When Mary awoke the following morning she was still clinging tightly to John, who was already awake but seemingly hadn't budged for her sake.

"G'morning," the women greeted, smiling up at him groggily.

"And a good morning to you too," John planted a kiss on his wife's forehead. "Shall we get dressed and see what Sherlock's up to?"

Mary's smile slowly faded at this. "John. I love you, and I love how much you care about Sherlock, but do keep in mind that this is our honeymoon."

"I didn't mean it like that," John apologized, sitting. "It's just that… Well, I don't see how we can possibly enjoy any substantial amount of our honeymoon together if we're forced to spend it worried about being in an enclosed space with a cold-blooded killer. I want to have some 'us time' too, and quite a lot of it, but. Well. Priorities." The man leaned over and kissed Mary once more, this time on the lips, before getting out of bed. "And right now Sherlock's and ours overlap."

Mary rolled onto her back with an exasperated sigh and stared up at the ceiling. "You're right. Of course you're right. What was I thinking? Silly me, always getting ahead of myself. Help Sherlock catch a killer, and then invite him into bed with us."

"MARY!"

"Kidding," Mary purred. "Wonder if he found anything helpful since we last saw him anyway."

"If he did, it wasn't anything worth texting over."

"Or our killer got to him before he had the chance…"

John paused in the middle of fasting a belt around his trousers to shoot Mary a glare from over his shoulder. "I'll have you know I didn't marry you for your sense of humor," he replied flatly.

"Oh, hush. I'm a riot and we both know it."

Suddenly a familiar voice came from over the PA that neither John nor Mary was aware the room had: "Mr. and Mrs. Watson, please report to the bridge. I repeat, please report to the bridge. This is not a drill."

The line cut out and John and Mary exchanged slightly amused looks. "Well. At least he had the courtesy to wait until we were both up."

-x-

Once dressed, the couple made their way towards the Emerald Princess' bridge. It was still fairly early and few passengers were up and about, but it was difficult to say if this was out of fear or because most of them were still sleeping. It was likely a combination of the two.

The door was half-opened this time, and so John pushed it the rest of the way and invited himself inside. The only two people in there beside himself and Mary were Sherlock, who had now adorned himself in the recognizable all-white cruise ship uniform, and the ship's captain, who was hanging a foot or so off the ground from a rope attached to the ceiling.

"So I'm guessing this is why you wanted us," John said, gesturing up at the body with a finger. Sherlock nodded.

Mary pressed a hand over her mouth. "Oh my. You don't think he…?"

"He?" Sherlock shook his head. "No. Our chipper friend here would never take his own life. Like the others he was poisoned first, then put up on display. The rest of the deck personnel don't appear to be in the vicinity, so I'm guessing our culprit pulled off a stunt to draw them all away first."

"And… you're absolutely sure about that?"

Sherlock took a lined notecard from his shirt pocket and handed into to Mary. Scribbled across it in all caps read CHANGE COURSE OR YOU'RE NEXT.

"Odd wording for a suicide note, don't you think?"

"Mm. Suppose you're right. What then?"

"We can start by going after this." The detective held out a hand and Mary passed him back the card. "It's not the best clue, but it's a start. Handwriting, dominant hand, access to the materials used… You do still have that passenger list, don't you, John?"

But John was unable to answer, because just as he'd started to, a handful cruise line workers joined them in the little room.

"We just got here," John said a little too quickly.

"What the bloody hell is going on?!" bellowed a man they vaguely recalled being Darren.

Mary folded her arms and nodded her head towards the former captain. "I don't know; I think the situation sort of speaks for itself."

Darren shook his head in disbelief. "No. He… He wouldn't do that. That's entirely unlike him." One of the men towards the back of the group looked as if he were about to throw up and slipped back out of the bridge as discretely as he could in order to do so.

"No, he wouldn't," agreed Sherlock. "And he didn't. As I was just informing Dr. Watson and his wife here, I was on my way to see Captain Milo Rogers not fifteen minutes ago, when I walked in on this rather chilling display. At first I admit that I, too, assumed the obvious. But then I found this protruding from a front pocket." Sherlock now handed the notecard to Darren so that he could see for himself.

A second employee looked over Darren's shoulder at the card with wide eyes. "Then… this is connected with the incident in the dining hall?"

"And Bingo was name-o."

