Chapter Two
Introduction
A/N:
The story setting is taking place around the 1930s. Some of you were confused about that and I apologize.
I would like to apologize for my grammar and verb tenses. I will always have problems with verb tenses. And since my editor was unresponsive, I just had to triple check my writing.
So, I've been asked, both on tumblr and on here, about some of the rules of conduct – for pirates – which I've mentioned throughout the story. I will be explaining some of the rules, but here are some of the rule(s) that won't, probably, be mentioned from the previous chapter.
Okay, in the beginning, when Sherlock is talking to the redheaded pirate, he tells him if he were a pirate, he'd have known about the rules.
Sherlock was talking about the eighth rule of conduct.
VIII. No striking one another on board, but every man's quarrels to be ended on shore, at sword and pistol. (The quarter-master of the ship, when the parties will not come to any reconciliation, accompanies them on shore with what assistance he thinks proper, and turns the disputant back to back, at so many paces distance; at the word of command, they turn and fire immediately, (or else the piece is knocked out of their hands). If both miss, they come to their cutlasses, and then he is declared the victor who draws the first blood.)
The doors slammed open. In came Ebony, looking pale stricken. She stalked up the stairs to the palace, looking for John. Her pace began to quicken as she turned towards the exit of the secret exit. She removed a huge painting, dumping it on the ground as if it were worthless. What revealed underneath the painting was a door. She grabbed a key, turning it. She pushed open the door, eyes scanning at the crowd.
The Japanese cowered as the door opened. But they quickly relaxed when they noticed it was just Her Majesty. The translator demanded to know what was going on, but Ebony pushed her way through them, seeing a familiar figure. She rushed towards Mike, gripping his shoulders.
"Mike," she said in a dangerous tone, "where's John?" Her grip on Mike tightened on his shoulders, causing him to wince slightly.
Mike looked down at his injury, whimpering only slightly.
"MIKE!" screamed Ebony. "Where's John? Tell. Me."
Mike gazed at her in horror, as he looked into her eyes. He saw nothing but coldness and hatred. Absolute hatred. "Eb – Queen Ebony, John, he – ugh – he ran off to aid Duchess Morstan. He should be with her," Mike explained.
Ebony loosened her grip on Mike's shoulders, smacking him across the face. A stinging red handprint stuck on his face. "Idiot," she muttered, walking away from them, closing the door behind her.
Ebony grabbed the ends of her dress, holding them so she wouldn't trip as she ran. She made her way up the stairs, looking for Mary's room. Her heart was fluttering in her rib cage as she reached the top of the stairs. The first thing she noticed was Mary – face down – sprawled over the floor.
Ebony exhaled shakily, quickly walking up to her. Ebony bent down and kneeled beside her. She turned Mary around so that her face was facing Ebony's. She gently shook her awake. Mary groaned softly, opening her eyes.
"Mary, are you all right?" she asked gently, caressing her face.
Mary looked up at Ebony silently, nodding her head. Instantly, her eyes widened and she sat up straight. "John! Where's John?" she cried out, looking at Ebony. "Please, tell me you've saved him!"
Ebony gazed at Mary, silent terror replacing her calm expression. She stared into Mary's eyes. "Mary, love, what are you talking about? Save him from whom?" she asked.
"Oh, god, no. Oh, my, it's my entire fault!" she exclaimed, tears streaming down her face. She covered her face with her hands, knees pressed against her chest.
"Mary!" Ebony said, raising her voice only slightly. "Mary, honey, I need you to tell me what happened."
Mary nodded as she tried to stifle her sobs. After a few short breaths, Mary turned to look at Ebony. "A pir-pirate barged into my room. He-he tried to take the crown off me. J-John must've heard me because he came in my room afterwards. J-John an-and the pirate began fighting. They left my room and John w-won. B-but I wanted to h-help the pirate be-c-cause he was injured.
"He-he grabbed me and threatened to kill me. J-John was knocked unconscious by a female pirate. After that, I-I don't know what happened. She-she knocked me out as well. I-I think they took him, Your Majesty. I think they took my Johnny!" Mary explained, sobbing as she finished her side of the story.
