Long Time Sequel is now up! I feel much better finally getting this done, and I'm so sorry for the super long wait. I've been wrestling with this forever. Each time I came back to work on it, it wanted to go in fifty-five different directions and it was making me a bit frustrated. But now! Oh ho ho, now it is finished! Noah is a thing!

So thank you for the long time wait, your reviews have been heard!

Bunches Of Lavender And Kelp

Molly had taken to calling him Noah, funnily enough. And just like with John's own, the name had just sort of stuck. Somewhat ironic in the end, Sherlock thought, but fitting. Oh so very fitting.

Especially for one of Noah's stature.

It meant "peaceful wanderer" and in the end it was more than accurate. But they didn't know that, in the beginning. In the beginning, it was just like everything else they'd ever faced at the hands of the Mers. Deep, dark, unknown.

Noah had shown up sort of suddenly one day, several long months after the Mermaid Isles Incident and Moriarty's gore-filled demise. No announcement, no precursors, nothing. One day he hadn't been there, and then the next he was. They hadn't known it was Noah at the time, of course, but it was him, pretty as you please. Well, not pretty. Not by a long shot, but he'd shown up regardless, indifferent to the danger that his untimely appearance might cause. And once the crew had started noticing him, he began to appear more and more around their new-found home. A most startling pattern.

A small portion of the crew had been swimming pleasantly enough out in the bay that day, doing a round from shore to ship at Baker Island when someone first noticed him in the water. The distance between the boat and the beach was small, due to the sudden depth that occurred just off the edge of the island's rocky shelf, creating a safe and pleasant swimming area for anyone inclined to get into the water, and allowed for easy access to both human and less-than-human partakers. It also provided safe waters during storms and a port of sorts when need be, while still opening out into the deep ocean just on the other side of the rocky tip coast. Plus, it gave John a chance to swim in and out with the ship when it came to port, as well as a safe place for him to teach Sherlock and the other members of the crew to swim when lessons were called for.

John and Sherlock had been working steadily with one another for quite some time on the Captain's own swimming abilities, and it was always good practice to swim out and back where assistance could easily be provided from both sides. It was a set up that both had rigorously gone over from top to tail, just to ensure the safety of all parties involved, and several places had been selected for candidacy. The bay had been one such place, and favored highly by both John and Sherlock for multiple reasons. It was deep enough in places for the ship to reach, but not too deep as to be uncharted or dangerous from underwater predators. Likewise, it was sheltered from the open water currents and tides, but not so cut off that it was inaccessible for John to get to. It was sun-warmed and dry, with sandy beaches long enough to stretch on out for late afternoon naps beneath the tropical sun. Ideal, perfect, and more than approved by John. So once their needs and obligations had been met, John held Sherlock to his promise.

Over the months following their acquisition of a new replacement ship and a partial-replacement crew, John had begun to help Sherlock learn to swim by taking him out wading into the water with him for as long as John thought necessary. It started almost immediately after Sherlock had returned to full health and it hadn't stopped since, quickly becoming a daily routine for both. To strengthen Sherlock back up. First it was shallow water, only to the calves, then to the knees, eventually to the thighs. After two weeks of this it was all the way to the waist, John's strong-and-sure hands clasped tight at the Captain's body to keep him afloat. Then it was time for him to get in chest deep, first with two hands tight to the rigging of the ship, then only one, until it came time for him to let go and trust his own body, John, and the ocean herself. It had been a pivotal moment in the lives aboard the newly-fitted Science of Deduction.

Now, Sherlock had gotten much better at the base act of swimming itself and could keep himself afloat and stable in most depths without aid, as well as move slowly from one point to another. He never swam without John, who hovered close despite the new found abilities his Captain and friend possessed, and would happily swim circles around the paddling men, women, and children for amusement. It was one of the many new rules that Captain Holmes had put into practice. You did not swim in open waters without John. It just wasn't safe. John's own natural movements in the water were something those in Sherlock's crew still marveled at, and to be able to see the Merman swim up close was a treasure held precious by them, indeed. To play with him even more so, more precious than gold or gems, and to see both his and the Captain's face light up like fireworks dancing off the waters at night while they swam, well that didn't have a price. That was something to be protected fiercely and devoutly.