Darren took a deep breath and held the card lower. "Alright, look: I don't like you and I especially don't like the way you manage to keep popping up whenever something goes horribly wrong, but when you offered to help right things Milo brushed it off, and, well… I think we can all see where that got him. That being said, as second in command of this vessel, I look to you in terms of determining how to move on from this point."

Sherlock smiled somewhat. "Finally. One of you with two brain cells to rub together."

"Change course," John decided for him. Several pairs of eyes snapped around to look at him. "Don'cha think...?"

"And give our killer exactly what he wants?" Sherlock questioned.

"This is beyond just solving a murder, Sherlock. We're in the midst of a hostage situation. With the safety of everyone else onboard in mind, the most appropriate move would be to do as the killer says."

"And risk letting him get away?"

"I'm not saying stop trying to solve the case altogether, just… make the killer think we're cooperating."

Mary nodded thoughtfully. "That might just keep anyone else from dying."

"How far out are we?" Sherlock asked Darren.

"Several days out forwards and backwards," another of the sailors answered. "We're scheduled to arrive in Spain by the end of the week, and then circle back and stop in France two to three days after."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Alternatively, you can go East and make port in France ahead of schedule."

The man shook his head. "We can't do that. We don't have clearance to dock off our route."

"Make an exception. If you don't, more people are going to die, and that might even include you!"

Darren gave a curt nod. "Set course for France. We make port at the first available harbor."

"But sir-"

"I said CHANGE COURSE. And… one of you cut Captain Rogers down from there and take him to the morgue."

"Thank you," John breathed.

"You'd better be right about this."

"You wouldn't be the first person counting on it," Sherlock muttered on his way out.

-x-

"Alright, no line for the continental breakfast!" John exclaimed joyfully, helping himself to a glass plate at the end of the buffet.

"The single upside to a boat full of passengers too scared to exit their sleeping quarters," Mary breathed. "I hope they'll be alright."

Sherlock shrugged with disinterest. "They'll be as content in there as anywhere, what with the free wifi and access to movie rentals through the telly. And, of course, I only mean 'free' in the sense that they already paid a fair amount for these services in their over $600 tickets."

"I meant alright as in safe. But tell you what, as soon as all this has been dealt with accordingly, we should most definitely celebrate with a movie night. Rumor is it's possible to order popcorn through room service."

Sherlock was reluctant to fill a plate, as he rarely enjoyed eating in the midst of a case, but after a little pushing on Mary's part helped himself to some eggs and sausage. He reached out to retrieve silverware and stopped suddenly, spotting a familiar crowd out of the corner of his eye. "Hey, could you take this to a table for me?" he asked John, handing over his breakfast. "I'll hopefully be but a minute."

"Um. Alright?"

The detective left them to find a seat while he approached the men from the night before, who he'd noticed had just been shooting him looks and talking amongst themselves. "Morning, gentlemen," Sherlock greeted them unenthusiastically. "I hope you aren't still pointing fingers in the wrong direction."

"Well, well. If it isn't the man we were just looking for," sneered Hawaiian Shirt. He wasn't wearing a Hawaiian tee any longer, but the name had already stuck in Sherlock's mind and he had absolutely no intention of clearing up the issue.

"I take it you heard about the captain, then."

The other man's face fell. "Capt'n? No. We'd just picked up word that that fellow from the brawl earlier didn't make it. What about the capt'n?"

Now it was Sherlock's turn to make a slightly confused face. "I don't understand. That man's injuries weren't nearly severe enough to… You don't suppose the killer snuck into the infirmary and finished the job, would he?"

"You tell me. But start by explain' this capt'n business, if you'd be so kind."

Sherlock bit at his lower lip before responding. "Well. Now I'd really rather not."

"What? Is he dead now, too?" one of the other men asked.

Sherlock didn't answer him.

"Well? Is he?" pressed Hawaiian Shirt.

Silence.

"I'll take that as a yes," Hawaiian Shirt frowned. "And is that why you're dressed like that? In his uniform? Tryin' to trick people into trusting you and thinkin' you're in change o' things! It's more convincing than yer detective act, I'll give you that much. At least this time you actually look the part."

"This didn't belong to Captain Rogers," Sherlock retorted.

The much older man squinted at Sherlock. "Oh? Where'd it come from then?"

"From… someone else."