Ebony's grip on Mary was tensed and firm. She loosened her grip, rising to her feet. Her expression was blank and emotionless. She walked away from Mary, who looked up at her in wonder.
"E-Ebony?" she whispered hoarsely.
Ebony raised a hand in the air, as if shushing her. She ignored Mary, strolling down the stairs. She walked down a hallway until she made it to a gilded door. She opened the door silently, making her way into the room. She slammed the door behind her sound reverberating throughout the room.
She screamed out in frustration, marching up to her dresser and knocking it onto the ground after using much force. She grabbed frames and cups, smashing them against the walls. She stumped her feet on the ground, practically jumping up and down. Her cheeks were flushed from anger. Her irises seemed bloodshot, almost looking crimson. She collapsed onto her bed, lying on her stomach. Her hair was disheveled, some curls covering her face. She panted heavily.
"This," she murmured in between breaths, "is war, Mr. Holmes."
A thudding sound thundered throughout the sky. Splashing water had made its way on the floorboards as if it were raining. Immediately, a swarm of people rushed towards the noise, grasping anything they could.
The lean captain stood where he was, wondering if it was Lestrade. Sherlock tried to show no sign of content on his face. He was relieved that Lestrade was safe, well, if it was Lestrade. He keened his ears to listen.
"Lestrade! Lestrade, are you all right?" asked Donovan.
"'m fine," came a voice.
Sherlock exhaled, repressing a grin. He walked back to his study, looking for the first-aid kit. He rummaged throughout his stuff, knocking some things over to find it.
Being knocked onto the ship with tremendous force blurred John's vision. He was lying on his stomach, finding it hard to breathe. He groaned softly as he opened his eyes after blinking a few times. John winced slightly as he tried to move. Lestrade was on top of him.
He noticed the swarm of pirates surround them, making it impossible for John to escape now. John trembled out of cold as he realized he was drenched wet. Lestrade finally moved off of him, staggering to his feet. He looked for Sherlock among the crowd, but was unable to find him. He needed to tell Sherlock what was going to occur if he wouldn't intervene.
But the moment Lestrade made his way through the crowd; he heard a piercing, shrieking sound. He stopped walking, looking back at the crowd around John. Hands were on John restraining him, which was stupid since he was already bounded. Lestrade looked in horror, snapping back to his mission.
John looked up at the crowd, teeth clattering from the ocean. John rested on his knees, hands near his chest. He then saw the man he had injured. Oh, god, he didn't look happy. Of course he wouldn't! That's when the man pushed his way through the crowd. He stopped in front of John, staring down at him with a menacing smile.
Within a flash, he grasped John's hair, pulling it tightly upwards, causing John to force himself upwards. John hadn't intended for it to happen, but it did. A shriek had escaped his lips, causing the crowd to snigger. This is funny to them?! Watching him in pain?
John stared into the man's eyes, repressing the urge for the tears pricking at the ends of his eyes to come out further. He wasn't going to give him any satisfaction, no, not in that way. "Let me go!" John exclaimed, dangerously.
But all John received was a blow to the cheek, toppling on his side. John groaned as he tried to rub his face in futile. He glared at the man angrily. Don't cry, he thought over and over again. That's exactly what he wants.
"You shouldn't be ordering me around. Oh no, you can't order me around, not here, not anymore, prince!" Anderson barked, laughing like an idiot at John's pain. That felt good, really good. "I have every right to touch you."
John forced himself on his knees again, wobbling as he did so. He stared Anderson down. "And what right is that? If you so much as lay another finger on me –"
Another blow, this time to the stomach. John groaned as he slumped forward, clutching at his stomach.
"Shut up! Do not interrupt me!" Anderson muttered. He pulled John's hair again, causing another groan escape John's mouth. "Right here, you have no power. Welcome to the pirates realm, Prince Watson."
John stared at Anderson, repressing the urge to tremble. No, if he was going to tremble, it was going to be out of cold! He had always heard and read tales of pirates. But… this was absolutely nothing compared to what he read.