John quietly agreed, and would encourage the horse play at every chance he could, protecting his crew with a fierce loyalty and devotion. A sea serpent cleverly disguised and hidden beneath the calm exterior of mythical beauty, wrapped in a protective layer of fables and doubt. And he'd never stop doing his duty.

The acts themselves were to hear Sherlock laugh again and again and again.

On that day, Sherlock and the other members of the assembled crew were starting their return trip to shore when the dark mass first appeared some distance below the surface of the water. The Captain quickly dismissed it as some sort of aquatic life or animal swimming below them, none of which ever came close enough for concern, not anymore. (There had been a shark once in the bay, but it had met with a rather quick end when it had swam too close to Sherlock and a hovering Tiny Tim. John hadn't let anything get that close to them ever again. He'd been almost inconsolable for days.) When Sherlock saw the mass again -much closer this time, almost just a few feet below the group- he began to feel a bit concerned. Because John had not seemed to have noticed it at all, and despite the Merman's bravery and fierce protective streak, not even he could defend them from everything that lived beneath the water's surface. So he was about to point it out when it suddenly froze before diving deeply, shooting out of his sight and far away from the gathered crew. John never appeared to notice the odd behavior, and so Sherlock let it pass from his mind.

It didn't show again that afternoon, or even the next day, and so after a while, Sherlock began to forget about it more and more. Days passed into weeks, and Sherlock let it slip from his mind, especially when nothing more happened with it and no one was threatened, let along got hurt. So it came as a surprise when Sherlock spotted another, very-similar, dark mass, this time just off the starboard bow of the ship later in the afternoon nearly a two weeks after his last sighting of it. The dark never came close enough to the surface of the water to truly study it, or even see it clearly, so he couldn't very well identify it, but there it was. And he had an inkling that it was the same dark mass as the one he'd seen almost a two weeks prior. Shy, hiding in the deep, away from a protective and circling John and a very armed crew. Sherlock thought it was scared, or perhaps just curious. But whatever it was, it was there, lurking just below the waves.

At sunrise the next morning, Sherlock was already out and in the water with John, treading water for a few minutes as a warm up before they'd swim out away from the boat and then back. They'd swim until Mrs. Hudson called them both in for breakfast, the soon warming air a promise to the beauty of the upcoming day. But today was different, very different, and the black mass was back. And it was so very much closer.

Sherlock wasn't the one to see it, this time. No, this time he was just starting to do small circles with John when his Merman friend froze and dropped down into the water some, only the top of his head and his eyes still above the surface. Fearing that John had heard something or someone approaching beneath the water, he to tried to quiet his paddling, both bobbing in the surface almost three yards from the side of the ship. If something was in the water with them, Sherlock was not sure he could out-swim it and make it to the ship in time. He almost wished to ask John if he should start swimming back when John completely disappeared from view with a splash, his golden tail flicking once above the water before the surface went still, leaving Sherlock to tread water alone in the still morning silence. The echoing splash the only company as he began to worry the surface of the water with his dread-filled paddling.

And then he was below the surface, his foot held in a familiar iron-band clutch. He'd expected to see John, perhaps playing with him, or testing him maybe, for some sort of unpredictable circumstances, but when he'd turned into the water to face the Merman, he'd found only inky black. Inky black masses and a shimmering mouth full of uneven, half-sharpened teeth.

Only the barest of survival instincts kept him from screaming out his held breath beneath the surface.

But just as soon as it happened, the thing released his ankle and instead gave him a massive shove back to the surface, where he broke it with a startled gasp and a shaky inhale. He was all alone, nothing moving but him in the water, when the dark patch broke the surface of the water three feet in front of him with a flailed splashing motion and an inhuman shriek. Moments after it came the startling flash of gold that signaled John's protective arrival, his own roar drowning out the cries of the other as they wrestled in the surf. The noise, oh god the noise, Sherlock could hear it even when they went below the surface of the water, echoing strangely and distorted through the waves. But Sherlock knew without a doubt that it wasn't human, whatever it was, and it was scared and hurting.

