Chapter Text
“Sherlock. Brother mine. How did such a thing was considered in your mind? Is that sentiment talking?”
He didn’t intend to let sentiment merge into the person he was, be it for just a select few, but he wouldn’t blame Mycroft if he couldn’t even distinguish the two anymore. He couldn’t distinguish it himself. Was this what people spoke of love blinding the judgement of a person?
“It’s just this once. Can’t you let it pass? You knew this would happen. You let it happen.”
“Don’t tell me you genuinely think that he cares for you, Sherlock. I thought you knew better. How could you be so naive in this situation?”
Mycroft knew his dear brother cares for Liam, but they had always held themselves above that weakness. His brother was effectively smitten, and it could be weaponized against him. It’d weaken his judgement, the way Mycroft’s did when caring for Sherlock as he grew. Maybe it was a mistake, but what if it’s not? It’s a precaution.
“To some extent, he sees me as a worthy equal. He may not harbour deep feelings for me. It may be a foreign concept to you but it’s akin to being halves of each other.”
“Oh god. I’ve lost you.”
“What?” Sherlock exclaimed, clearly annoyed with the snarky remark.
“Have you ever considered the fact that his plan could’ve went beyond his supposed death? Have you considered the fact that you might still be a pawn in his game, and that you being so infatuated with him was a part of the plan? Have you?”
Sherlock looked at him like he was spouting nothing but nonsense. That expression felt offensive for some reason.
“But I saw no ingenuity when he told me everything.”
“You read his confession before the fall. He didn’t say it to your face, did he? How can you read expressions from a well written letter?”
“There’s graphology—“
“Sherlock. Stop making excuses for him if you want to keep being lied to.”
“I’m not being—“ Sherlock cut himself off to stop himself from accidentally being emotional and too driven by this conversation, “We have spent nearly a year with each other. Living with each other and working with each other. And you said he had never expressed his emotions to my face, well be pleased that he had, the day he was able to walk again. You’re saying that all that could’ve meant nothing? Does that not sound absurd to you, brother?”
“Then ask him.” Mycroft’s tone seemed to soften, for some reason, like he understood where his brother’s mind was reeling to, “I’ll be awaiting a response from you too in regards to the mission. And your decision. Just remember this, brother mine. He may have good intent, but what are the odds that you two are understanding things differently?”
Sherlock knew, he knew what Mycroft was trying to tell him. He knew that Mycroft caught onto his feelings for Liam, and was just warning him about the possibility of Liam not seeing it in any other way but platonic and neutral. Because unlike Liam, Sherlock may have been subconsciously grasping more for reciprocation and care his whole life that he had been lacking.
There was nothing but tough love or void thereof in his life, and he thought Liam might just be the soothing scent of lavender to heal him.
“Why do you have to be such a spoilsport, Mycroft?” was all he mumbled in return.
“I’m sparing you from heartbreak. Your little honeymoon with your dear Willaim may be exciting for you. Playing house, being domestic, being the one taking care of the person no other man had the privilege to, but do be more sensible and look into the possibilities of things more thoroughly, and not just based on what you feel about it.”
[crash]
“Sherlock?!” he could hear footsteps rushing close to his bedroom door, and the voice of the man he deared. He must’ve intended to go to the kitchen but had heard the crashing sound right as he left the room, judging from the direction he ran from.
Sherlock looked down at his hand—pale skin painted red from the glass of water he broke. He didn’t… intend to hurt himself. Truly. All he intended was to summon Liam to his chambers by dropping the glass when his voice seemed stuck in his throat at the prospect of confrontation, but his stress had unintentionally led him to break the frail glass in his hand.
Now his palm was bloodied with some shards still in his hand, and chunks of glass on a clear puddle right by his feet. He could feel the sharp stinging, but it was quite grounding. Especially after replaying the meeting with Mycroft in his head.
He turned to the door when he heard it open, seeing Liam’s increasingly worried face greet him.