Lestrade opened the door to Sherlock's study, wincing every time he heard John's muffled screams. He closed the door behind him, breathing heavily as the door blocked out the screams. He exhaled. "Sherlock!" he called out, raising his voice. He furrowed his brows as he noticed the mess in the study. "Sherlock! Where the hell are you?"
Sherlock was hidden among the pile of clothes and maps he had thrown. He emerged from the pile, looking at Lestrade. He smiled faintly. "Lestrade, are you all right?" he asked, walking towards him.
"Yes, I'm all right. I'm fine, I'm safe!" Lestrade said quickly, he marched towards Sherlock. "But that's not important now! We've got ourselves a prisoner!"
"Oh! Yes, I haven't had a prisoner in a while. Who is it?" Sherlock questioned, looking absolutely giddy.
"Stop it now, Sherlock! I'm serious. We've got to stop Anderson from killing him!" Lestrade exclaimed, hope diminishing by the second.
"Watch your tone with me!" Sherlock snapped back, crossing his arms at Lestrade. "Now, calmly and patiently tell me who exactly we have to save."
Lestrade had his mouth agape in disbelief. But he knew Sherlock better than anybody else. The best way to have Sherlock on his side is if he does what he's told. "Sherlock, we have to save him, Prince John. He's going to die because of Anderson," Lestrade explained silently.
Sherlock snorted, rolling his eyes. "I've never seen a royal die before –"
"Okay, that's it! I'm not going to play by your rules anymore, you cold-hearted –
"Cold hearted what?" Sherlock questioned, raising his voice.
"Damn it, Sherlock! For once, can you make something not about you? He's going to die!" Lestrade replied.
"And why should I care? This is none of my concern," Sherlock said.
"Sherlock, if he dies, do you have any idea what will happen to us by Her Majesty? She'll hunt us down and kill us off for sure! He's the sole heir of the throne!" Lestrade explained, knowing they were wasting valuable time. Who knows what they were doing to John in the moment. "Please, Sherlock!"
Sherlock stared at Lestrade, arms crossed over his chest. He huffed. "There has to be a reason Anderson wants to murder John. Why?" Sherlock questioned.
Lestrade averted his gaze from Sherlock's, biting his lower lip. If he told him, Sherlock would never help him then. The rules, Lestrade's mind kept on telling him.
"Well, guess we'll find out afterwards," Sherlock said coldly, walking past Lestrade. He opened the door, closing it behind him.
Lestrade's eyes widened, trembling as the door slammed behind him. Silent tears began to caress his face as he closed his eyes, clearly ashamed for not being able to help John. He clenched his fists. No! He was going to have to try. Lestrade wiped his tears dry, following Sherlock.
"Watch your mouth, you virginal bastard!" Anderson spat, kicking John's stomach twice.
John winced, lying on his side, as he felt the blows come again. He was no longer able to contain his tears by the pain. Everything everywhere hurt. He groaned as he tried to force himself on his knees again, wobbling as he did so.
"Look!" said one pirate.
"He's crying!" said another.
John snarled at them, panting heavily as he did so. He's never felt so weak, so vulnerable before. Not since…the day he had lost his mother.
"Okay, methinks we've played with the boy too long now," Anderson sneered. "Let's end this."
"End what exactly?" a voice boomed behind the crowd.
John noticed Anderson's face paled and his sneer vanish immediately. What? He tried to look over the crowd, but was unable to see anything.
Anderson turned around along with the rest of the crowd. The crowd had split in half, so that a figure appeared in between them. John saw him. Sherlock Holmes? It couldn't be! He's heard Queen Ebony along with other people talk about him, the man that's plagued the seas and lands for over twenty-three years. They drew him perfectly, every minute detail. Yet, something felt different from a drawing and from the actual person. John felt a chilling sensation run down his spine.
Anderson sputtered, "Captain, surely you don't need me to explain what I meant."
Sherlock's gaze turned on Anderson, raising a brow. "Anderson, I didn't ask for your opinion. I asked for an explanation. Now, give me one or he goes free."
