John Watson led Molly quickly through the ship, from Sherlock's cabin to the sweltering galley and the small storage area connected to it. As they approached the alcove, a burlap sack half-filled with rye flour flew out and landed on the floor, spraying ivory-colored powder across their shoes. Molly sneezed as the air was suddenly filled with particles.
She looked down at the chicken leg in her hand. Rye flour had drifted onto it, soaking up the grease as she stared.
Another bag of flour flew out of the alcove, falling with a thump on Chase's foot.
A string of profanity issued from the resentful cook.
"Oi! What's this? Yer ruining a month's supply of bread! What's the captain on about?" Chase asked John.
Before he could reply, Sherlock sat back on his heels and stuck his head out of the storage area, holding a fistful of raw, unmilled grain.
"Solving a mystery! It is supremely lucky that you are devoid of the culinary gift, and have not used as much of this supply as scheduled."
"What?" Chase frowned and scratched his stomach.
Sherlock ignored him, diving back into the piles of bags and boxes in the alcove.
John explained. "Chase, we're going to be without fresh bread until we can get a fresh stock of rye, hopefully in Scilly in a few days. It's hardtack for the boys 'til then. At least try to pick the worms out this go-around, yeah?"
The cook glared at the surgeon out of the corner of his eye. "This ain't the bloody king's palace. And keep that blasting little thief out; he's been pinching my sugar again. If the captain ain't got sugar for his coffee and tea, it won't be my fault." Chase paused in his rant, and eyeballed Molly's food. "You going to eat that or jus' look at it?"
She wordlessly handed him the chicken leg dusted with rye flour. Chase stormed back into the galley proper, eating the chicken and banging a pot on the stove to make his feelings known.
John smirked at her.
"What?" Molly said defensively. "It's not like one more piece will make him ill." She looked down at the floor, cheeks red.
When she looked back up, bright blue eyes were peering at her from the alcove. A half-smile lingered on his lips, and Molly got the feeling that he had seen and heard everything even when he had seemed to be focused on searching the sacks.
Sherlock hopped to his feet, hands full of grain. He pulled two long brown pieces from the lot and dropped the rest on the floor.
"We're in luck!" he said, eyes gleaming. "Fungus."
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The cramped space of the captain's quarters seemed luxurious compared to the converted closet where Molly now stood, squeezing her shoulders inward.
The storage space was only as wide as the unusual cabinet that occupied most of it. The captain hands flew over various doors and trays, picking through the assorted contents for the right tools to examine the ergot fungus.
John Watson shifted and sighed. "I don't suppose you'll be needing me any more for this, Sherlock? Downey's got a splinter that needs seeing to."
The captain ignored him.
"Right. I'll be in the surgery." The ship's surgeon exited with a nod at Molly, leaving her in the dim quiet space with the strange man.
She thought it was interesting that he viewed the question of the ergot as 'solving a mystery' when she found everything about him a mystery, a rather enjoyable puzzle for her to pore over. To begin with, why would any ship captain have what appeared to be a large cabinet filled with more scientific equipment than Molly herself possessed?
Sherlock pulled a small, narrow blade and a case of some kind out of a drawer. Pulling on a tiny knob, a flat surface withdrew from a wide and narrow slot in the cabinet, creating a makeshift desk. He laid the knife and the case down on it.
"Oooh that's clever!" Molly exclaimed. "Never seen one of those before. Make it yourself?"
He swung around, his arm brushing hers as he turned to stare down at her with startled eyes. "Yes. Stay out of the way."
Molly's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, I can- I can go. I don't…know where to go actually, but I can, I can go." There wasn't enough room in this tiny area. He was too tall, and burned with too much energy. There was no air and her cheeks were flushed.
"No, I want you stay. I'm suffering from a lack of data about the sample. You've read about it. I need to know everything." He flipped open the case, revealing a collection of shining brass pieces which he began to assemble. A long tube with a conical tapering toward the bottom was attached to a clip and a wafer-thin metal disc. He inserted delicate curved circles of glass into the tubing. The contraption was then screwed to a brass arm with a large knob.
As the device took shape, Molly realized it was one she'd seen many times, but only rarely been permitted to touch.
"Is that…a microscope?" It clearly was, but Molly couldn't fathom why a pirate would require one.
Sherlock leaned in to squint through the eyepiece. Without lifting his face, he spoke. "You know precisely what it is. And yes, Dr. Hooper…the Hudson isn't quite like other pirate ships. Our purpose is…somewhat broader." His right hand worked the knob to test its tightness.
"Are you going to get rid of the grain, sir?" Molly asked.
"What? Oh that. Yes, John's probably telling Chase to pitch it overboard even now. He's better at that sort of thing. People." He waved a hand dismissively.
