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The latch clicks, and Albert leans back against the door.
It’s strange, to be back at the Universal Trading Company under such different circumstances. He appreciates Louis’s consideration in preparing a different room from the one he once occupied during overnight stays as M. He isn’t the same Earl Moriarty he used to be, after all; not the head of the Moriarty family, nor the leader of MI6.
He is simply Albert James Moriarty, proud elder brother of two magnificent men.
Letting out a long, steadying breath, he opens his eyes to take in his new lodgings.
The bed is a simple full-size, sturdy and functional, with crisp linen sheets tucked in neatly at the corners. A far cry from the plush king he owned in the Moriarty mansion, but certainly more comfortable than his stiff, cold bed at the Tower. Louis’s hand shows in this as well — even as children, Albert never once had to say how much clutter unnerves him. His desire for neatness was always something Louis understood and accommodated instinctively.
Thinking back, Albert can’t recall if he ever actually expressed how much those little gestures meant to him — how much they still mean. The three of them are true Englishmen in both patriotism and stoicism, for better or worse.
Though, Albert has to admit Louis always was the most open among them. Albert and William took this as a trait that needed to be nurtured and protected, as though it made him vulnerable, but now Albert wonders if Louis’s emotional intelligence isn’t what makes him the strongest of them all.
His heart flutters to his throat when he takes in the single photo frame on the otherwise empty nightstand. Unsteadily, his feet drag him forward almost against his will.
I thought it burned.
Fingertips brush glass, as if afraid to shatter the image with a touch. It’s a picture forever sealed in his heart: his own figure, seated in a chair, with his brothers standing by, golden and smiling. The family portrait they had taken after moving into their own home together.
The last time he saw it was the night he set fire to his home for the second time.
Something clenches in his chest, equal parts sweet and excruciating. The polished wood frame hides much, but the very edges of the photo reveal uneven curves of charring. It’s the same photograph. Someone thought to rescue it from the flames.
The brothers’ faces blur as tears sting his eyes.
He meant to throw it all away. That was his punishment: to cast away by his own hand that which he loved most. The first true home he’d ever known, and the family he didn’t know how to live without. As the one who couldn’t stop William, who couldn’t think of another way, it was the only fit penance he could come up with.
Yet someone — Louis again, in his steadfast belief, or possibly Fred, who sees so much more than he lets on — retrieved the photo in a final act of defiance against fate.
And now, in the end, he hasn’t lost anything. William has returned, at peace in a way Albert has never seen before. Louis gathered the mismatched members of their little family under this roof, and made a place for them all. And this photo, this symbol of a bond, still remains — damaged, yes, but lovingly displayed in a new frame.
It seems salvation truly does exist, even for one as wretched as he, and Albert will grasp onto it with both hands. He closes his eyes and vows, to God and to his own heart, that he will never let go again.
He’s just finished preparing for bed when a knock sounds on his door — a soft, rhythmic pattern of raps, dearly familiar. A gentle smile curves his lips even before he turns the knob.
The door opens to reveal William’s smiling face. Albert’s gaze fixes immediately on the obvious change: William’s eyepatch is absent, revealing scarred flesh and an iris pale with blindness. Pain stabs Albert’s heart anew at the obvious signs of suffering on his brother’s face. But William’s right eye still glows a warm scarlet, and the smile he wears isn’t forced.
If one eye was the price William paid for his current happiness, Albert won’t dare mourn it.
William isn’t alone; Louis stands just past his shoulder, hair mussed and expression a bit embarrassed. It’s only then that Albert notices the pillows they’re both clutching in their arms.
“Sorry to disturb you so late, brother,” William says.
With a soft chuckle, Albert swings the door wide. “Please. My door is always open to you two.”
The brothers enter and make a beeline for the bed, just as they often did as children — only to all freeze in a helpless triad when it becomes clear that this isn’t going to work. Even if they squeeze in, they’re all tall men — fitting two adults onto the mattress would be a stretch, let alone three.
They exchange glances, waiting to see who dares mention it first — and all together, they burst out laughing.
Of course, William is nothing if not a problem solver, and Louis and Albert are both quite good at reading his mind. Louis fetches some extra bedding from the linen closet, and they form a makeshift pallet on the floor. It’s still a tight fit — Louis’s knee will leave a bruise on Albert’s thigh, and Albert’s elbow jabs into William’s ribs at least once — but they manage to settle in. Albert wraps an arm around each of their shoulders and squeezes them close.
This weight — this warmth — he’s almost overcome with how much he missed it. They haven’t done this since the night before he left for the army. How much, Albert wonders, was lost to the inevitable awkwardness of adulthood? Perhaps if he’d tried —
No. This space they share under the blanket holds no room for regrets, not tonight.
They’ve all changed in so many ways. William’s form feels thinner under Albert’s arm — he still hasn’t gained back the weight he lost in those final months of the plan. Louis, on the other hand, feels solid and strong, fully grown into his role as the pillar of this family. And Albert, with his overgrown hair and loose-fitting clothes — he can only imagine what he must look like to them.
But here they are together, after everything. The bond between them burns brightly as ever.
Albert holds his brothers closer, ruffling their golden hair as he used to do.
“Thank you,” he murmurs thickly.
William’s fingers curl into the front of Albert’s nightshirt and hold tight. He tucks his face into Albert’s shoulder like he did at the Tower.
Louis reaches across and gently rests his hand atop William’s.
“We should be thanking you, Albert,” Louis says. “For William and me… home has never been a place. Since the day you offered your hand to us, home has always been a person. Thank you for letting us come home again.”
For the third time that day, a tear trails down Albert’s cheek.
“Then… welcome home, Louis. Welcome home, Will.”
Their answer follows in unison:
“We’re home.”