#oh god Morimyu brainrot

[fallingyams]

This is written for two very special people who have been screaming with me over Op.5 (you know who you are 😇)

Look, I'm not saying that they kissed on stage. But neither am I saying that they didn't kiss on stage. :)

A rampant thought that grew legs after Op.5, set as they fall from the tower bridge, basically. You don't need to have seen the musical, and there are no spoilers here for it (I think?)

You miiiiight appreciate this a bit more if you've seen it though.

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"Like hell I'll let you fall alone!" the echo of Sherlock's desperate cry rings out, piercing through the deafening rush of air as William allows himself to fall backwards.

His scarlet eyes can't help but widen at the absurd sight of the detective jumping off the bridge after him.

What sort of fool-

No.

A panic wells up unbidden within him as Sherlock reaches his hands out once again.

You can't die here, Sherly. You have to see the new world.

There's no one else I would trust more with it.

His eyes shut tight, in part a willful denial of Sherlock's futile jump to his death, and another simply fearful for his own imminent end.

Even the devil fears death, in the end.

The cold breeze of the night wraps around him - a cold that no coat or fire could ever chase away. It chills him to his bones.

He was all alone, just as he expected.

He would die alone, just like he wanted.

He had done everything to ensure this outcome.

The thought left him cold and hollow.

And then, a warmth envelops him, chasing the cold away. A pair of sturdy arms clasp tightly around him, tugging him against a warm body.

Sherly...

He feels a hand weave itself through his blond locks to cradle his head and William can't help but feel his heart swell with some unspoken emotion.

If these moments are truly to be his last, can he be forgiven one last transgression?

Blinking his eyes open, he finds himself face to face with the man holding him so gently and preciously. His gaze is drawn to Sherlock’s deeply set frown and he wonders what it'd be like to feel that warmth against him.

Sherlock’s dark blue eyes glint with grim determination and William can't help but want to steal a kiss.

And so he does.

A simple press of lips against lips.

If he is to be dead at the end of it all, this shall be a final indulgence that he'll allow himself.

.

It is so, so very warm. Like the cup of hot chamomile tea that Louis would pour right before bed. Like the crackle of the fireplace where he and Albert would stay up reading next to.

Like he'll never be cold again.

.

They fall.

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