Chapter Text
It should've been sunny.
Why the hell wasn't it sunny? This was all John's fault. It had been shaping up to be such a good day: a puzzle to solve, a taunting enemy to catch, and the excuse he'd been waiting for to pay a little visit to a certain someone, and now it was a mess all thanks to John ”save your cab fare so you can actually make the rent this month and besides I'm a doctor and say you should exercise more” Watson.
It should’ve been sunny
Sherlock sneezed, cursed, and attempted to brush his streaming bangs out of his eyes for the 32nd time, he'd been counting. At a glance the Moriarty mansion looked like every other noble’s estate; pillars, gate, overpruned shrubbery and all. Sherlock squelched his way up to the wrought iron gates and pushed against the rain slicked metal. They swung open at his touch with the smoothness of hinges often oiled and often used. As Sherlock splashed and slid his way up to the front door he began coming up with a list of things to call John when he got home. By the time he actually reached the door, by way of every hole, divot, and puddle between it and the gate he was sure, the list was categorized, alphabetized, and translated into three different languages.
Sherlock knocked. It was totally unreasonable to expect the door to fly open but he still thought about kicking it when it didn't. There was a bit of an awning above the door and that was something but the wind was bad enough that it wasn't much. In the time it took someone to answer the damned thing Sherlock had time to sneeze three more times, notice the lack of any noise of grooms coming from the stables, and that the slightly too wide gap between door and doorpost meant that the front door was unlocked. Finally after the third sneeze he'd had enough, nobleman's house be damned. Sherlock grabbed the knob and shoved the door open only to come face-to-face with the teenager who had been about to open it from the other side.
They blinked at each other for a moment in shared surprise and Sherlock took in a few things about the black haired youth, like the way his eyes widened ever so slightly in alarm at the side of the detective and the way his body language marked him as someone who was used to blending in but who had never been a servant.
“Why are you here?” The youth asked, his voice as soft and nondescript as the rest of him. Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he noted that the teen hadn't asked for his name. So he already knows who I am? Interesting. I wonder how that happened. Then a particularly large gust of wind send even more water pouring down the back of Sherlock’s neck and he decided that, for once, the puzzle could wait.
“I'm here to see Li-William.”
“Is he expecting you?” The teen's voice was unfazed. He didn't even react to Sherlock's total disregard for Liam’s title. Definitely not a servant.
“Sure he is!” Sherlock was lying of course. There was basically no chance that Liam was expecting him today or any other day but somehow he didn't think a “no” was going to help him get out of the rain.
Sherlock couldn't tell if the teen had bought the lie or not but after a moment he nodded and stepped back, allowing the detective to enter.
Without another glance the teen turned and began walking down the hall. Sherlock followed, dripping water all the way. As they went Sherlock’s eyes wandered over the house. It was every bit as neat as he would expect a nobleman's home to be but the decorations were a little less lavish, a little more modest, and there weren't any servants about, in fact Sherlock didn't see anyone besides his guide until they reached a closed door and the teenager indicated it with a gesture. Sherlock was just reaching for the handle when he was distracted by a shout from behind him. The voice in question was male and not particularly loud but the amount of anger contained within it more than qualified it as “shouting” in Sherlock’s book.
“Moran, are you the one dripping all over the carpet again? I told you after last time that…!” The voice trailed off with a quiet gasp as its owner rounded the corner and spotted Sherlock.
Oh great, it's him.
“Mr. Holmes! What are you doing here?” The younger Moriarty brother, Liam but with glasses and not as pretty and just generally not Liam, was glaring at Sherlock with the sort of intensity he usually only got from members of Scotland Yard after he'd pointed out all the massive gaping holes in what they had so ridiculously called an “airtight case,” or from the actual criminals when he apprehended them shortly thereafter. As “generally not Liam” took another step toward him Sherlock decided that the murderousness of his expression really did make him look more like the criminals.
“I'm here to see Liam.” He told glasses, crossing his arms and trying to look as confident as possible, while also trying to disguise the fact that he was shivering.
“Generally not Liam’s” eyes narrowed further, a feat that Sherlock honestly hadn't been sure that he was capable of.
“My brother William, is resting and isn't to be disturbed.” Sherlock noticed the emphasis glasses Moriarty put on Liam’s proper name. Touchy.He grinned.
“Fred, why did you let him in?”
“I didn't.” The teenager, Fred, shrugged. “He let himself in.”
“He what!” This time “Generally not Liam” really did yell, his eyes going from neutral as he looked at Fred, to wide with shock and then back to narrowed with fury, the look even more venomous than earlier.
Oh this guy really is entertaining.
The door just behind Sherlock creaked open.
“Louis are you alri…” Sherlock spun toward the sound of that voice and found himself mere inches from the crimson eyes and devilish beauty of William James Moriarity.
