The wind hit against the hull, rocking the ship slightly and blowing the sail with great ferocity. The ship was built soundly and there was no real danger, but the newer passengers could be seen wobbling and holding on to the walls and railings in fear and doubt. In the early dawn, standing at the helm, was John Watson, veteran and former war doctor, now the co-captain of the SS Reichenbach. As the captain came in from his short but heavy sleep, he stepped back for him.
"How has she been holding up, Watson?" He asked, gripping the wheel.
"She's gone very smoothly, sir," He told him. "There was a light raincloud that I could not fully avoid, but no real complications."
"Good to hear, Watson," He replied, then focussed his attention on controlling the mighty ship.
John nodded. "I'll begin my rounds, then."
They would be docking that day, though they had only a handful of days before. This time, however, they were not getting supplies or even newly trained officials and their personal cargo, or dropping off old supplies and old passengers, but picking up a singular, very significant man. This was sure to cause a stir among the passengers so they had not spoken to any of them about the reason for this stop, but the docking itself was sure to cause it anyway, as it always did.
As he stepped onto the main deck, he was proven correct. Informed or not, The SS Reichenbach's passengers would be absolutely filled with excitement. He remembered, as he often did, his days on a ship much like the one he was on, but much more inforced and much stronger, and filled with soldiers. He had seen so much blood and death and destruction that he would never forget, and the excitement of these passengers was reminding him of those who would never feel it again. He liked to think that he was a veteran, no longer a soldier for England, walking firmly away from chaos in disdain and exhaustion, but in truth he knew he was still a pawn. He was sailing their ship to be their spies, and transporting those trained just for it- and the biggest problem of all, was that he almost didn't have a problem with it. He shuddered slightly and looked at those around him, the families, mostly, of the crew, not any soldiers- at least no soldiers that would be seeing warfare on this ship.
They were gossiping to each other, the women straightening up with wide eyes when they saw him, then quickly going into more enthusiastic, hushed speech. His eyes moved from them, now looking at the men who were speaking loudly in their groups, placing various bets about the supplies they were stopping for. John began to walk again, leaning a little harder on his cane, the strain of standing in the helm for hours always impacting him a little more than he was comfortable admitting. He took his watch out of his pocket to check the time. Just three hours until docking and the rumors and gossip would fade away until their next landing, which was scheduled for no earlier than six weeks from now.
As he passed the passengers many of them would gossip hurriedly or greet him with the obvious hope of getting extra information. The exception seemed to be The Woman. She flashed him a smile he couldn't quite call sultry, as he had seen her at her best. She was leaning against the wall with an air of simple seduction, bodice showing just enough to be improper. He was still not entirely sure how she had ever gotten onto the ship, but it was well-known that she had the money to pay (which she did without any word of it) and that taking her off the ship, or threatening to, would surely cause nothing short of a riot. The men, and even the woman, all loved her, a strange phenomenon that even touched the captain. John felt an empty neutralness for her, annoyed occasionally by her crass, but generally finding not but a thing wrong with her enough to lose her any kind of privilege that they could take away.
"Good morning, Dr. Watson," She greeted him, eyes twinkling in a way he could imagine might get her what she wanted with some, but would not with him- a fact they both knew.
"Ms. Adler," He responded, tipping his hat with a small gesture and a serious, slightly tired, expression on his face.
"Today's the day, is it not?" She said with enough feign innocence to make him actually crack a small smile. "It's gotten the ship quite curious."
"Does that include you, Ms. Adler?" John asked her, feeling as if he did not want to hear the answer at all.
"Why of course not," She replied sounding authentic this time. "I already know."
"Do you?" He stated doubtfully. It was true that The Woman was infamous for knowing far too much, but this information was classified and he hardly believed that she could have gotten it so easily. More so, he did not believe that she would keep a thing that was so popular, completely to herself.
"Yes, I believe I do," She said confident with a smile shaded with mystery. "It's a Holmes."
He tried to hide his surprise and significant annoyance, but he knew it shined through enough for her to be absolutely amused by it.
"I am correct," She added. "You can say I am."
"I will say nothing," He refused, three words he deeply regretted as soon as they left him, for he knew they proved her right.
She simply laughed and asked for nothing more and told him no more either if she did indeed have anymore she could have shared. He walked away from her, tenser than before, and began watching the passengers again, and checking the crew. His mind began to wander, first lingering on the confusion he had about Irene Adler's incessant knack for gathering information she shouldn't have, then he forced himself to change the subject, and began to think the way the others on the ship were. He knew the man's name and his importance, his reason for being on their ship- both technically and politically- but not much more than that. It was said he was a man of not just awesome mind and wit, but of elegance.
His curiosity was spectacularly present, but he did not linger on the subject for long. The ship felt sturdy under his feet and he could see the sun behind them, hidden only slightly by a dense cloud the captain had recently maneuvered around with ease. The wind moved across his experienced face like a low sigh, and his eyes searched the ship for misdeeds. Reichenbach was not a sinful ship- there was occasional gambling and the pleasures provided by The Woman, but those were simply gentlemen's fancies- and so he did not exactly expect any sudden debacles, but he searched for it anyway, examining the ship with his eyes and leaning heavily on his strong cane.
