A thousand apologies for not getting this in sooner. A bunch of stuff came up at once and I had to of course do it all at once. As an added bonus I'm a bit under the weather right now, but it's nothing serious. I hope you lovelies enjoy these new longer chapters. They take a but longer to get done, but I would assume it would be better than getting a short chapter after a long wait. Any way ON WITH THE SHOW.

The eel, Sebastian, lead Sherlock far away from Atlantica. They swam for quite a while until they came upon the carcass of a giant fish. The coral it sat upon had started to mold to the bones left from the fish's demise had whittled the rib cage to nothing, replacing it with its own growth. The coral jutted upwards, blunted tentacles pointing towards the sky. Its tail had been preserved and was laying off to the side of the coral mountain it sat upon. Even more eerie, its eyeballs had been preserved as well, making then shining globes of turquoise. Its maw was frozen in a screech, pointed teeth exposed and threatening; its mouth was open wide enough to fit at least one hundred mermen. As they approached the entry, Sherlock could see a bright, magenta glow coming from the mouth of the fish and some smoke surrounding it. The eel kept going, but Sherlock paused. He started to observe the knife-like teeth of the giant fish, attempting to figure out what species it was.

"Come on," Sebastian urged, swimming further into the rib cage. Sherlock complied and swam behind him. The coral had lined the ways of the cage, forming a cave inside.. As Sherlock swam in further, he noticed something writhing on the cave floor. In the darkness he couldn't make out what it was, but he assumed it was just a type of seaweed, until the jaws of one of the stalks grasped his arm. He gasped in surprise to find the "stalks" all had faces that were on heads that seemed bloated compared to the rest of their rail thin stalk bodies. None of the faces were distinguishable from one another; all of them had wrinkled visages that were contorted in agony and wide hollow eyes. They all writhed in dances of torment, and started to reach up toward Sherlock, grasping his arms as if to warn him of what was ahead.

He struggled against the stalks vice-like grip and managed to break free. Sebastian seemed to have disappeared.

"Come, in, honey." said a voice inside the cave, "You know it's rude to just stand at the front door gawking." Sherlock saw eight tentacles creep out from the darkest part of the cave. Maybe Sherlock was right about this boss. The tentacles were attached to a human body, similar to that of a merman. This man had eyes dark as the lowest chasms of the sea and a smirk almost permanently stuck on his face. He moved his eight tentacles with a swagger that would seem impossible for a normal octopus that oozed cheekiness

"You'd think being raised at the palace would guarantee good manners," the man-octopus said, rolling his eyes.

"I remember you," said Sherlock, "You were the culprit of the coup that happened years ago!"

"The name is Moriarty, hun," he said, coming over and shaking Sherlock's hand, "And it wasn't really a 'coup' more of a…forced promotion."

"You tried to overthrow the king,"

"I was just being ambitious," Moriarty said with a dramatic shrug, "All I was trying to do was get ahead in life and what do I get? Banishment for all eternity from your dear old daddy. How is he doing by the way?" Moriarty put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Dead,"

"Oh, what a shame." Moriarty flamboyantly covered his mouth in surprise, letting go of the prince's shoulder. Just then Sherlock felt one of the octopus's tentacles brush up against his arse. He jumped a bit in surprise.

"Oooo, touchy," he said flirtatiously. "I like that."

Sherlock kept his face composed.

Moriarty's eyes gave Sherlock a once over and then he let out a sigh, dissatisfied with his lack of reaction.

"Anyway," Moriarty said, turning back to some sort of cabinet on the wall, "I understand you're infatuated with a prince from above." Moriarty looked over his shoulder, his know-it-all grin back on his face. "I understand he's quite the catch."

"I'm not infatuated." Sherlock spat.

"Don't lie to yourself, sugar, you've fallen head over tailfin for that land hunk." Moriarty started to throw bottles of various sizes and colors into some sort cauldron-like mouth in the center of the cave. "Frankly, I don't blame you. What I wouldn't give to get my tentacles on him." Moriarty giggled as he threw two more bottles into the mouth.