“How did—”
“It’s fine. Will you help tend to my injuries?” Sherlock tried to flash him a reassuring smile but the calmness seemed to bother Liam. But it did seem to make him calmer.
“I’ll…go and get the kit and clean water. Please don’t move until I clear the shards so you don’t step on any,” Liam seemed to let go of the breath he was holding out of anxiety at the sight, before he excused himself.
He was probably confused, for how sudden this incident brewed. But Sherlock had always been quite impulsive (and sometimes destructive) so it would come across as within character. There just needed to be a reason.
At least that would now give him time to talk to Liam about…things, while being preoccupied with everything else. Chores, pain, it all served as a diversion for other emotions. So maybe it would make it easier for him to put points across in a conversation he initially hoped he never needed to have.
But he won’t lie that he was still very much anxious.
That anxiety made him itch to fidget with something, but nothing of the foot and finger tapping really shadowed the sensation in the flesh of his palm. It amazed him that he wasn’t reacting in pain, despite the depth of the cut. And that amazement and curiosity made him reach for the glass shards in his skin, drawn to pull it out to know if it’d hurt more or less.
“Please don’t do that,” Liam warned him the moment he reached the door, and just as quickly, Sherlock let his uninjured hand drop to his lap.
“Liam.”
“I’m here,” he replied, reassuringly as he tipped around where the broken glass was. It’s fine if he stepped on the finer shards with his home slippers, but he didn’t want to scatter it around the room accidentally, “Does it hurt? I can quickly concoct numbing powder if it does, though probably won’t be as effective as morphine and other numbing chemicals. It’s a little late to find stronger alternatives.”
Weird to see Liam being his doctor, when it’s usually the other way around or Billy would help link them with a trusted physician…It reminded him of John. Wonder how he was doing with Mary back home, and Mrs. Hudson.
“It does hurt a little but it’s not bad enough to require a numbing agent, I assure you.”
I assure you, Liam doubted it didn’t hurt but Sherlock was adept at detaching himself from his emotions. This might be one of the instances. Liam was inspecting the wound as he crouched in the light by the bed as well as the bright moonlight through the window. Thankfully, it did seem to be a rather superficial wound, not harming any tendons or anything but skin deep. At worst, he probably couldn’t curl or fist his left hand for a while. It’s not like Sherlock had broken the glass and kept squeezing a broken shard.
Still… Maybe he could make some of that numbing powder afterwards to be safe, since he could use a concoction of ginseng, wolfsbane and morning glory. It’s not bad enough to warrant morphine but maybe he could find some poppy seeds to make a diluted version.
The sturdy hand on his shoulder had cut that worried train of thoughts short, and it’s the way Sherlock’s hand seemed to linger close to the side of his neck like he had intended to hold his nape, his chin—what felt more intimate.
It was enough to catch his attention though, making him look up at Sherlock.
“Liam, I’m serious. If it’s really bad, I will tell you,” he spoke in a lower voice, trying to convince him, keeping his eyes locked on the vibrant eyes that’s a balance of scarlet on the right and the grey on his left.
“Okay,” just a whisper, “Okay.”
Maybe that’s one thing Sherlock could do that others couldn’t, not even his own family—making him give in. He should’ve read more into what made him so pliant with Sherlock, but he easily pushed that aside.
“I can clean the wounds myself, I just need your assistance in the treatment,” he pulled his hand back, keeping the injured one on his lap but it didn’t look like it was bleeding anymore but no doubt when the shards were being pulled out, it’s bound to leak again.
“You don’t actually need my help for that,” Liam chuckled, gesturing at the bowl of water and cloth he had placed on the bedside table.
“No, I just wanted you here.”
“Could’ve called out my name.”
“You know I couldn’t resist a touch of the dramatic,” he joked, but it’s really to try and trick his mind from being too focused on the sting when Sherlock started to pull on the small shards as carefully as he could.
“Then I’ll handle the mess on the floor. Be careful with your soles.”
