Chapter Text
“You waited all day simply to meet with me?”
A raised eyebrow. An echoing, full-toned voice.
William James Moriarty, recently revealed to the British Government to be one of the three individuals comprising the entity known as the Lord of Crime, listened to those words. He sat almost unnaturally still upon a chair in the Reading Room of the British Museum. That intentional decision was not lost on the man who had spoken, as he stood primly upright in the center of the room’s only entrance and exit.
William sat in the very same chair that Albert James Moriarty had earlier that day. The same chair Albert had sat in when he, for the first time, purposefully falsified an official report and openly revealed both his criminal nature and the full extent of their Moriarty Plan.
As if suddenly called to life from nothingness, William turned in his chair toward the visitor's voice. His waiting was over. A smile rose to his lips, lifting fair colored eyelashes around scheming scarlet eyes.
“I never once said anything about meeting you here, Director Holmes.” William spoke gently, though it was like cotton over barbed wire, paired with the sharp wit behind his every action. False innocence.
His eyes found the dark, authoritative gaze of Mycroft Holmes, the very embodiment of the government himself.
Mycroft’s own eyes narrowed slightly at that devil's smile, imperceptibly to most people—but William was not most people. Still, it was only a shadow of the enmity he had displayed in their earlier negotiations. If Mycroft was his baby brother, he would've laughed. Gleefully. Like a child.
“You didn't need to. We both know you invited me here.” He observed. Mycroft's unyielding stare flickered from William directly to the area in front of him and back.
William's offer to meet had been more than clear during their earlier gathering in this very room. The offer was silent, subdued, but so, so salient to both men extraordinarily gifted with natural intelligence. The time, place, agenda, participants… each wordlessly revealed through mere glances and body language alone.
All while avoiding the notice of Albert, Louis, and one Irene Adler, each dangerously intelligent by their own means.
A secret invitation, known by the two of them and only the two of them.
William rose from his seat out of respect for the other man, regardless of their difference in station. His motions were uniquely fluid as he pushed the chair neatly back into place and stepped before Mycroft.
Mycroft's typical smirk snuck its way back onto his face at these movements. How easy and how quickly it was that William was able to understand his orders, without so much as a word or explicit gesture. How simple and straightforward… Until it wasn't, of course.
William did not shy away under the scrutiny, standing perfectly upright as always. His voice did not waver as he observed in turn, "And you accepted that invitation."
A fair point. Even despite the havoc wreaked upon his already over-busy schedule as a result of taking the Moriarty Plan under his authority, Mycroft still managed to clear some time at the end of his night to meet with William privately.
Of course, it went without saying that the price went equally matched on both sides. William had also sacrificed his own over-busy schedule to spend the day in the archives awaiting the Director's favorable response. One day less of masterminding criminal plots to terrorize London into widespread social reform.
With no need for further prompting from Mycroft, William took yet another step closer. At the lack of distance now between their chests, William had undeniably chosen to forego any veneer of propriety between them. He pressed the tips of his fingers gently, reverentially, onto his own chest over his heart. An expression of deep love and care overtook his features, softening his dangerous edges.
All he offered in explanation for their meeting was, "Brother and I share the same soul."
There was no need for further explanation than that, as far as the two attendees were concerned; the meaning was perfectly clear to them. Similarly, there was no need to clarify which brother, exactly, was being referenced.
William was pronouncing his likeness to his older brother, Albert. It was the same reasoning that compelled him to stage the scene with him sitting in Albert's chair.
…because Mycroft Holmes had found himself profoundly, irrevocably enamored with one Albert James Moriarty, regardless of any criminal tendencies the man harbored—tendencies which perhaps indicated that it would be unwise to pursue a different sort of criminal activity with him at this time.
William's explicit acknowledgement of this raw, tentative, unexplored side to Mycroft’s psyche left a sour taste in his mouth. It was rare for people like them, so alienated from the society in which they lived, to find such true and equal companionship in someone, like they both had with Albert. And it was similarly rare to find someone who was able to brutally pick apart their brains and determine how they tick, like they did with each other on pure, cruel instinct.
It was a possibility, therefore, that this meeting would turn into the inverse of their earlier negotiations. Earlier, Mycroft had threatened his own retribution should the Moriarty Plan (and William in particular) step one toe out of line or cause unnecessary torment to his little brother, who had recklessly tangled himself up in all their plots.
Perhaps William intended to promise his own retribution for his own brother should any harm come to him. They were both quite protective people, especially when it came to their families. But that was only one possibility…
As if William had been following Mycroft's internal line of reasoning, he added, "And you and I are undoubtedly in agreement on one particular thing, if nothing else."
