I never loved myself like I love you

2

The aftermath of the Lord of Crime's years of sinning.

He finds it surreal how even in that state, William still looks ethereal.

He's reminded once again how, just a few months ago, this man was nothing more than a shadow, a bloodstained mirage, someone no one knew whether he truly existed or if he was simply just a creation of the people. Someone who always slipped right through Sherlock's fingers. And now Sherlock's allowed to see him at his lowest.

He pushes aside the feeling that he's unworthy of the immense trust this man has placed in him, and that he may never be able to prove himself worthy of it, when he sees William averting his gaze. Without thinking twice, Sherlock reaches out again and gently takes his face between his hands. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers how cold William's skin feels.

"Never cast your eyes down. You don't have to hide. Not with me."

"Sherly..."

That nickname Mycroft gave him years ago is uttered so quietly that he might've thought he had imagined it, had he not noticed William's lips moving. And that simple word spoken like both a prayer and a plea takes him back in time.

The professor had made it a game to not call Sherlock by his first name, choosing instead to address him as "Mr. Holmes" only. Sherlock had been dying to hear his own name leave William's mouth, and the first time he did, the professor simply played it off and said he had imagined it. But Sherlock knew, and he had been waiting for the moment he would hear it again.

The night he did was both a frustrating and an exciting one.

"Catch me if you can, Sherlock."

The night Sherlock's suspicions were confirmed. The night William had finally given up on the name-game in exchange for another of cat and mouse. The night Sherlock had put six bullets in Milverton's back and had stained his hands crimson. The night he had stopped seeing the Lord of Crime as a mastermind, and had instead begun to see him as someone he desperately wanted to understand.

And understand he did. All it took were a few days in confinement, left to his thoughts even by Lestrade, to piece it all together, to comprehend what this man in front of him intended. An angel of death, sent by God to deliver punishment for the betterment of a country whose nobility had welcomed him with nothing but cruelty. All thoughts of capturing the man and seeing he faces justice were thrown to the winds. They were replaced instead with a burning wish to save, to protect.

"So this is how you are trying to tempt me into living... The devil here is you, Sherlock!"

Words that left Sherlock wishing he would have never heard his name leave past William's lips. Merciless wind clawing at his clothes and hair. Slumped shoulders, tired eyes and grim expression only adding to Sherlock's growing fear. Angry citizens shouting, demanding the Crime Lord's death.

William taking a step backwards. Sherlock tumbling after him and seizing his wrist. Wooden scaffolding creaking under both of their weights.

"You've bested me, Sherly..."

A sword being lifted. A superficial wound that hurts enough to distract him from keeping William in place.

He had wondered once, late at night when he could not silence his mind, what his nickname would sound like, whispered in the melodious voice of a certain mathematics professor.

Now, he wishes he wouldn't have heard it under such circumstances.

William's expression as he said those words will forever be engraved in his memory. He can see it, as clear as glass. Scarlet eyes looking softly at him, lips curved in the most gentle smile Sherlock had ever had the honour to see. He can hear William's voice murmur the nickname that left Sherlock's heart broken, shards embedded deep into this chest.