"I still don't see how you'll be able to help me," Sherlock crossed his arms, seeming to be bored. In reality he was enraged with this low life thinking such thoughts about his specimen. How dare he think such vulgar things about John. How dare he even think that he would ever have a chance with John. Before Sherlock could go any further he caught himself. What was he becoming, a jealous teenage mergirl? What was John doing to him? All this emotion and feeling boiling up inside him, and of all things jealousy? This was foreign territory Sherlock did not want to encroach upon; it a weakness that he couldn't afford. Yet… there was some other small part of him that thought otherwise…

"Oh, heh heh heh," the sea warlock giggled, "I've yet to introduce you to my whole pitch."

Moriarty went back into Sherlock's personal space. "Ya see I help poor unfortunate souls like yourself. People who want what they can't get, that's what I'm for. I'm pretty much a saint." Moriarty sailed back over to the cauldron. "A little magic here, a little payment there, and I can make anyone's dream come true." He trailed his finger along a tooth of the cauldron. "The only catch is you have to pay," he rapidly turned and shoved his face into Sherlock's, "Or you're mine."

Sherlock heard moans of anguish from the creatures behind him.

"Ah yes, you met my 'garden' back there," the warlock pointed to where the stalks that had attacked Sherlock were. "That's what happens when you can't pay."As the warlock said this, his face contorted into almost a growl. "MAGIC DOESN'T COME FREE, IDIOTS!" he yelled in response to the cries that had gotten louder. "IT'S NOT MY FAULT THAT THE MERHUMAN RACE IS SO STUPID TO AGREE TO A BARGAIN THEY CAN'T PAY FOR!" He then looked at Sherlock, changed back to what he was only minutes before, "Honestly, I don't even know why I keep them," he said, jabbing his thumb in the garden's direction, "But it's their punishment, they can't die, that's what PEOPLE do, not plants trapped for eternity." The word "people" stirred up more screams and moans, causing Moriarty to roll his eyes in annoyance.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Were people ever able to really pay?

"So, long story short, I can give you legs so you can have lovely kisses and romantic walks on the beach with that hot prince up there."

Sherlock blushed furiously. That was obviously not his intention.

"God, you're cute," Moriarty said, "Any who, let's get to the good stuff." Moriarty motioned Sherlock over to the cauldron. He hesitantly swam over. Smoke had started to boil up from the cauldron in fumes.

"I can make you a potion that can make you a human for a week," the smoke showed Sherlock transforming into a man, "Normally I'd do it for only three days, but I think this prince of yours still may be having some issues with which way he swings, if ya know what I mean," he said, jabbing his elbow towards Sherlock as if they were mates joking about something. It made Sherlock cringe slightly." So I'll give you a bonus, but writing is off limits. That would just make it too easy." Moriarty's grin grew wider as he changed the smoke again, this time it showed a heart with a crown encircling it. "Now, before sunset on the seventh day you have to get your prince to give you a smooch. And not just any smooch, nuh-uh, it has to be the kiss of true love." Moriarty, to Sherlock's disgust, made kissing sounds before he continued. "If you don't get a lip-lock before then, you belong to me." Moriarty clapped his hands through the smoke, dissipating it immediately. "Any questions?" he asked, winking at Sherlock.

"You spoke of payment."

"Ah yes, clever, clever," Moriarty went back into the cabinet and retrieved a conch shell. "I'll give your legs for the itty-bitty price of," he paused dramatically, "Your voice."

"My... voice?" Sherlock said.

"Yes," Moriarty purred, "I just love everything about it. I must have it. The least you could do is lend it to me for a week." Moriarty pouted and made a sort of puppy-dog face.

"How am I going to "seduce" a man if I don't have a voice," said Sherlock, sarcastically using air quotes.

