Sherlock kept his head down and his coat collar up as he pushed past countless people on his way to find quiet. Bright dresses and boisterous voices bounced around him and he kept his eyes rooted to the deck as he strode past. He loathed their happiness, he hated their joy, and he most of all despised that he could begrudge them something so stupid.
Eventually, the only the sounds of his footsteps echoed along the ship's walkways. He tilted his head up and gazed at the sky. The Solar System, he didn't like that either, astronomy was a rubbish science filled with spotty speculations. He enjoyed things that held reason and purpose, but he couldn't deny the beauty in them as he looked up and watched the Milky Way twinkle.
Lighting another cigarette he stopped to inhale lazily before turning a corner and being jabbed by something sharp in the chest. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as a man stepped out of the shadows, his hands shaking but his expression dark. Third Class, by the looks of his jacket and hat, three children not yet the age of ten and a wife that he didn't like being faithful to.
"Hello," the Holmes said dully, puffing away. "Can I help you?"
He was jabbed again and Sherlock saw a rather large knife in his hand. "Gimme all yer valuables." He ordered in a throaty voice.
"Don't have any," he replied simply. "Haven't you heard? I'm broke."
More jabbing, the man wasn't amused. "Now!" he barked.
Sherlock tried to lay a hand on his wrist and twist to make him drop the knife but it seemed that this man wasn't just a common thug. The Holmes's efforts got him a harsh sock in the nose that made him cry out much louder than he'd intended. In turn, he was smacked in the temple with the hilt of the weapon and fell to the ground with a thud.
John was surprised by how chilly the air was outside. He tucked his jacket tighter around him and scrunched his shoulders up in an attempt to save his ears from the cold. The sea churned underneath him and he poked his head off the deck to watch it bash into the sides of the ship.
Unsinkable, that's how they had described Titanic in the papers, John wondered if it was true. During the war he had seen warships much mightier fall victim to the ocean. This one couldn't be made of anything different then they had been. At the thought of the war a shiver drifted down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather.
Up a ways he saw a young couple giggling as they sat on a bench, John sped his pace to pass them. Their heads were together and their words were hushed and affectionate. The soldier felt a heat rise in his cheeks at bearing witness to something so intimate, even if the other party paid him no mind as he shuffled on past.
He thought about America and whether or not he should settle down once he got there, he wasn't getting any younger but at the same time he had next to nothing. A small savings account set aside to make a down payment on a clinic to start up his practice with Stamford was all the money he possessed and he wasn't tied to any influential figures. What woman would possible marry him? There had been a girl he had fancied before he had left for the war, Mary Morstan… She had been beautiful and sweet, but when he had come back home he had found that she was happily wed to a wealthy coal tycoon and they had two children.
John didn't like to think he looked ugly, but his shoulder wound was hardly attractive. He stopped to look at himself in a window and examine his jaw line self-consciously. The worry lines that were barely forming before he was deployed were now incredibly pronounced and he looked seven years older than he really was.
His sigh of discontent was cut short when above him he heard a cry of pain followed by the sound of a body falling onto the deck. Adrenaline spiking he tried to see over the railing, frowning. "H-Hello?" he called, there was no reply. "Hello? Are you alright?" still no one had a response.
John wasn't sure if he was allowed to come up to the level where First Class frequented but his conscience wouldn't let him keep walking and so he located the closest stairwell and started limping towards the origin of the noise.
A man was slumped face down on the wood and another grubbier looking one was going through his pockets, pulling out valuables. "What are you doing?" John demanded, startling the thief, who stood and brandished his knife in warning.
"Keep movin' this don't concern ya!" growled the other man.
The soldier stepped forward, his cane gripped tightly in his hand. "I asked you what you were doing." He repeated, darker this time.
The thief hesitated but then puffed himself up and charged. John sidestepped him, pulling his cane out so that the man tripped, forcing him to release his grip on the knife or risk impaling himself when he fell. The doctor grabbed the weapon and turned to face him, but the man was already running away. "Hey!" he shouted, irately waving the knife. "Get back here!" he began to pursue him when the body moaned and shifted.
The medical training in him kicked in and he rushed to see if there were any stab wounds. "Excuse me sir, can you turn yourself so I can check to see if you're injured?" he asked the curly mop of hair and expensive coat.
More moans and the man sat up, swaying slightly, face still turned the other direction. "M'fine," he slurred, staggering onto his feet and slowly facing the other way.