Liam had thrown the bigger rag he brought to the floor earlier and it had already dampened from the puddle it absorbed, so really all he had to do was finish the job and bundle the broken glass in the soiled rag to be thrown out. Quick and careful work, easier than what Sherlock was doing.
Now that he thought of it, Sherlock always prevented Liam from doing the heavier work and spoiled him rotten like he was a damsel. He always brushed it off as Sherlock’s solidified habit from when Liam was unwell for literal months but now he’s used to being that live-in damsel save for when he was assisting Sherlock with work.
Guess it’s natural to work together pretty well when they had more than a year of synergy built from being in America, and now that they’re in France after the kid sent them off, Sherlock still insisted he rest more than he work. Well, they’re doing more research work in France so there wasn’t a lot of work in the first place. Maybe he’s stressed because of an inconclusive research.
“Did you get all the shards out yourself?” Liam asked, partly in surprise thinking it’d hurt enough to react but Sherlock was quiet the whole time.
“I kind of lost where my mind was wandering off to while I did it so…It kind of happened.”
Liam pushed the rag aside before he joined Sherlock on the bed, cradling his injured hand in his own hand while he reached out for the ointment to disinfect the cuts—now clearer to sight after Sherlock cleaned off the blood.
And Sherlock’s just observing Liam’s hand carefully treating him. How would he bring about the topic he wished to discuss? Maybe he shouldn’t have called him in a situation that made Liam panic at the sight and when Sherlock himself was internally anxious, cause now it’s hard to find an opening.
It’s just he didn’t expect Mycroft to find him so soon. He had purposely avoided entering straight to England even if the Holmes’ empty home down in Sussex Downs was comfortable, but even residing in this research centre not far from where he and Mycroft had once owned a flat was enough to get word out to his brother.
It’s annoying.
He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a second and furrowing his brows.
“Sorry, did that hurt?” Liam paused bandaging his hand, one end still hanging off but the bandage tight enough to still hold its form.
Exhale. He just shook his head as a response.
“Liam, can I ask you something?”
“You don’t need permission to do that.” The both of them knew that, even if Liam had to clarify. But that had set the tone Sherlock intended to—it alluded to a serious conversation.
“Can I have your hand?”
“My…hand?”
It confused him because that request seemed out of place considering, but Liam placed his hands on Sherlock’s open palms anyway.
Sherlock held his fingers with the kind of gentleness Liam was accustomed to from him, but there was this doubt he sensed. And he comforted himself somewhat when he placed Liam’s hands at the sides of his face, relishing in the warmth.
It’s not going to be the last time he felt it so why did it feel like letting go was sin?
“You’re feeling quite cold to the touch, Sherlock…” Liam muttered his concern, but he knew it’s likely of his nervousness in that situation. He looked exhausted, plagued of unsavoury thoughts, he’s certain of that. He hated seeing that despair on Sherlock’s face.
“I need to make a decision,” Sherlock told him with a sigh, “Mycroft had paid a visit.”
Liam had immediately recalled Sherlock excusing himself to go meet an acquaintance, saying he will make up for his absence by getting Liam some pastries he had grown to love. That sort of lovely compensation should have been a dead giveaway to Liam that it wasn’t a mere acquaintance. There’s weight to his conscience. Someone that could push his buttons like that could only be his own brother.
“Why the sudden visit?”
“It’s only due time before he was informed we’re here, I suppose. He has spies everywhere, even in France for how we had resided here for a few short years in our youth.”
“Did he plant doubts in your head that you want me to resolve?”
“I would appreciate it if you are transparent with me, no sugarcoating.”
Knowing him, he would already have a decision in mind, or two choices in which he was leaning into one unfavourable option. He just needed the conversation to push him into it because even his statement was leading. It was showing bias before anything.
“I will,” Liam promised, subconsciously letting his thumb caress Sherlock’s cheek, “I am.”
It’s not that he distrusted Liam. They’ve been quite emotionally bare with each other as far as he was concerned but such a topic might lead to filtering the dirt out of the truth.