"Honestly, do I have to think of everything for you?" Moriarty said, rolling his eyes once again. "A little piece of advice then: don't under estimated the power of," Moriarty paused as he put the conch down and rubbed his hands along his hips, "body language."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't really see the threat in this man.

"To be completely honest, men up above don't really like idle chatter any way. You're probably better off not being able to talk to being with."

Sherlock highly doubted that.

"You'll just need to sign on this dotted line," Moriarty said. A gold contract appeared in one hand and a pen made of a fish's spine in the other.

Sherlock knew better than to just sign a contract he had yet to read. He thoroughly examines it, reading all of the text, fine and otherwise. The contract itself wasn't all that long briefly stating what was already talked about earlier and nothing else. It seemed a bit simple, but perhaps this was Moriarty's game. When everything's simple, what is there to worry about? To the common mind, nothing, but to Sherlock's it meant everything. The simplest scale could mean everything in a murder; the simplest contract could mean everything in an agreement. . He of course could seem insecure about the simplicity, but he couldn't let Moriarty see that, no, that would give him the advantage. He would have to pass as a pompous git to give the warlock a false sense of security. It was a risk, but all the better if it worked. Such an underestimation of the detective would put him at a disadvantage, which Sherlock could exploit later.

Sherlock made a scoffing noise, grabbed the pen eagerly and signed his name as boisterously as he could.

"Let's get this show on the road!" Moriarty exclaimed. He swirled the potion in the cauldron around by making circular motions with his arms. Multiple colors of smoke started to combust from the cauldron as Moriarty swirled the potion faster and faster.

Sherlock tried to get a closer look but instead saw something horrifying. A hand made of green smoke snaked out of the shell and was darting toward him. It slithered into his throat and up into his mouth, going deeper and deeper. He was close to choking as the hand reached farther, burning his esophagus along the way. Suddenly, it seemed to grasp something and yanked at it. Sherlock yelled in agony, but was muted when the hand quickly drew out of his throat a glowing light. From the light emanated the timbres of Sherlock's voice: his baritone sarcasm, his staccato deductions, his cries of boredom, even the yell that had been cut off earlier. The hand receded into the conch shell as fast as it came before, Sherlock's voice in its grasp.

"Payment received," Moriarty said, sneering, "Here's your reward." The smoke blew up into a giant crescendo. A tentacle of the potion enveloped Sherlock in a bubble and began the process. Lightening crashed and the maniacal cackle of Moriarty bounced of the ribs of his lair. Sherlock could feel his tail being ripped apart. He writhed inside the bubble as his tail split into two legs. He curled into the fetal position, trying to contain the pain of the transformation. He folded in on himself tighter and tighter, when suddenly the bubble quickly popped.

Sherlock opened his mouth in surprised and almost gasped when he realized something else had been taken from him. He could no longer breathe under water! He tried to kick his tail, but then realized there wasn't one. He started to panic, trying to get his newfound limbs to function.

"Sherlock!" someone yelled from the entrance. It was Mrs. Hudson with Molly in tow.

Sherlock wanted to express his gratitude for Mrs. Hudson's worry, but his lungs begged for air. They felt like they were on fire and shriveling at the same time. Mrs. Hudson noticed this and hurried over with Molly. Sherlock noticed that two dolphins had accompanied them.

What was Sherlock doing? He had to get himself to safety. He feebly tried to kick his legs and propel himself, but to no avail. Sherlock grew weaker as he started to drown in unconsciousness. He felt the dolphins come under him and them pushing him toward the surface. As the darkness completely enveloped him, he heard Moriarty coyly yell in the distance, "Come again, sugar!"

"You can come out now, dear," Moriarty said, looking back at the corner he had hid in once before.

"When did you notice me?" said a woman's velvety voice. Out of the darkness came out none other than the Dominatrix, Irene Adler. She was a beautiful merwoman, with the tail of an angel fish. She had often helped Moriarty on occasion, though she did have a bit of distaste for the man. In all honesty, he and his tentacles made her skin crawl.

