Sherlock gazed thoughtfully at the young man sitting opposite him in the carriage. The boy seemed unwilling to look at him, obviously shy. What was it about the lad? he wondered.
Perhaps it was his rather narrow shoulders, a sign that he had not come into full maturity. Those long eyelashes too, they did not belong on a young man, they really made him rather - attractive. Odd, very odd.
The lad, sensing his gaze, looked up at Sherlock with his big, brown eyes, then hastily dropped them again. Yes, definitely nervous, and Sherlock did not know why. He didn't like not knowing why.
John tried to engage the young man in conversation, but was singularly unsuccessful, as Hooper replied in monosyllables. What are you hiding? Do you have a secret past? wondered Sherlock to himself.
Are you trying to escape something or someone?
Yes, that was probably it, he concluded. However, it was none of his business. As long as the lad did as he was told, all would be well.
They reached the harbour and alighted from the carriage. Sherlock led the way onto The Sherrinford, and went in search of Captain Lestrade.
He found the man in his cabin, looking at some maps. The door was slightly ajar and Sherlock and John entered without knocking. "Good evening, Lestrade," Sherlock greeted him, and the captain looked up in some surprise and stood.
"Lord Holmes. Why are you here now? Are we still leaving at dawn, or do you wish to depart earlier?" He looked uncertainly at the pair.
"We are still leaving at dawn. I've brought with me a young lad, Hooper, who will be my cabin boy. He will pass messages back and forth between us as needed and run any other errands I deem necessary." Sherlock glanced over at Hooper who had shyly followed the other two men into the cabin. "Well, come on, lad, step forward so the captain can meet you."
Hooper hesitantly walked towards the captain, keeping his head down.
"Rather shy young lad," Lestrade commented to Sherlock, who nodded. "Well, son, pleased to meet you. I hope you will enjoy your stay on The Sherrinford." Then he looked again at the young lord. "The Earl mentioned you were bringing someone named Wiggins, did yiu change your mind?"
"Wiggins fell unexpectedly ill, so I had to find someone in the vicinity to replace him. Hooper is new to the area and has nowhere to stay, so I invited him to come aboard this evening," explained Sherlock with a twist to his lips. "I assume Mrs. Hudson is downstairs in the galley?"
"Indeed she is, and she has already been making a nuisance of herself, asking for us to procure this and that for her fancy menus," Lestrade said with a rueful shake of his head.
Sherlock offered a small smile. "Mrs. Hudson takes pride in her cooking. She will want to make sure the crew is well taken care of."
John Watson, who had remained silent, just observing the conversation until that point spoke up with, "I can attest to Mrs. Hudson's cooking skills. "I have been privileged to experience her culinary creations on several occasions when visiting my friend." He pursed his lips briefly and looked at Sherlock. "Perhaps Hooper could even assist her when he has no other duties to perform."
"That is a fine idea," approved Sherlock, with a quick glance in Hooper's direction, before returning his attention to the captain. "Well, Lestrade, I am going to show Hooper to his room." He lifted a brow inquiringly. "I assume there is a small dressing room off of my own cabin he can use for this journey?"
"Of course, unless you have a valet with you," said the captain, with a grin.
Sherlock's lips tightened slightly before he answered. "Actually I was going to have Wiggins help me with that if I needed assistance. I assume Hooper will be up to the task, should I require it." He looked at the young lad who visibly gulped. Lord, but he was young. He didn't even have an Adam's apple to speak of. It was deuced mysterious why he should present himself as such a young boy and yet be hung like a horse.
Lestrade stood. "Let me show you your cabin, Lord Holmes. Then I'll take you to the galley if you wish to speak with Mrs. Hudson."
Sherlock nodded, and the trio followed the captain.
Lestrade showed the nobleman to an opulent cabin that was probably at least the size of the captain's own cabin, if not larger. There was a large bed which dominated the cabin and an enormous wardrobe as well as other furnishings designed to make the cabin look comfortable. There was a small dining table, on which sat a chessboard, with a chair on either side of it.. There was even a wash stand in the corner. Bookshelves crammed full of various tomes lined one wall. The small dressing room next to it, which had a door to both the outside and to Sherlock's cabin was about one third the size and contained a narrow bunk as well as a chest of drawers.
Noticing the chest of drawers, Sherlock glanced at Hooper. "I assume you have no clothes to speak of?"
"No, my lord," admitted the young man, shuffling his feet and looking down in embarrassment.
Sherlock heaved a slight sigh and turned to Lestrade. "Do you think we can find anything else for him to wear? He really needs at least one change of clothes."
"I'll see what I can do," responded the captain, and his expression looked thoughtful. "I recall one of the crewmen is rather small of stature, although I'm sure his physique is significantly greater than Hooper's. We do have supplies for sewing torn clothes and the like, so perhaps someone aboard could make some adjustments. Would your Mrs. Hudson have any skills in that department?"