William fluttered his eyelashes slightly, referencing the common ground that had initially earned them each others' rapport in their original meeting that day. He knew Mycroft would follow his meaning.
One particular thing they both assuredly wanted was what would be best for Sherlock. They held a mutual understanding in this regard.
"And so you waited until we were proved allies, after all." Mycroft noted in understanding, following William’s internal line of reasoning, as well.
William smiled gently. “I thought it necessary that we be on equal footing before I made the offer.”
They had been testing each other up until this afternoon. Mycroft had presented Albert with the dilemma of Irene Adler and the infamous documents detailing the true impetus of the French Revolution. And in turn, upon making the decision to play allies rather than enemies—though truly they were neither—the Lord of Crime presented Mycroft with the entirety of the Moriarty Plan.
When William had entered the negotiation field at last, Mycroft took no efforts to hide his animosity with him for involving Sherlock in his deadly schemes. William then, contrarily, revealed that he harbored fond sentiments for Sherlock, much the same as Mycroft.
After returning the damning documents to the government and formalizing their deal, William asked Mycroft an additional question—about the reason for keeping the documents, rather than destroying them. This question of his had quelled any lingering concerns Mycroft possibly had of the Lord of Crime’s presumed malicious intent toward his little brother.
William had felt such overwhelming sympathy for the Holmes Family, for their perpetual safekeeping of the documents and continuing penitence sought through Mycroft Holmes.
Such empathetic compassion had likely shone through his expression at that time, for Mycroft, in turn, not only expressly acknowledged William's unvoiced deductions about his ancestry, but also proved them true.
William had been surprised at Mycroft's forthrightness. Such directness and candor, near opposite to his own behavior.
“I have not informed Sherlock of this yet, naturally." Mycroft had said, gazing at William from the corner of his eyes with an oblique and sardonic smile. “It’s better for him to live a life free of such burden.”
Subtly, he had informed the group at large to continue keeping such details away from Sherlock. Subtly, he had revealed to William the sameness of their interests and hopes, of their mutual care for Sherlock.
They both wished for Sherlock to live freely, and to protect their families from all things, including this world itself… Indeed, they shared quite the common outlook.
William had smiled at Mycroft in open appreciation and understanding.
They felt the same, and whether or not William was aware, they also both silently held a secret for the other. For it was that same directness that had seen steadfastly through William’s deceit.
“Robespierre’s final act… curtains at his own death…” William had revealed the Moriarty Plan, with his arms spread wide and his palms facing forward. “That is what we intend to do.”
Mycroft had reacted with an unreadable, dour look. His eyebrows had pinched in consternation. In that instant, he had deduced what Albert and Louis were both far too afraid to admit to themselves.
William intended for the Moriarty Plan to end in his suicide, and his suicide alone.
Once more, Mycroft felt the burden of his knowledge.
William and Mycroft both wanted what would be best for Sherlock. Therefore, neither wanted Sherlock’s relationship with William to progress any further than it already had, because it was certain to end in tragedy at the end of the Moriarty Plan.
Mycroft wanted to protect his little brother from the heartbreak, and William was simply tired of constantly hurting others. Sherlock would be better off without him.
He did not intend to sully Sherlock so frivolously. As brilliant and as enticing Sherlock Holmes was, William knew better than to let himself get carried away by his feelings. Give him an inch and he’d take a mile; he knew the mere presence of the detective was enough for him to lose himself and his constant web of calculated thought in favor of pure, simple fun.
And he… Admittedly, he was afraid of what Sherlock might think. Of how he might not feel the same. Of how he might. Of how disappointedly scarce his own offerings were in comparison to Sherlock’s radiance. But ultimately, it did not matter, for the outcome was already determined. Fate did not allow them to be close; he would not allow them to be close.
It didn’t matter, so he would not allow himself to learn the answer. Either way, devastation was imminent. Tragedy was destined. And he did not wish for Sherlock’s suffering, only for good and light and justice to triumph over curses and demons and evil.
He wanted to die, and there was no better way he could imagine than at the hands of Sherlock Holmes.
And so his only reprieve came when he was alone in his room, where he could secretly indulge in fanciful wishes for a fairytale romance and intimacy that would never be.
Similarly, Mycroft refrained from pursuing any further relationship with Albert—regardless of how they constantly skirted around the lines of harmless flirtation—because he already knew the culmination of William’s plot would leave Albert in a fragile state of mind. And regardless of whatever posthumous plan William might be relying on to ensure his brother’s continued existence on this earth… Albert, ever-repentant Albert, would undoubtedly blame himself and seek out his own punishment.
