Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
A/N: Beta-twolovesonestone
"May I inquire as to why you invited me to dinner if you didn't plan on eating?" asked John.
Sherlock darted his eyes over to him. "It would look quite odd if I came here and did not eat. As a couple, it looks nothing out of the ordinary if you eat and I just have tea."
John slowly nodded his head and went back to his meal. He didn't really mind Holmes' logic. Dinner aboard the Nautilus was turning out to be a fantastic treat. Being in the army for the greater part of his adult life, John Watson was not used to French cuisine, but getting his first taste was enough to leave him captivated. He allowed the pâté to dissolve in his mouth and relished every flavor. If his partner wanted to be silent, all the better for digestion.
Although, after a few more moments of companionable silence, John could no longer hold his tongue. "If you do not plan on eating, what are you doing then?"
This caused Sherlock to turn towards him and take a sip of his long neglected tea. "If you must know, I am categorizing our fellow passengers for later use."
"I suppose, with your normal company, they would understand that statement, but I must admit, it puts me at a loss."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Normal company?"
John was slowly becoming convinced that they were having two different conversations. "Normal company. Friends. Companions."
He looked away from John and went back to scanning the dining hall. "I do not have friends. Enemies, I suppose, but I do not normally dine with them."
John blinked a few times in astonishment and disbelief. Enemies? What in the world did he mean?
Instead of questioning him further, John decided he could ask Holmes about it later and went back to putting his full concentration on his meal. Even the port was a grade he had never before tasted, John was certain he was going to thank his lucky stars more than once that all meals had been included in the initial ticket. Paying for the alcohol was going to be enough of a burden, but he would be damned if he was going to eat without it.
"I am doing to them what I did to you."
John tilted his head, surprised at the sound of Holmes voice. "Ah, observing." John licked his lips. "I don't imagine you would care to share some with me."
This caused Sherlock's upper lip to twitch into a smile. "See the woman over there?" He pointed with his eyes.
"The one with the pearls?"
"Yes, but they are not real. She had to pawn them. Gambling problem. This trip is her last hurrah before she goes begging back to her father."
"What about him?" John guided Sherlock's glaze over with his sorbet spoon.
"Nothing spectacular about him. Only the illegitimate children and cocaine use. Small dog, too. Terrier, I believe."
"Brilliant." John found himself saying for what seemed the hundredth time that night.
"Must you keep saying that?"
John felt a slight blush creep across his neck. "Oh, right. I apologize."
"No, I...I meant to say, feel free." Now it was Sherlock's turn to blush, but his was much less pronounced. Watson would have missed it completely, if Holmes' skin wasn't so pale to begin with.
John took another sip of port. Unbelievably, he could already feel the slight affects of it. Light head, warmth in his veins. John only pondered for a moment if it was the man or the port that had caused the reaction.
"Well Doctor, I believe this is where I retire for the night."
After dinner, they had gone to the library and whittled away the hours until it was past midnight. Most of the time had been spent in studious silence while the dewey decibel machine made the occasional click and the light conversations of other passengers had shifted around them.
John had occupied himself for the most part with Royal Navy medical journals. Holmes had pushed back his chair and stood up what seemed like every few minutes, and gotten another random book off the shelves until he had a mountain of journals, dictionaries and pamphlets. He had also taken out a small black notebook and scribbled down an excessive amount of notes. John had been tempted to ask, but didn't; he realized he probably wouldn't understand the answer anyway.
The library attendant had made a huffing noise as he and Holmes had left the mess on the long oak table. John found that he followed Holmes without even meaning too. They reached Holmes' room and John did a double take.
"Wait, you're in 221B? You're the bloke who was making all that commotion earlier?" John asked disbelievingly.
"Then you must be the gentlemen who threw a book against the wall. I do not care what violence you bring upon my person but I must ask you not to treat a book so roughly."
"If it makes you feel any better, it was a terrible dime thriller."
"Slightly."
John and Sherlock stared at each other. Neither at a loss for words, but more unaware as to how to continue the conversation.
Holmes cleared his throat. "I do not suppose that you might be interested in learning what I was working on."
John did not hesitate before he agreed.
John batted his eyes and squeezed them tight against the sunshine spilling in through the small window of his cabin. He stretched and tried to categorize his thoughts. He had not gone to bed until almost three a.m., but he was surprised he wasn't regretting the decision.