The day went slow, but not too much slower than the ones before it had. The crew was working smoothly and passengers were not up in arms enough to become a true problem. The winds had sped up more but other than the flapping of his coat, John hardly noticed it. The clouds and darkened, however, and he did notice this development. His feet and cane brought him to the captain again, knowing the other man was known for becoming part of the worn wood surrounding him if allowed to, and losing his individual focus. He was a good captain, John admired him for this, but he had a tendency to look past the danger and forget that the chaotic beauty he often revelled in was also something to fight against or at least prepare for.
"A storm is moving in," He told him with no pause once reaching the helm.
"Ah, yes, so it is," The captain replied slowly. "I suppose we should prepare, Watson."
And so their crew set about taking down their flags and starting to leave the main deck. The tarps had been pulled across the decks, dark and strong and resistant. The only people above were John and the Captain, who watched the storm with eyes shaded with fear and calculation. Below them there were flashes of lightning, rods faded and distantly small, but bright. They could hear a distant clap of thunder, and with that the rain began.
There were few clouds above them, but the ones that were were pouring on them mercilessly. The ship tried with all her might to dodge the heavy clouds surrounding her, but the gaps between them were narrowing more by the moment, and eventually, much too soon, they could not be dodged at all. The ship plunged them into the gray fog, the water creating it sticking and sinking into the wood they stood on. Visibility decreased exponentially as they sailed through clouds upon clouds. The wind was raging now, and they could see a dark trail of smoke next to them, which they knew had come from the back of the ship and had travelled to them quickly and erratically
They stood their ground on the journey which became more dangerous and less stable with every turn of the wheel. Hands gripping at the wood, they tried with all they could muster to not be flung forward. John pulled at the rope, lowering their position in the sky, in the hopes that they could find the bottom of this hell they were attempting to fly through. Alas, there seemed to be no end nor a bottom to this storm. Time passed as slowly as if they had had to smith it themselves, fighting against the wind and squinting through the fog. Checking his watch once more, John found that it would be time dock soon. He considered voicing this to the captain, but thought better of it, letting him focus on navigation and survival instead of errands.
It felt like the second coming when finally they could see blue, grey as that blue turned out to be. The wind was still fighting them, but felt as if it had begun to get tired and no longer had a heart for it. John let himself slump against the wall, leg aching and heart nearly palpitating. Slowly let his lids fall over his eyes and he took in deep breaths, attempting to calm himself. After what could have been seconds or perhaps minutes, he reopened his eyes. The sky was much clearer, though there was still many a sign of the storm, and he knew that it had not passed, they had merely passed it.
"It seems as if we could be right on time," The captain said suddenly, one hand on the wheel, one holding a dark brass compass. "If we were not exceptionally off course."
"Should we turn around?" John asked, not liking the idea, but willing to accept the captain's decision if it was justified.
"No, I don't believe so," He replied. "I think it's best to not delve back into the storm. We shall wait. I'm afraid, however, we'll be waiting quite a time."
"The storm will still be on land," John responded with a nod. "How long do you think it will take to stop completely?"
"I cannot be sure," The captain began. "but I would guess no longer than two hours, hopefully a bit less."
John sighed, exhausted by the thought of the storm and waiting for it to pass. They sailed forward for what must have been just under an hour, then sailed back in the other direction for longer. There did not seem to be anymore lightning, fortunately, and as they travelled the thunder became quieter and quieter until John was quite sure that it had disappeared.
With care and ease, the ship was brought lower until they could properly make out the land, and then brought down to reach it. Gracefully it ascended until it reached a full stop on the ground, its belly skimming on the ground before it stood regally and expectantly on the empty dock in front of a large black building. The building, John saw as he approached the railing to leave the ship, had a small gathering of people in front of it.
The captain had made it clear through their experience together that he did not like to leave his ship unless necessary, and he had also made it clear a few days ago that he did not deem this as necessary. With this knowledge in hand, John left Reichenbach without him and went to greet those waiting for them.
"Good morning," He said as he neared them, their heads already turned to him in anticipation. "I'm Dr. John Watson, I am the co-captain of the SS Reichenbach. I'm dreadfully sorry for the delay, the storm put us off quite a bit."
He reached a hand out in greeting and one of the men stepped up towards him. He was taller than John and had silver hair and a formal outfit which coupled with his posture to create a picture of a man who had gone through training. He could guess that he was an official of some sort, but couldn't be sure exactly what. The man took his outstretched hand into a very firm handshake and smiled casually.
"Greg Lestrade," He introduced himself. "I'm to be your captain of the guard."
"Captain of the guard?" John questioned him incredulously. They had not had a captain of the guard since the very first trips on the The Reichenbach. Their guards from then on had mainly governed themselves, and had been doing a fine job of it. More curious, was the fact that this man was not the one he had been told to retrieve, and that they had only spoken to them about a single new passenger.
