The Sailor and The Soldier

Disclaimer: Sherlock BBC and its characters are not mine.

Chapter 1

Sherlock stood at the mast of his beloved ship, the SS Victorian. His crew was below, working the sails, steering the ship, doing their jobs. They had been sailing for quite some time, in search for land. They weren't necessarily running from something, but rather liked to live off the sea.

Sherlock's chocolate curls peaked out from underneath his rather large tricorn. His white shirt was enveloped in his leather trench coat, brimmed with gold. Dark brown pants were tucked into his worn boots, which were belted on. His sword was sheathed to his side and his revolver strapped to his waist. He could only be described as powerful as he stood at the mast now.

Sherlock, in all his glory, looked out on the shimmering water with his spyglass telescope, foot against the railing, as his crew worked. After the failed attempt at finding a speck of land, Sherlock pocketed his spyglass inside his coat and came down from the mast.

"Lestrade, set a course for these coordinates. We've been sailing this way too long, it's time to find a different route." He said to one of his loyal crew, Greg Lestrade, one he's known for most of his life.

Lestrade nodded before screaming the order to the rest of the crew. Sherlock headed down to his cabin. He sat at his makeshift desk, staring at his map. They had been sailing northeast for miles, no sign of land. He had told Lestrade to change direction, straight north, to see if any land would appear. His map was all he had, but it wasn't much. A great portion of it had been ripped during a storm, of no use to the captain.

After a few hours of sailing, Lestrade came into Sherlock's cabin without knocking.

"Lestrade! What would be so urgent that you come bursting through my door?"

"There's a boat. There seems to be a man stranded, passed out. Should we bring him onboard?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Yes, bring him onboard. We shall see what we will do with him afterwards."

With that, Sherlock followed Lestrade up to the deck as the rest of the crew pulled the man aboard. Sherlock walked over to the unconscious figure, looking him over.

The man had on a white undershirt, tucked into his camo pants. His matching jacket was long gone. His pants were then tucked into his combat boots. His blonde hair was closely cropped, standard military haircut. All his clothes were soaking wet, saying he hadn't been on that boat at first, but had climbed into it later after floating adrift. Couldn't have been there long. He was obviously a soldier, and based off the direction he was coming from, he fought in Afghanistan. Has a limp, with the cane on the deck and the way his leg was laying. Severely dehydrated and malnourished, and…

"Seriously? No one noticed the bullet wound in his shoulder? Get him to sick bay immediately! Call Hooper, he needs attention immediately. Meanwhile, wake up the night shift, you all need sleep. Tell them to search his boat for supplies or anything of importance. Please tell my brother to meet me in my cabin, Lestrade."

With that, his crew got to work, and Sherlock went back down to his cabin to think. Soon after, Mycroft arrived at his cabin, sitting across from Sherlock.

"Brother mine, what do you deduce of this...soldier fellow?" Sherlock asked. He needs a second opinion, and to his disgust, Mycroft was the best choice. Lestrade could be...slow at times.

"Couldn't tell, hmm? Slow as always, brother dear. No wonder I'm the smart one."

Sherlock gritted his teeth. "Of course I deduced it, brother dear. I simply needed a second opinion."

"Obviously a military man. Has a sibling that has a drinking problem, according to his phone, which was surprisingly on him. Has a limp, psychosomatic. PTSD, with the way he clenches his fist, even as he is passed out. The water got rid of most of the data, so that's all I have on him."

Sherlock nodded stiffly, angry that he missed the specifics of his limp, and the phone.

"What should we do with him?"

Mycroft shrugs. "Once he wakes up, question him. Could be of use to us on this idiotic ship."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Why'd you agree to come if it was so idiotic?"

"I didn't want you to hurt yourself. Or go back to….your old habits."

Sherlock scoffed. "I'll be fine. I don't need drugs, the sea is all I need."

Mycroft just nodded and left. Sherlock sat, legs crossed on his desk, hands together to think. He would take Mycroft's advice (to his dismay) and question the soldier once he woke up and was well enough to be questioned. Sherlock stood up, leaving his cabin to check on the night crew, putting the military man out of his mind.