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Title: Like Falling in Love
Pairing: Will Graham/Sherlock Holmes
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Hannibal Lecter or Will Graham, unfortunately, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.
***Will Graham hadn't committed those murders. Sherlock didn't yet know who had, but he was certain that Will had been cleverly framed.
There was just something about this entire case that didn't feel right. Will might think that it was possible for him to be a murderer, but Sherlock didn't think so. In spite of the blackouts and lost time, he didn't believe for a moment that the man he'd met was a killer.
His feelings had nothing to do with the fact that Will Graham was the most attractive he'd ever met. No, not at all. That was entirely secondary.
Entirely. It had no bearing on the case.
Except that it did, he thought with a sigh. He was having a hard time keeping his personal feelings out of this case. Maybe it had been a mistake to visit Will in jail so early on in the case, but it was something he'd had to do. He'd had to meet the man for himself.
He hadn't expected to be so strongly attracted to Will. But then, he hadn't expected Will to have a face like a ravaged angel and an aura of helplessness.
He hadn't thought that he would feel so protective of someone he'd just met. And he certainly hadn't thought that he would want to sweep Will into his arms and ravage those lips with his own until Will moaned his name and begged for more.
That hadn't been on his agenda at all. His own feelings had overwhelmed him, taken him by surprise. They had come completely out of the blue.
The strange thing was, he didn't want to stop them.
He had never let himself become so caught up in a case before that he couldn't separate his own personal feelings from the facts. This was a first.
Was this was falling in love was like? This desire that he couldn't control, that swept over him whenever he thought of Will or brought the other man's face to his mind? Was this what it was like to lose one's heart -- and to not want it back?
It was exhilarating. And at the same time, it was frightening, as well as confusing. Sherlock wasn't sure of what he felt, or of what he should feel.
He'd never fallen in love before.
He had nothing to compare this feeling to, nothing that he could measure it with. It was something entirely new to him, something that had taken him unawares.
But it was also something he wanted to keep feeling, Sherlock told himself firmly. He didn't want to let this feeling die away; it was too fresh, too exciting. And it was something that seemed to wrap around his heart and give him some meaning in his life.
Before he had met Will Graham face to face, there had been nothing in his life but his work. Will made him feel that there was a chance for .... something more in his life.
What that something was, he didn't know exactly. Did he want to let Will into his life and into his heart? Was he willing to take that kind of a risk?
After all, he didn't know Will. He could be entirely wrong about his assessment of the other man; behind that beautiful face, there could lurk the soul of a killer. But Sherlock didn't think so. That wasn't at all the impression he'd gotten from Will.
Will might not believe in himself, but he needed someone to believe in him. And Sherlock was sure that he filled that need admirably.
Yes. He believed in Will Graham. In his innocence, and in his innate goodness.
He couldn't not believe in Will. There was simply something about the young man that tugged at him, that drew him like a moth to a flame.
Sherlock couldn't put his finger on just what that feeling was, and he didn't need to. For now, it was enough for him to know that he needed to help Will, that he needed to hold out a hand and give him hope. He could do that. Time enough later for more than that.
At this point, he simply had to find out who had framed Will, and make sure that they took his place behind bears. He needed to get Will out of jail.
Whatever might happen after that was up to fate.
This had been a masterful frame-up job, Sherlock thought, frowning as he studied the machine that Will used to make his homemade fishing lures. It hadn't been dusted for prints; he could see that clearly. Someone had been remiss in their job.
He hadn't done such a thing in a long time, but he did know how to dust for prints. And it seemed that was the first thing he needed to do.
Sherlock was convinced that the person who had framed Will would have left their fingerprints here, on this machine -- after all, they had been the one who had taken the hair samples from the victims and woven them into Will's lures.
It might not be easy to convince the FBI that someone else had done that. But if he had fingerprints as proof, the case against Will would be much weaker.
He was determined to prove Will innocent.
That wouldn't sit well with whoever had done this, Sherlock thought wryly. They had gone to great lengths to put Will behind bars. But he would catch them.
And for now, he would push this strange new sensation, the one that his mind told him was just like falling in love, to the side. There was time enough to think about that feeling later, to deal with it on his own terms, and to figure out just what he was experiencing.
If it was love, then he would take that in his stride as best he could. But for the moment, there were more important things for him to put his mind to.
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