"I can't let them have you," She says gently. Her melodic voice hypnotizing, pulling him closer to the sea even though she wants him anywhere but. "You know what will happen."

He can feel her power in the waves that crash into his ankles and draws him inward. Her dark eyes, glimmer with sadness as she lowers her head back into the ocean, a silver flash and flick of her tail and the spell is broken.

Clouded eyes are now sharp again, scanning the sea for any sign of what he thinks might have occurred. He does not spot the hazel glint behind the rocks as his crew men summon him.

"Sherlock, there's been another shipwreck. The king has asked us to go handle the pirate situation." The graying man standing in front of him takes in the water logged state of his dress, but wisely does not mention it.

"Oh, very well." He huffs, sweeping his hat off the sand and planting it firmly on his head. "Where is he sending me now, Lestrade? Are you to be my guard dog?"

"Canary reef. Doctor Watson already has the maps."

"Good. Carry on then."

"Er, Sherlock. Where are your boots?"

His toes wriggle in the sand for a moment, peering down at his own feet and wondering how had the sturdy leather boots been removed. His mind whirls up the possibilities and then he notices the tiny marks of nails biting into flesh. On his foot.

Another sharp look out to the sea.

"I was dragged off by a pod of sirens, Inspector." His tone dry, and eyes zeroing in on a brief flick of silver.

The elder man chuckles nervously, sputtering out several rounds of "Nonsense, utter nonsense, Holmes." But stepping away from the creeping tide none the less.

Casting his gaze back to the foaming surfaces, he almost misses the ripples heading against the current.

The game is on.

Gun powder burst on the decks of Moriarty's ship, and he feels the boat sinking into the water. Moriarty's lifeless body run through and pinned to the mast by his own sword, but he doesn't have the strength to answer Watson's calls for him. He'll be at home and one with the sea soon, much sooner than he expects as he slides down the wooden fragments of the deck and falls under the salty surface.

He floats for what might be endless hours.

Focus, his eyes snap open to meet brown eyes that burn with determination. We need you to focus.

Her slender arms wrap around his waist and he feels a smooth brush against his foot that propelled them quickly to the surface of the water. Sherlock gasps for air as she heaves him on to the floating wreckage.

"Here, here, please!" Her melodic cries cause his men to scurry over port-side and find him there.

"It's the captain. Let's get him out, men." Watson issues the commands and the row boats are lowered. The tide does not move the jetsam, even as the boat comes nearer, he feels the gentle grasp of her hands and the firm beat of her tail underneath the waters surface.

"Up on the boat, Cap'n. Never know what lurks in these waters and ya don't want to chance death again today."

"You are made to lure men to their deaths, and yet you have save me twice."

She doesn't speak, only nodding and he reads every line on her expressive face.

"You've already spoken to me twice, why hold your tongue now? I've proven competent enough against your charms and of those of your ilk." He does not like the feeling of being inferior. Her wide eyes blink, glittering with mirth as she comes to the waters edge, hoisting her upper body on to the rocks.

"Is that what you think, landling?" Her voice smooths over him like the finest silk and he leans into her almost imperceptibly. "You are not like the others, but that does not make you above them." She does not move and hardly breathes as Sherlock tries to gather his senses. He gives her a disgruntled look, straightening his waist coat.

"You have proved your point, siren."

"Molly."

"Pardon?"

"My name is Molly."

"Women are not so brash on the surface."

"Do I look like woman of the surface to you, Sherlock?" Molly offers a hand, long and pale, the tips of her fins brushing just at the surface of the water. He inspects her arm and hand closely. Her nails elongating at various flexing and rotations of her wrist, scales glittering in small patches and dotting her arms. "Most men of the surface are not this forward."

"Molly, have you ever taken me to be like most men?" He gently pulls on her hand, pulling her further out of the water. She does not seem to be afraid as her torso and waist follow out of the water and on to the rock.

He feels the restraint of power as she lets him lead her, this creature who could easily kill him with a flick of her dainty hands.

"Are you afraid Sherlock Holmes?" Her warm eyes freeze over, knowing his answer.

"Yes." Her wrist goes limp in his touch. "But that does not mean that I do not want to understand."

She gives him a wide smile, and as she leans towards him is maybe not the best time to note how sharp her teeth look. "Do not be afraid, landling. I am patient. I will not let the sea have you." She whispers, her hair dripping his shirt as her cold lips press gently to his cheek.

"You are of the sea, will you not have me?"

She gives him a sad smile.

"You do not know what you ask of me, Sherlock Holmes." One last lingering kiss is placed on his forehead before she is one with the waves again.

"Why do landlings wear such curious things to contain themselves?" Molly laughs from her perch on the rocks, splashing a pitch of water with her fin. "It makes sense to be free, does it not?"

"Humans rarely understand such logic, Molly." Sherlock drones, tugging his boots off and keeping them away from the waters edge. Molly would take his third pair of the year, and that was just impractical. What use did a woman with fins have for shoes?

At the question, Molly froze and her smile grew timid.

"I do not understand them. It is curious to me, much as my tail is curious to you. Is it not the same?"

He knows the look she wears, for he often saw it in the glass when he was a child. The fear of rejection.

"It is, Molly. I apologize, forgive me."

"No, no, no! Stay alive!" The waves are too strong for her to swim against and her home is being stained red by his blood. "I will not let you die like this."

"Molly," he has to make her understand there is nothing that could be done for him medically anyway. She cradles his head and he feels the world slipping away as they rock on the waves.

"No."

And in the blink of an eye, she is gone. The water is cold without her to anchor him. She will be back, he trusts. She wouldn't leave him in his final moments, loyalty is Molly's finest quality.

As if to answer his thoughts, he feels her familiar touch grasping the back of his head gently.

"Sherlock, I need you to eat this. Please, try." She works a tasteless sponge into his mouth and down his throat. His body warms, and then like an inferno blazing in his veins. "I know, I know!" Molly cries as he pleads for death.

Time moves either too slowly or rushes by much faster, as his body shakes and heaves in the water, the heat dispelling.

"Molly?" Her eyes are red from tears and he feels weightless.

"Oh Sherlock, I am sorry. I wanted you to live."

It is then that he notices the formation of scales on his hands. Instead of feeling individual legs, he feels one powerful fin in their place. Molly turns away from him, her fingers sliding from his grasp as he marvels at his new body. He catches her hand once more.

"I asked if a creature of the sea would have me? Would she still?"

"Yes, yes. A thousand times, yes, Sherlock."