"Captain Sherlock Holmes," John said as he wrapped another loop around Holmes' already bound wrists for good measure, "I am arresting you under suspicion of treason..."
The words rolled off John's tongue with ease as he fumbled around with the rope. He'd arrested people before, and it wasn't exactly a rarity to find that it was a pirate who he was arresting. He felt a lot better when their arms were constricted, because it meant that they had less schemes to pull.
That being said, Holmes was surprisingly compliant with having his hands bound, and didn't put up a fuss either when John accidentally put pressure on one of his freely bleeding cuts.
"Treason?" Holmes queried. His eyebrow arched as John came round to face him again.
"Yes." John said firmly. Holmes' eyes widened with his face adorning that of shock, it was almost comical. He was looking down on John, and John was doing his best to glower back up at the fellow with little succession.
"Are you sure it's treason? Definitely treason?" Holmes attempted to clarify. John took him by the elbow and began steering him back down the long cobblestone road, not paying attention to what the captain was saying whatsoever. This didn't stop Holmes however. He was desperate for the man's attention, and kept talking as a result. Questions firing off at rapid speed which caused John to grow increasingly irritated as Holmes kept blabbering on about how crucial what he had to say was. John meanwhile (having grown accustomed to pointless shoutings and squabblings of his men), was able to tune the captain's questions out without too much difficulty.
"John!"
John stopped and glared at Holmes. He was surprised to find the captive captain staring back at him through somewhat anxious eyes. Shuffling about on his feet, and darting his eyes about as though expecting someone to lunge after them, Holmes gave all the indications of being a very troubled man indeed. "That is your name isn't it? Captain John Watson?" He asked, apparently fearing he'd gotten it wrong.
"What is it, Holmes?" John asked exasperatedly, gliding over the fact that Holmes had called him by his first name.
"We can't go back to your boat." Holmes stated. His gaze had switched from anxious and was now a sincere stare, it made John feel slightly uneasy. An odd silence settled awkwardly between them, before John had enough of the intensity and decided to break it.
"And why on Earth not?" He attempted a laugh, trying to make light of what Holmes was telling him.
He was all too aware of the schemes that people liked to pull, and it certainly wasn't unknown for a prisoner to feign danger of some sort. Once he'd known a man had sworn blindly that he was cursed, and that by forcing him onto the boat, the boat and it's crew would share the same curse. Despite the warning, John had persisted, and neither John nor the boat had become cursed.
Baring this in mind, John decided to enjoy Holmes' show before continuing to HMS Edward. He was expecting a good show, if Holmes' previous demonstration of twisting his accent was anything to go on, the bloke was a fairly good actor. John awaited the expectedly dynamic explanation with enthusiasm.
"I haven't committed treason." Holmes muttered, as though he were ashamed by the fact. John merely blinked, surveying the captain closely.
He was deathly white, which John considered quite a feat considering the man's obvious long exposure to sunlight. John gestured towards a delicately carved bench just a few metres away from where they were stood. Holmes glanced from John towards the bench, then back to John. As if to confirm what John was suggesting. He nodded, before depositing himself rather unceremoniously onto the bench.
John sat down next to him, making sure as to keep a tight hold should he attempt to make a mad dash for freedom.
"Now why is it I'm not to return to my boat?" John asked, yearning to hear Holmes' excuse. He'd contemplated writing down all the excuses that he'd been told before now, under the fact that they'd make for some very humorous reading.
"I'm a wanted man, Watson, surely you must know this." Holmes started. John nodded tersely, prompting Holmes to continue. "And I'm wanted for numerous things; I'm not going to divulge to you what they are however, should you arrest me for it." John pulled a face. He could reason with that. "I have no interest in my home country, and I fled those shores a good many years ago. I have no interest in returning."
John sighed, running the hand that wasn't holding onto Holmes through his own hair. The sun was poking through gaps in between the pink blossom that swayed lightly in the breeze, causing Holmes' face to be specked with shadow and light.
"Holmes, these aren't my orders. It's simply my job to return you, and I care not for your previous wrong-doings. We must return to HMS Edward, or I shall lose my head."
Holmes' head dropped to face the floor. Gladstone had decided to stretch out in front of his legs, his head resting on the tips of his boots, preventing him from escaping. John smiled fondly at the dog, although there was something about Gladstone suddenly taking to Holmes that affected him somewhat.
"Come on. We can't sit here all day." John started, hoisting both himself and Holmes up at the same time. The bench creaked as their weights were removed, and Gladstone jumped up in surprise at their movement. He hadn't been acting as a prison guard at all.