"Yes," Lestrade replied easily. "Mycroft Holmes has assigned me to to tighten security on his ship. I'm also accompanying Sherlock."
At the sound of the name, a dark figure moved behind him, letting out a small noise that could be interpreted as either a sigh or groan. John was surprised to feel himself grow more excited. He only had so much to go on, he hadn't an idea of what he should expect. He suddenly felt oddly shabby as he imagined the man stepping forward, well dressed and and dignified and with an air of money. His breath caught.
"Ah, come on, Sherlock," Lestrade said, moving a hand backwards to beckon the man forward.
With a scraping noise of wood pushing harshly against gravel, the figure grew to its full height and left the shadows. John felt his eyes widen considerably and uncontrollably. He was a tall man, much taller than himself, dressed in a long black coat, with black curls of hair on the top of his head. It may have looked striking if the hair had not been matted and wild and the long black coat draped over his altitudinous figure, twisted and smeared with dirt. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin pale as if his veins were carrying nothing at all. The blue scarf around his neck was drooping off of him and had a dark stain on it that he didn't wish to think about. He looked clearly annoyed as if this all bored him, but John thought it was unrealistic to think he could focus enough to even be bored. His reddened but still somehow sharp eyes locked on John and moved down his form quickly.
"A soldier," Sherlock stated, the boredness in his expression now noticeable in his voice. "Injured during combat about a year ago- not too badly, it was more the fever that did it, just enough to get you sent back home- something you're still not sure if you're happy about- oh you say you are, but you miss it. Sailing isn't the same, no thrill, not like death. You respect your captain- a little too much in my opinion- you have a gun in your pocket which you are never going to use but secretly hope you'll have to, you are currently craving your favorite tea- gunpowder, which is a telling in itself, honestly- and you are most likely about to say-"
"That's amazing!" John cut off his rapid speech and was surprised by both of their outbursts. He felt a little violated to be honest, but the accuracy and skill he had just witnessed was beyond words. The other man looked a little surprised as well for a moment, then it passed and disappeared into his once again blank and bored face.
Sherlock leaned against the wall gently. Lestrade was looking at him a little disapprovingly, which John somehow felt Sherlock was aware of but actively ignoring. He could see exhaustion in the skin of the man and it was no guess when he decided that the man was most certainly under opium's influence. It looked almost as if they had just drug him out of the den mere moments before them meeting.
His attention moved off of Sherlock and it was only then that he noticed the other man who had yet to speak.
"Michael Stamford?" John said with surprise.
The man smiled brightly at him. "Nice to see you again, John. I heard that you had been off fighting for the country."
John did not say a word as he knew this was no longer a question.
"How has life off the battlefield been then, Doctor?"
John measured his potential answer before speaking, feeling more aware of himself and his choices as Sherlock Holmes was sure to find from it much more than that which he tried to construe.
"Very different," He said finally, forcing a slightly more cheery tone into his words. He heard a small scoff and ignored it. "What are you doing these days? What are you doing here?"
"I'm Sherlock's acquaintance," He answered, to which Sherlock rolled his slightly dead looking eyes with another noise. "I know him, I mean, and when I heard that you were the captain of the ship he was going onto I offered to come. I'm support I suppose- and a good man to have around if a health issue arises." His eyes flickered to the still impassive Sherlock.
"Co-captain," John responded, a little late.
"This is so mundane," Sherlock complained, eyes closing tiredly. "Must you continue in this tedious direction?" He opened one eye again, clearly inspecting them both. "Oh. I suppose you must."
John felt himself prickle in annoyance and offense. Michael, on the other hand, did not seem bothered in the slightest. To John's utter surprise, he actually laughed. After considering responses, John decided not to answer him at all, speechless from the confusion this man was forcing upon him. He was startlingly hard to understand, and, even after such a short meeting, John felt it safe for him to assume that he never would.
Sherlock straightened out of his slump, no longer supported by the wall, and began to walk, suddenly leading them. John walked behind him and watched how the man came aboard the ship as if he had been on it for ages. He stopped at the railing, hands tight on the wood.
"My quarters," Sherlock said with no inflection as John and Lestrade gathered onto the ship.
"What?" John asked, not sure of the intended question.
"I need sleep," He told him with annoyance he had not even tried to hide. He raised two fingers to his temple, rubbing it aggressively. "My quarters, where are they?"
"Below deck and down the hall on the left," John replied with some hesitation. He paused before adding, "I'll take you."
"If you must."
Feeling distant and strangely perplexed, he led the man down below deck and to his quarters, though he wasn't sure he could call it leading as Sherlock was, once again, in front of him. As they reached the door that hid the small space Sherlock would stay in, John slowed. Sherlock reached the door and opened it with no hesitation, instantly going in.
John faltered and then said to the door, "I think you'll enjoy it here" as he told every passenger.
"Oh please." The door opened again. "This is going to be dull."