“Mycroft, he… offered a mission he would like me to refuse.”
Optional, was what he meant. Even Mycroft mentioned that he wouldn’t mind Sherlock refusing the mission, insisted that he say no because he didn’t want to lose Sherlock for the second time. But alas, he couldn’t answer for his brother when the request came from the monarchy.
“Alone?”
“Yeah,” he easily said, but not mentioning the fact that this might end up a suicide mission, “It’s personally assigned to me, and I’m assuming it’s because Mycroft had told these people that I am in fact, still alive with you but the Queen had kept our situation private from public knowledge. Mycroft assured me as much.”
That’s a relief to know, honestly. That his family was safe. Probably scorned by the people, still, those of which who knew what they look like but to know they were safe from prosecution of any sort… At most, he figured Albert would be locked up to take responsibility but no doubt he was given the chance to be free with an exchange of service for the country.
“That is to mean…”
“Let’s just say that your family is pardoned within months of our death , and in the matter if you go back home soon—”
“But my family should already know that I’m alive. Not being home for a lot longer should be of no surprise to them,” Liam frowned at the implication of sending Sherlock off alone but Sherlock was showing confusion towards Liam for another reason.
Liam never sent a letter out after the fall for safety reasons, both for him and his family but had he done it without Sherlock’s knowledge?
“Then someone is present to care for you in my place,” Sherlock said instead, deciding to push his own inconclusive thoughts aside to sort.
“...Sherlock, if you just want someone to care for me whilst I’m left alone without you, then I assure you I’m already well enough to fend for myself while I await your return.”
“I would be more at ease knowing you’re in the right hands than for you to end up in a situation I could’ve stopped if I was present,” Sherlock took Liam’s hands on his cheek to hold it between them simply because he didn’t wish to tire him out but he also wanted something to hold.
But it tugged his mind—what Liam had said about his family. Of course it would. He hated not knowing things, and his frown would alert Liam that he caught on a detail in his narration, even minute ones. His mind immediately formed a line connecting that, to what Mycroft kept implying about Liam and his plan. Well…To his luck (or dismay), that was what he needed to talk about too, right? Mycroft said to just ask him.
The slip of the tongue had intrigued him right as he mentally intended to turn a blind eye to a hypothesis.
“Liam,” he started, though leaving too long a comma between his words, “That day that we fell…That plan of yours… How far ahead had you anticipated? I want to know how extensive it was.”
Ever so slightly, he could feel Liam’s fingers tensed against his own at the question, but not enough to indicate he didn’t expect the question. Maybe he didn’t expect how soon it was asked, if ever. But he did slipped up to cause the question to come about.
But he had sworn honesty to Sherlock.
“It should’ve ended at the fall, but—”
“But?”
“We did plan through in the case that you saved me,” Liam confessed, relieved that Sherlock looked more interested than he was upset at that.
Sherlock wondered if that part of the plan was contributed by the likes of Louis and Fred that didn’t want Liam to die. It was probably proposed as a backup plan out of personal attachment to their beloved criminal mastermind whom they perceived as their hero. Their robin hood. It’d make sense considering they’d die for Liam if only he hadn’t forbidden them against that.
“The part that wasn’t in the plan was how far you were willing to go to take care of me,” Liam continued further.
“Did you really think so little of my devotion?” Sherlock muttered in amusement, trying to make light of it.
“No, it’s more so of you exceeding my expectations. More than giving me treatment, you awakened a new purpose and life within me like you resonated with my pain. You were adamant in giving me a new chance of life,” he said it like it’s truly a fascination, leaning closer as he said it before he lowered his voice to a whisper, “But I like this. Enjoying a quiet life solving puzzles with you. It was the life and carefree nature I always envisioned, and of all people, you were the one that gave me the chance to live through it. You painted it full of colour. I meant every word I had told you at the rooftop—you gave me a lens to see the world as the beauty it also was. For that I am grateful. I like spending time by your side, as much as I miss my family, however they are doing at the moment.”