"Irene, dear, I can sniff you out a league away," Moriarty said, resting his elbows on the cauldron.

"Quite the deal you just made," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "It's not always you get to serve royalty."

"You're right," Moriarty said, stirring his finger in the remnants of the potion in the cauldron, "But that's all going to change."

"And how's that?" Irene asked, though she could guess the answer.

"Well, if you must know," Moriarty said, "I'm going to mess with his contract. There is no way I'm letting him get away. He presents so many opportunities for me, oh and you too."

"Really?" Irene said, with purposive lack of enthusiasm.

"Yes, you'll get to be my right hand gal." Moriarty gave a coy smile, as if that could convince Irene further.

"What do you want me to do?" the merwoman said with a huff, cutting to the chase. She knew Moriarty's methods, and nothing was without a price when it came to him.

"Well, I'm going to have you screw with that prince's contract, if you would pardon the pun."

"You expect me to just up and have sex with a total strangerjust so I can supposedly be by your side in Atlantica?"

"Yup, that's the plan."

"I don't even know why I bother with you sometimes…" Irene said with a sigh.

"You still owe me, Irene," Moriarty said, spinning around suddenly to look at her. His eyes were black again in simmering rage. "I helped that pretty little face of yours, but I only kept you because you seemed useful to me. One false move, just one, and I will make sure your eternity will be more excruciating than the rest of my garden." He had narrowed his eyes and had made his way over to the Dominatrix, and was now almost on top of her. She'd begun to shrink under him; she also knew when he was in one of these moods it was an assurance of survival to stay out of his way.

"I'm sure royalty will suit you," she said with a bit more enthusiasm to stave off the warlock's mood.

"Honey," Moriarty said, rubbing his hands together, "You should see me in a crown."

Sherlock woke up face first in sand. What a pleasant way to greet the morning. He struggled to get up, but his arms felt gelatinous and he collapsed back into the sand.

"Glad to see you awake."

Sherlock glanced to see Mrs. Hudson pinching her claws in satisfaction.

"Thank you for the rescue," he said. Or at least that's what he tried to say, but nothing came out. Sherlock flopped onto his back, wishing he could thank Mrs. Hudson because she actually deserved it.

"What's wrong dear?" the pink crab said worriedly.

Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling idiotic. He shook his head and touched his throat (he also noted the lack of gills).

"Oh Sherlock, don't tell me you made a deal with that warlock." Sherlock nodded. "So you gave up your voice to live on land, dear?" Another nod. Thank Poseidon Mrs. Hudson could put two and two together relatively quickly.

"Well, at least he told the truth when he said he'd give you a pair of legs," Mrs. Hudson said as she pointed her claw toward where Sherlock's fin used to be.

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows slowly to get a better look at his legs. They were long and slender with what Sherlock presumed were feet attached to them. He wiggled what he thought were called toes and smiled at his new found skill. Feeling energized he tried to stand up and immediately regretted it as he fell backwards on his arse. Much to his chagrin he heard Mrs. Hudson giggle a bit.

"Mind as well get back up and try again, dear. You'll need the practice."

Sherlock pouted as he tried to get up again. This time he stayed up for about 30 seconds before he fell again. Progression. After some maneuvering though, he managed to get used to his center of gravity and achieved balance. Now came the hard part: walking.

Sherlock had seen many a land dweller walk, but actually doing it was another situation entirely. Trying to imitate from memory, Sherlock started putting one foot in front of the other for about two feet before his arms were flailing and he was struggling to stay up right. This was entirely humiliating. Maybe along with the legs, Moriarty could have included some instructions.

"Once you get yourself sorted, I suggest you find something to put on dear. You're stark naked," said Mrs. Hudson, who had sat through the entire thing chuckling here and there.

Sherlock did realize that, yes, he was indeed naked. It was actually pretty cold. He really would have to figure out how to get something to cover himself up.