Anderson opened his mouth in shock. "You're joking, right?" Anderson exclaimed angrily.
"Anderson, you've been here long enough to know that I don't make jokes," Sherlock explained.
"Captain, just bloody look at me, he did this to me!" Anderson yelled.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, groaning. He placed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "And by what standards – what right – do you have the right to harm him?"
Anderson paused. "Captain, even you should know this rule!"
"TELL ME!" Sherlock snapped back. "Tell me or he goes free."
John flinched as he heard Sherlock's shout. He's heard people shout or scream before, but never had it given him this feeling. He felt immediate danger. This is the second person he's ever felt this type of feeling around with. And yet, it wasn't directed to him!
Just then, a door opened, but no one paid any attention to it. John looked at the door, seeing the pirate that had 'saved' him. John returned his gaze at Sherlock, feeling hope surging through his body. He just might have a chance to survive this.
"Article Five!" Anderson spat angrily.
Sherlock said no more. He glared at Anderson, knowing he had a point. "Punishment is through my decision," he announced at last.
"And you owe me this punishment! You owe me for what you've done! I think it's time you repay it to me right now," Anderson explained.
Sherlock closed his eyes, groaning softly. There was no way out of this. "Forty lashes minus one is your decision?" he asked silently.
Lestrade had stopped walking, staring at Sherlock in surprise. "No," he whispered inaudibly. He continued walking, stopping beside Sherlock. He stared at John, who closed his eyes, turning away from him.
"No," Anderson said, shaking his head. A small smirk tugged on his lips. "Death is my decision. And death he shall receive."
Sherlock turned away from Anderson, nodding his head. "Very well, then. Do it now and do it quickly. I don't want my ship to be stained," Sherlock announced firmly. He turned around, his back facing Anderson. He stared at Lestrade as if saying he had done his best. Lestrade turned away from him, obviously disappointed in him.
"What?" John questioned, staring at them all. He found Lestrade and stared him in the eyes. "You promised me! You said I wasn't going to die!"
Lestrade looked at John, closing his eyes as he exhaled shakily. He averted his eyes. "I promised you weren't going to drown. I never promised you'd live," Lestrade managed.
Sherlock stopped walking to his room, biting his lower lip. He clenched his fists but shook the words away. "I mean it when I say quickly," Sherlock answered firmly. "If I hear so much as a yell, it'll be your head Anderson." He then proceeded to make his way to his room again.
Anderson smirked, looking down at John. "Did you honestly think you'd live?" he teased, throwing John back onto the ground.
John grumbled, squirming to his knees again. He managed to lunge forward, head-butting Anderson in the gut. Anderson staggered backwards, clutching his wound John had made earlier.
"You son of a – Restrain him!" Anderson ordered.
Instantly, Dimmock sprang forward, grasping John's restrained arms and holding them firmly. Sally hesitated before she helped him, forcing John to bend down on his knees. His face was facing the floorboard.
"Stop it! Stop it now!" John cried, realizing this was actually happening. "Don't do this, please!"
"Hurry!" Sally whimpered, not wanting to partake in this any longer. She turned her head away, so that she was staring at the sky.
Anderson hushed them, grasping his sword from his sheath. He approached John until he was at least two feet away from him. He placed the blade on John's nape. John felt the chillness from the blade against his neck. John closed his eyes as the blade lifted from his neck. This was it, he thought. At least, he was free now.
John waited and waited and waited, but nothing occurred. The only thing he felt were hands letting go of him. John took the chance to steal a quick glance. He looked up, seeing a tall frame in front of him, a sword above the figure's head, centimeters away.
It was none other than the captain himself, Sherlock Holmes. What was he doing? It appeared that everyone had that questioned dawned on them because they all had their mouths agape, staring at their captain.
Anderson removed his sword from his captain, holding it to his side. "Move, Sherlock!" he ordered.
"No, I'm afraid I can't do that. Not if your intention's to kill him," Sherlock replied simply.