"I can do that," blurted out Hooper unexpectedly, and Sherlock looked at him in surprise. The young man blushed and added, "I...I used to watch my mother sew my clothes."
Sherlock considered his words and nodded. "Very well. Once we have procured a change of clothes for you, you can alter them to fit correctly if you feel you can do so."
"Of course, my lord," said the lad, somewhat eagerly, Sherlock thought.
"Well, I suppose we should head down to the galley now," remarked John, who had been silently observing the conversation up to this point. "Is my cabin nearby?"
Lestrade nodded. "Yours is on the opposite side of this one. There are medical supplies in there as well, should you have need of them, Dr. Watson, plus it has its own dressing room that could be used as an infirmary if necessary."
"Excellent," the doctor responded, with a quick glance at Sherlock. "Let's hope that will not be needed, however."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He knew what his friend was thinking. He had required the assistance of the doctor on several occasions for various injuries, but he was not anticipating any type of bloodshed on this occasion.
Lestrade then led the way down the stairs that led to the galley. Mrs. Hudson, upon Lestrade's hail, came from the galley into the small mess hall, wiping her hands on an apron tied around her waist. "Sherlock, dear," she said with the familiarity of an old servant, frowning slightly, "I'll do my best with the supplies, but I cannot cook to the standards I am accustomed to."
"I am sure your food will still be more palatable than that which most sailors are furnished with," Sherlock assured her with a casual wave of his hand, and she beamed at him.
"Who is this young lad then? Have you brought me a helper?" she asked, with a curious glance at Hooper.
Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back. "His name is Hooper, and he is to be my cabin boy. However, if I do not require him for sending messages to the captain or other such errands, I am sure he could help you - isn't that right, Hooper?" He cast a stern glance in the boy's direction.
"Yes, sir, I...I mean my lord," stammered the lad, a blush staining those apple cheeks.
Again, Sherlock had the distinct feeling the boy was hiding something. No doubt the truth would come out eventually.
"Well, I'm going to head back to the inn." he remarked, then looked again at the young man. "Hooper, I'll see you back to your cabin now. Come with me."
"I'll go ashore and see that the carriage is ready to return us to the inn," said John to Sherlock, immediately heading for the stairs.
"And I'll be back off to my cabin," announced Lestrade, doing the same.
Sherlock nodded a farewell to Mrs. Hudson and headed up the stairs himself, as Hooper followed him.
Upon reaching his cabin, Sherlock opened the door and waited for Hooper to enter. "Well, young man, I hope you will be comfortable enough here. I shall return in the morning. And," he added, with the ghost of a smile on his lips, "do not worry. Whatever is troubling you, I'm sure this voyage will give you a chance to think about things."
He saw the surprise in the lad's face as he replied, "Thank you my lord. I...well, I believe the journey will also be good for me."
"Well, good night." Sherlock placed his hand briefly on the young man's narrow shoulder.
"Good night, my lord," Hooper's voice was soft, hesitant, and Sherlock felt once again that curiosity about what the lad was hiding, but he shrugged it off.
Sherlock left the cabin and headed back to the carriage waiting on the shore, reflecting on the day's events. Despite himself, he found he was rather intrigued by Hooper. Perhaps it was the mystery that the young man presented. Sherlock prided himself on his observation skills. They had helped him many times during missions, and he felt sure there was something important he was missing in relation to the lad. "I always miss something," he murmured to himself. Of course, the missing piece always fell into place eventually,
On the carriage ride back to the inn, he went into his mind palace for solitude. His friend, John, was used to him doing it and did not try to talk. Sherlock's mind processed the upcoming journey.
Lestrade would be navigating to the last known position of The Black Pearl, Moriarty's ship. The pirate's ship would undoubtedly have returned to international waters, awaiting other unsuspecting ships. Sherlock and Mycroft had discussed their plan at length two days earlier.
The Sherrinford, although ostensibly a sailing ship, actually had a steam engine. Once they were out on the open ocean, the steam engine would be engaged until they were able to spot Moriarty's ship in the distance. At that time the sails on the schooner would be replaced with shredded ones. The ship would appear to be in distress and Moriarty would hopefully come to investigate it.
It was not at all unusual for ships to be buffeted by storms, and left incapacitated. In fact, Moriarty's methods were most often attacks on defenseless ships.
Mycroft had furnished Sherlock with reports of other vessels that had been pillaged by the pirate. The Black Pearl' would approach the distressed ships, ostensibly to offer aid, then men would board and subdue the crewmen, kill them if they resisted, take their cargo and leave the disabled ship behind.
The Sherrinford would be ready, however. If all went well, the well trained men aboard would surprise the pirates at their own game by having hidden weapons which they would then use on the invaders in order to subdue them instead.