Suddenly in the distance he heard the barking of a dog and a yell of someone familiar.

"Sherlock, quick, cover yourself!" Mrs. Hudson said frantically as she scuttled to hide behind the nearest rock. Sherlock looked around quickly and found a mast that still had a sail attached to it. It would have to do. He wrapped himself in it like he did at home with the sheets from his bed. Mycroft would always tell him to dress more sophisticated than just a sheet, but it wasn't as if he would ever take his brother's advice. "A prince should know better," he would always say. Well, damn him, this was serious.

"Gladstone! Come here boy!' yelled the familiar voice. Sherlock heard barks growing louder and louder until he was assaulted by a bull dog. It barked at him and chased him up a small rock. Sherlock was drawing his feet in and trying to shoo the dog away when the owner of the familiar voice came.

It was John! Sherlock couldn't believe it.

"Oh my..." John said, pushing Gladstone away from Sherlock. "Are you alright?" Sherlock nodded.

"Can't speak, eh?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Hm," John said. He started to look Sherlock up and down with a concerned expression on his face. Suddenly Sherlock was more self-conscious of his sail.

"Do I…do I know you from somewhere?" John asked.

Well yes, I saved your life, is what Sherlock wanted to say, but he could never risk revealing the existence of his race. He couldn't talk anyhow, so he shook his head again.

"Hm," John said again. The prince studied Sherlock for a moment, cataloging him.

"Have we met before?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head again. John couldn't know his identity. For once the detective was going to follow his brother's advice. This was certainly not a good time to reveal the existence of a whole other species of human that lived underwater.

"Were you ship wrecked?" John said, concern seeping into his tone.

Sherlock considered this. It would be a good idea to use that as an excuse, though that may not explain why Sherlock didn't have any clothes. The other plans he'd already formulated in his mind wouldn't be as good as just saying he had been on a wreck, not to mention how tedious it would be to communicate another excuse . The former merman nodded.

"I see..." John said, slowly nodding. He licked his lips. "I'm guessing then you have no idea where you are and you also have nowhere to stay." Another nod.

"Well…I can't leave you out here..." John scratched his head, seeming unsure of something. "It's too late to try and get you in an inn. There— wait," John abruptly stopped his train of thought, "Are there any clothes under there?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Ah, Jesus." John ran a hand on his face. He scratched his head. He looked at his feet, then to Gladstone, then to Sherlock, then back to his feet.

This must be awkward for him. Virgin? Sherlock observed John as he seemed to be fumbling with the thought of finding a naked man on the beach wrapped up in a sail. No. Virgin with males? Possibly. The detective dually noted the hard work that would be ahead of him. Finally collecting himself, John stated, "I—I guess you could just come to stay at the palace. It's plenty big, and we don't get visitors there much anyway."

Sherlock felt a smile break across his face. What better way to get his kiss than to be with his prince almost all hours of the day? Things were working in his favor.

"Would you like to stay?" John asked suddenly.

Is that even a question? Sherlock thought. He nodded again, this time a bit harder to convey his enthusiasm.

"Good… good." John smiled. That smile was so perfect. Sherlock could feel the blood rush to his cheeks. How hormonal. He mentally sighed and scolded himself. "Well, guess we should get going." John held out a hand to Sherlock. He took it and lost his balance as he came off the rock he had been perched on and fell into the prince's arms. Sherlock looked up at John, embarrassed, but the solider just smiled and started to laugh a bit. The former merman smiled too. "Let me help you there." John helped Sherlock lean against his shoulder. The height difference in the two made it a bit awkward, but the solider made it work.

"C'mon, Gladstone!" John yelled as he helped Sherlock start walking along the beach, being careful not to let the sail fall. With the faithful bulldog in the lead, the awkward couple started toward the palace.

"So I hear you were found on the beach."