"You just said I could kill –"
"I know what I said. But I take it back now. It just dawned on me that you…can't kill him, as much as I'd love to see a royal die," Sherlock said.
"And why not?" Anderson questioned, clearly impatient.
"Article Five," Sherlock began, "which clearly states that a man who strikes another, whilst these Articles are in force, shall receive Moses's Law on the bare back."
"Yes, I understand. What point are you trying to make here?" Anderson spat.
"These Articles are in fact in force, yes. But, it doesn't work here now," Sherlock said, a small smirk tugging on his lips.
"And why not?" Anderson replied.
"Come on! Anderson, you're not that stupid. You should be able to piece this together easily," Sherlock explained. He waited but no reply came. He rolled his eyes. "Typical. What are these Articles for? Better question, whom?"
Anderson's face fell as he slowly lowered his sword. "Pirates."
"And…is John a pirate?" Sherlock questioned, tauntingly.
Anderson looked away, clenching his fists. "No."
"So, who makes the punishments to non-pirates?" Sherlock replied.
"You do," Anderson said.
"Exactly, and since my word is absolute, I can decide this boy's fate," Sherlock explained, crossing his arms. He looked at Lestrade.
Lestrade smiled brightly, beaming at Sherlock. "Thank you," he mouthed silently.
Sherlock turned away from him, spinning around to look at John. He pulled out his sword, pointing it at John. "What did you do to him?" Sherlock asked, gesturing his head towards Anderson.
John stared at Sherlock then back at Anderson. He returned Sherlock's gaze, staring into his gray eyes. "He's already said what I've done –"
"I'm asking you, not him," Sherlock said.
"I-I pierced him with my sword, but I only did it because he was going to hurt Mary!" John replied quickly.
"Mary being your fiancé?" Sherlock questioned.
John nodded his head silently.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, straightening himself once more. "Sentiment, ugh," he said. "Punishment, what should your punishment be?"
"Death!" Anderson groaned.
"Shut up, Anderson. I'm trying to think of a proper punish –" Something caught Sherlock's eyes, causing him to pause. He turned to look at John, eyes staring at something around his neck. Sherlock used the tip of his sword to draw it out. John repressed the urge to shudder as he felt the cold blade. He stared down at his neck, seeing his necklace being pulled out by the sword.
"Look what we have here. You royals have good taste in jewelry, I'll give you that," Sherlock said, attempting to draw forth the necklace.
"Stop!" John demanded desperately. "Please, you can do anything you'd like to me, just don't take this from me!"
"And why should I let you keep it?" Sherlock questioned, raising a brow.
"Because my mother gave it to me, and my mother isn't Queen Ebony. Queen Ebony adopted me two days after my mum died! This is all I have left of her! Please, I beg of you, don't take it away from me!" John explained, clearly on the verge of crying.
Sherlock's smirk faded away as he stared down at John. In just a brief moment, he saw his vulnerability, his feelings. Sherlock removed his sword from the chain, glancing down at John. "If it'll keep you from crying, then so be it," he answered.
John looked up at Sherlock in surprise. He hadn't expected that at all. He had heard stories of his ruthlessness and his apathy; yet, here he was, showing the opposite.
"Toss him overboard," Sherlock said, walking away.
"What?" Anderson hissed.
"I don't think I stuttered. Toss him overboard, he has no use for me," Sherlock explained.
"But he needs to be punished!" Anderson replied.
"That is his punishment," Sherlock answered.
"Are you deaf or what? He stabbed me in my stomach!" Anderson repeated.
Sherlock stopped, back facing them. He grinned, covering his face with his hand. He leveled himself, turning to look back at John. "You're right, what am I doing?" Sherlock questioned, hands folded neatly behind his back. He strolled his way back towards John. He stopped right in front John. "You'll be working under me. You'll obey everything I say and will only obey my orders only," Sherlock explained. "Is that clear?"
John gazed at Sherlock, mouth hanging opened. He nodded his head slowly, unable to form any sentences.
"Good," Sherlock said. He pulled out his sword, cutting the ropes. "Let's go, up, up."