Such pretty words, full of gratitude and affection he could feel from the crevices of his heart because he could see the sparkle in Liam’s eyes as he professed all of this, yet Sherlock could see a tint of desperation and fear underneath that. Why?
Why be afraid of the truth you spoke if it weren’t to conceal something else? The fear wasn’t in the truth, it was of what might peek through between the lines. Right? And what’s between the lines was—
“That is to mean I’ve…fulfilled my part in that alternate plan you made?” he had to ask it straight, for his own conscience. Or rather, to validate his own doubt. A reason of detachment was always much easier for Sherlock than an excuse to stay. He felt pathetic for wishing for it.
“And so much more, Sherly.”
Liam looked prideful of it, happy, even.
“Does that mean that I’m no longer needed?”
Was that a stupid conclusion? Maybe he was wishing for too much. He wanted to be like the oxygen Liam breathes in and the blood that keeps him alive—a need . Because that’s what he felt with Liam. The outlier to the emotions he could typically control. He wanted Liam to need him the same.
But the way…Liam seemed apologetic when Sherlock asked that…
“I want you by my side,” Liam said as he emphasized the crucial word, hoping Sherlock would look at him and stop averting his eyes despite understanding that defensive gesture, “But you’re right. I don’t need you anymore.”
It may sounded harsh but if taken literally, it really isn’t. It’s technical, in a way.
“You’re a high risk high reward asset that I don’t want to let go of because you have proven your worth far beyond what we tested you on. Beyond my plan. And while I thought you were to stay in my past as an important puzzle piece, there’s no chains that tie you to my current life now that we live in a more serene world with no master plan. You’re…beneficial to me, like friends are to each other. We reciprocate in that.”
“That’s…that doesn’t sound like what friends are,” Sherlock muttered, but in truth he was kind of doubting his own definition now too.
“You might know better of friendships because you have Doctor Watson.”
“That I might, indeed.”
“But I may have defined my own vocabulary to my own understanding, after all. Our definitions may not align.”
Sherlock knew he shouldn’t blame Liam for thinking like that—a straightforward perception of a friendship that’s tied to some sort of exchange. The both of them suck at understanding their own emotions and Sherlock can’t feel offended about how he defined things between them but that didn’t mean he could help from feeling disappointed. Not towards Liam, but towards himself for setting a high hope.
Careful what you wish for, huh? He did ask Liam to be transparent and Liam had been true to his promise. As far as truth goes, Sherlock was essential to his plan, but not essential to his life. Now that, that would be poetry.
He let out a chuckle he hadn’t intended to voice outside his head, finding humour in his own hopeless desire.
He wondered now if Liam had known of Sherlock’s admiration and infatuation for him, instead of just his interest, or if it’s coincidental that those feelings benefited him towards a new life the way all his other goons had devoted their life and will for Liam for more or less the same admiration and respect. He knew that him and Liam stood the same horizon, and was each other’s light of purpose. That part he never doubted. But guess that Liam was better at separating his heart from his head than him.
Should have never let his heart rule his head.
“You don’t seem content with my answer,” Liam pointed out worryingly, noticing how Sherlock’s hold on his hands was even slacking. Even his demeanour of denial, almost— “Did I say something wrong? I thought that was what you wanted—to be mine. To be one of us.”
Yes but…what difference does it make between me and your loyal pack of goons?
He didn’t want to be one of his options, like how the others that work with and for Liam were his . He didn’t want ownership like that but…but what?
“No, no, you answered just the thing I needed to hear, the exact truth,” Sherlock let his hand to fix his own hair, but it set off the alarms in Liam’s head.
“But not what you wanted?”
He tilted his head slightly with a tight smile, as sincere as it was rueful.
“No.”
Misunderstanding; that’s what it was. Sherlock thought they were more, but Liam has yet to see that. Either way, that didn’t discredit how well they could work with each other. Look at how Sherlock works with John—they have perfect chemistry. It didn’t take a special feeling to have that. So for Liam it’s probably just that.