Sherlock's head rose and he dug through the cabinet drawers once more. Molly noticed an assortment of small glass vials and stray stoppers rolling around inside.
He withdrew an empty specimen slide and placed it carefully on the desk. Pulling a thick piece of ergot from his pocket, he sliced the fungus open, his long hands as graceful and precise as Molly's when she began work on a body.
He extracted a thin sliver of brown ergot and also set aside one of the spores.
"I…can I ask?" Molly said. "If you accept the cause of the deaths, why are you doing this?"
"To learn, obviously. Isn't that why you study all your books? Stupid question. Honestly, I expected better."
Sherlock slid the prepared specimen onto the little stage of the compound microscope, and adjusted the focusing knob.
"About my books…" Molly bit her lip, trying to keep from showing embarrassment. He'd mentioned her books, but not which ones. John said he had grabbed all of them. "May I have them, please?"
"Of course, they're yours. Later. I didn't think you'd need them, but John insisted." Sherlock looked into the microscope.
"Have you…did you read any of them?" She asked nervously, fidgeting with the muslin of her dress.
"The Seats and Causes of Disease Investigated by Anatomy is an excellent tome. Could use updating, but generally accurate." His brow wrinkled as Sherlock moved the slide around on the stage.
"Oh yes, that's my favorite! I used to read it when my father was working when I was a child, back when he saw living patients…I think he didn't know what sort of books little girls should be reading. Which worked out well for me," she tittered and then sighed.
"Fabrica is quite old, didn't bother with that one."
"Oh, but you should!" Molly smiled. Discussing books was one of her deepest pleasures, one that she couldn't usually indulge in. "The importance of Andreas Vesalius's work cannot be understated. The very foundation of modern anatomy. It's a wonderful book."
"Mmm yes." His voice was detached. "Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure was a bit florid for my taste- rather unrealistic, I thought."
Molly froze, and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart. Oh heavens. She'd never felt so exposed in all her life.
Sherlock craned his neck around and his sparkling eyes caught her shocked brown ones.
"As far as heroines go, Fanny Hill is not a well-drawn one, but her adventures do provide an interesting visual, don't you think?" His left eyebrow rose, and she saw laughter now in his eyes and the cynical turn of his mouth. "The anatomy descriptions are useless. So many euphemisms one hardly knows which part is being inserted where."
Molly's face was bright red. "I…why would…that is…Oh!" She pivoted, intending to flee the closet, but felt warm hands descend firmly on her shoulders.
"Such a theatrical response to a mention of a normal bodily function and act. Are you a doctor or are you a society mouse? Turn around." The command in his voice couldn't be ignored.
Facing the floor, Molly allowed herself to be rotated back around. Sherlock further guided her, switching places with her so that she was now standing in front of the microscope. His hands slid off her shoulders and down her arms as he stepped back.
The relief at not having to actually face the infuriating captain allowed Molly to breathe slower, the flush fading from her face gradually.
"Look," he ordered.
She leaned in to peer through the brass tube. After a moment of confusion, her eyes adjusted to the lens and she saw the cells of the fungus displayed.
"Oh," she whispered.
"Yes." Satisfaction was apparent in his voice. "That. That is why I asked for the Hudson to be built."
She lifted her head slightly and her eyes met his. "I don't understand. Do you mean fungus, or…?"
He sighed impatiently. "No. The cells. Finding, and learning. I wanted to search…it doesn't matter. When you deal with George the Third, things often do not go according to plan."
"The king? "
"No, George the Third the local baker. Of course I mean the king."
"I- sorry, but even with the aristocracy that Papa and I have worked for, I don't believe any of them have mentioned meeting the king. I'd heard that he was quite ill again."
"He is, and it's destroyed his mind. If my brother has his way, the power will be turned over to the Prince Regent shortly, but until then, we must remain as far from that madman George as possible."
"What does he have to do with all this?" Molly gestured toward the cabinet and back to the rest of the ship.
Sherlock opened his mouth, and then wrinkled his face in annoyance. "It doesn't matter. What matters are cells. Now, you must tell me everything you recall from the articles about ergot. Don't leave a single word out."
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After a thorough questioning on ergot and other fungi, Molly stumbled onto the deck an hour later. The sun was shining on her face as the wind whipped her hair around, and for a moment, the little doctor looked almost happy.
Pleased with the day's discoveries, Sherlock watched her from the top of the stairwell, observing as she cautiously stepped closer to the railing. Her white dress rippled with the breezes, marred with wrinkles and spots of blood. He made a note to himself to find her something else to wear before nightfall. Her slippers were also too delicate, she needed footwear with grip for walking the decks.
