A/N: I apologize for not updating last week. But I have been ridiculously busy these last few weeks.
Chapter Six
Phasmatis
Sherlock gripped the edge of the ship as it rocked to and fro. Sherlock looked to the side as he heard rumbles coming from the other side of the ship. He bit down on his bottom lip, feeling a sweat drop roll down his forehead.
"Clara!" he shouted over the whirring wind. "What's making that sound?"
Clara was gripping onto the door's latch. Her hair was blowing in various directions. She looked up at her captain. "The ship, Sir!" she replied.
"What do you mean?" he questioned, though he already knew the answer.
"The ship's hitting the side of the cave," Clara managed weakly.
Sherlock nodded curtly, returning his attention to the edge of the ship. He looked down at the person responsible for all the carnage.
"John…" he whispered softly, closing his eyes with a sigh.
Sherlock looked down, seeing three white spheres. Each sphere was the size of two men stacked on top of each other. Two spheres, which were on the side of the middle one, were zigzagging and rotating around the middle sphere, which lay immobilized. The spheres were made out of gusts of wind compacted into circles. The spheres' sheer velocity was so rapid that the water it stood on was pushed to the side, leaving the ground beneath them exposed.
Which one was John? Or was John gone? Sherlock couldn't tell by the sight of it. And he despised the feeling of being useless. He tsked angrily, wavering on what to do.
"A Phasmatis Flutus, eh, Captain Holmes?" whispered a voice beside him.
Sherlock turned his head in the direction of the voice, instantly glaring at the man. It was none other than James Brocklehurst, the captain of the Deadly Seven.
"Wrong," Sherlock muttered angrily. "What do you want?"
"At first, I just wanted to burn down your ship. But now, I want the boy. I can see why you've been harboring him," James sneered.
"Ha!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I'd like to see you try."
"I'll take my chances, captain," he murmured. "But now I wonder something."
"What is that?" Sherlock asked.
"Why are you so keen with him?" James replied.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at James, growling. He looked away from him, glancing down at the three spheres. "How did you find out I was here?" Sherlock snapped back.
"Oh, you can thank your dear brother for that," James answered, smirking tauntingly.
Sherlock's eyes widened. His own brother had… He's taken it too far! Sherlock clenched his jaw angrily.
"I don't know why you see it as a big surprise, Mr. Holmes," Brocklehurst continued. "We all know who your brother has chosen to side with."
Sherlock rolled his eyes as if he was in pain. "Your point?"
"Well, of course he'd sell you out. You, of all people, his brother! He's the Queen's dog after all!" James teased.
"Once more, what is your point?" Sherlock asked, rather bored.
"It just goes to show you have no one in the end, captain. Not even your dear brother. You can be all noble and haughty today but in the end, you'll be abandoned because you have no one," James finished.
"Did my brother pay you to tell me that?" Sherlock replied.
James quirked a brow, smirking. He shrugged. "Who knows?" James said. "But all I know is that I'm done with you."
"What are you doing?" Sherlock questioned, seeing James shuffle away.
"I need that boy! Don't you see what he is? I can use him as my source of power. I'll have control over the world because of him," he explained.
"And you're –"
"Fall back!" James hollered to his men.
"You fool! You have no idea what you're up against and to blindly go in there without a plan!" Sherlock snapped back.
James sniggered as he staggered his way down the rocking ladder. The minute James placed his foot over the ship, the whirring of the wind had ceased.
All eyes fell on the spheres. The two spheres that had been roaming about had stopped, both on either side of the middle sphere. The boat had stopped rocking, leaving Sherlock's crew sighing in relief.
James turned to look at Sherlock, giving him a malicious smile. "Things are turning out for me," he mused, climbing down the ladder. James's men soon followed suit, descending. Everyone ran to the side of the ship, which Sherlock was on. Eyes scanned at the eight men who had just entered the ocean.
James's men marveled at the three spheres, grinning. "What are you all standing for?" he questioned. "Go on!"
James's men stared at the spheres in horror. They hesitated before one of them took a step forward. When nothing happened, the men approached the spheres. One of the men whistled as they were face to face with the middle sphere.
"Look how tall this is!" one man said.
"I bet it's bigger than Mr. Holmes," another answered.
"Taller," Sherlock corrected irritably.
"Captain," Sally whispered softly. "Aren't we going to do anything?"
"And what do you propose we do?" Sherlock snapped back.
"Well, we can't let them capture John!" Sally protested.
"Sherlock, we've got to do something," Molly mumbled.
"We can't do anything!" Sherlock exclaimed, glaring at them both.
"So, we're just going to let them take John, just like that?" Clara shot back, crossing his arms. "Some captain you are."
Sherlock's expression fell. He was hesitating. And he knew it. He wanted to help John, and God knew that more than anyone else. But… he wasn't even sure if John was stabilized. He doubted John could tell the difference between friend and foe. He didn't even doubt if John knew who he was. Sherlock groaned, repressing the urge to cover his face. What had John done to him? He's turned him into a coward, that's for sure.
