"Come on, Sherlock, we're going to be late!"

The aforementioned merman let out an exasperated sigh, feeling the water being forced out of his throat. Unlike humans, there was a lack of bubbles to accompany and accentuate this sigh. Breathing underwater didn't give such a luxury. Sherlock had little care for such things, but what did interest him was the anatomy that made such a feat as breathing underwater possible.

His lungs functioned in a completely different manner from the creatures walking above. As his lungs took in air, his red blood circulated under the protective membrane inside the inner cavity of the lung, the cells would gorge on the oxygen from the water, but the water would not harm the parts of the organ that could filter the air. This allowed for some surfacing above water, but not for long periods of time, which-

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock was ripped from his ponderings of his species by the screams of Molly.

"Poseidon's sake, I'm coming," Sherlock said, retrieving one last item from the ship wreck. He'd procured many valuables from this wreck; he would definitely add them to his collection in the grotto. It had become a bit of a hobby to collect specimens from wrecks to distract Sherlock from his never-ending boredom between cases (and there was definitely boredom.) These samples were far more important to him than something Mycroft was putting on. What was it again? A ball for someone's birthday? Anniversary? Sherlock had deleted the information long ago.

Molly swam into his face. "Sherlock, we have to high-tail it now or we're both chum!" Her petite fish body squirmed as she swam around in panic. She was just a silver convict tang, and a pale one at that. Her black stripes contorted as she swam in circles, emphasizing her agitation. Based on her scales high luster and that she was lacking her usual paranoid sensitivity, the detective confirmed she must have some sort of rendezvous to attend. Why she tagged along with him if she had something so "important" to get to, he had no idea. Sherlock wasn't exactly sharp in that category and he didn't plan on being so any time soon.

"Let's go!" Molly yelled again. This time, though, she sprinted off in the direction that lead to Atlantica. Hastily, the merman threw his samples into his bag. Shoulder bags weren't common for mermen, but Sherlock couldn't give a damn. It was small. It kept all his things. It was convenient. No other arguments needed.

He followed Molly to the coral reef that lead to the entrance to the kingdom. Sherlock could already hear the music of the party, reminding him of the numerous social interactions he would have to endure. Being a prince of the kingdom meant having to greet every single guest of the occasion. How Sherlock loathed these get-togethers. He barely had any interaction with Lestrade or Mycroft, and he actually knew them. Not that he ever actually wanted to engage in such interaction, especially with Mycroft, but, alas, sometimes it was unavoidable.

He sighed again and entered into the borders of Atlantica.

Only a half an hour into the party and Sherlock was already, as expected, bored. The event was apparently the anniversary of some government official that was close to his father and he had managed to greet most of the guests. His father, recently passed, seemed to have to have too many acquaintances. These soirees occurred too often for Sherlock's liking and he didn't really see the need for such things. Not to mention his passing meant more duties for the merman to carry out. He would never want to be king. Too many events to attend, too many ambiguous citizens to shake hands with, too many concerns he thought were just useless clutter inside a mind that could be used for much greater endeavors. Though, to his utter dismay, he still had responsibilities as prince and heir.

Mycroft seemed to be enjoying himself, at least to everyone else in the room. The new king was just as bored as he was, though he was making more of an effort to look interested than Sherlock. Appearances always were a top priority for Mycroft. Being the new ruler of Atlantica made such concerns grow in importance. Sherlock watched as his brother conversed with an older merwoman. With his usual political smile he seemed to be enraptured in the discussion. The bored price would do the same, but there were no cases to be had, no data to collect, no profit in such tedious interaction. So he just sat on his small throne and assumed his usual position of boredom. He looked on at the dull gathering, watching merpeople laugh and smile, having fun. If the detective didn't possess a superior intellect, he might be doing the same. Except his idea of fun was a new cadaver, not drinks with companions.

"I see you're not exactly having the best time, dear."

Sherlock glanced to the right to see Mrs. Hudson on the arm rest.

She was a quite caring for a crab. She was supposed to be some spy for Mycroft to keep an eye on Sherlock, but she was really more of an enabler for his antics.

"It was highly improbable that I would be," Sherlock replied, shifting his head to rest on his left arm instead of his right in order to give Mrs. Hudson more room.

"To be honest with you, I'm not having a "bang-up" time myself," she said, giving a snap of her pinkish claw, "Whoever planned this party obviously doesn't know how to have a good time."

"I assume you could do better?" the prince inquired.

"Far better," Mrs. Hudson stated, snapping her claws again. "Back when your father had birthday parties, now those were the days. I would get the band into a good swing and everyone would shake their tail fin."

A little half-smile tickled Sherlock's face. At least Mrs. Hudson could provide him some sort of stimuli. If companions were vital to his existence, she would be his first choice.

Suddenly Mrs. Hudson said, "Did you hear about the ship that's supposed to be above us tonight?"

Sherlock actually had received that information from Scuttle. He was one of the many gulls from the network he used to get information. Gulls can fly around as they please, but simultaneously be a usual aspect of the scenery- the perfect spies. But for the sake of Mrs. Hudson and the conversation they were having, he replied with a no.

"Well," Mrs. Hudson said, lowering her claws and leaning in like any other woman would when sharing gossip, "Supposedly it's some ship just back from some war on land. Poor creatures. Too many of those, if you ask me. Life under here is much more peaceful."

The prince nodded in agreement. Altlanica rarely experienced conflict. There were some other clans of merpeople scattered across the seven seas, but each clan preferred to keep to themselves and no one had tried to prove otherwise. Sherlock found it a bit dull to not have a globalized society of merpeople, but he didn't have the power or the desire to make the effort to change things.

"Any way," Mrs. Hudson said, her voice now a whisper, "What I'm worried about is the storm that's coming. Poor dears have to return home from bloodshed and be confronted by more bad luck. Darn shame, I'd say."

This piqued Sherlock's interest. Storms usually produced some sort of wreckage. More wreckage meant more data. He wasn't hoping the humans would die, of course not. Even if he could bring a cadaver back to examine, he would never hope that they would die.

"Go," Mrs. Hudson said.

Sherlock looked back at her again, a bit surprised at her response. She glanced back at him.

"You think you're the only one who can deduce, dear? I've been with you long enough to know what's going on in that little head of yours. You go; I'll cover for you somehow."

Sherlock smiled again and gave her a nod of gratitude as he slipped out of his thrown and casually swam away.