John hesitated before he obeyed, staggering to his feet. "You need to get out of that dress," Sherlock said, after a quick examination.
"Kimono," John answered.
"What?" Sherlock questioned.
"It's a kimono."
"I don't care," Sherlock replied, walking towards his study. He expected John to follow, and he smiled faintly as he heard footsteps pattering behind him.
"What are you doing?" Anderson questioned, stopping in Sherlock's way.
"He needs to change out of those or do you want him to dress in a drag?" Sherlock said.
"This was worth a lot of money!" John snapped back. He didn't know why he was defending this…dress; Sherlock was right.
Sherlock disregarded John, looking at Anderson. Anderson shook his head furiously. "No! What I mean is why isn't he being punished?" Anderson asked.
Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes at Anderson. "I always hear you all complaining how it's terrible living with me. I'm sure this is an equivalent punishment for him," Sherlock explained. Without waiting for a reply, Sherlock pushed his way through Anderson, John quickly following behind him.
The moment the door closed, Sherlock broke into a fit of laughter. He clutched his sides as he made his way to a closet. John looked at him curiously, raising a brow.
"You know, I hate Anderson. And I want to see him suffer, so his punishment would be having you around," Sherlock answered. "He can't harm you, not unless he wants to die."
John furrowed his brows together, scrunching up his nose. "I don't understand," he managed.
"What don't you understand? I thought I made my point clear."
"Why?" John asked.
"Why what?" Sherlock questioned.
"Why did you save me?" he continued.
Sherlock stared at John, raising a brow. "I want you to understand something, John. And I want you to understand this well," Sherlock explained, marching towards John. "I didn't save you. I didn't want to save you in the first place. I wouldn't have cared if Anderson killed you. But, Lestrade did. You should be thanking Lestrade. "
Goosebumps formed on John's skin as he heard Sherlock's tone. This was…much worse than Ebony. He stared into Sherlock's gray eyes, no green. They change colors? It was marvelous yet terrifying at the same time.
John nodded his head slowly. "I wasn't thanking you," John corrected him. "I just wanted to know the reason why you did it."
Sherlock nodded, moving back towards the closet. He opened the closet doors, inspecting through the contents. He pulled out several clothes, tossing it on the ground, muttering something angrily. He finally pulled something out, walking back to John. "I never said you couldn't move," Sherlock said, realizing John was still against the door.
"You never said I could," John countered.
Sherlock gazed at John, a small smirk tugging on his lips. "True," he answered. He showed John his clothes. "It might be a bit big on you," he explained.
"I'm not wearing that," John replied, looking down at the clothes.
"I'm sorry they're not made from luxurious and fine silk," Sherlock teased. "But it'll make do. Now wear them!"
"No! I'd rather wear this dress then wear pirate clothes! I'd be betraying my own people," he answered.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This is going to be your downfall, John, being loyal. Now, put your loyalty aside and wear these damn clothes!" Sherlock hissed, shoving John the clothes.
John let the clothes fall to the ground. "Honestly, I can get Anderson kill you if I tell him to. He won't –"
"But you wouldn't do that, not if you want to disappoint Lestrade," John countered.
Sherlock raised a brow, staring at John in wonder. Well, then. He's really something, maybe his match. Sherlock shook the thought away, blinking down at John. He bent forward so that he was at eye level with John. They were inches apart.
"John, I think I should tell you as a fair warning, you don't want to be doing this. Don't challenge me if you want to be on my good side," Sherlock warned dangerously.
John returned Sherlock's stare, looking at him in the same level of intensity. Well, that's what he thought anyway. "No, captain, I think you should be warned. I can take a challenge and I'm not afraid to back down to one. If you want to play this game, then so be it. I won't disappoint you," John explained, voice low.
Sherlock's smirk widened. Better than her, he thought. Much better. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea of letting him stay. Hell, he might have a little fun for once. "Well, then, I see how it is now," he answered.
"I thought you were supposed to be smart," John replied.
Sherlock raised a brow, leaning closer to John. "And I thought you were supposed to be taking orders."
"Not if there aren't any given," he said.
