they were going next: a tailor whom he didn't know the name of, but recognised the street name of where he set up shop. There Fred went through some measurements while Jameson dictated an order of winter outfits, though Fred stopped him at getting anything too expensive. Just one set of clothes suitable for helping out in the garden would have been plenty, and he didn't need too much more than servant's garb with that in mind.

He was more comfortable staying out of sight whenever he could.

Jameson allowed Fred that, though he did at least insist on him changing—a fair compromise, considering that it was a bit chillier today than his previous outfit allowed. Fred's smaller frame meant that the tailor had to do some adjustments to make clothes from the shelf fit, but the process didn't take all that long, and soon they were back outside, Jameson stretching his arms out above him.

"Well, I believe that's everything." Based on the sun, it was getting close to late afternoon. Fred felt exhausted, but it wasn't an awful day. In fact, he was rather looking forward to whenever everything would arrive and he could get started on the project. "Was there anything else you wrote down on your list that I've forgotten?" Fred shook his head; they'd crossed out everything he'd thought to write down before lunch. "Then I believe we've earned ourselves a treat after all we've accomplished. Let's see…I believe there's a bakery just a couple of streets away from here. Would you mind taking a bit of a walk?"

"That's fine." Fred preferred the idea, anyways, since it would give him more of a sense of where he was. Smiling, Jameson began to lead the way, Fred trailing a step behind him. Nothing that had happened that day was making Fred's current life seem any more real, and so they took the walk in silence as Fred attempted to process everything he'd just gone through, one more windmill in his life.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice that Jameson had stopped until Fred had bumped right into his back. Neither of them stumbled, though Fred did mutter a "Sorry" while rubbing his nose.

"No, no, it's okay," Jameson said, though he still sounded half dazed. He shook his head out. "Wait here, alright? I'm going to pick up one more thing." Before Fred could even think to ask, Jameson had ducked inside yet another storefront, though he emerged a few minutes later with his hands tucked behind his back. "Close your eyes, okay?"

Fred complied, not sure what to expect until something soft and warm wrapped around his shoulders. Taking that as permission, Fred looked, reaching up to feel the light blue scarf between his fingers.

Jameson grinned at him. "You're going to be working outside a lot more, right? So you can wear this to keep warm."

Fred clutched the edge of the scarf tighter, unable to think of anything to say. He knew there were words for the situation, things he was supposed to speak, but none of them sprang to mind, to his tongue. There was just an undeniable feeling of happiness in him, and he almost trembled from it.

"Um, Lord Jameson," Fred said, catching Jameson's attention, the man pausing and turning around.

"You don't have to call me 'Lord,'" he said with a kind smile on his face. Fred wasn't sure how to feel about that, so he tucked it away with all the other emotions from the day to process later.

"J-Jameson."

"There we go." Jameson reached out to ruffle Fred's hair, and the boy found he didn't mind one bit. "Now what is it?"

"Thank you. For everything." Fred felt himself squirming in his spot, but he wanted to get the words out, or at least his best effort at them. "You've done a lot for me. Not just with saving me before, but bringing me here and helping me learn to read...I just appreciate it a lot."

Those words didn't feel like enough to convey what he wanted—part of why Fred was so hesitant with words was because they could be too powerful or too weak depending on the circumstances—but they were what he had. And whenever Jameson smiled in return, Fred thought it was fine, so long as he could keep trying again and again to express his gratitude.

And then he was hugging Jameson, his face buried in the other man's chest in utter silence. He could almost feel Jameson's heartbeat they were so close.

Jameson let out a laugh, wrapping his arms around Fred in a return hug. "You're welcome, sweetie," he said, responding to the words even without Fred needing to speak them.

Fred didn't remove the scarf, even when he went to bed that night.

[Author's Notes]

Hello, and welcome up to the beginning of season five! We're here in the final push of pre-canon for this fic, and this season's gonna be long one!

Thanks to bella cullen the original for the favorite since last time. I'm always glad to see it, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

We've got some sick fic and daily life fluff going on in this one. As beta Noiz pointed out, Jameson has basically adopted Fred now. Congrats on your new son, Jamie.

The new manga chapter was delightful. I'm very much looking forward to seeing how the character arcs end up playing out now that we're in a new stage in the story (and thinking about how things can play out in this fic's universe, of course). I hope you have at least a piece of fun with this story as I do with the main manga~.

The first half of season five will be part of [Shibuya Operation - Story Storm]. I don't know if anyone else is doing a project this year, but there's some good stuff in the backlogs, so go check 'em out if you like~.

Next time: The Disappearance of Lord Cecil Carfax, Act One. Please look forward to it!

-Avi

[28 December 2024]