A/N This is a sequel to He's a Pirate*(see note ), which I wrote due to overwhelming demand from readers of He's a Pirate.
Okay, okay a couple of readers did suggest a sequel. No, really they did! So I did write a sequel both in honor of those requests and in honor of INTERNATIONAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! ARRR!
Aye matey's, today is ITLAPD, September the nineteenth, arr! So swash yor buckles and talk to everyone like you've lived on the old briney all yor days, arr. And don't let no scurvy dogs try to stop ye!
This is not a serious work of fiction, just some piratey fun. It's more fun if you listen to sound tracks of Pirates of the Caribbean while reading it. It's even more fun if you're drinking pirate grog (or any rum laced beverage)...wait, that assumes you are of legal age...which you should be if you're reading an M-rated fic.
Drinking grog while reading this story also violates the Do not drink and read fanfic rule, but what the hell, Its ITLAPD, so go out on a limb...er, out on the bowsprit and lets start a swashbukling ruckus. Arr. Where's me sword and pirate hat?
Warnings- imitation pirate talk (lots more more pirate tropes in the upcoming chapters), innuendos, bickering and a stubborn blond, former army cock blocker...Oh a scupper full of angst at the beginning.
CHARACTERS ARE UNDOUBTEDLY OOC. I mean it's a humorous pirate fic, so don't expect them to follow canon-like behaviors. Arr!
He's A Pirate Too
Chapter the First
"Idiot!" yelled Sherlock, looming over his shorter companion, "without the memory sticks there's no evidence! More importantly, without those memory sticks we have nothing to bargain with when Milady comes looking for them."
"Well, maybe she won't come looking for them," snapped John, still dazed from the wreck and near drowning and still stewing over the whole Milady debacle.
Milady was another super-intelligent, super-seductive woman with delusions of grandeur, just like that wretched Adler Woman. No, wait, Milady was worse. She was the Woman and Moriarty all wrapped up in one five-foot ten perfect package of femme fatale…beautiful toffee-colored skin, long blue-black hair and stunning almond-shaped eyes, legs that never stopped and breasts that… well. Well, John may have given his heart to bloke, but he could still appreciate a nice bosom. John hadn't gone blind just yet.
The point being, Milady was everything John was not. And she was a real pirate, and she was so damned smart! Which John was not. Milady was perfect for Sherlock Holmes. Which, apparently, John was not.
So, John stewed impotently, while his heart broke on the reefs of misfortune just like their stolen escape-boat had broken on the coral reef...
"Dear God, of course she'll be coming for them!" yelled Sherlock, dragging his hand through his seawater drenched curls. Damn, thought John, even half drowned that man looked good. The blond blogger eyed that man's lean but muscled chest under his soaking wet shirt. The suit, nearly torn to shreds, lay on the sand. Flung there by the agitated detective once he realized that the memory sticks had been lost in the ship wreck…boat wreck?...dinghy wreck?...launch wreck?
"Are. You. All. Right?" shouted the handsome detective right in John's face. At some point he had grabbed John by the shoulders and now he gave his blogger a little shake.
Oh.
"Umm, yeah," said John, trying to gather his scattered thoughts, which must have been lost in the wreck of the stolen launch along with the valuable flash drives. "What?" he added with a bland, helpful smile that only further irritated the World's Only Consulting Detective.
"Those flash drives are worth more…no they were worth more than the gross national products of most countries. Of course she'll be coming for them! And when she doesn't find them, she will kill us."
When John did not look sufficiently concerned at this pronouncement, Sherlock rolled his eyes in contempt. "Milady was right," snarled Sherlock, "You really are an idiot, good for nothing but comic relief!"
Then he shoved his waterlogged, half-drowned blogger aside, ready to storm off in a classic Sherlockian strop. He turned to deliver a final cutting blow, and saw that it wasn't necessary.
He had already eviscerated the man he loved, the only person he could ever love.
The detective's anger stuttered, as the color drained from John's face, just as surely as if he was bleeding to death. Sherlock's eyes flicked down, as though he would see his lover's blood pooling in the sand. The blond's eyes were like dark bruises in his ashen face.
Sherlock regretted everything immediately. He took a conciliatory step towards the doctor who backed away. And that hurt, thought Sherlock.
John's face collapsed momentarily then it assumed that horrid, grimacing, half-smiling mask that John only wore when he was really, really angry or very, very hurt.