Sherlock nodded. "Quite –"
Sherlock was knocked into John as the floor beneath them shook. Sherlock pressed himself against John, before he backed away. He covered his mouth, eyeing John in disbelief.
"I – err – out of my way!" Sherlock demanded, pushing John aside. "And I expect you to be dressed by the time I come back." He closed the door behind him, face flushed. Sherlock calmed himself before he looked at his crew angrily. "What the bloody hell was that? What are you doing with my ship?" he questioned. "Dimmock, what're you doing? I thought you knew how to turn a wheel! But, I guess I was wrong, move."
Instantly, Dimmock nodded, moving away from the wheel in flushed embarrassment. Sherlock grabbed the wheel, turning it to the right slightly.
John flushed in embarrassment, touching his lips. Did that actually just happen? John shook his head verbally. He looked down at the ground, eyeing the clothes suspiciously as if it were its fault. John exhaled bitterly, grasping the clothes from the ground.
John stripped from the kimono, replacing it with the clothes Sherlock had given him. John marched towards a mirror, looking at his reflection. John was now in a white buttoned down shirt collar. He was wearing black pants and boots to go along with it. He felt and looked different in these. He didn't feel betrayal. He felt… John shook the thought away, looking away from the mirror.
"So, where is he going to sleep?" Clara asked.
"Pardon?" Sherlock questioned, as he turned to look at her.
"John, where's John going to sleep? Unless you're planning on letting him sleep beside you?" she questioned.
Remembering the previous event, Sherlock's face reddened. He quickly shook the thought away, replying "John'll sleep in Anderson's room."
"What?" Anderson exclaimed.
"God, am I really stuttering?" Sherlock said, clearly annoyed.
"Why is that virginal bastard sleeping in my room?" he exclaimed, flailing his arms.
"Virginal bastard?" Sherlock questioned, raising a brow. "Anderson, do refrain from insulting our crewmates."
"Why is he sleeping in my room?" Anderson repeated.
"Well, since you're already sleeping in Donovan's, I don't see why you'll be needing that room. John will be sleeping in your room, and that's final," Sherlock stated, returning back to the wheel.
John was bored, unsure what he should do. The embarrassment had past and now he felt trapped. He looked around the room, going through its contents. He would've gone outside, but he knew Anderson wouldn't hesitate on hurting him.
"Clara take the wheel, I'm sure you can manage that," he answered, giving Dimmock a quick glare. Sherlock stopped and looked at Anderson. "You better start packing."
Anderson muttered, marching his way towards his room. Sherlock sniggered silently as he made his way towards his room. This was going to be fun. Once Sherlock opened the door, he noticed John.
John was wrong, by far wrong. The embarrassment was back as soon as Sherlock came through the door. He was holding a map in his hands, caught snooping. He put it down quickly, looking at Sherlock.
"Enjoying yourself?" Sherlock taunted, as he made his way inside the room. He walked towards John, seeing what he had been looking at. "Oh. Looking at Spain, are you?"
"I've always wanted to go there," John murmured softly, trying to hide his flush.
"I thought you've been there multiple times, seeing as you are prince," Sherlock said.
John snorted, shaking his head. "The farthest I've ever been – besides here – is outside the gates of Buckingham Palace," John explained. "Queen Ebony doesn't want me to go outside. She would always tell me how dangerous the world was. I should've listened."
Sherlock exhaled. "No, what she's done is narrowed your perspective on the world. She's made you miss a lot of things. And that's going to change now since we're going to be moving across the world," Sherlock explained.
John crossed his arms at Sherlock, looking at him in disbelief. Really? How is he so relaxed right now after…? "And, where exactly are we going?" John asked.
"Now, I can't tell you that," Sherlock replied.
"Why not?" John questioned.
"Because I haven't gotten a clue myself," Sherlock answered, smirking faintly.
John shook his head at Sherlock silently, grinning faintly.
"Come on," Sherlock said, gesturing with his head. "Let me show you to your room."
"I won't be sleeping here?" John questioned.
"Not unless you're fine sleeping with me," Sherlock replied, stalking off towards the door.
