The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
- The Tempest, Act 3, Scene 2
Sherlock is staring at him when his eyes flutter open in the morning, a warm dimpled grin stretching across his lips as he lays next to the blond in their shared bed.
He's no stranger to this dream.
It's nothing more than a recurring fantasy that has haunted him ever since their meeting aboard the Noahtic on that fateful day.
Sometimes he'd imagine accompanying the detective on his cases, solving mysteries together like they had done aboard the train once. They would tease and jibe and compete to find evidence, stretching their intellectual muscles to the fullest extent in a battle of wits, and giggle like schoolchildren when their thoughts overlapped.
Other times, it'd be scenes like this, of them blissful and at peace, sharing a life together. Of him tucked beneath a blanket and reading a book or two while Sherlock tinkered with his experiments in the corner of the room.
He knows exactly how this dream goes, the same as it has all those times before. Sherlock would stretch and wrap his arms around William's waist, all while whispering a morning greeting.
He can almost see the double bar lines of the repeat symbol on this sheet of music as they dance along to the melody that he's heard too many times before.
William isn't ashamed to admit his fondness for the odd detective, nor is he abashed by his feelings and desires.
He is, however, a little wistful at the impossibility of these dreams.
Dream William blinks away the sleep from his eyes and reaches a hand towards the other, cupping his cheeks gently, savouring the imaginary warmth of the skin beneath his fingertips. There's just a bit of stubble beginning to grow, and he wonders if it'd feel prickly and rough as Sherlock nuzzles into his hand.
Sometimes he wonders what he would give to turn this dream into reality.
After all, he knows that his feelings aren't quite one-sided. Sherlock hasn't been too subtle about his reciprocation, what with his puppy dog eyes and deep fascination with William. It would be so easy to simply give in and-
Thoughts of the Moriarty plan flit through his mind and he quashes his wishful thinking
-no, it wouldn't be fair to Sherlock at all.
William is a man destined for death, and he will not be selfish enough to leave him in mourning.
Neither can he be selfish enough to abandon the plan that they have so painstakingly enacted.
(And he knows that his brothers would agree to abandon it in a heartbeat for the sake of his happiness if he so much as hinted at it, somehow still convinced that someone as unclean as him deserved to be happy)
"Mornin', Professor-" he thinks that Sherlock tries to say, but the words come out muffled and garbled
And just like clockwork, the image of Sherlock before him slowly fades away with the sunlight, forcing the illusion to crumble into dust like the last of his sleep.
With a deep breath and forlorn smile, William allows himself to savour that smug grin one last time, impressing that deep ocean gaze into memory before he gives in to the calling of wakefulness.
It is nothing more than a fantasy borne from his wishful imagination.
But it will have to be enough.
Sherly is staring at him when his eyes flutter open in the morning, a warm dimpled grin stretching across his lips as he lays next to the blond in their shared bed.
But this time, it's not a dream.
"-see you're finally awake, Sleepy-head," the detective murmurs, voice rough from sleep.
This time, when he reaches his hand to touch the other, the warmth seeps into his fingertips and chases the morning chill away.
Have you ever had a dream so good or so real that you couldn't help but lie there trying to savour the lingering feeling even after you've woken up? I honestly think it's one of the best feelings in the world.
Thank you for dropping by to read this silly little thing. I was just a little inspired by the idea of dreams and I thought that William must have definitely dreamed of Sherlock at some point because of his feelings so he just clings to these dreams because they're the only thing he has. (The unfortunate side effect of being a major criminal lol)
Anyways I'm off to bed it's like 2am but please feel free to yell at me about sherliam anytime