Hawaiian Shirt took a step forward as if examining Sherlock, who had half a mind to make his exit. And perhaps he should've then and there, because the next thing Hawaiian Shirt did was reach forward and pluck the notecard from Sherlock's shirt pocket.

Sherlock made a face. "I. Um. That was… found with Captain Roger's body. I obviously didn't write it, if that's what you're thinking."

"I think we've seen about enough. Boys - what we talked about."

-x-

"He sure is taking his time over there," Mary murmured after swallowing a mouthful of pancake. "Especially for a bunch of guys he can't stand. Think he'll be alright?"

John shrugged and sipped at his coffee. "Why shouldn't he be?"

"Well. For one, he just tried to make a run for it before the pack leader yanked him backwards by his shirt collar and oh look - now he's being unceremoniously dragged from the room."

John turned to Mary, unamused. "Okay, seriously. This dark humor has got to stop."

Mary jumped from her seat and tugged at her husband's arm. "I'm being completely serious, John. There they go!"

Now witnessing the event for himself, John threw his napkin down on the round table and the two of them darted after Sherlock and his captors. "Hey! Stop!" John kept shouting all the while. "Put him down! Security - someone - please! Please, put him down! He's my friend! He hasn't done anything!"

John and Mary chased the mob down two layers of the ship before some of the group continued on with their task while the others turned around to stop the married couple.

"He isn't involved, please," John begged, realizing that he couldn't get past the remaining four of them.

"We're unconvinced," the elderly man shot back.

A second man nodded in agreement. "I know our methods seem a little… unorthodox, but we're doing this for your woman's safety, too. That man may have seemed like your friend, but he's a liar. We even caught him with a note threatening to hurt more people! Can you explain that?"

"We can, actually," Mary tried. "We were with him when he found it."

"You were at the crime scene too? Did you get there before this man arrived?"

"Uh. No, not… not exactly…"

"So then how can you be so sure he wasn't the one who did it, eh?"

"Because he's the one trying to solve it!" John shouted angrily. "Why won't any of you jackarses let him do his bloody job?!"

A shorter and more rounded man wrinkled his nose. "We'll know for sure if he's the one responsible soon enough, in any case. No one else dies? He's our guy. If someone does… Well. Guess it won't be him, which is sort of a favor on our part."

"You're making a mistake," John hissed. "Now let me through. I have to speak with him."

The older man shook his head. "No can do, kiddo. But if you've got a message in need of delivering, I'd be happy to do the honors."

"You aren't going to hurt him then?" Mary wanted to know.

"What? No, of course not. We wouldn't dream of stooping to his level. We're just keeping him in a confined area for the remainder of the voyage; let the police deal with him when we make port. It's what any hero would do."

"Oh, so you think abducting a man makes you a hero now?"

"Let me through," John repeated through clenched teeth.

"What are you, deaf or something? I already said no."

"And I said, let me through!" The doctor lunged at the men, hoping to rip in between the four of them. This was unsuccessful, however, as he was easily thrown backwards. Mary called out his name worriedly, but he ignored her and went forward again, this time throwing a punch at the older man as he went and knocking the guy to the ground.

"Oi! You can't hit someone old enough to be your father!" the shorter bloke gasped. Now he came at John, knocking his head into the doctor's stomach and temporarily winding him. While disoriented, all four of them took the opportunity to gang up on John, the old man having gotten up to join them already. One of the men who hadn't spoken threw his fist at John, which hit him square in the face and knocked him against the ship's metal wall. A second blow also landed close to his cheek and one of them went for his leg, knocking him to the floor.

"Stop!" Mary screeched, throwing herself in front of John. "We'll leave, alright? Is that what you want?'

The foursome didn't say anything. Mary knelt down and helped her husband to his feet. He was bleeding from a nasty looking cut on his upper lip, but that appeared to be the worst of his injuries, whereas the older man now had fresh blood streaming down from under his nose. Once propped up again John made to take another swing at no one of them in particular, but Mary pulled his arm down again. "And you stop it too, alright!" she ordered. "We're not going to solve anything with this behavior."

John made a sort of grunting noise and spat out a bit of blood on the ground between them. Mary spun her husband around and escorted him back up the stairs they'd come from. "He's right about you making a mistake, though," she called out from over her shoulder. "Sherlock isn't the man you're looking for, and if something happens to you because he isn't around to stop it, I have little sympathy for your case."

"You'll thank us after you sleep soundly tonight," one of them shouted after her.