Sherlock had been brought to John's enormous palace, contrasting to the prince's humble personality. The former merman was given a bath by one of the servants and then fitted with clothes- black slacks and a purple button up shirt that fit him just so. Now he was sitting at a long dinner table with John across from him and his butler, Michael, at the head of the table. Sherlock wondered for a brief moment why John wasn't at the head, but considering the previously mentioned personality, it seemed the prince hardly ever let that status go to his head.

"Yes, I just found him sitting on a rock. Gladstone was trying to lick him to death when I found him," John said, a smirk gracing his face.

I remember otherwise, Sherlock thought, looking down at the silverware. They were a bit different from the utensils used in Altlantica, but it wouldn't take long for Sherlock to figure them out.

"Well isn't that interesting..." said Michael as he twirled his fork, "Where are you from?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but then closed it again, remembering his situation.

"Oh, Mike, he, erm, he can't speak," John said apologetically, "I forgot to tell you. I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright, John. You certainly don't have to apologize." From just this exchange Sherlock could tell they were more than servant and master. They looked and talked to each other as equals. The former merprince had never really desired such a relationship with any of his servants. All his care takers could never amount to his intellect, even when he was a young child, and none of the other servants ever wanted to glance his way. The Holmes family had a long history of cold but just rulers, and based on that everyone assumed Sherlock was as heartless as his predecessors. It's not that he wasn't, he just thought it idiotic to come to a conclusion without having irrefutable data.

"Sir?"

The detective hadn't realized he had lapsed into a musing session. He looked up to find Michael and John both looking at him questioningly.

"Would you like to stay here until you can go back home?" the butler asked, almost as if Sherlock was a child.

Just because I can't speak doesn't mean I lack intelligence, Sherlock thought testily. He would have made a face, but they were offering him a place to stay, and he didn't want to give the impression he was ungrateful. That would just make things complicated. He assumed the best grin he could muster and nodded enthusiastically.

"Wonderful," Michael said happily. "Ah, there's our dinner."

Sherlock followed the butler's gaze and saw three covered dishes on a trolley. A servant stood behind each person at the table and proceeded to place the dishes in front of them and lifted the covers. Sherlock almost fell out of his seat in horror.

On the plate was a lobster that had had its shell ripped off and insides gutted, then the insides placed back inside and the shell placed back as decoration. Sherlock knew the humans ate fish, but the sight of one in front of him made him want to vomit. He thought back to Mrs. Hudson, picturing her being gutted and stuffed again. He heard the crunch of the shell as Michael began extract the meat from his. The former merman couldn't bear it.

"Excuse me, are you alright?" Sherlock had a napkin to his mouth and could feel the waves of nausea in his stomach. He looked up at John, who had a worried expression on his face. Sherlock shook his head no, not too vigorously as he was afraid he may actually vomit.

"I'm going to take him back to his room, sorry, Mike," John said, again apologetically as he stood up at walked around the table to Sherlock.

"Not at all, not at all," the butler said absentmindedly as he ate more lobster.

"C'mon," John said gently as he took Sherlock's hand and led him out of the dining hall. The feeling of the prince's warm hand against Sherlock's now clammy one was comforting for the former merman. He was stumbling behind John as he saw him to his room. The detective tried to memorize the floor plan of the castle, but he was still trying to get over the nausea. He couldn't believe he had gotten so squeamish at the sight of a dead fish. He had seen numerous dead bodies, fish and merman alike and he'd even surrounded himself with them on occasion for experimental purposes. Maybe the new legs had a part in it, the detective had no data on what walking on two legs could do to a former merman as it had never been done before, at least as far as he knew.

"We're here," John said, stopping in front of the door. Sherlock looked down and noticed John was still holding his hand. He wanted this moment to last longer, so he didn't instigate the separation. It wasn't until John noticed their hands were still together that they finally separated.

"Well, uh," John said awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head. Sherlock looked at him expectantly, which probably was making the prince more nervous. "Would you like to come with me to survey the town? It's a duty I have to fulfil and I thought you'd like to see the town."