"No, I'm happily engaged," he said.
Sherlock sniggered, shaking his head.
"I am! I love Mary, I tell you," John exclaimed.
"I never said you didn't, but it clearly shows now how you actually feel," Sherlock explained.
John just crossed his arms angrily as he walked out the door. Sherlock crossed towards the other half of the ship, passing the lookout beam. He made his way near the front of the ship, stopping near the bow.
Sherlock showed two doors; one on the floor and the other is just like Sherlock's room. Sherlock's room is basically a 'mini house' that only contains one room overall. It's made of wood on the outside that has dried clay plastered inside to prevent any leakages. That being said, the second room – mini house – is the same for this, same color, same style, except it's near the bow while Sherlock's near the lookout beam.
Now, Sherlock opened the door on the ground, pulling the door. He demonstrated to John the endless stairs. John was going to walk down the stairs until Sherlock stopped him.
"What're you doing?" Sherlock asked.
"Going to my room?" John replied.
"No, no, I'm just showing you where the rest of the rooms and bathrooms would be," Sherlock explained, closing the door once more.
Sherlock rose from the ground, straightening himself. He walked towards the second door, motioning John to open the door. John huffed silently as he opened the door. But as he did so, he bumped into a figure, causing him to stagger backwards. It was Anderson. John's skin paled as he saw him. Anderson clenched his fists immediately, grasping John's shirt and pulling him closer.
"Anderson, I thought I made my point clear," Sherlock murmured. "But, I guess my stuttering is getting the best of me. Let me repeat myself. Touch him and it'll be your head."
Anderson let go of John quickly, pushing his way past him. John watched Anderson stalk off angrily. He exhaled in relief, clutching at his sides as he remembered the pain.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked him, glancing at John's movements.
"Yes, I'm fine," John said.
"Are you sure? He kicked you about four times there," Sherlock replied.
"How do you know?" John questioned. "You weren't there."
"I didn't need to be there to know," Sherlock answered. "Now, in you go." Sherlock forced John inside, walking in after him.
John looked at the now-empty room. All that was left was a bed and some sheets. There was a closet, a desk, and a chair in the room as well. The room was painted a dulling gray, and the floorboards were black. John blinked blankly at the room.
Sherlock closed the door behind him, walking around the room. He stopped in front of John, facing him. "Well?" he asked.
"What do you want me to say?" John questioned.
"Thank you, I suppose. This is the second best room on this ship," Sherlock explained.
"Then why did Anderson have it if you hate him so much? I figured you'd give it to Lestrade," John said.
"I did, actually. But Lestrade said the currents bothered him while he was trying to sleep. So, Lestrade traded with Anderson. And now, this is yours," Sherlock explained.
"Did you –?"
"Please stop," Sherlock begged. "I don't have time to idle around. I have to make some distances between Her Majesty's ships. They'll be trying to get you back, you know."
"Oh." John's expression was blank. He turned away from Sherlock, biting his lower lip.
"Unless…that is what you want?" Sherlock said.
"What?" John asked, looking back at Sherlock.
"You, stalling me so the ships can get here faster," Sherlock replied.
"Oh. Oh! Yes, yes, that's exactly what I want. You're so clever," John answered, smirking.
Sherlock furrowed his brows at John. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided it was best not to say anything at all. "Right then, I'll just leave you here then," Sherlock said. He opened the door, giving John one last glance before he closed the door gently.
John exhaled, as he made his way towards the bed. The moment John reached the bed, the door snapped open once more. John twirled around and looked at Sherlock again.
"Oh! A little piece of advice, I wouldn't sleep with those sheets, or much less, sit on those sheet," Sherlock announced.
"Why?" John questioned.
Sherlock shook his head. "I'll send Clara or Lestrade to send you some new sheets, just don't…sit or even attempt to touch those sheets," Sherlock explained.
"Thank you? Is that all?" John asked, knitting his brows together.
Sherlock nodded his head, disappearing from view once more. John couldn't help but laugh as he heard Sherlock's explanation. That was weird.