It was rather fortunate, Sherlock reflected, that Moriarty was the type of man who liked being there "for the kill," as it were. He enjoyed seeing people suffer, and that meant that he would undoubtedly accompany his own crew of pirates when they came aboard The Sherrinford. Sherlock was certain that Moriarty's crew would surrender easily if their master was captured.
Once the pirates had been subdued and restrained, select members of The Sherrinford crew could venture over to The Black Pearl and demand the surrender of any remaining pirates. If luck was with them, they would be able to search the other ship and find the missing treasure at that time, and the mission would be successfully completed.
As soon as the carriage stopped moving when it reached the inn, Sherlock exited his mind palace and headed inside to his own room, indicating for John to join him.
Once there, he outlined his plan to John. His friend was, of course, rather dubious that things would be so simple, but he trusted the young lord who had always managed to extricate himself from the most dangerous of situations in the past.
"I'm a little skeptical about the whole thing, Sherlock, but if anyone can do it, I know you can," John said honestly., bringing a hand up to his face to stroke his chin.
"This is the big one, John," said Sherlock earnestly, running a hand through his hair and pacing the room. "If I can get the best of Moriarty, my future will be secure financially. I'd very much like to get out from under Mycroft's shadow."
"Does that mean you'd like to settle down and get married if you have the money to do so?" asked John with a quirk to his lips, as his eyes followed his friend's movements.
Sherlock laughed derisively and stopped pacing to face him. "God, no. Since when have I been interested in women? I have no time for the fairer sex. They are vapid, without a brain in their heads. Besides, I'm married to my work. It provides all the excitement I need in my life."
"It doesn't warm your bed at night, Sherlock," John pointed out sensibly, folding his arms.
Sherlock shrugged and smirked. "If my bed needs warming, I simply have a bed warmer placed in it." He walked over to a chair and sat in it, crossing his legs languidly.
John gave him a shrewd look. "I suspect the reason you have no desire to be with a woman is because you made a fool of yourself when you were sixteen years old over that neighbour of yours - Irene wasn't it?"
Sherlock frowned and huffed out a short breath. "I was a silly young fool. You know I saw her bathing naked in the lake that adjoined our parents' properties, and I had never seen a naked woman before. Of course I imagined myself immediately to be in love." He folded his arms defensively in front of him and thinned his lips at the memory.
"And you wrote her romantic poetry which she threw back into your face at the next ball where you were both guests," commented John, as Sherlock flushed. His friend insisted on bringing up the details of that embarrassing time on numerous occasions.
He scowled at John. "Why must you constantly vex me in this manner? I've long made my peace with that. The last time I saw the woman, she was a successful actress in London who had had a string of protectors, much to her poor parents' distress. I felt nothing for her when I saw her last, and that made me realise that romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for others, is not for me."
John sighed and walked over to the bed, perching on it as he surveyed Sherlock seriously. "All I can say is, I am most aggrieved to have left my Mary, behind. I will be very glad once this mission is over to return to her." He drew his brows together and spoke sternly, in a way no other man would be permitted to do to Sherlock, well, except for his brother. "So you had better succeed in this mission or you will have Mary ready to assassinate you. She's rather - protective of me."
Sherlock snorted in amusement at that. "You are truly under the thumb, my friend. God spare me from all that ridiculous sentiment."
John blew out a breath and pursed his lips. "You know what, Sherlock? If you do fall in love, I am going to say 'I told you so.'"
"That won't happen," the young lord said confidently, rising from the chair. "I have no time to think about silly notions like love. Now let us get some rest. 'Tis only a few hours before we must return to the harbour to set sail."
John raised his hands in surrender. "If you choose to spend your life alone, that's no business of mine."
Sherlock scowled. "I'm not lonely," he stated flatly.
John raised an eyebrow at him. "How would you know?" And with that, he left the room.
Sherlock stared after him for a few moments, then got ready for bed. After putting on his nightshirt, he climbed into the large bed. It was rather cold, he reflected wryly. He had never thought of having a woman to warm it, but John had suddenly caused him to think about it, despite himself. Was he even capable of love, after the way his young, idealistic heart had been crushed by the wretched Lady Irene?
Although he knew for a fact he had merely been infatuated with her, not truly in love, he had not felt any stirrings of desire for another woman since, and he was now almost eight and twenty years old.
Well, this was not the time to be thinking about women anyway, he decided, as he settled himself more fully into the bed that certainly seemed colder than usual. The game was afoot, and he had a mission to complete.
Author's note: Well, Sherlock seems a little suspicious of Hooper, although not unduly so. How long can she keep up the act?
Did you catch the bits of canon I inserted into this chapter? I always feel it necessary to add those little details, in order to really turn it into a Sherlock story. I hope you are enjoying the story so far and will let me know your thoughts on it.
I may or may not write any more stories of this type. I guess it will depend on whether enough people are willing to express their opinions as this one goes along. I may be wrong, but it seems less and less people are interested in Victorianlock AU's, or perhaps it is the general decline of the fandom which means less readers in general :(