“Then why did you save me back then, taking care of me and nursing me back to health both mentally and physically like I was your sole priority?” Liam asked, a little exasperated after Sherlock’s curt reply.
Kind of answering your own question there but…
“I told you as I saved you. You’re my friend, as per my definition. You’re special and important to me,” he said, but thought to rephrase it somehow, “I don’t know—for once, I had let my heart decide my actions, and it had to be for you. Just you. Guess it’s of my own selfishness. It’s… human error,” he concluded. The discrepancy between the mind and the heart. A very human of an error.
For some reason…hearing Sherlock correlate his emotional decision to a mistake had taken him aback. He was almost offended at the comparison, because he started to comprehend what Sherlock was implying.
“Sherlock, you know I wouldn’t swear loyalty but to my brothers, if that’s what you wanted” Liam tried to defend himself, his pitch raised as he did so and his brows furrowed.
“Then it’s best if you send a letter soon telling them you’re coming back home instead of insisting to stay with me.”
He never really spoke to Liam in a perturbed manner before, or anything that indicated he was displeased with him. It’s not shocking for Liam to be at a loss for words, looking at Sherlock in disbelief like he had spouted nonsense. But Sherlock caught onto the change of his expression on that pristine face.
“Sorry, maybe that wasn’t the best tone to use to speak to you. Don’t feel offended, I’m just agitated. My mind’s not in the right place,” Sherlock brought himself to apologize, not wanting to upset Liam at that moment.
“...Clearly.”
From the sudden injury, then this…disarray of emotions he couldn’t control. Sherlock’s the kind who gets annoyed easily with everything and anyone except Liam, so it’s easy to tell that he wasn’t feeling his best. It’s excusable especially for how quickly he apologized for it. If anything, Liam was just concerned. Not at all offended at the premise that Sherlock wanted him to leave.
But it made him wonder if his answer was the catalyst, or something about the mission actually rattled him. Maybe it’s something Mycroft had said. But in Sherlock’s mental narrative, he seemed sure that Liam returning back to his family was the better option, for whatever reason. For Sherlock to be fixated on that, Liam put his trust on him.
“If it makes it any better, I will send a telegram tomorrow to my family, and to your brother about you taking the mission, which I’m sure was your decision all along,” Liam told him gently to remind him he was in no way mad at him, “It’s a shame if we can’t live together again but duty calls, I suppose. You’re still the great detective Sherlock Holmes. The hero of the people.”
“I’m really not. Heroes don’t exist, and if they do, I wouldn’t be one of them. That sort of myth and legendary narrative does not apply to a mere mortal like me.”
“Yet we see you like a saving grace and was written as such by your boswell.”
Saving grace, huh. Liam wondered if in the midst of Sherlock trying to make him go back home, this conversation was to reason with himself against having a strong or meaningful of a bond with Liam, to save their hearts respectively for an easier parting in case the mission went awry. If he didn’t return. Because if such a mission, under the circumstances it was given and how Sherlock reacted to it, then… Maybe it was mercy, although Liam suspected he may have disappointed him more than Sherlock had prepared for. Could that be considered mercy too?
He wanted Liam to break his expectations so he wouldn’t keep holding on but Liam might actually be due to his own realization that he might regret. Just lacked understanding of.
“Do you feel better after conversing this matter with me?” Liam asked. If anything, he comes off as having Sherlock’s best interest at heart.
“At least it’s resolved to some extent,” he replied, befuddled but honest, “Some things aren’t meant to be said, and maybe that’s for the best.”
“Had I not said what I said, would you have told me everything? It almost felt like you lost some trust in me. Like you’re disappointed.”
Sherlock pushed himself up from the bed, accidentally pressing on his now forgotten wound on the hand that wasn’t yet to be properly bandaged, but acting a gentleman, he held out his other hand to help Liam up as well.
