It's very dangerous to watch movies after bingeing on a whole lot of fanfiction.

This story relies heavily on the plot of Pirates Of The Caribbean, with a few of my own twists thrown in.

Enjoy!

Never Trust A Pirate

The sea's were calm and the sky was clear; a perfect day for sailing, the crew of the HMS Stamford had said. Everyone aboard was out enjoying the beauty of the day.

One boy in particular, a young boy of ten with unruly black hair and very pale skin, had lost himself in his extravagant imagination as he raced to and fro around ship's bow. No longer was he just plain old Sherlock Holmes, but Captain Sherlock Holmes; the most feared and ruthless pirate of the seven seas.

"Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me." He hummed quietly whilst stabbing his invisible opponents with his equally as invisible sword. "We pillage plunder, we rifle and loot. Drink up me hearties, yo h-"

"Hey!" A rough hand grabbed at his shoulder, and spun Sherlock around. One of the ship's crewmen, more child than man, stood glaring down at the young passenger with large brown eyes. "Don't you know it's bad luck to sing about pirates this far from land?"

Sherlock jutted his chin out stubbornly at the boy. "Only fools believe in bad luck."

"Then call me a fool because I'm not taking the chance, nor will let you risk it."

"That will do Mr. Dimmock."

Two men approached the ongoing glaring match. One was the captain of the ship, he had dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and bore an look that seemed to be permanently set in an expression of deep disdain for everything around him. The other man was dressed in much finer clothes which spoke volumes of his position as the newly appointed governor of Port Royal, the ship's destination. It had been the captain who had spoke. Dimmock let out an indignant noise for being told off. "Sir, the boy was-"
"We're well aware of what young Mr. Holmes was up to. Just as we are aware that it is not your place to punish him.

"But Captain Adler!"

"You do have job on this ship don't you?" The governor asked. "Go do it."

Dimmock opened his mouth to argue, but a sharp look from his captain reminded him of his place. "Aye Governor." He gave a half hearted salute before scampering away.

The captain grimaced. "I apologize for him, Governor."

"He is young, he will learn." The governor turned towards the younger boy still standing in front of them. "You may return to your duties, Captain. I can take it from here."

The captain gave a curt nod. "Of course, Governor Holmes."

Sherlock crossed his arms as the captain made a hasty retreat. "Wasn't doing anything wrong." He murmured.

Governor Holmes rolled his eyes at his younger brother. "You were riling up the sailors. You know how superstitious they can be."

Sherlock looked up at his other brother with a pout on his face. "But you told me the only people who believed in superstitions were ignorant peasants not even worthy of acknowledgement."

"And I stand by what I said. Still, it may be best if you kept your head down for the rest of the voyage."

The boy let out a dramatic moan. "I hate this trip. It's so boring. Nothing exciting ever happens."

"Good. The less excitement we have this far at sea, the better. Now go play with the other children, and stay out of trouble."

The Governor turned and left his brother to pout over the side of the ship. A spare crate floated past the ship. It was probably Wilkes and the other boys again. Sherlock pondered. Trying to stir up trouble to get their snobbish parents to pay attention to them for more than a minute. Dull. As Sherlock's mood darkened so did the weather. No, the sudden haze was too thick for regular fog; Sherlock sniffed. Smoke? Even more curious than that, the amount of debris in the water had increased.

The explanation to this appeared moments later when the gutted remains of a British passenger ship floated into view. Sherlock squinted through the thickening smoke at a peculiarly shaped door. The boys eyes widened in realization. On top of the floating door there was a small boy. "Mycroft! In the water!"

Mycroft strode over to his brother while still directing orders to search for survivors from ship. "Man overboard!" The boy was hoisted aboard by two of the sailors. They placed him on the deck and out of the way before returning to the search for more survivors.

"Well Sherlock." Mycroft smirked. "You got your excitement. Keep an eye on him."