He vaguely remembered that it was only when he had started to softly snore standing up that Holmes had suggested he should return to his own cabin. Throughout the visit, Holmes had never looked the least bit tired. As John had fallen asleep listening to the lamentations of a violin, he had speculated if it was Holmes playing or not.
John's thoughts turned to the occupations of 221C and how they had not raised any complaints the night before; he figured they must be heavy sleepers.
John found that the first thing he wanted to do after shaving, waxing his mustache and changing into freshly pressed suit, was to see if Holmes wanted to join him for a late brunch.
Instead of going outside of his cabin and knocking on the front door of 221B, John stood in front of the door that connected the two cabins. John hesitated. Is this too personal a gesture? It would seem more polite to use the front door. Before John could take a step away, he heard a voice say from the other side of the wall, "Oh just come in, Watson."
John rolled his eyes and opened the door. He was greeted with the same sight that he had left the previous night: Holmes in his dressing robe over his suit, goggles tightly fixed and a vial of liquid in both hands. "How was your night, Doctor? Restful, I hope?"
"I slept like the dead. Although I gather you did not?" John made his way over to Holmes' bed and sat down on the edge of it. He would have sat in the wing chair, but it was covered with odds and ends. How Holmes had already managed to make such a mess of the cabin was a mystery to him.
"So, a late brunch then? I hope you don't mind, but I shan't be eating again." Sherlock said as he mixed the two vials into a larger container on a bunsen burner.
"Why, might I ask?"
"Digestion slows the mind." Sherlock looked at the shade of violet the liquid turned into and made a tutting noise.
John could plainly see that Holmes was undernourished. The slim figure afforded him a sort of cat-like grace to his movements, even though he was easily over six feet tall. John shook his head. Where had that come from?
"If we dine together, you at least need to have a piece of toast, something, anything. I do not want to open the door and find you sprawled out because you starved yourself."
Holmes gave him a haughty look, but there was an odd smile crinkling his eyes. "Doctor's orders?"
"I'm afraid so." John found himself returning the smile.
After brunch (where Holmes had nibbled at a crumpet) they went to the parlor. John purchased a copy of the Morse News. Although rotary phones had been invented that could be connected wirelessly, many editorials found it easier to transmit the news to airships through morse code first, have it translated and the printing all done with Engravers.
There had been an attempt at having jet propelled canisters deliver the papers, but that hadn't gone so well. It had been joked about for weeks after that the idea had done 'smashingly!' as that was exactly what the first canister did to the poor Olympic.
"Excuse me sir. Might I trouble you for a cigarette?"
John looked to see a well-dressed young man standing in front of him. He looked almost too young to be smoking but John went to reach for his case.
"It would be wise if you did not heed that request Watson."
John directed his gaze over to Holmes, who had folded his paper in half and was now staring menacingly at the young man.
The young man turned his attention to Holmes. "I beg your pardon. Is there a problem?" His voice dripped with honey. John wasn't sure why, but it put him on edge.
Sherlock folded his paper and put it in his lap. "Because you have already nicked three other mens' cigarette cases and I do not wish for Watsons' to be your fourth."
The man turned, his full attention now on Holmes. "What right have you to make such outlandish accusations?"
John saw the now familiar glow in Holmes' and knew he was in for a show. "I saw you earlier in the dining hall. You asked another man for a cigarette and when he produced his case you complimented him on it, then you asked to look it over, praising its craftsmanship. You then proceeded to produce a varied of rather outlandish facts about the maker, distracting the man and while he was too busy conversing, you slipped it into your pocket. A rather bold move seeing as we are trapped up here and the owner is bound to discover it missing sooner than later." Mr. Holmes rolled his eyes. "It is so boring. You are not even trying to be creative. Next time, try and use at least one brain cell."
The man gulped. He darted his eyes about looking for an escape. "It would be to your benefit if you handed over the cases, so as to avoid a scene."
Upon realizing he was trapped, the man fished into his trouser pocket, retrieving the three cases. He practically threw them at Holmes, but he plucked them from the air with ease. The man gave one more hard glare before he turned to leave without exchanging another word.
John stood up and walked over to Holmes' arm chair. "How did you...? Thank you." Realizing he was just going to sound like a blithering idiot again, John cut himself off.
Sherlock pocketed the three cases and stood up. "Shall we head back to our cabins now? I have something I need to test."
John finished his whiskey and dutifully followed after Holmes.