He remembers—he remembers so vividly the nights he had spent in his study, thoughts drifting to the detective while he had been plotting; how he wished life had been more kind to him, even if he did not deserve it, if only it meant having a normal friendship with the man. He remembers desperately wishing for that second chance, atop the bridge.
He had been so scared of the way Sherlock's words had planted a seed of doubt in him, how they had instilled in him the will to live. But now? Now, after those two weeks spent at the Holmes' summer estate, basking in the detective's addictive presence, he can selfishly say that he wants more of it. He wants to experience living by Sherlock's side.
He marvels at that—at the realisation that he wants something, for himself, after denying himself of it for the entirety of his life.
He cannot blame Sherlock for giving up on him, really. He supposes it was only a matter of time. What has he done, besides burdening the man with endless nightmares, taking care of him while he was injured and unconscious—with taking care of him even after he awoke—and forcing him to live with the fear of coming back from town one day only to find William with a noose around his neck?
Hasn't William given up on himself a long time ago? Hasn't everything he said, every little desperate attempt at pushing everyone away, proven that?
Whoever has become a devil cannot go back to being a man.
"Brother?" Louis calls out softly.
It's enough to snap William out of his thoughts and draw his attention to him.
Louis is frowning at him, ever so slightly, as he sets his book and cup aside. William watches him curiously as he wordlessly rises from his seat, only to kneel in front of William's armchair. Before he has the chance to question what on earth his younger brother is doing, Louis drags him into a protective hug, running his fingers through William's hair. It takes him aback, but the touch is not unwelcome.
He is vaguely aware of Louis's finger smoothing over his cheek, wiping the tears he had not realised had begun to fall.
"It's alright," Louis soothes, not unlike the times when William had done it after one of Louis's heart episodes. "He... He will see, in due time."
And William, helpless, tired, unsurprised that Louis has noticed what has been tormenting him—because of course he has; he has always been able to sense when something is wrong with William, why should this be any different?—can only succumb to his brother's warm embrace and slump against him.
Louis's gentle assurances follow him as he falls into Morpheus's clutches.
The next day passes in a blur.
He spends his morning playing cards with Moran and Jack. Moran, for all of his past disappointment of not being able to cheat and fool William, makes an extra effort to succeed this time. Even Jack, who usually sees right through it and uses his own tricks against the colonel's, is struggling against him. Patterson visits at noon and joins them, and even though he wins against the two, he still cannot cheat his way past William.
After lunch, he busies himself with finding disguises so he can go out in public. James, Fred and Moneypenny all help him in searching through Bond and Fred's stash of wigs, dresses, suits and hats in hopes of finding something that will be comfortable while offering anonymity. Fred discovers the wig he used when he pretended to be Frida, and William cannot help but smile fondly at the sight of Moneypenny and James insisting he put it on just so they can see how he looks with it. Fred, although flustered, agrees.
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I never loved myself like I love you
Fanfiction"He deserves effortless, pure love," William utters quietly. It seems even the rain has subsided in order to listen to his whispered confession. "But I cannot shroud his world in light, when mine is so thoroughly shrouded in darkness. My candle's fl...