"Think about it, Watson." Holmes implored. "Why would they send a fully crewed ship to retrieve one man? Don't tell me that you don't care. It's obvious that you do. So tell me, Captain, where does your hated of the government stem from?" Holmes sneered.
"Is it simply you venting your anger from your crew's ignorance of you in a different direction? Are you really that bad as a captain? Surely that's why they've given you such a trivial task as this. You're an angry man, Watson. You deserve to be listened to. Is that why you've taken to the sea? To try and earn some respect?"
John loosened his grip and wheeled around, glaring at the taller captain with his fists clenched at his sides.
"Do not question me, Holmes. Think of the position that you are in. It's not befitting to quiz your captor. I may tell you all there is for you to know on the subject of your arrest once we're back on HMS Edward, and not a moment sooner. Now be quiet or I shall personally see to it that you find yourself in the gallows themselves."
He wasn't entirely sure about where the rage had come from, but as he'd progressed through his speech his voice had diminished to no more than a whisper. Holmes was frowning, but John showed no interest in the current emotion of the obstreperous captain before him.
"Lead on then, Captain." Holmes' voice pulled on the last word, and John straightened up. He roughly grabbed Holmes' elbow before pulling back in the direction of HMS Edward, scowling for the entirety of the journey.
The descent back down to the shore line of Bartholomew's Bay was peaceful, or as peaceful as possible with a very bouncy dog who got overly excited whenever a bird was spotted, and a very grumpy pirate who kept grumbling to himself.
Each time a snide remark was made, John would simply roll his eyes and tug on Holmes' elbow a little bit harder to speed him up. Whenever he did this, Holmes would start walking a lot slower than before, which caused John to grow increasingly angrier with each step.
They'd gotten to the point where Holmes was shuffling his feet by a few centimetres and John was practically pulling him down the hill before he snapped for a second time.
"You are a child!" He scorned, letting go of Holmes and throwing his arms into the air indignantly. Holmes shrugged, while John swore. "You're an actual child, Holmes."
"And you, as it turns out, are far more accustomed to particular sedatives than I would have thought." Holmes replied. "Well done you."
John blinked. Holmes was smirking at him, and there was something in the bright, sparkling eyes that made John want to start heading in the immediate opposite direction.
They were standing at the foot of the land now – the space between a winding cobblestone road and glistening white sand. Transparent blue waves rolled gently to greet them, but then they'd get half way and retreat back into the collection of blue. Stretching out of the beach a few miles along was a natural spit, where HMS Edward could be seen with it's sails rippling gently in the breeze.
John looked longly out across the bay at his beautiful boat, but then his eyes caught sight of a new figure on the horizon. It was drifting gently across the waves so peacefully that if it were a lot smaller it would have perhaps been mistaken for a black swan. However, the sight of the ever-growing closer ship caused the hairs on the back of John's neck to stand on end.
He'd never seen Holmes' ship personally, but he'd heard enough to know it when he saw it. The woodwork was a striking black, and the sails were a rich purple that John had only ever seen the likes of in places of royalty. It was most often complimented with gold, but it looked remarkable against the onyx of the rest of the ship. John felt an overwhelming desire to compliment the designer of that ship. It was rather grand for a pirate's boat.
In comparison to his own, it was small. While HMS Edward was long, elegant and a wonder upon the eyes; the ship which was now lowering down a small dingy into the cool blue sea was stout. It still held beauty, but it looked like it had been squashed.
"... Is that?" He asked, full of trepidation as a man began rowing the dingy closer to the shore. He wasn't forgetting Holmes' remark about the sedative.
"Yes." Holmes breathed. He took a step forward and stood next to John, watching him thoughtfully.
Then, John began to sweat. He was a rather tolerant man when it came to heat, but right now he wanted to strip and take to the water. He was burning up completely under his dress jacket.
"Holmes, what did you do to me?" His throat felt constricted. He was struggling for air as one knee landed firmly on the ground beneath him. Holmes mirrored him, although he was clearly without the suffocation element.
"Shh..." He cooed, as John grappled at his own throat. "You'll cause your heart rate to increase and then you will die. Calm down, and you should fall asleep."
John was on all fours now, gasping for air as he willed his body to accept the oxygen he was trying to give it.
"If I... If I sleep then you shall escape." He choked, looking up at Holmes as the man stood up.