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson stared at each other. "No, no no no. Please do not tell me I just saved you of all people." The doctor said, rubbing his forehead. "You're the bastard from the boarding area, I ran into you! You told me to watch where I was going!" anger from the previous encounter rose up.
The detective looked slightly disoriented but aware enough to look defensive. "You were in my way!" he said back, voice still a little wobbly.
John pointed the knife at him, his brow furrowed in rage. "You are the biggest tosser I've had the misfortune of knowing on this whole damn boat," he was shouting now. "And I just saved you from a mugger! Hell I should call him back and tell him to have another look-over, I see you've still got your cufflinks, maybe he could sell those in America for a pretty sum!"
Sherlock wiped his bloody nose and then flushed red in indignation. "You-,"
"Halt!" a new voice said and both men turned their heads to see a flashlight shine them in the eyes. "What's going on?" it was a First Class attendant and he stepped forward, eyes flitting from John, to the knife John was pointing at Sherlock, then to Sherlock. "Mr. Holmes?"
The Watson rolled his head back and closed his eyes. "Shit." He swore just before the attendant started shouting for an officer to come and apprehend him. "It's not what you think-," he began before another member of the staff tackled him, twisting his arm around painfully to make him drop the knife.
Mycroft placed a blanket around his brother, letting the medical assistant check over his nose and the gash on the side of his head before turning his attention to John, who was now in handcuffs. Greg Adler had accompanied him from the smoking room when he had gotten the mood. "What made you think that it you could put your hands on my brother in this fashion?" the older Holmes demanded, anger evident in his voice.
"I was helping-,"
"Lies!" the attendant who had discovered them said. "I saw him holding a knife to Mr. Holmes's chest and shouting at him!"
John glared at the attendant. "No, I was shouting at him because he's an arse-,"
"That's quite enough! Officer please see to it that this man is escorted to jail when we reach America!" Mycroft thundered.
The officer nodded dutifully. John cast a panicked look to Sherlock who was now much sharper and only just beginning to pick up on what was transpiring a ways away from him. "No wait!" he called as the officer began dragging the doctor away. "This man saved me!"
The surrounding party all stopped what they were doing and stared at him. "Sir he was holding a knife to your chest." One pointed out.
Sherlock waved his hand in a flippant gesture. "Different matter entirely. I was assaulted by another man and left on the deck to be scavenged over for valuables and maybe would've been killed had it not been for-," he looked at John and frowned. "For…."
"John, John Watson, MD!" he provided from his spot next to the copper.
"Yes! The kind Doctor Watson!" the younger Holmes said, snapping his fingers and smiling.
Mycroft hesitated, looking at the officer, who shrugged. "If he says that it wasn't him then there's no crime." The man said, letting go of John and crossing his arms. The older Holmes pinned his brother with a piercing gaze but didn't seem to find an ulterior motive. Sighing he nodded to the officer who undid Watson's handcuffs.
"Well in that case the man's a hero!" Edmund Adler chose now to speak, his serious face impassive. "Good show, Doctor." he nudged one of his valets who stepped forward and pulled out a checkbook.
John looked confused but Sherlock intercepted, swooping down, still wrapped in his blanket. "Is that really all the man who saved my life will get? Twenty quid and a pat on the head?" his tone was waspish as he looked at his brother.
Mycroft chuckled. "Dear Sherly is displeased. What would you give him then brother if you're so all-knowing. Perhaps that blow to the head has enlightened you?" his mocking only made Sherlock straighten.
"I would invite such a man of outstanding character to dinner tomorrow evening." He stated crisply.
The older Holmes eyed John distastefully before pasting on a smile. "Oh yes, that sounds much better, perhaps then we can hear a heroic recount of how he rescued you." He said.
"Indeed." The Adler rumbled.
The group began to disperse and Mycroft put a hand on his brother's back. "Come along now, Irene will want to hear of what's come to pass." He murmured. Sherlock scowled, allowing himself to be led away, turning only once to look at John who was standing alone on the deck. He nodded once before walking faster and disappearing with his brother and soon to be father-in-law.
John blinked and as he stood rubbing his hands that were sore from the cold handcuffs; it occurred to him that he didn't even know that man's first name. He only knew his last name to be Holmes. He didn't know his first name and he was already scheduled to go to dinner with him and he'd saved his life… or at least his cufflinks.
His hysterical laughter followed him all the way down to Third Class.