The tall brunet desperately hoped that John was really, really angry. Anything but hurt, he absolutely could not hurt John yet again. Sherlock suddenly hoped that John would want to punch him now. That would make them even, right?
Sherlock's own anger, born of frustration over the ruin of his case and fear for John's safety, evaporated in the look of betrayal and hurt, yes hurt that he saw in those beautiful, blue eyes. Damn, he had hurt John yet again.
"John…" said the younger man, swallowing with difficulty.
John shook his head in disbelief, backing away again, but his right leg almost gave out on him. His eyes shifted to hide the pain.
Dammit, this was intolerable, thought Sherlock, as he strode forward, grabbing John's arm to support him.
"John, no. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of it," said the consulting detective. "I…I…"
"Never mind," said John, almost whispering at first. He shook his head again and cleared his throat. "It's not important."
"NO! I mean yes, it is…" Sherlock stuttered. He never stuttered.
"No, it's nothing," said John more firmly, "And let go of my arm."
"No. Wait…please," asked Sherlock, who was still uncharacteristically tongue-tied.
When he heard the seldom used 'please', John stopped trying to twist his free his arm. Then the blond tilted his head, and squared his jaw. Sherlock knew John was shoring up his defenses, readying for attack…against the man who was supposed to be his partner, against Sherlock.
The consulting detective needed to fix this.
"John, wait. I just need…"
"What, Sherlock? What d'you need? D'you need more comic relief?"
"Stop it, John."
"Oh, I know. Here's a good one. Did you hear the one about the really dumb blond who used to be somebody and…"
"John, listen to me. I don't know why I said that…"
"Ummm, maybe because you meant it?" snarled John, using resentment to hide his hurt.
"…because it's completely untrue," the tall, pale brunet tugged at his hair in frustration. "You are…you are the best and kindest and bravest man I have ever met. You are my best and only friend. You are the only man…the only person I will ever care about."
"Sherlock…"
"No. Let me finish. I…I have to say this." said Sherlock. "John you aren't just the only person in the world who is willing to put up with me, you are the only person in the world that I care to put up with…. No, that didn't come out right."
"Never mind!" said John. "Your last minute apologies are not going to fix this. You abandoned our real case…"
"Which was dull. We only took the case so that you could take the cruise and relax after that disaster in the sewers. It was only a three or four. Anyway, I solved it. As I told you, the purser did it; we just didn't have all the proof…"
"The case isn't officially solved without the evidence or a confession, Mr. Consulting Detective, which you've said many times. So I was right, you abandoned our real case to go chase after Milady and her gang of mercenaries and thugs…"
"Pirates, they are pirates."
"Call 'em whatever you want!"
"They are pirates, of course I had to chase pirates," explained Sherlock, his eyes widening with rekindled excitement over the very idea of real pirates.
"You chased after that Milady," corrected John, ignoring that enticing look on Sherlock's face. "You chased after her…and then you seduced her!"
"It was for the case!"
"You made love to another woman, and THAT'S CHEATING!"
"Only for the case!" yelled Sherlock, his neck straining with renewed fury. "And if that's all that's bothering you, you should know I never had actual sex with here! Not once! You set the guidelines eight cases ago. You said no sex…"
"You're bloody right I did! I said you could fake light kissing and touching, for your cases. Which specifically did not include sticking your tongue down her throat or bringing her off with your hands or whatever…"
"I did not use whatever, and she never got me off, so technically…"
"Don't give me technically!" John all but screamed, like a jealous fishwife. John hated himself. He hated Milady, Sherlock and himself again. "You cheated on me, whether it was for your precious mistress, The Work, or whether it was because you found her so thrillingly wonderful because she was soooo smart and beautiful and piratey…you still cheated! I just don't matter in the grand scheme of Sherlock's world…"
"That's not true, John. You do matter."
"If I mattered, then why did you abandon me to those thugs…"
"Pirates."
"Thugs! Thugs, mercenaries, terrorists and murderers!" shouted John. "Bloody hell, Sherlock. You say pirates like they're sea-going Robin Hoods or disreputable but lovable adventurers. Milady and her pirates, hijacked that cruise ship, killed seven people and stole those flash drives so that she could ransom them…"
"No, she was going to blackmail the executives of those banks millions, possibly hundreds of millions of pounds, or more likely dollars. It was a very elegant and bold plan…."