Sherlock was ecstatic. He felt a smile spread wide across his face and without warning he hugged John tightly.

The solider grew rigid at the sudden contact. Sherlock realized what he was doing and quickly let go. Another strange reaction he couldn't understand. He felt the other reaction flooding his cheeks and making them hot and cursed himself. He looked down at his feet and started towards the door.

As if snapping out of a trance John said, "I'll take that as a yes..." and walked away. Sherlock shut the door and slid to the floor. How embarrassing, how petty, how…human. What was he becoming? What was the catalyst to these impulses? He jumped up and paced, his brain now awhirl with thoughts, questions, answers. He was so impressed in the pacing that he didn't notice Mrs. Hudson climb into the window and on the bed. She started to call his name quietly, but he ceased to notice.

"SHERLOCK!" Mrs. Hudson screamed. Sherlock almost tripped in surprise. He ran over to the bed and sat next to Mrs. Hudson, knowing she had much to tell him.

"You have no idea what it took to get here, I was almost cooked!" Mrs. Hudson was in hysterics. Sherlock knew not how to comfort her, but he would certainly kill the person who made Mrs. Hudson this way. "There will be no killing, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson warned, reading his mind, "It wouldn't give a good impression or get you that kiss any time soon."

Sherlock pouted and then transitioned to an inquiring look, silently questioning Mrs. Hudson as to what had happened.

"Oh, Sherlock, it was terrible," cried Mrs. Hudson, "I managed to get into the castle by climbing up the high rocks, but where I came in was the worst place possible!" Sherlock's eyes narrowed, already deducing where Mrs. Hudson had ended up. "I landed in the kitchen and on a cutting board no less! Oh, it's terrible just thinking about it!" Mrs. Hudson fanned her claw at her face to try and stave off her tears Sherlock tried his best to aid Mrs. Hudson, despite not really knowing what to do. He placed his hand on her shell. Mrs. Hudson recognized the sentiment and placed a claw on his hand. Recollecting herself, she continued her tale. She told of a French cook who sang as he chopped up other fish and how almost dying from being thrown in boiling had assumed a calm mask during the retelling, but inside he had started to simmer a bit with anger. No one would hurt Mrs. Hudson. Ever. Despite her warning, he still had started to think of around 40 to 50 possibilities of how he would make the cook pay.

"I would love to hear what's got you all in a tuss, but I guess I can't can I?" Mrs. Hudson said, hinting with her tone on how she felt about Sherlock's deal with the sea warlock. Sherlock deduced the best way of communicating would be charades. After around 30 minutes of Mrs. Hudson guessing and Sherlock trying to stay composed, knowing he might not be the best charades player, he had managed to communicate he was going out with the prince tomorrow.

"That's wonderful, dear!" Mrs. Hudson said, clapping her claws, "you're on your way to making that prince fall head over fin, or I guess it's feet, for you. But what are you going to wear? Certainly not that rag of a sail you found on the beach, I absolutely forbid it." As an answer, Sherlock gracefully got out of bed and went over to his closet. He pulled it open to reveal the numerous button-down shirts, dress pants, and other items of clothing that the servants of the castle had provided for him. He let a small grin come on his face as a reaction to Mrs. Hudson's awe.

"Well then," she said, hopping off the bed and going over to the closet, "let's get started."

The scene where John and Sherlock meet up again was such a pain in the patootie. Literally in the Disney movie Eric's just all, "Well, ok, you could just come to my house." After Sherlock Series 3 came out I got to get more familiar with everyone again and thus familiar with John's awkward nature, gotta love the stuff.
Also Moriarty's a bit OOC because he's been Ursula'd (yes that's a thing.) My main inspiration for most of the exchange between him and Sherlock was from A href=" /lXaeH0R0Rzg"this deleted scene/A and it's just perfect.

Also look at my fancy A/Ns :D I finally figured out how to do them on here OTL