"Yep." Holmes grinned down at him. "Great plan, don't you think? I'm rather pleased with it myself, I must say."
Holmes watched on as John threw the dress jacket off from around his shoulders, loosening all the buttons about his person desperate for a way to cool off. "If you don't relax you'll die. I may have poisoned you but it was simply a means for my escape. I don't want to see you come to any particular harm. Breathe, Captain."
John had now rid himself of his shirt entirely and was coughing violently. He could feel the sun scorching his already tanned back, and rolled over. The heat immediately set to work on his front as he started to shudder. Some small part of his brain decided to listen to what Holmes was saying however, and he forced himself to be calm.
You're not dying. He thought to himself sternly. You're not dying, just breathe. Just breathe and sleep. Holmes will escape but you don't want a wretch like that on your ship anyway. Breathe.
He hadn't realised that he'd shut his eyes, but when he opened them he found a pair of mischievous turquoise eyes boring into his own. John noticed how surprisingly close they were to that of the colouring of the sea surrounding them. He gulped, and the eyes crinkled as a result of the man's grin.
Suddenly, sleep didn't seem like such a bad option and he found himself slowly drifting away into the depths of unconsciousness.
The small dingy was carried towards the beach by the weak fetch, and Holmes made a point of turning around so that the man who had come to get him could see his bound wrists. He heard a splash, and turned around to see Dimmock treading through to water up the beach towards them. Gladstone was sitting mere inches away from John's head, and was watching the scene in front of him with apparent interest.
"Thought you'd be able to get out of that," the man laughed as he pulled out a knife and began sawing away at the blood soaked rope.
"My hand isn't in best form, Dimmock. Perhaps you can tell from the red liquid. It's called blood and it's what you've got inside your body." Holmes breathed a sigh of relief as his arms came apart. His shoulders were aching. He rolled them round in circles, pleased to at last have movement. Holmes was a man who didn't take to not being control very well.
"I know what blood is, Captain. I ain't stupid." Dimmock scoffed. Holmes smirked.
"Of course you're not. Load him onto the dingy. I expect the dog will follow naturally."
Dimmock gave Holmes a curious glance before pulling the sleeping captain off of the ground and over his shoulder. He then strode back into the shallows and placed him into the boat. Sure enough, Gladstone waded out with them, but required help from Dimmock to get into the dingy himself. Holmes also followed, but not before retrieving John's clothes.
The cool waves lapped at his trousers, causing them to cling to his legs. It was a lovely feeling against the heat of the sun. Holmes bent over and placed his bitten hand in the water to allow the salt water to clean it. Gently, he rubbed the cuts using his thumb and all the dried blood fell away. It probably wasn't a wise thing to do, given that although the sea was calm there were still dangerous predators lurking about, but it felt wonderful against his skin.
He cast a glance at the dog who had ravished his hand. Gladstone had his paws rested on the side of the small wooden dingy and his tail was wagging furiously as he watch Holmes rid himself of the blood. Holmes watched in amusement as the dog leapt over the side and straight into the water, paddling around him in circles.
"You're a strange dog." He remarked, smiling as Gladstone went shallow enough for him to stand. He then started lapping up the water, and Holmes quickly strode towards him. "Don't do that! You'll throw up everywhere."
He scooped the brown furred dog up into his arms and carried him back over the boat. "Now we don't drink sea water, do we? No, we don't. It's not good for you." Gladstone practically flew out of his arms and back into the boat. Holmes' head snapped up as he realised Dimmock was laughing at him. "What?" He asked, knowing very well what Dimmock was finding so amusing.
Dimmock merely shook his head still chuckling to himself and causing Holmes to scowl as he clambered into the dingy. John was sprawled across one of the planks of wood that acted as a bench, snoring loudly. Gladstone had curled up into a ball in the shadow created by John's sleeping form.
"Are all of Captain Watson's men onboard?" Holmes asked, glancing at Dimmock as he began rowing the boat towards the larger ship.
"Yep. They're none too happy either, to tell you the truth. If it's not your intentions to kill Watson by your own hand, I'm sure his men will do it for you."
Holmes brought his leg to rest upon the bench next to John's head. He himself was sitting on the bench opposite, and used his leg as a resting post for his elbow with his head perched on his hand. He watched the sleeping captain closely, wondering what he could have done to possibly warrant such a distaste amongst his men.
John buried his face deeper into the crook of his arm, which despite being strong, muscular and hard, made a surprisingly comfortable pillow. He would never tire of the moments before waking up while at sea. The gentle rocking, the overall calmness that surrounded the boat as the other men slept quietly was the only time he had to himself, and he loved it.