Up close the boy appeared closer to Sherlock's age. His hair was blonde beneath the grime from the explosion. He was small, and his close were those of a third class citizen's. Sherlock was already getting bored. when a flash of gold caught his attention. There was a necklace around his throat, previously hidden beneath his shirt. Sherlock pulled it off to examine the golden medallion the chain was connected to. It appeared to be some kind of coin. Not just any old coin, but pirate's gold.

"Shouldn't take stuff that's not yours." A weak voice muttered. Sherlock looked down to find a pair of dark blue eyes watching him.

"I was just looking. The name's Sherlock Holmes."

The boy nodded. "John Watson." And then John Watson fainted.

Ten years later Sherlock Holmes awakened from his vivid dream by someone hammering on his bedroom door. Sherlock pulled his covers over his unruly mop of black curls and made no move to leave the comfort of his bed. The knocking finally ceased, only to be replaced by the creaking of the door being opened. "Still in bed at this hour."

"Go away."

Mycroft Holmes let out an annoyed sigh from where he stood at the end of his brother's bed. "We are both expected to attend Captain Adler's promotion ceremony today, Sherlock. I will not have you embarrass me by making us late."

"I told you last night I wasn't going. I have experiments to monitor."

"If you're not in the carriage in the next thirty minutes, your experiments are going in the sea. Get dressed." Ignoring the rude hand gesture tossed his way, Mycroft left.

Twenty-eight minutes later Sherlock stomped his way down to their mansion's front foyer, where he found the man who had been the centre of his earlier dream. John was staring sheepishly at a candelabra that was suspiciously short a candle holder. He didn't take any notice of Sherlock, until the taller man called his name.

"John!" Sherlock shot his brother a glare. "Didn't know you were here."

Mycroft smiled passively back. "Must've slipped my mind."

John had long since learned to tune-out the constant sibling squabble, and nodded his greeting to Sherlock. "Morning Mr Holmes."

This only resulted with an eye roll. "We've known each other for nearly a decade, John. There's no need for formality."

John smiled. "Of course, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Clearly Mycroft had been giving another one of his infamous propriety speeches before he had arrived.

"Sherlock." Mycroft said, cutting off any observation his brother was about to vocalize. "We're leaving." Mycroft turned his attention towards the fair-haired man. "Thank you again for the sword, John. Do pass that on to your master."

Sherlock glared at his brother's smirking face as their carriage carried them over the bumpy roads of Port Royal. Mycroft was more than well informed about the daily state of John's 'master'.
"You didn't have to say that, Mycroft. You and I both know who actually made that sword."
Mycroft chuckled, his expression became even more condescending. "Is Sherlock Holmes of all people trying to lecture me about being rude?" Sherlock scowled at his brother. Perhaps if he thought about it hard enough he could make Mycroft's head explode with just his mind. "I dislike your association with that boy. He's much too common."

"You underestimate him." Sherlock muttered. "John Watson is anything but common."

"He's common in the one place it matters; status."

"There are more important things." Sherlock muttered.

"No there aren't. Your /friendship/ ends now, Sherlock."

Sherlock crossed his arms. If his brother was expecting him to sit there and accept this, he was sorely mistaken. "In case it's escaped your notice, Mycroft, I am not a child anymore. You can't dictate who I want in my life and who I don't."

"You live in my house Sherlock. You will do as I say. Or, if you prefer, you can move out, find yourself a proper job, and marry."

Sherlock dropped his face into his hands. "Don't start." When was his brother going to let this subject drop? Anytime the two brothers entered a conversation, Mycroft would find a way to subtly slip it in. How much longer could Mycroft ignore the fact that Sherlock was simply not interested?

"Miss. Adler is a... lovely girl. I don't see why you won't at least consider-"

"Irene Adler is power hungry harlot. The only reason she has any interest in me is because of my name. If it weren't for that, the woman would hardly spare me a glance."

"Be that as it may, our family and hers would make very powerful allies. A marriage would help to secure that."

"Then why don't you marry her if you're so keen?" Sherlock snapped back. Mycroft sniffed, but gave no response and, much to Sherlock's pleasure, the rest of the journey was spent in silence.

Chapter one... complete.