If Mycroft became too close to him now, Albert would be certain to deny himself access to his companionship, just as he would deny himself worldly comforts and the care of his beloved family. But Albert would need constancy, would need Mycroft’s staunch and unflinching support through his grieving. Mycroft already knew that he would have to balance himself on that razor-edge distinction between further pain and aid in order to trick Albert into accepting it. And Mycroft would be damned if he gave into instant gratification at the expense of Albert’s long-term wellbeing.
…that being said, Mycroft’s constant proximity to Albert left him at the end of his rope. And in contrast, William’s own hangman’s noose kept him at the end of his—William’s enforced distance from Sherlock did little to sate his yearning desires.
“Hm.” Mycroft let the sound rumble in his throat, appreciative of William’s efficiency in his explanation. “So you propose locum tenens.” He stated, rather than asked.
William smiled.
Locum tenens.
A latin phrase, meaning “to hold the place of, to substitute for.” Referring to one who temporarily takes the place of another. Most often used in reference to doctors or clergymen.
But not always.
Mirth shone in William’s eyes.
“I appreciate your prompt understanding.” William verbalized his own respect in return, as well as his proposal at last. Though, at this point, it was moreso to have it formally said aloud than any actual need for clarification. “We’re both at our wit’s end, and we very much need our wits about us. Thus, I do propose locum tenens. We sleep with each other in place of our respective brothers for the time being… To quell our desires, since we don’t wish any undue harm upon them.
It was… logical, in a twisted way. Fitting for a Lord of Crime.
They both considered each other for a moment, eyes traveling up and down and picking up all kinds of minute tells.
Mycroft stood in his usual suit and bowtie, buttoned properly unlike a certain relation of his. He appeared every bit the polished gentleman, but for the scratches on his shoes and the way his dark hair—cut shorter to hide its natural waviness—was subtly trying to curl free from many layers of carefully applied Macassar oil after a long day of being restrained. He had deep-set creases along the inner corner of his eyes, and his lips quirked up in a self-assured and superior grin.
His hands were clasped behind his back. He filled out his suit quite nicely—coiled power under fine fabric waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He stood upright with his heels together, barely any more casual than Albert’s military stance while at attention. In the strictest sense of M.F. Dickson’s words, he was tall, dark, and handsome. There were no curves, no jagged edges to his positioning—only direct, unwavering strength and authority.
In contrast, William’s fair bangs fell soft and loose over his forehead. Despite his status and wealth as a member of the nobility, the suit he wore, while expensive and of good quality, was mass produced. He was wearing sleeve garters to fix the length of his shirtsleeves and keep them away from the remnants of chalk around his hands. He was pale, and though there was definitely a darkness around his eyes from lack of sleep, it stuck to the corners and only served to further enhance his well proportioned features. His scarlet eyes shone bright and methodical.
He also stood with his hands behind his back, though his feet fell perfectly in line with his hips. He was thin but deceptively strong, lean muscle developed through years of training. His smile—near-constantly present—looked so much like Albert's own, they very well could have been identical. Charming.
Mycroft took a deliberate step closer. With the space between them already depleted by William earlier, their chests all but touched, though a hair’s breadth of space still prevented the physical contact they so craved.
“Very well, I accept your proposal.” Mycroft answered. William’s chin tilted up slightly to continue looking him in the eyes, exposing more of his pale throat above the collar of his shirt. His Adam’s apple shifted nigh imperceptibly at Mycroft’s agreement. “Though I will require us to engage in a completely ordinary verbal discussion of our interests, boundaries, and consent. While we may both know, nothing but explicit negotiation will be sufficient.”
“We’re of the same mind, then.” William gazed deviously through his eyelashes. They both had reached such a helpless and pitiful state at the merciless nescience of their prospective suitors that they were already breathing heavier at the thought. Mycroft’s pupils were steadily overtaking his already-dark eyes as he looked William over.
William, still just barely not touching Mycroft, teased, “Shall we make it a game to see how much we can guess right about the other? I can already assume several inclinations—”
“If I were to answer for you, it would be no game. I would be right.” Mycroft stated matter-of-factly, practically shutting down the idea then and there.
William was undeterred. His eyes sparkled. “So would I.”
Mycroft’s smirk widened, already pleased with the quality of his locum tenens partner. “Let us answer for ourselves, and in that way determine just how correct our deductions are.” He gestured back to Albert’s chair. “Have a seat.”
“With pleasure. Thank you very much.” William agreed politely.
As if the spell upon them had broken, William stepped back and widened the space between them once more.
He took his seat, and Mycroft pulled over another chair for himself, placing it in front of William and sitting down to discuss on even terms through the night.