John bobbed in the wake, he could still see the path the pirate's boat cut through the open waters. "Find me again," the man had said, his rich velvet voice still clear in the merman's ear.
A smirk graced John's lips, and he dove under the waves, following the calm line of water that denoted the pirate's path. He would find the pirate captain, and have him tell John his name.
By the time Sherlock arrived at his ship the main deck had been converted into a man made pond; with sails holding in water that had been dredged up, in buckets, from the sea. Sherlock loathed the line-crossing ceremony, but they were ahead of schedule, and the men were looking forward to the celebration. Luckily there was only one pollywog on board during this trip.
Billy Wiggins, the latest, and youngest addition to Sherlock's crew had in the past been a message carrier for them. The boy grew up along the river side, and made a living gathering information for the captain and his crew when they were out to sea.
Unfortunately the young man had got himself in a spot of trouble with authorities the last time Sherlock's ship had been in port. The captain took pity on the young lad, and offered him quarter. Sherlock easily quelled any objections from the crew with the promise that the boy would earn his keep, or perish doing so.
The lad was only sixteen, but could probably pass for twenty. He had a rough life from the start, and it showed in his thin warn features. Despite reservations from the rest of the crew Billy learned fast, and was able to navigate the many decks, sails, and rigging in no time; becoming a core member of the crew. Even so, he was still a greenhorn at sea, and subject to regular taunting by the elder sailors.
Sherlock would have to keep a keen eye on the proceedings to insure the men did not go too far in their hazing. His presence alone would ward away any ill intent on the boy.
Originally he had objected to the ceremony, feeling the time could have been better spent working. It was Lestrade, the ship's quartermaster, who convinced him to give the men a break. The officer saw it as a reward for such smooth sailing thus far, and hoped the gesture would insure high spirits for the remainder of their journey. Regardless of his own skepticism Sherlock allowed it.
As it turned out Sherlock needn't have feared. Once the preparations had been made the proceedings went off without a hitch. His only condition to the ceremony was that Lestrade be the overseer of the event. It was almost worth it to see Lestrade ridiculously dressed and portraying The King of the Sea, with the ship's carpenter, Mike Stamford, at the God's side playing the role of his fair wife.
Billy had received no worse then some teeth full of tar, and a terrible fright from falling blindfolded from the forecastle into his waiting baptismal on the main deck. The boy arose sputtering and flailing to join his other shellback brethren whom were cheering and splashing about from the sidelines.
While Sherlock was not fond of the tradition, he did not mind the festivities that followed. The crew danced, sang, and drank. Some brought up their instruments from below deck to add a bit of music to the merriment.
With the lanterns lit on deck the party continued well into nightfall.
Sherlock kept his distance from the rowdy crewmen. With his supervision of the ceremony now done he preferred to be left to his own devices. He stuck to the bulwark, nursing a glass of the wine he had retrieved earlier in the day. As he stared at the rich liquid swirling in his cup he thought back on the merman, John, that he had met while recovering said alcohol for the festivities.
Looking out over the dark ink black waters his mind wondered where John was: if the merman was still gliding along under the surface in a world barely touched by man, or if he had kin- a mate and family to return to. There was so much he did not know about the creature, and the regret of not knowing felt like a splinter in his mind.
Distantly Sherlock was aware of a presence at his back, and moving closer into his personal space. Glancing over his shoulder he acknowledged the silver haired man approaching from the gathering of crewmen a few yards away.
Lestrade strolled up smiling hesitantly, a familiar wooden case held carefully in one hand. "The lads were wondering if the captain wouldn't mind gracing us with one of his tunes."
Sherlock eyed his violin case, his cold gaze sliding up to the sailor's nervous face. Lestrade was the most trustworthy man aboard the ship, but the thought of anyone in his cabin without permission still unsettled the captain's nerves. There were delicate things in his quarters that should not be tampered with.
With a glare he silently conveyed his displeasure at the crewman's actions. The uneasy shifting in the man's body served as both an unspoken apology, and assurance that it would not be happening again.
Taking a long pull from his cup of wine, Sherlock leaned back more comfortably against the ship's railing. "Were they now?" He asked in cold disregard.
Lestrade blew a gusty sigh, he was obviously weary from the day's events. Apparently pretending to be a god could take it out of a man. "Come now, you can't be so rigid all the time. This is a chance to be happy, to enjoy yourself!"
Sherlock arched a single brow at that. "What makes you think I am not enjoying myself?"
"Because of everyone on board you're the only one bone dry from the ankles up."
It would seem the crew was no longer satisfied with him permitting the festivities, now they wanted him to participate as well. He might as well preform and get it over with.
With a heavy sigh Sherlock took one last sip from his wine. Reluctantly he reached for his violin case in the quartermaster's grasp.
Instrument in hand, he strolled over to the other musicians as they were wrapping up one of their shanties. He set his case gently on an upturned bucket, fastidiously ignoring the clamor from the other men.
Angelo, their cook, called for silence among them. "The captain is going to play us one of his fine melodies on his Stradivari! This is a rare treat for all of us!" The large Italian man gave Sherlock a nod, handing the stage over to the captain.
Cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd before a hushed silence fell. They waited with baited breath for their captain to begin playing. If it was one thing that brought Sherlock and his men together it was their love of the sea, and music. Even while their taste in musical entertainment lay miles apart.
