Sherlock Holmes's Point of View
The city of Southampton bounced outside of the window as we rode down the cobblestone streets to our destination: the docks. My older brother Mycroft was sitting across from me with Mummy, both talking excitedly to one another about the immensely large ship that was floating in the water before us. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I tried to ignore the sounds of their cheerful giggles and exclamations of awe as they saw the ship. I focused on taking in what would surely be the last I ever saw of my beloved home country. I took in the sights of the houses and pubs, the apothecaries and the newsstands. I tried to remember every detail about the buildings around me, none of them as splendid as those in London, but they will have to do as my last memory of England. I looked at the people walking along the sidewalks, some gawking at the car as we drove by, probably never having ever seen such an elaborate show of wealth in their life outside a horse-drawn carriage. I tried to remember their distinctly British faces and fashion styles as they flew by the windows, wanting to take in everything around me before I am forced onto a boat that would undoubtedly be my undoing.
"Oh, Sherlock, isn't it magnificent," said Mummy. She was smiling at me, her body angled to the window. Her hand rested daintily on the sill, her crème colored glove covering her hands. She held herself up, her back always straight as a sign of her education and wealth. I thought it made her look arrogant and posh.
I gave her a smile and said, "It's marvelous, Mother."
"I just can't wait to see the inside," she said, "I'm told it is to be absolutely beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you, Mother."
She gave me a sly smile and replied, "Flattery, my dear Sherlock, will get you far."
"I've learned from the best."
Her smile darkened, and she returned to looking out the window. I let my smile fall and returned to mine, hoping that she wouldn't try to talk to me again after that. This was all her fault. She was the reason I was being forced out of my comfortable town house and into a cramped looking ship going to America. She had been the one who destroyed my father's fortune, and now she was running from her troubles – and putting me in harm's way.
That is, if you call an arranged marriage as harm.
I did.
The car pulled closer and closer to the mammoth ship, the speed slowing considerably as the crowd around it grew thicker. Eventually we stopped and were forced to exit the car. Mycroft was first out, helping Mummy out and I followed, looking everywhere but the ship in front of me. Behind us, our second car with our luggage came to a halt, waiting for Mycroft to give them instructions. Our long time nanny, Mrs. Hudson, got out of the cab and joined us on the loading docks. She was the one who raised me, and the only one I would ever dare say that I truly cared about in my family. She came to my side and smiled up at me, and I held out my arm to her.
"It's quite the ship isn't it, Sherlock?" She said, wrapping her arm around mine. She wore a purple dress, and I felt very grateful for her choice. If there was anything that made me feel at home on this god forsaken ship, it would be Mrs. Hudson in her ever present purple outfits.
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson, it is."
"Very elegant."
I sighed, "Yes. I don't want to talk about it anymore."
"Oh, Sherlock," she frowned, "I know you want to stay here, but just think about the happiness you'll experience when we get to America. Think about your fiancée."
I didn't reply. Instead, I focused my gaze on the ground right in front of me.
An employee of the ship company, hired to handle First Class luggage, came over to help with the process and Mycroft gave him our suite numbers. Mummy, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and I made our way to the docking ramps which lead into the ship. I froze at the base, not wanting to enter, but it was Mycroft's warning side glance and Mrs. Hudson's gentle tug on my arm that kept me going. With slow steps, I felt a weight in my chest grow as I neared the narrow door that was set into the hull of the ship. As I neared it, I felt the weight turn into sorrow as I was leaving my beloved country behind forever.
I was now trapped, a prisoner of Mummy's wishes. A Prisoner of Mycroft's manipulating will. A prisoner of my fiancée's who waited for me in America. A prisoner trapped in the walls of this stupid boat.
I was now a prisoner of the Titanic.
Dr. John Watson's Point of View
I've been waiting in line for what seemed like forever; my feet were aching and my leg was hurting. I leaned on my cane to relieve some of the pressure from standing, and it helped a little. I had everything I owned in a bag on my back. I had my papers in my hand waiting to be handed off to the inspector in front of me. I had my ticket in my pocket for the collector at the bottom of the ramp. I was ready to get the hell out of dodge.