It was clear the conversation was bound to end soon.
“Maybe I would’ve said less, maybe more too, but ultimately you’re still my dear Liam. My faith with you remains the same at either way, proven more from your patience and understanding throughout my instability tonight despite how you may have deduced between the lines,” Sherlock said whether it’s out of courtesy or honesty—maybe both, as he was fixing Liam’s hair out of his eyes, “I apologize but I would be left to myself to think on the mission. I’ll inform you of my decision tomorrow.”
It’s probably obvious that he would take the mission anyway, so it’s probably just an excuse to be left alone to sort his thoughts out on other things. It’s not the first time he’d done this. Countless of times he would blatantly ignore a person to dive in his mind. It’s actually pretty thoughtful he was even telling Liam.
“If you insist, then I have no means in overstaying my welcome. I hope you have a good sleep, Sherly.”
“As do you,” Sherlock gave a small nod, leading Liam to the door by his hand, “for the distress this may have inflicted on you.”
It shouldn’t be a surprise that the day after, Sherlock had told Liam he intended to take the mission.
Liam expected as much. So that meant his hypothesis was right in a way—he was finding a reason to allow himself to separate themselves without much emotional struggle. Liam will have his family, whom he said meant more to him, and Sherlock could let Liam go back home without feeling like he was leaving a partner behind for a war he wasn’t guaranteed to come back from. It’d be easier and more efficient for Sherlock to work if he convinced himself as such.
He always worked best when he was alone, so if he convinced himself that he was just ‘one of’ for Liam, then it’s easier to throw himself on a grenade, so to speak.
Mycroft was always busy with work to be with Sherlock anyway. Ms Hudson and John might be disappointed if they knew he didn’t expect to return but… they have their own friends, their own people. John had Mary anyway and Ms Hudson was always interested in marrying a man of good looks and wealth. And Liam…. He not only has his two brothers but a few loyal minions he befriended.
Losing Sherlock should not be a matter of grief for more than a month or two, he concluded. So long he was a good memory for them then, that should be good.
He had clarified to Liam that the mission would probably take 6 months minimum for how it required travelling to a number of places. He thought that information would further convince Liam to return to his family instead of waiting for so long alone.
And so Liam sent out his letter as well as Sherlock’s letter, both addressed to Mycroft as Liam wasn’t sure where his family would reside at the given moment. He was confident that their old home would be vandalized to hell and back and was unsafe to live in as themselves.
Within two days, Mycroft and Louis had sent a reply letter back. Mycroft had arranged for Liam to return in a week, and Sherlock would be dispatched within a fortnight accompanied by Mycroft’s men to also make necessary preparations and no doubt he needed to be properly briefed and trained on local customs of the places he’d go to.
But other than that, they surprisingly had spent the week normally.
Maybe they simply hid it well, or maybe they buried the conversation down deep that it wouldn’t affect them. They’re good at that, eerily so.
Then the day came.
Their indefinite separation.
There wasn't a lot that Liam intended to bring back yet Sherlock had helped him pack everything he may need (especially that their living space would soon be abandoned anyway). He even insisted on helping carrying his baggage to the private cab Mycroft provided.
It’s quite surreal—the idea of going back to the routine where Sherlock wasn’t his everyday. He knew its bound to happen soon but not this soon.
Sherlock was sending him off but it felt like Liam was sending him off instead…
“Would you be okay on your own?” Liam asked Sherlock, the both of them by the cab near the front door of their temporary residence, though as public as it was, they were to their own privacy.
“It’s not the first time. What’s another extended period of time being alone?”
So matter of fact, but it’s not quite a pleasant thing to hear coming from someone who saved his life.
“Be careful with the mission. It’s not London, it’s not your turf.”
“You needn’t worry about me in this kind of time, and instead be joyous of reuniting with your dear family again. It’s celebratory for you, is it not?”
“In expense of not seeing you?”