Molly Hooper wrapped one hand around the rail, keeping both feet planted on the deck as she gazed out at the ocean. The waves crashed against the sides of the ship as the Hudson cruised along, slicing through the North Sea. She giggled as spray from the sea dotted her cheeks. She looked back at the stairs, her dark eyes capturing his as she smiled hesitantly.
She took her hand from the rail and turned her body toward him.
Sherlock frowned. "Molly-"
The Hudson dipped sharply with the waves, and the decks slanted. Off-balance, Molly stumbled and fell backward.
The small of her back slammed into the rail and Molly's arms flailed in sudden terror.
Sherlock raced from the stairs to the rail, his long legs covering the distance in three seconds.
His arm lashed out and wrapped around her waist, dragging her away from the railing. At once, his hands were on her shoulders, shaking her.
"You idiot, never EVER stand that close without one hand on the rail. Never turn your back on the sea like that. So stupid! You would have drowned before anyone could have gotten to you in those waves."
He stopped shaking her, seeing how frightened she was. He quickly pulled his hands away from her body, digging them into his curls in frustration.
Tears filled her eyes and she bit her lip hard, trying to hold back. "I didn't know, I've never been on a ship before. Little boats in the river, but not a-not a real ship. I didn't know!"
"Obviously." His voice was cold as ice, and his eyes were instantly calm. The veil of control had dropped over his entire body. "Do try to not get killed while aboard. Save your lapses in common sense for when you're on dry land and not my problem."
Molly nodded, still shaking as she rubbed her arms.
Basil ran up to the pair. "You alright, ma'am? Looked like a spill there."
"Yes, I'm perfectly fine, Basil, thank you for asking." Molly put on a cheerful smile for the cabin boy. "Basil, do you think you might help me find something to eat?"
He grinned. "I can always find some grub."
Sherlock gave a clipped nod. "Feed her, and then find her something else to wear until we can purchase something in the Isles of Scilly. Ask John for assistance if you need to. I'm going below, I don't wish to be disturbed for several hours at least."
The cabin boy agreed, eyeballing the small splatters of blood on Molly's dress.
"The crew want to know what to do with Brunton, Cap'n."
"I'll take some samples from him now, and then dispose of his corpse." He paused for a few seconds in thought. "Return her to my cabin by nightfall. She can't be wandering the decks then, regardless of my warnings to the crew." Sherlock turned and hurried down the stairs, vanishing into the dark ship.
Molly resisted the urge to reach out for him as he walked away. She sensed something turbulent inside him that didn't match the calm, detached exterior. She had startled him, maybe even scared him by almost falling off the ship. What sort of pirate is this man, who would concern himself with me at all now? I don't have anything he needs anymore, do I?
Molly didn't really believe that.
"C'mon to the galley, miss. I made up a song I can sing ya. It's about Anderson's beard."
Molly glanced down at the boy and giggled. "I'm starting to feel sorry for that man. He can't be that terrible, can he?"
"Well, he sure tries," Basil said as he led Molly to the galley.
"Basil, what did he mean, exactly, about- after dark?" she asked hesitantly.
He looked sideways. "Bad people about, ma'am. Best to be careful. Cap'n's quarters is the only sleeping cabin with a lock on the door. You'll be safe there." He smiled and reached into a sack next to the stove.
"OI!" the cook bellowed. "I said, NO. SUGAR!"
Basil quickly crammed the fistful of white stuff in his mouth and groaned blissfully. Molly wrinkled her nose and laughed.
The cabin boy crunched on the grains and wiped a few stray bits of sugar from his lips. "Captain says you've got to feed this one," he said, pointing a thumb at Molly. "So stuff it."
Chase threw together a cold platter of leftover meats and hard potatoes. To Molly's empty stomach, it looked like a feast.
Thanking the grumpy man gratefully, she hurried out of the galley and sat down on the deck outside. Basil looked surprised to see a proper young woman sitting on the floor again, but shrugged and joined her.
She offered him a piece of chicken, and they ate peacefully.
Molly mused on the last day, the strangest, most exhilarating one of her life, and wondered about the night to come, sleeping in the captain's quarters with Sherlock Holmes.
What exactly would the arrangements be?
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Thanks to everyone for the reviews of chapter 3: xxL2xx, living-in-my-own-AU, jazroxu, ktmt1120, InterruptingDinosaur, Amalia Kensington, Mrs. Monster, ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe, MuteBanana, Dizzybunny, GillianDrake, Elliesmeow, katdemon18, maharet97, Nocturnias, FangFan, Mrs Dizzy, BestofLuckJo, booda77, and Jason Layton! I love and appreciate the feedback so much.
I have a lot planned for Chapter 5, when they finally arrive in the islands and get off the ship for a bit. And of course, sleeping in Sherlock's cabin might be interesting. Stay tuned. :)