The Titanic was my freedom out of here. It was my ride to a land where I would hopefully be hired as a doctor or begin a practice of my own eventually. Being an army doctor who was honorably discharged with a wounded leg wasn't helping me find a job here in England, and I was hoping that in America they would be desperate to hire. I clung to that idea as I waited in line, and I clung to it for dear life.
The line began to move, and I was now next in line. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited for a station to clear. A man in a White Star uniform called me over and I handed him my papers of health. He read them over carefully, and said, "Everything seems to be in order sir, I just need to conduct a quick lice, teeth, and lung inspection. It will only take a moment."
I nodded and bowed my head to allow the man to search me for lice, opened my mouth so he could see my teeth, and allowed him to listen through a stethoscope for my breathing. And as he said, it only took a few minutes, and I was free to go onboard. Handing the man at the bottom of the ramp my ticket he smiled, "Welcome aboard the Titanic, sir."
I smiled at him, and said "Thanks" and climbed up into the Third Class deck. I was now a passenger of the R.M.S. Titanic. I looked for signs leading to my cabin, and made my way slowly through the halls to my door. I passed people of different nationalities in the hallway as I went, all of them parting for the man with a cane. A family of Italian decent pressed against the wall, their youngest child smiling up at me and saying hello. I turned a corner and found the numbers leading up to my room and picked up speed. Opening the door I smiled as I entered and set my bag down on a bunk and sighed. Sitting down, I took the weight off of my leg, and I rubbed it making sure everything was okay. Looking around my room, I saw that I would have at least three other roommates, hopefully all men. The room was white, with a single circular window. It had one closet and one sink with a mirror. A sign hung on the wall by the door alerting us to when breakfast, lunch, and dinner are to be served, and where on the decks we were allowed to be. Of course we are able to be on any of the outside decks as we wanted, and most of the inside, but we were highly encouraged to stay within our designated areas.
I sighed and reached into the breast pocket of my coat for the book that I always had with me. It was a collection of works done by the Pearl Poet, a poet that my mother read to my sister and I when we were younger. I had this book in my breast pocket wherever I went, even when I was in service. During the harsher times in Afghanistan I would read this book by what little light I had, and I would know that my family was with me. Tucked away inside the front cover was the only family portrait I had. It had been taken a long time ago when I was only a young boy. My father insisted that we have it done so we would always remember that we were a family. He died soon after it was taken. My mother gave it to me when I went into the service to always remind me that I had something to come home to. She too died: while I was in Afghanistan. The little girl in the photo was my younger sister Cecilia, she was the one who gave me the book. On the title page in delicate writing was the message she left for me. It read "To keep your heart adventurous and your head level." She was working as a maid on this very ship, looking to get off in America and stay there working for the White Star company in New York. She was assigned to one of the upper class suites, and would be off late. She told me she'd meet me out on the decks when she had a chance.
Setting the book down on my bed, I lay down and closed my eyes. The ship had a natural rock to it already, the small waves in the harbor pushing the massive thing side to side, up and down. It wasn't long before I felt myself start to drift to sleep, and finding that right now, no nightmares were plaguing me.
Sherlock Holmes's Point of View
Mummy, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and I found our suites. I was shown to my room, which was disgustingly luxurious. The bed was lined with silk sheets that had never been slept in. The walls were wood with elegant carvings gilded in what looked like gold leaf. The wardrobe was mahogany and grand, the carpet a rich merlot with some sort of plant interwoven in it. The chandelier that hung in the middle of the room gave a soft golden glow, and it was all I could do to keep myself from gagging. Mycroft on the other hand was marveling with Mummy about how beautiful everything was. How grand it all was. How utterly perfect it all was. In-between exclamations Mycroft's voice could be heard directing the serving staff where to put everything. I went back into the drawing-room and picked up my brief case, holding it in my hand.
"Sir, I could take that for you," said one of the chamber maids. She was young and far too pretty to be in this line of work. She had chocolate-brown hair that was tucked under her white bonnet, not a strand out-of-place. Her skin was softly tanned, suggesting that she has spent time outside. I thought of mother and tried to picture her spending time outside, but couldn't quite do it. This maid had soft brown eyes and was trying to hide her anxious want to finish all she had assigned to her, no doubt longing to be with someone on board – a man perhaps?