“You did say I’m just a benefit to your cause, which I've not regretted in playing the part. You’ll forget me within 6 months of not seeing me,” he guessed, though that was a generous estimate if he could say so himself. He was underestimating how important he was for Liam, and to be fair, Liam underestimated the same.
This would’ve felt like parting from a dear friend to Liam. That’s it. That’s what he convinced himself to be, at least.
“Would we see each other again afterwards?” Liam’s unfounded longing had prompted that question.
“I haven’t even left,” Sherlock chuckled thinking of being missed before he was gone, “We have parted with goodbyes many times before, so it stands to reason to greet each other again, wouldn’t it? But I’m afraid it’s too big of a promise to make. All I have to offer is hope.”
“That light of hope could only burn out by due time.”
“Maybe that would be for the best. No use chasing a ghost that didn’t haunt you.”
Resignation was painted all over his voice. But if what Liam had deduced was right in regards of his departure then Sherlock might just be accepting his fate.
The driver came out of a telegraph office—likely to send a telegram that’d be intercepted to Mycroft about their schedule, gesturing to both Liam and Sherlock that they’re ready for departure soon enough because they had gotten everything they needed.
“I suppose I should go now.”
Why was it so hard to know what to say during a goodbye? The both of them were at a loss for words, so Sherlock simply held out a hand towards Liam. There really wasn’t more to it but to take Sherlock’s hand in return, exchange a nod of reciprocation and…let his hand go.
Liam averted his eyes before he turned towards the ride, but he could not make a step when he felt the grip on his wrist.
“Liam I—”
He opened his mouth, almost said something he thought he had properly buried to save himself. Almost. Something might’ve turned out differently if he did. That would be selfish. Instead he just watched the way Liam turned to him, wonder in his eyes.
“Yes?”
“Can I have your hand?”
Liam was reminded of the conversation they had in Sherlock’s room, and he asked for his hand too. There was something so gentle about the way he asked for Liam’s hand seeking for warmth.
“Of course.”
He held both of his hands out on top of Sherlock’s, and had his hand turned to let his palm face upwards, cupped together.
A gift?
He thought Sherlock would want to do something similar like that night, and have his hand cradle his face but instead his eyes followed Sherlock’s movement taking off the familiar band of silver from his pointer finger—his skull ring. Well-cared, never taken off except to polish yet the scratches it sustained was telling of the age of the ring. A precious ring. And yet he put it in Liam’s palms of all places.
“A…parting gift,” Sherlock commented, uncertain as Liam held it between his fingers in near disbelief, “Should you not want it anymore, if at all, I would appreciate it if it went to John Watson or Ms Hudson for safekeeping.”
Maybe he didn’t want to be forgotten after all. It’d be nice to be grieved.
He might not be alive for too long anyway so leaving that behind—a skull ring—was ironic. His life and his worth wasn’t guaranteed. The idea of being missed was also not guaranteed, but he was ensuring it for Liam and everyone else. What he’s doing could be seen as to keep his cherished group of people safe anyway.
“Thank you, Sherly.”
“I do wish you a safe journey home, Liam, and I hope you’re happier returning to your family. If you’re content, there’s nothing more I could ask for,” he added. It’s good manners to give well wishes while saying goodbye, right?
“Don’t make it sound so final.”
“It’s precaution.”
They couldn’t exchange letters whatsoever anyway so it might as well be final. Unfortunate, really.
Liam held the ring tightly in his hand, and Sherlock felt his heartbeat in his ear like Liam was holding his heart. And as Liam boarded the cab, and the cab grew smaller and faded from his sight, it seemed that his heartbeat relaxed. Somehow it became easier to lock his emotions aside when the one person who made him emotional was no longer there. No longer within reach nor he would be longing for Sherlock. He’d be safe, holding Sherlock’s heart behind chains and lock.
Oh. This felt like the first time he was sent away on a distant mission under the matriarch when he was barely an adult.
Alone again and not having to worry about anyone, not even himself if he had to hold a gun to his temple.
It’ll be fine. The both of them will.