"See? See? You admire her!" John's voice dropped with the accusation. "You admire a woman, who destroyed a village last year, killing innocent men, women and children because one person in the village, one person, informed on her and her sea-going gang. They bragged about it, you know," said John glaring up from under lowered brows. "They took pictures of their sodding crimes and they showed me the pictures of their atrocities tome while they bragged about 'em. They bragged about wiping out that village and they bragged about things even worse than that, while they beat the shite out of me. And while I was getting worked over and while they were getting ready to kill me, you worked on your case and bedded fucking Milady!"
"I thought you were safe. The last time I saw you, you were locked in that cabin…safe," said Sherlock wrong-footed and hating it. "And I rescued you. I came as fast as I could, once I knew that you were in danger," said Sherlock. He felt that horrid pain in his chest and throat, which he knew was guilt. And he was guilty, because he had gotten caught up in the Work, and he had lost track of his blogger, and John had gotten hurt and then nearly drowned.
"Yeah, you finally got around to checking on me, after you were done getting off with Mata Hari…"
"No, I came for you as soon as I got the flash drives."
"HA!" shouted John, the empty grimace/smile plastered back on his face. This time it was hurt and anger. "I came second to the flash drives. As usual, I came second to your bloody Work."
"No, John," said Sherlock, because that wasn't true. John came second to nothing. Sherlock ground his teeth in frustration.
"John I admit that I lost track of time, but as soon as I got wind that you were in danger. I stopped everything to get to you. I would have done so, flash drives or not…"
"Well, we'll never know that, now will we?" said John, in a falsely cheerful sneer, tracing a line in the sand with his bare foot. There was a pause while John lengthened his line. "D'you know why you had to chase Milady and seduce her and steal the drives from her?" asked John pleasantly.
Ah, a question that Sherlock could easily answer. Sadly, the genius did not see the trap.
"Because it was a new case. An important case," said Sherlock earnestly. "John, you have no idea what was on those memory sticks. She stole them from that fool from the International Monetary Fund, because the information on those drives could bring the financial world to its knees. The case was important; even you have to agree. It was a ten. I prevented the collapse of half the world's banks."
"NO!" yelled John stepping over his line and shoving his finger in Sherlock's chest. "No! That's all true, but that's not why you did it. You did it because you're a pirate too! Like calls to like and pirate calls to pirate!" John waved his arms wildly as he marched back to his borderline, dragging his bare heel in the sand, leaving a wavering line in it's wake.
"John, what on earth are you doing?" asked Sherlock.
"I'm dividing the island," said John. The word 'idiot' was in subtext. "That's your half of the island, the pirate half of the island. Sadly, there's no flash drives or pirates or grog for you. Maybe you could look for buried treasure. I did leave you plenty of coconut trees. In fact, I suggest you take off your clothes so that they dry, especially your shoes. Then get under the shade so you don't burn…"
"You're being ridiculous," interrupted the brunet.
"No, it's not ridiculous. Even pirates can get sunburned. Especially, bloody, pale pirates like you."
"That's not what I meant," interjected Sherlock.
"Pirates can also get dehydrated," said John, marking his border with a few rocks and shells. "I suggest you gather up some coconuts and open them and…"
"Have you lost your feeble little mind?" asked Sherlock, stepping over the line.
The small, blond, very determined, border guard charged. He shoved Sherlock's shoulders, driving the tall interloper back over the boundary.
"Pirates on that side of the island!" announced the little tyrant, pointing indignantly. "This side is for honest, boring old soldiers who keep their word and who don't give up without a fight!"
"And who don't cheat on their boyfriends," John added darkly, in spite of the bright tropical sunshine.
"Fight? You can't possibly plan on fighting Milady's pirates!" said Sherlock, his pale eyes wide with disbelief.
"If she comes her, of course I'll fight back. Of course I will."
"She has seventeen pirates, a huge yacht and a veritable arsenal full of weapons."
"And I have this desert eagle you pirated for me and the pocket knife I found in the launch before you let it run aground. You had the tiller, so don't even try to blame me for the wreck or losing your precious pirate booty!"
"We were in the launch because I was rescuing you…"
"You were rescuing those flash drives!"
"They were secondary to you…"
"Liar!"
"I rescued you from Milady and when the launch broke up on the reef, I saved you from drowning without a thought about the flash drives…"
"Until we got to shore. Then you regretted those flash drives. You wished you had saved them instead of me!"