Occasionally a gull could be heard, and John would be sent deeper into his overall tranquility of being asleep at sea.
"Oi! He's awake!"
John jumped as the shout sliced at his eardrums; he suddenly sat up. Using his arms as support for his body he blinked wearily, trying to take in his dark surroundings.
"Don't just sit there. Make him sit up." The man who had shouted said, and John found himself being hoisted into the air. He had a mind numbing headache that caused his vision to blur as he was pulled from the floor a little too harshly. He closed his eyes tightly, willing them to be working again properly.
The man who was speaking was a man called Biggs. He didn't hold a very high rank, but his large build and general knack for bullying caused the other sailors to fall to their knees with any given command he made. John had never succumb to Biggs' bullying techniques – he was the captain, after all – but something about his situation made him wish he'd obeyed just a few times in the past.
Rather slowly, John realised that the men who had picked him up were still supporting him. He didn't mind that so much, in fact he was quite thankful for it. What he did care about however, was the fact that they were pinning him against the wall. He attempted to wriggle free, but the men were too strong for his sleepy body to contend with.
"Whats..." He spoke groggily, cursing Holmes mentally as he remembered the situation on the beach. Slowly, he began to recall the what had happened once he'd set foot on Pharaoh.
Holmes had tricked him, that was a given. But what was currently unfolding in front of him was new, and he couldn't piece together how he'd gotten there. Where was he? Was he in his own ship, back on HMS Edward? Or was he on Holmes'? Furthermore, what was he doing surrounded by the dregs of his company, rather than the likes of Stamford?
As realisation filled him, a groan escaped his lips.
His eyes adjusted, and he found himself surrounded by his rather malicious looking crew. Yellow teeth were glinting at him against the flicker of a lamp, and several of the men had taken there proper uniform off. Biggs was standing dead on the centre, looking down on John as though he were the next meal for a hungry shark.
"Don't suppose we can come to some sort of an agreement?" John attempted, smiling meekly.
Behind the hoard of men was a row of thick, black, wrought iron bars and John quickly came to the conclusion that they were most definitely on Holmes's ship.
"Nice try." Biggs cracked his knuckles and bore his jagged teeth. The sight of them made John cringe.
"Maybe if you told me what was going on I'd be able to help?"
The men laughed, almost in unison, and Biggs ordered for the two men holding John up to drop him. He managed to gain his footing and remain standing, however.
"What do you think's going on, Captain? HMS precious Edward was ramsacked by pirates. Pirates who you were supposed to be arresting." Biggs was sneering at him, attempting to belittle him, and John didn't appreciate it one bit.
"Now look here-" he started, raising a finger. But before he could continue Biggs heavily callused hand made contact with John's stomach.
John was a man born to be a fighter. When he was a child, he was always getting into fights with the other children. Not because he particularly wanted to fight, but more often than not it was down to him defending someone else. John could hold his own, but people often didn't know it because of his size. Biggs, as it turned out, had made precisely that miscalculation.
The force of the punch caused John to take a couple of steps backwards, clutching at his stomach with his left arm and doubling over. The other men were shouting, egging Biggs on.
Biggs bent over so that his face was just a bit higher than John's. John could feel the man's dirty breath rippling through his hair, and clenched his teeth.
"Did that hurt the big Captain?" Biggs mocked. John didn't reply, so Biggs straightened up to his full height to receive a cheer from the men, grinning stupidly at his apparent defeat of the captured captain. John saw his opportunity.
He quickly unfurled himself and his right fist made firm contact with Biggs's jawbone. He then quickly darted around Biggs and pushed the cell door open.
There were yells of horror as John slammed it shut; hands sticking out and crying out to let them out too. John was laughing heartily as he propped a heavy barrel against the door and tore off a piece of material from one of the more dopier men's arms. He tied it around one of the bars that made up the door, and stretched it across and tied it around another bar, just out of the men's reach. They were trapped. John was still chuckling as he addressed the men.
"You're fools. The door was open? Tell me, how long were you sitting in there?" He leant up against on of the beams and grinned at the all the angry people in front of him, folding his arms as he smirked.
He longed to hear the story of how much they loathed him, and how they allowed themselves to be captured by a meagre group of pirates, but he knew that the cloth wouldn't prevent them from getting out for long. What was Holmes playing at? So he quickly darted off in search of a way off the ship.