Sherlock froze as his heart did some sort of backflip thing that he hadn't realized it was capable of. Liam was right there, so close that Sherlock could make out every minute detail of his expression, every microscopic motion, the way the pupils of those crimson eyes dilated just a little, the way his mouth parted slightly when he saw Sherlock, everything. A shiver went through Sherlock which had nothing to do with his dripping clothes and soaked hair, but it did seem to draw the attention of both Moriarty brothers to the amount of water seeping off of him and onto the carpet.
Younger glasses, Louis, his name was apparently Louis, not that Sherlock had any plans to bother remembering it, clicked his tongue and, with the small amount of brain space he had to focus on someone so inconsequential, Sherlock guessed that the man was glaring down at the puddle forming around the detective's feet. The rest of Sherlock's mind was still caught in the brilliant presence that was Liam. He was so close, too close, if he came any closer then…
“Well Mr. Holmes, you appear to have had quite the walk.” Liam’s mouth opened farther as he spoke and Sherlock watched the fine movement of his lips. He gulped, taking a quick step backward, and was rewarded by the smug smile which curved those lips. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“A puzzle, Liam.” Sherlock tried to put as much confidence as he could into his voice and hoped that Liam would attribute its hoarseness to the amount of time he’d spent walking through the downpour.
“A puzzle?” Liam's elegant blonde eyebrows arched in curiosity and he studied the detective with interest. “How interesting.”
Sherlock shivered again under that gaze and was rewarded by another amused smile. “It seems we will have to do something about those clothes though Mr. Holmes. We can't have you catching a cold and I'm afraid Louis will be rather annoyed if you ruin the carpets.”
“Brother, I'm not sure…” Other Moriarty began but Liam shook his head, giving his younger brother a smile that spoke to how fond Liam really was of the brat.
“Don't worry about it Louis. I'm more than happy to have Mr. Holmes here and to assist him in any way I can,” and then, before generally not Liam could reply, and before Sherlock could really grasp what was happening, Liam grabbed his arm and began pulling him gently down the hall.
For the first few steps Sherlock's feet moved on autopilot is his brain focused on the much more important feeling of warmth traveling down his arm and along his whole body from the point where Liam's delicate fingers were wrapped around his wrist. Once his mind finally managed to catch up with what was going on Sherlock glanced quickly backward over his shoulder in time to see the brat looking daggers after them. Sherlock smirked back at him and even gave a little wave with his free hand, prompting glasses to take a menacing step forward and Fred to put a restraining hand on the other man's arm. Sherlock's grin grew and then Liam pulled him around a corner and Sherlock needed to look where he was going to avoid tripping over the bottommost step of a large dark wood staircase.
“Where are we going then?” Sherlock asked, trying to make his voice sound cocky and not at all as though he was trying not to sneeze.
“My bedroom.”
“What!” Sherlock did trip this time and only Liam’s tight hold on his wrist kept him from tumbling all the way back down to the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed wildly with his free hand for the banister and used it to study himself. A few steps above him Liam stopped and turned back, looking down on him with a knowing smile.
Bastard!
“Is there something wrong with my bedroom, Mr. Holmes?” Liam's tone was light and Sherlock glanced away in a vain attempt to hide his blush.
“Er, no.” Sherlock coughed a couple of times, trying to get his voice to come out less horse. “I just, I mean, why?”
Liam's smile grew, becoming even more devilish. “So that you can borrow some of my clothes. Why else would we be going there?”
“I don't know, that's why I was asking you!” Again Sherlock tried to sound like his usual cocky self, again his voice came out just a little too horse.
“Well then,” Liam turned and began up the stairs once more and Sherlock followed, trying furiously not to think too hard about their destination.
At the top of the stairs Liam turned back to him again and asked, “so to what doI owe this pleasure Mr. Holmes? You said you have a puzzle for me?”
“I did.” Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed and the confidence returned to his voice as the memory of his other reason for visiting Liam returned as well. “There's been a disappearance.”
“Oh?”
“A woman by the name of Irene Adler.”
Liam didn't slow, didn't even hesitate. If the professor had ever even heard the name before he didn't show it. Sherlock wasn't surprised. There were a lot of nobles in London and somehow he very much doubted that Liam was the sort who would end up in a position to need to buy Irene's silence, but he still couldn't help being slightly relieved at this confirmation.
“And you’re unable to determine what happened to her? You?”
“Oh I know what happened to her,” Sherlock laughed grimly. “What happened to her is the easy part.”
“Then what's the puzzle?” Liam glanced back at him, an unreadable expression on his beautiful features.
“She was talked into going with someone, and that person is the puzzle.”
“How so?” Liam's lips curved into a smile again and Sherlock guessed that there was interest behind that look.
“He's playing games, and I'm trying to figure out what he's after, that's why I'm here Liam, I thought you might have fun helping me catch the Lord of Crime.”