"John! John, no! Stop!"

Sherlock's swimming wasn't really strong enough to keep up with the motions John made in the water, or with whatever it was he was defending them both from, and the closer the got the more unsteady he became. His head was bobbing below the surface more and more now, his mouth filling with salt water, his hair stringy and dripping into his eyes. His legs had started to burn with all the fierce paddling, but he wasn't going to leave John alone if it turned out to be malicious, dangerous. He wouldn't leave John alone again. Not after the last time.

All the splashing must have caught the crew's attention though, because the next thing he knew, they were shouting over the side of the two longboats suddenly there with them, throwing nets into the water, telling him and John to get back. Sherlock did, long arms splitting the water as he grabbed at the side of one of them, his crew heaving him over the side and into the safety of the wooden buoy. He can feel his lungs burning with the sucking intake of air, but it's pushed to the back as he in turn throws himself up to help the men with the nets. They've caught the dark shape, and its wriggling and writhing in its binds, the inhuman sounds it's making louder and louder the harder it struggles. But even with the claws Sherlock can see on gnarled, hooked fingers poking through the spaces in the net, it is almost an impossible feat for it to break free. It sounds horrifying, really, like a monster, like a trapped beast. And the noises it makes even outside of the water are almost as bad as the ones it was making in it.

No longer muffled by the vastness of the ocean, it sounds strange, a distorted version of John almost, but with less of a lyrical tilt and more of a primal screech for its base. It sounds raspy. Dry. Like it can no longer make the noise properly. Like it can't take in a proper breath.

"Let it up, let it up!" He demanded, his own hands reaching for the other boat as it banks along side the one he's in, three of his men holding fast at the netting. From here, Sherlock can make out a long and scarred up tail, which he thought was black at first. It's not. "He cannot breathe, let him up, I say!"

The men only give him a second glance before they do as he orders, letting the netting go slack where it's strung and wrapped tightly around a thrashing body so very different and so very similar from John's own. It's wrapped tightly around the creature's tail, the starkness of it against the dark green only brought up more by the varied degrees of healing scars and mottled flesh. It's entire body is wrapped in dark, dank seaweed and a variety of oceanic plants, but underneath it all is pale, pale flesh, just as scarred up and bruised as its tail. Sherlock has to push the seaweed away for it to become visible at all, and when he touches the slimy skin the creature seizes up and freezes, clearly expecting another attack.

"Shhh, hush now. I'm not going to hurt you." He says it in as light a tone as he possibly can, his finger tips just barely brushing the other Merman's skin as he inspects him for new injuries. "And you weren't trying to hurt me, were you? No, no, just curious. That's all. Curious and scared."

The other Merman shifts ever so slightly beneath his hand, wriggling and turning so that he can look at him over his own mottled shoulder. Beady black eyes in an almost flat face stare up at him, a mouth filled with uneven, sharp, protruding teeth fluttering as hard as the gills beneath the seaweed must be. His mouth is bitten and uneven in places, most likely from his own teeth, but there are old and new bite marks littering his neck and shoulders. His body is small, even smaller than John's own, and his frills and membranes are ripped in many places all over his body. It must be hard to swim for long periods of time, Sherlock realizes, and would leave him at a disadvantage in a fight. Especially against a Mer as strong and as fit as John was. That would explain the uneven hair length and the slightly torn patches where it has been ripped off close to the scalp. Grabbed and pulled out, most likely during a fight, or during mating. That would also explain the two large scars that extended over his eyes and for most of his face.

And yet, he wasn't trying to get away, to fight them. He was laying as still as possible, watching, waiting for some sort of reaction from them. Gasping for breath, scared, but still overly curious despite the pain he was probably in. Sherlock recognizes all of these things in his face and body posture even now as he curls in on himself. Trying to protect himself from them. Expectant but not fleeing.