"Not this one," I said, "I'll take care of it."
She nodded, "Right, sir." Giving what appeared to be either a genuine smile or a very good fake, she turned and proceeded to help unpack and store the rest of my belongings. I took a moment to admire her thin figure before I shifted them elsewhere. Taking my bag, I turned to look out the open door onto the private promenade deck that we had. Going out, I walked over to the edge, looking out a window, and debated on whether or not to make a jump for it. My brother, however, sensing my pondering, came out.
"Beautiful, isn't she."
"Yes, quite," I said, "However, I do have a feeling it is far too luxurious for our… current pay grade."
"I wasn't talking about the ship," he said.
"Then what were you talking about?" My voice was low and toneless, giving away my obvious irritated mood.
Mycroft gave a deep and almost sinister smile as he replied, "Your chamber maid. If it weren't for her predicament, I would have loved to taste that."
"Don't be lewd, Mycroft, although it suits you all too well. And what predicament?"
He chortled, "Her being a maid, of course! A working class girl. God, what would the gossips say if it were to actually happen?"
"Oh I don't know, Brother Dear. Perhaps they would say 'At least the Holmes's are where they belong now.'"
Mycroft frowned. "We don't belong with them, Sherlock. We are better than them. Always have been, and always will be. Besides, with your upcoming marriage, I doubt we will be threatened by money ever again." And with an added smug little smile, Mycroft left me to my thoughts once more.
I looked down to my brief case and longed for everyone to finish fussing about and settle down. I looked at my hand that rested against the case and held it out only for it to tremble a bit. I inhaled sharply, and reached into the inside breast pocket of my jacket and pulled out my case of cigarettes. Taking one up, I held it between my lips as I fumbled around for a lighter. Setting the paper and tobacco on fire, I inhaled on my end of the small cylinder and I let the smoke out in a sigh. I felt the drug of the small object move through me and I felt myself begin to relax. Tightening my hold on my briefcase, I stood looking out at the harbor, and I felt my heart turn to a state of stone.
"Sir?" I turned to see the chamber maid from before, "Sir, we are about to depart. Would you like to join your family on one of the upper decks?"
I wanted to shout no, but instead I said, "Yes. Thank you."
"Might I take your briefcase to your room, sir?"
"No. I have it."
"Yes, sir." She smiled and moved out of the doorway allowing me to enter back into the drawing-room. I rushed into my room and stowed my briefcase under my bed, taking a moment to talk myself into letting it go. Finally standing up, I exited to find her waiting.
"What?"
"I have been ordered to escort you up by your brother, sir." She said.
I frowned. Of course Mycroft would want to make sure I made it there in one piece. I watched her stand still, not giving any sign of impatience. Not once did she shift her weight from one side to the other, her expression didn't break or drop. No, she simply stood with her hands clasped in front of her like she was supposed to. Sighing I said, "Alright, lead the way."
She gave that puzzling smile again, and turned to open the door for me. I let her lead me through the labyrinth of the ship taking me to the sun room where my family could be seen standing by the window talking to God only knew who. The maid took me across the room and stood to the side waiting for me to complete my journey.
"Ah, Sherlock," said Mycroft, "How nice of you to join us."
I gave a quick smile and stood next to Mummy silently as she introduced me to our party. I looked over at Mycroft who was talking to my chamber maid, giving her instructions. She smiled and curtseyed before leaving. As she turned away, I saw her face falter for a moment as her disappointment raged through her, but it was gone in an instant. She weaved her way through the gathering crowd of rich people, and then disappeared down a servant's passage. I turned my attention back to my party, catching Mycroft's gaze. I glared at him and he responded by giving me his usual smug smile.
"Sherlock," Mummy said, "Don't be rude."
Turning my attention to Duke Whose-its-name, I smiled and held out my hand for him to shake. If there was one thing I was absolutely sure about this trip, it was going to be hell.