Chapter Text
William let his eyes wander across the masked crowd whose lively chatter mingled with the tunes from the ballroom, resonating between the high ceiling and marbled floors.
It was just another noble’s get-together, arranged as a masquerade ball. It didn’t prevent it from being as tedious as any other of their parties. But he wasn’t complaining. For a change of pace, there wasn’t much to do for him tonight except ensure their plan went smoothly, of which he was convinced it would. Everything was going well.
William flinched lightly when something cold touched his neck. Irritated, he moved around.
“What a boring reaction!”
“Mr. Holmes. What a surprise.”
Indeed, it was one. Before him stood Sherlock Holmes with a champagne flute in his hand. For some reason, as much as his formal attire fit the flavor of the party, it didn’t look right on him.
William hadn’t known Sherlock would be here as well - precisely, because he wasn’t supposed to be here. As Patterson had informed the group, nobody from Scotland Yard was to attend this party, meaning Sherlock must have had come here on his own accord, which, in conclusion, made it obvious he was here because of something work-related.
Sherlock’s mischievous grin suggested William’s attempt to mask his bewilderment wasn’t fruitful.
He had to correct his impression. Everything had been going well so far.
“What gave me away that fast?” Sherlock inquired. Despite having his eyes concealed with a mask, his excitement about their supposed chance encounter was all over his face, and William couldn’t help but find this expressiveness charming.
“The state of your attire,” was the terse response, his tone of voice contrasting William’s polite smile. He took a step back and brought his fingers to his chin, examining Sherlock’s appearance intently with trained eyes.
“A certain pattern of wrinkles implies your tuxedo was stored improperly; you are not wearing any gloves, and don’t have them in any of your pockets either, because you haven’t thought to bring some in the first place; that, and your bow tie,” he summarized.
Also, William would recognize that notorious ponytail in any crowd, even if Sherlock had his hair combed back. Or rather, attempted it.
Sherlock knit his eyebrows in a way that made it unclear whether he was being defiant for the sheer sake of it or if he was genuinely offended. “What about the bow tie?”
“It is apparent you are not used to tying one. Not properly, anyway.” William crossed his arms behind his back. “I can tell you tried, still, I am a bit disappointed in how little you bothered about the details. I would have thought you were more disciplined than this if involved with a case.” His mouth curled into a knowing smile.
“How about you show me how to tie it to your liking, then,” Sherlock asked with a daring smirk, his chin raised.
Obviously, it was a provocation. This evening ought to be entertaining if their meeting had reached this stage already.
“Perhaps later,” William said unperturbed. He closed the distance between them with one step. “To be honest, I had a faint hope I might run into you, against all odds. This party was beginning to bore me.”
“Missed me that much, huh?”
William decided to ignore that remark.
What an unlucky coincidence running into Sherlock was. Under different circumstances, William would’ve had welcomed it, but as for tonight, he was merely an interference factor that had to be taken care of. To ensure the plan's flawless execution, William would have to adjust his own for tonight. As long as he would keep the detective occupied, he should pose no threat.
A butler passed by with a tray full of champagne flutes, and with a swift motion, William snatched one. “Here’s to you. And for an enjoyable night,” he declared, clinking glasses.
Sherlock seized the chance for a little coquetry. “I’m sure I will, now that I’ve found a like-minded person to talk to,” he replied with a wink.
It sounded like he would accompany William for now. That was a relief.
William blinked slowly in return. “In any case, what could it be that has brought you here?” After all, this was a gathering of mostly nobility which Sherlock wouldn’t have been granted access to without making use of his contacts with Scotland Yard.
“Unfortunately, it’s strictly confidential. As much as I’d like to ask you for your opinion from an outsider’s perspective.” His voice sounded more teasing than intent on secretiveness as he shifted his attention back to the dancing guests and let his gaze wander.
As expected, William’s initial guess had been right. “I understand. Nevertheless, if there is something I can help you with, please don’t hesitate to let me know. It would be my pleasure,” he said, his eyes following his companion’s.
“Actually-”
Sherlock couldn’t finish his sentence. He grimaced when he spied someone among the guests and averted his face quickly. “Don’t look. I need you to get me out of here.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Now.”
From the corner of his eye, William peered in the direction Sherlock was referring to. Across the hall, a woman stared back at them; if he recalled correctly, she was one of the ladies who had followed the detective for the duration of his “bet” on the Noahtic.
Needless to say, letting her access him was out of the question. If he got out of William’s sight and ran off somewhere where he couldn’t be monitored, he might become a problem in the end.
They needed to relocate. Somewhere they couldn’t be approached by bystanders.
Come to think of it, William recalled the blueprints of the mansion he had studied prior to the party. Fairly close was a rather secluded study they could reach without crossing paths with that woman.
“Follow me,” he instructed straight-faced as to keep a low profile and together, they took their leave. Given his situation, Sherlock knew better than to second-guess where he was being led to.
As they went their way, William scanned his surroundings for a familiar face in disguise. It didn’t take him long to spot Bond standing by the staircase. After they exchanged a glance - their eyes meeting for not more than a second as to not risk raising suspicion -, Bond pretended to fix the buttons on his sleeve. He understood.
I will be in your care.
“I owe you one,” Sherlock said upon entering the study where the pair was greeted by the smell of cigarettes mixed with the odor of stale flowers and old books. The wooden floor panels creaked quietly as they walked on them. Inside the room, apart from the obligatory bookshelves, the furniture was made up of nothing more than a wooden desk with a chair and a leather sofa.
“Please, don’t mention it.” The door closed with a thud.
“Aren’t you going back?” Sherlock asked, lighting the gas lamp placed on the desk and a cigarette right afterward. As he did so, he ripped his mask off and threw it right next to the lamp like someone getting rid of their suit after a long day at work.
“As I said, the party was boring me.” William looked out the window only to discover it was so dark outside, the glass mirrored their contours. On the windowsill stood a lonely vase with roses of a color that one day must've had been white. The servants of this household seemed to be lax. “Now that I am here, I might as well sit with you and engage in some conversation.”
Perhaps that woman showing up wasn’t all bad.
Sherlock appeared pleased with that answer. “I was hoping for that, too. We don’t get many opportunities like these with you being so busy all the time.”
William pretended to not have heard the sarcasm. “But what about your work? Is it alright for you to be here?”
“Don’t worry,” Sherlock said as he slumped onto the sofa. “I left the detective outside this room.” Whilst speaking, he loosened his hair tie and ran his fingers through his hair.
That was a lot more like him.
“I see,” William responded and followed suit in taking off his mask. As he joined him, he took a last look at the door. He had left it unlocked so he could leave at any time if necessary, yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it wasn’t Sherlock who has been trapped.