"Captain?" One of his men says, and Sherlock realizes he's been talking out loud the entire time, deducing, seeing things. "Your orders, sir? What do we do with him? John's getting a might bit wild down here. Stirring the waters right up."

He is, of course, doing the Mer version of pacing int he surf just around the edge of the two boats, circling, swimming, waiting for some mention or motion from the crew. Some cue from Sherlock that he should rend the offending, imposing, unknown Merman limb from limb for his trespass. John is in his element here, his true element. Fierce, loyal, protective, and above all, deadly. Mers are not kind. It is not in their nature. John is, and still remains, an anomaly, singular. Precious. And sometimes it is startling when Sherlock is reminded of it as harshly as he is right this minute. Of just how ugly and cruel Mers can be to one another.

"Calm yourself, John. He meant no harm." Sherlock says as he extends his hand and arm down and into the water where John is swimming, the Merman's familiar golden hair wafting through his fingers as John swims beneath them. "He most likely followed us from the Isles some months prior, but only now just caught up. It would explain his state and weakness, despite his size. Plus you've been with us. He is afraid."

"He should be." John says finally when he breaches the surface of the water, eyes glowing a fierce and ethereal blue, gills flared and extended in a full display of anger. Clearly he does not like the turn of events this morning has brought. "He is a trespasser. An unwanted. He should not be here."

He punctuates his snarled answer with a sharp series of repeated notes that cut the air, making the other Mer flinch back and curl even tighter in on himself. Whatever John has said scared him. Made him fearful.

"Does he have a name?" Simon asks curiously. He's younger, a new recruit, but one that had been present at the Isles for the entire battle. He had been on Mycroft's ship, a lowly deck hand, but had always been kind to Sherlock throughout his stay. Once they'd obtained a new ship, Sherlock had asked for him by name. "I don't know what to call him."

"John?"

"Not one humans can pronounce." And doesn't he sound sullen, Sherlock thinks, but at least he's allowed his gills to recede and settle themselves, and he's making a musical whine that Sherlock knows is something in their Mer language. The other Mer responds with his own high whine and then falls silent. John leans slightly onto Sherlock's upper arm as he listens, the damp a cool comfort against the sticky heat that's begun to settle in. "He is not my kin. He is not one of Tethys' offspring. But he carried her brood until recently."

Sherlock doesn't need him to clarify what he means by "recently." He knows that when the great silver beast was killed by Moriarty, many of those carrying her spawn were killed as well. Many eaten. This one must have had a child, and the thought rips a small portion of him wide open. It had been taken and murdered in the fight for power and dominance. John had explained everything that occurred once Sherlock had been ready to hear it. Had explained why the Mers had suddenly turned on one another, feeding on the fallen. And this one had been a casualty.

"Then he'll need a name, won't he?" Sherlock claps his hands and rubs them together, a bright gleam in his eyes. John doesn't make any sound, but he does watch the other Mer with a cautious eye. "Put him back in the water, men. He can stay as long as John agrees to it."

John's agreement is a loud sniff, a singular warbling note, and to dive beneath the water again, out of sight, his tail flicking up once to spray Sherlock with a fine mist of sea water. Sherlock just chuckles and motions for the other Mer to be placed back into the water, the net uncurling as they go, falling away gently. It dives deep and darts off to one side, but doesn't leave. There is no answering note, but it hasn't fled. That alone is a good sign. Hopefully he will stay long enough for Molly to give him a once over. And once he has a clean bill of health, Sherlock will be satisfied. Content knowing that the other Mer hasn't been too badly hurt while attempting to check them out. He is peaceful, wandering, alone in the world. No longer at their massive, rocky nest under the protection of hundreds of other females. This Merman is searching and alone. He has found Sherlock and his crew.

And of course, that's how he found his new name.

Noah, though ugly, is quickly beloved by all. Even John.