Sherlock was dumbfounded. John actually believed what he was saying. Once again, Sherlock had bollixed up this relationship. Perhaps it had something to do with seducing Milady, which had been such a successful ploy…
John stood with his hands on his hips, chest heaving with anger. With his flashing eyes and tousled blond hair, his blogger had never looked so damned attractive to the consulting detective. Indeed, John's tattered shirt hid nothing and his wet jeans clung to his adorable little bum...
"John, you have reached an erroneous conclusion. I blame myself. I have not sufficiently demonstrated the depth of my regard for you," said Sherlock, dropping his voice into the registers that never failed to arouse his little firebrand of a doctor. 'Allow me to…apologize."
The tall brunet dropped his shirt in the sand.
John swallowed only with great difficulty. He ignored the finely chiseled physique of his so-called boyfriend. He ignored the growing problem in his own too tight jeans. John H, Watson, Captain, RAMC, Ret. would not be appeased by a quick roll in the hay…well, roll in the sand actually. Not even with a sex god.
"No," croaked John. He held his hand up like traffic officer and cleared his throat yet again. "No. You stay on your side of the island, pirate." Somehow, that didn't come out as harshly as he'd planned, thought John.
"But your side is better, Jawhn."
"Your side has everything my side has," said John, his blue eyes narrowed in doubt.
"It doesn't have you," said the handsome devil with a voice like sin and a smile like the original serpent in Eden.
"I have work to do," said John, his voice still too husky. His body hated him; he hated himself for rejecting the god of sex in front of him. But John feared that he'd hate himself even more if he just gave in…
Sherlock tilted his head to the side, those steely cold eyes evaluating, 'Work, what work could you possibly have?"
"You said the pirates are coming," said John, freed from his wavering, now that he remembered that he actually did have a task. "I have to get ready for the pirates."
"What getting ready? They'll come. They'll take us prisoner. They won't find the memory sticks. Then they'll kill us," said the tall brunet, finger combing his wild curls. He did not add that Milady might choose to spare Sherlock; she had been quite taken with him, after all. He also did not add that he would sooner die with John rather than live a life without his blogger, even if he could be a pirate.
…then after I get the gun squared away," said John, who was now knees deep in some pointless explanation. At least, it was pointless to Sherlock. who was convinced that their deaths were imminent. "I'll want to clean and dry the two magazines and twenty-three extra rounds you gave me. Then of course I have to reinforce the bunker…well, more like a barricade. If Milady comes, we'll have to take refuge behind the barricade…"
"Barricade? What barricade?" asked the confused detective. Because there was no barricade. This was a tiny, flat atoll, a forgotten speck in the middle of the vast ocean.
"The rocks, the volcanic rocks over there on the backside of the island. The big rocks," the blond former soldier added helpfully as he gestured grandly at the pile of rock.
"How do you know they're volcanic?" Sherlock asked in frustration. The rocks were barely chest high, and was John seriously cock-blocking his lover during their last hours on earth?
John lifted his chin, as if trying to make himself look taller. "This is an atoll, Sherlock. It's the top of a giant underwater volcano. Of course the rocks are igneous. And the volcano is surrounded by the coral reefs that grow on it. It's the reefs that actually tore our boat apart," declaimed John smugly. "How can you not know this, it's secondary school stuff."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, well aware of the unspoken allusion to his previous lack of knowledge about astronomy. Then he glanced at the rocks, which were to form John's barricade.
"How are there rocks, if the volcano is under water?" his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"The very top of the volcano is above water, obviously," said John with an annoying smirk. The former soldier squatted and began to strip his gun, laying the pieces out on Sherlock's tattered jacket so that they could dry in the sun. "Really, Sherlock do try to keep up. Oh, and get in the shade, else you'll burn."
A/N *He's a Pirate was my first fic. It's just a short piece of crack and not integral to this story. Sadly He's a Pirate is LOADED with errors and less than perfect editing choices. If you do read it, I apologize in advance because I haven't had time to re-edit it.
As far as this fic goes...I hope to post all remaining chapters at least once a week or perhaps more often. There'll be five or six more chapters I think.
Reviews are better than pirate booty, so please be generous with sharing your treasured thoughts.
HAPPY INTERNATIONAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY. ARRR! ;P