Unlatching the clasps, holding the wooden case shut, he lifted the lid revealing one of his most prized possessions. The polished spruce and maple glinted in the lantern light as he drew the instrument from its velvet lined cradle. Taking up his bow he closed his eyes and began to play.
It was nothing as fast or spirited as the shanty before, instead he played a more delicate tune. The song he wove was as melodious as the sea itself. He remembers composing the piece when he was younger and lived by the shore. The call of the sea spoke to his heart even then, and he wrote down this song in answer, speaking through music how he longed to be a part of the ocean waves.
As the melody drew to an end Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, casting his gaze back out over the now moonlit waters. A glimpse of movement by the gunwale caught his eye, and he froze. His mind stuttered for a moment thinking he had seen someone on the other side of the bulwark.
Glancing around it seemed none of his men were the wiser. The crew was merrily clapping and chatting drunkenly over the performance, clearly unaware they were all being observed.
Sherlock nodded encouragingly to the other musicians. "Carry on."
Trying not to rouse anyone's suspicion Sherlock hurriedly turned to pack his violin in its case. He knew what he had seen, someone was on the outside of the ship.
There were always enemies on the high seas, and each of his men had their brushes with the law in one port or another. A ship such as his, with her crew more than half drunk, and unaware was a prime target for an attack. Whether it be from other pirates, or naval fleets.
This could have been a scouting party dispatched to gather information on their intended victims. If Sherlock could dispose of them quickly he might be able to spare himself from the rest of his drunken crew getting in the way. The last thing he needed was any one of his men accidentally getting shot, especially himself. Hopefully they would pass off any of his shooting as him simply having one of his strops, they happened often enough.
Once secured, he hauled his instrument over to the space he had occupied before his concert. Covertly peering over the gunwale, he surveyed the waters below attempting to make out the shape of a longboat parallel to the ship. He fingered the polished handle of his flintlock ready to prep the fire-arm the second he spotted a target.
That's when he saw it, a flash of silvery blue off to his right. Farther down the hull of the ship a familiar form was clinging to the wooden planks. Even hidden in the shadows Sherlock could tell who it was.
"What are you doing here?" He hissed down at the creature below.
The shadows shifted and John's golden tanned face emerged from the shrouded darkness. The light of the moon shimmering in the merman's eyes as he peered up to where Sherlock stood.
John instantly recognized the pirate as the one he had stood off against earlier in the day. Triumphantly he began to slither up the side of the ship, his claws effortlessly keeping a grip on the ship's hull as he pulled himself along. Light glinted off the rippling muscles of the merman's back as he hauled himself to the gunwale.
Sherlock once again found himself begrudgingly in awe of the raw power behind the merman's physique. For once his entire body was in full view.
The merman's tail was much longer than Sherlock would have expected. It was nearly twice the length of John's bronzed torso, sleek and shining blue in the moonlight. Much like the rest of merman it was thick and sturdy with sharp looking fins running down its dorsal and tip.
Deftly John propped himself on the chain ledge of the main mast, barely out of reach of the pirate.
"Your name," he exclaimed breathlessly. "I came to get your name."
Sherlock remained awestruck. He did not like feeling of being baffled, but somehow this creature managed to astound him at every turn.
John mistook the pirate's silence for confusion and began to babble. "I uh- I managed to follow you, that was until the sun went down. I swam for a ways when I spotted your ship, and heard you playing." His eyes fell keenly on the instrument in Sherlock's hands.
Sherlock blinked at John's omission. The merman had sought his presence from the moment he had directed the creature to come find him. He had not expected such a display of determined curiosity. John had clearly had run ins with humans before so why was he so adamant on seeking Sherlock out?
Squashing the rising tide of questions his mind Sherlock drew himself to his full height, giving off the air of regal authority.
"Do you have any idea the danger you would be in if one of my men was to spot you?" He inquired dryly.
John finally took notice of the clusters of men near the center of the deck. Licking his lips nervously he turned back to Sherlock.
His mind began to race down the possible scenarios of what could happen if he was seen. His left shoulder twinged as he remembered the burning steel of a grape shot tearing through his flesh.
Dread sent a shiver down his spine as he realized he had no idea if this man would shelter him from harm, or let the rowdy crew do what they pleased with him. His fin like ears flattened against his skull in revived panic.
Sherlock could see the creature's anxiety, and while he had no intention of allowing his men to lay a single finger on John, he had to let the merman know exactly the type of position he had put himself in.
Honestly it was no wonder that the creature had so many wounds marking his body. It was as if he had no sense of self-preservation when it came to humans. A smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock's lips, he could understand the curiosity.
Still the edge of a crowded ship was no place for them to converse, they would need total privacy if they were to quench their shared thirst for knowledge. "Meet me by the rocks, mid-morn tomorrow. There we will talk."
With his ultimatum given he turned intending to head back on deck. A sharp tug at his sleeve drew him to a halt.
"Wait!" John hissed, trying to keep his voice low while still conveying a sense of urgency. "Your name, please. It's all I want."
Sherlock paused to study John; the merman had gone to such lengths to find him after all, and it would be unkind to turn him away with nothing. Gently he withdrew his arm from the merman's loosening grip.
He answered, his response clipped and precise. "Sherlock Holmes. Captain Sherlock Holmes."