John was quick on his feet and managed to jump out of the way of the swinging tail, but other sailors were not so lucky, and one that had tried to tie down Sherlock was dumped overboard. Mike quickly sent his sailors to drag the man back on board, and left John to deal with "the giant fish". John quickly knelt down by Sherlock and spoke in calming tones.
"Hey, easy. Easy, easy..." John spoke quietly, and Sherlock's sharp hearing picked up the comforting words and lay still as the human reach out a hand to place comfortingly on his arm. John looked over the littering of large treble hooks pushed in past the barbs. "You've got to lay still, you're only going to make it worse," he said, and Sherlock swallowed and obeyed. John seemed surprised, and Sherlock held back a smirk as he realized that this human must think him simple as a beast.
John pulled a multitool from his pocket and cut loose the rope around Sherlock's arms, pulling it away. Sherlock's mind was still reeling from the sudden change, as only moments prior he had been on a hunt. Human fishing had driven away the fish, and he was further from his pod's territory than usual. Mycroft would be displeased, he thought irritably, and flailed his tail as he tried to right himself again. The flailing of his tail drove the hooks in, and as John came around, Sherlock fell instantly still when he saw the knife. Breathing heavily, he let John cut away the rope and remained still as he glanced up at John.
The pain in his tail from the hooks was minor enough to ignore for the moment, and faint scars along his tail indicated that he'd been in worse scrapes in the past.
"What's happening?" he asked quietly in english, earning another startled reaction from the human. His voice sounded rough, as if he wasn't used to speaking a human language very often. "What is a scientist?"
"You speak english... That makes this a lot easier." was John's relieved response as he realized the creature was intelligent. Putting the knife back into his pocket, he helped Sherlock sit up as he explained. "A scientist is someone who is curious about new things. They like to learn, to discover. But there are more cruel men than good who are scientists it seems," John said as he carefully examined the mess of hooks. "This is not going to be fun for either of us," he noted, but he thought he could get the hooks out with relatively little damage.
Sherlock listened silently as he tenderly pulled the injured part of his tail closer. They had no scientists or technology as such, and so there was no word in his vocabulary for them. Still suspicious of the human, he examined the hooks and hissed as John reach towards them. Quickly the human pulled back and held his hands up peacefully in a surrender.
"I just want to help," he said, cautiously moving forward again. This time Sherlock let him come close and touch him tail, examining the damage done. Slowly he moved the toolbox over and reached for a pair of clippers, cutting the ends of the hooks off and then gently pressing them the rest of the way through to slide out forward the way, without causing damage by pulling them out backwards. Sherlock had felt far worse pain than this and sat quietly through the whole thing as John carefully removed all the hooks.
"I'm sorry about this," John said, apologizing for the nets having brought Sherlock up, but Sherlock only watched him quietly, apparently having chosen to fall silent again. John tossed away the hooks and picked up the rest from where they'd fallen and set them back up in he jar. Glancing out towards the sea, he looked back down at Sherlock. "I'm John, by the way. John Watson. Perhaps if we could get you up over, we could put you back in..." he offered, but Sherlock shook his head.
"We're already too far," was the quiet reply as Sherlock settled back down and tried to hide the panic he was feeling. The ship was still moving, and he had already been beyond his pod's territory to begin with. Now the ship had taken him who knew how far in who knew what direction. Glancing skyward, he tried to determine the time, but he doubted that it mattered. In strange waters with no sense of direction, he'd never find his pod. He'd be eaten by a shark or other such creature before he could find the safety of a group. "I was hunting, I lost track of how far I went." John frowned heavily and let his shoulders sag in disappointment.
He'd had to go further than usual to find food for the pod's young. They had children to feed, and Sherlock couldn't allow himself to go home empty handed. He'd already been out twice that day, with no food for himself. They were migrating to warmer waters until the children were older, and Sherlock knew by nightfall they would have moved on. Sometimes things happened out in the ocean, and if someone didn't come back, they couldn't linger for long to look.
"I'm Sherlock," he introduced himself after a moment, glancing idly at the pile of fish as his stomach twisted painfully. The men and women without children would hunt for the mothers and children first, and Sherlock hadn't eaten yet that day. John noticed him looking and stood up, gathering a couple of the larger fish in the catch and bringing them over to Sherlock. Pulling out his knife, he laid it next to Sherlock in case he needed it.
Grateful for the food, Sherlock didn't waste any time as he grabbed one and dug his teeth into the raw, juicy flesh. The knife wasn't even noticed, and hardly needed as his sharp canines cut easily into the fish and Sherlock began making short work of the first offered bit of food.