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The apartment was on the third floor of an old building in Brooklyn. The exterior walls were made of red bricks, some peeling away, and the windows were small, their frames already creaking. The neighborhood might be a little too noisy for William, with neighbors chatting outside and passersby visible through the window. Below their apartment was a pizza shop they might visit someday. For Sherlock, the place was enough especially with limited funds and the urgency of the situation.
Of course, the apartment wasn't high-end property. The price was nearly impossible to find in a city like New York. If it weren't for Billy's help, they would've been sleeping on the streets.
Billy told them to wait in the city until the situation in Europe stabilized. It was still unclear who might be after William. Some political factions knew too much and still believed William was a threat not entirely erased. Sherlock couldn't risk taking him back to England now. So for the time being, they would hide. At least until no sane person would think to search for the two of them.
After the doctor said William could be discharged, Sherlock searched for a place they could live together with Billy's help. Within two days, he managed to find the cheapest spot that didn't ask too many questions. Rent was paid in cash, the lease barely a formality, and the landlord didn't care much about who lived there as long as they paid on time and didn't disturb the neighbors.
Sherlock paid the first month's rent with money earned from solving a murder case in Manhattan. A small case, quickly wrapped up, but paid in cash. Billy handled the fake documents, the alias for the lease, and all the red tape so these two nearly invisible British men could settle down without drawing too much attention.
When Sherlock first entered, the place was empty save for a dusty floor and a stuck window. No furniture or curtains. But not long after, Billy returned carrying a used single mattress, an old sofa from some stranger's storage, and two mismatched ceramic mugs.
"You guys can't just sleep on the floor, right? I'll help with a few household things I found~"
Sherlock didn't comment. He simply nodded and adjusted the mattress in the only bedroom available. The room was small, just enough for a bed and a two-door wardrobe with one of its doors leaning inward. The walls were dull white, stained in several spots. They would need to fix it up before William came home from the hospital. The one good thing about it was the window faced a quiet alley, and at night, the streetlight cast a soft orange glow on the glass, enough to be soothing.
For now, he and Billy became impromptu handymen to make the apartment livable for William.
A week later, William was discharged from the hospital.
His body hadn't fully healed. Internal injuries would still need time. But he insisted on leaving, and the doctor agreed. Though not entirely on board, Sherlock had prepared the place, knowing full well William would push himself regardless.
When they entered for the first time, William simply stood at the doorway, eyes quietly scanning the room that Sherlock and Billy had heavily renovated.
"This... is better than I expected."
"Don't lie. It's definitely worse than the Moriarty manor."
William gave a small smile. He didn't really mind living in a place like this, despite once living like nobility. Before joining the Moriarty household, he had slept on the streets and in old alleyways with Louis more than once.
The first night, they ran into another issue when they went to their room after dinner. He looked at the single bed already made with clean sheets and an extra pillow. Then he glanced at the small sofa in the living room. He had thought about this many times. The only proper solution was for him to concede.
"Sleep in the room. I'll take the sofa."
William stared at Sherlock's face for a while, then sighed. "I'm not going to let you sleep on the couch every night just because I happen to be the one who's sick."
"You need rest. You need proper sleep."
"And so do you."
Sherlock looked at him with hesitation. "You're sure you don't mind?"
"You doubt me too much. I appreciate your concern, Sherly. But I genuinely don't mind living simply with you."
Sherlock went quiet for a moment, then finally nodded. He remembered how fiercely William had fought for survival on the streets with Louis. He wasn't sure why he always felt inadequate when it came to William.
"Alright."
That night, they slept with their backs turned, bodies separated by an invisible line down the narrow mattress. Their backs brushed occasionally, then drifted apart again. Not much was said before sleep. Just soft breathing and the bed creaking slightly every time one of them moved.
William pulled his blanket tighter around himself while Sherlock lay still, facing the wall in the dark, trying to count the rhythm of the breath behind him. He tried not to move too much, keeping to his side of the bed, but it was hard to stay completely still. The mattress was far too small for two grown men, yet not enough reason to sleep apart. There were too many things they didn't want to talk about, and because of that, they chose silence.
The air dropped drastically just before dawn. Wind hissed softly through the gaps in the old wooden window frame. Even though they had patched it with cloth, the cold still crept in. William shivered slightly under his thin blanket, and Sherlock, half-asleep in a light doze, finally moved. His body shifted toward the faint warmth. He wasn't fully conscious of the action.
Neither was William.
No one could say who moved first, but slowly, they drifted closer. Unplanned motion. Just a natural urge to seek warmth. And as dawn began to peek through the sheer curtain, they had already leaned into each other. William slept on Sherlock's chest, Sherlock's arm instinctively wrapped around his back.
The other arm, now slightly sore, had become an impromptu pillow for William's head.
Sherlock was the first to wake. He opened his eyes slowly, blinked once, twice, then froze.
William was still asleep, barely moving, his breathing even against Sherlock's chest. His left arm was draped over Sherlock's body, as if embracing him in his sleep. His hair was messy, a few strands stuck to Sherlock's neck. There was a trace of warmth between them that made the embrace feel natural.
Sherlock held his breath. His mind went blank. Then full. Then blank again. A part of him wanted to move, to pull away gently and give space. But another part knew that if he moved now, William would wake. And for some reason, he didn't want that.
He didn't want to disturb William's sleep.
He rarely saw William sleep this closely. A strange warmth rose inside him. He lowered his gaze slightly, studying William's face. The scar over his eye had begun to fade. There was a little color in his cheeks again. He looked alive. And the beautiful face of that blonde man was close. Too close.
Sherlock turned his eyes to the ceiling. He inhaled a deep breath, slowly, careful not to move his chest too much. But William shifted slightly, tightening his hold unconsciously, then exhaled softly against Sherlock's neck.
Sherlock closed his eyes.
This was too close.
He didn't even know what William thought of this closeness. Maybe it was just because of the cramped bed. Maybe it meant nothing to him. But as Sherlock looked down again, noticing how William's fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt without realizing, he felt his face grow hot.
After a few minutes, William mumbled softly. His head moved slightly, then stopped. Sherlock's body tensed, thinking he was waking, but relaxed again when there were no signs of it. He had just shifted to a more comfortable position. His forehead now rested against Sherlock's jawbone, and his breathing remained calm.
Sherlock stared at the ceiling again, longer this time. He wasn't used to intimacy. Wasn't used to someone else’s body this close in peace. But he had to admit, he liked the way William held him.
Sherlock sighed and looked down once more, studying William's sleeping face.
For now, he would stay here.
Quietly, he hoped William wouldn't wake too soon.