The men stared at the spheres, mouths parted. One of the men, the one standing before the middle sphere, had lifted his arm. He reached towards the middle sphere. He hesitated, retreating his hand before reaching towards it again. Just one touch.
A scream echoed throughout the cave. All eyes drifted towards the sound of the voice, staring down at it.
James's had taken a step back when he heard the scream. "What's going on?" he called out.
The man who had touched the middle sphere was now clutching his hand with the other. Something was oozing out of his hand. It was blood. He howled in pain, swinging to and fro.
"God help me!" he screamed, falling to his knees.
"What? What has happened?" demanded James.
Immediately, the spheres resumed their rotation, the gusts of wind building up rapidly. The two spheres on the sides began zigzagging once more. This time, the spheres were heading towards James's men. The moment the spheres activated, the ship was rocked once more. Sherlock's crew wobbled as they held onto the edge of the ship.
Lestrade had taken his chance. He had let go of the ship. He was immediately knocked backwards, smashing against the lookout post. He groaned in pain as he held onto it. He staggered to his feet. He looked around, seeing Sherlock's room. An idea had popped into his head. He released himself, allowing himself to be slammed once more. Lestrade opened Sherlock's room, swinging inside. He locked the door as he panted heavily.
The man – who was on the ground – looked up in time to see a sphere charging towards him. Before he could react, the sphere had passed through him. The man had made one last scream before it died out instantly.
As soon as the sphere passed through, the screaming man had vanished instantly, diminishing into nothing but dust.
Upon seeing this, James's men fled. They dropped their weapons and ran in various directions like rats. Even James had retreated. But it was too late. The spheres were gaining on the men, making them into nothing but ashes. Each cry was stopped abruptly.
Sherlock's crew had to look away, finding the scene grotesque. But Sherlock hadn't looked away; he was staring intently at the scene, analyzing so he could find out more about Phasmatis of Flatus.
All that remained was James. He had reached the side of the ship. He attempted climb the ladder but it had been brought up by Anderson. James looked up at Sherlock frantically, banging rapidly against the ship.
"Let me up!" he cried. "Please, I beg of you! Have some compassion!"
Sherlock glared down at James, shaking his head silently. "I will show you no compassion because this is your fate. You have chosen your path, now you must endure it, whatever the consequences may be. I wouldn't want to mess with destiny, eh, captain?" Sherlock replied coldly.
James looked up at Sherlock, desperation in his eyes. He heard whirring. His complexion had dropped instantly. James shuddered as he glanced behind him. There, in front of him, was a sphere charging towards him. He held his arms in front of him as if that would protect him. He yelled as the sphere passed through him. Blood had splattered against the side of the ship, giving it a grim crimson color.
The ship sputtered as the sphere crashed towards it. Sally and Dimmock had lost their balance, falling on the ground.
"Captain!" Anderson pleaded. "The ship's going to burst if we don't do something!"
"What do you propose we do?" Sherlock growled back.
"You know exactly what I propose!"
Sherlock snapped his neck towards Anderson, glaring at him in horror. "Absolutely not!" Sherlock said firmly. No, he wouldn't allow it. He was not going to kill John. Never. Even if it costs his life, he wasn't going to kill John.
"Captain!" Clara cried.
"Sherlock!" Sally said.
"Do something!" Dimmock answered.
Molly stared at Sherlock, frowning. She bit her bottom lip, nodding her head gently. Sherlock had parted his lips, looking down at the sphere. No. He – he wouldn't allow it. He couldn't.
Suddenly, the door burst open. All eyes were on Lestrade, who was gripping a rifle. He staggered his way towards the lookout post, grasping onto it.
Sherlock's eyes widened as he stared at the rifle. "What're you doing?" Sherlock exclaimed desperately. Sherlock released himself from the edge of the ship, stalking towards Lestrade. Sherlock made an attempt to grasp the rifle but Lestrade had pulled it away from him. With a quick movement, Lestrade was climbing the post. He stood, standing in the crow's nest. He swung the rifle from his back, setting it up. He aimed towards the spheres.
"DON'T!" Sherlock ordered.
Three shots were fired. All three shots hit the three spheres. In a flash, the spheres had stopped moving. The spheres began to fade, ending the gusts of wind. John was lying in the ocean.
Sherlock's eyes widened. Lestrade slid down from the post, landing on the ground gently. Sherlock glared at Lestrade angrily. He grabbed the rifle from Lestrade, throwing it on the ground. He grasped Lestrade's shirt, pulling him towards him.
"You've killed him!" Sherlock screamed angrily, shaking Lestrade vigorously. "Weren't you the one who wanted him alive? So why the hell did you kill him?"
Lestrade's head began to throb with every jerk. He pushed Sherlock away from him, declaring, "I do want him alive! I didn't kill him. I didn't shoot him. I merely tranquilized him! A sedative! I used curare."
Sherlock was panting heavily as he stared at Lestrade. Soon, his heart leapt and he ran towards the edge of the ship. He dropped down the ladder and climbed down the stairs.
John attempted to open his eyes but he found it difficult in doing so. It took a while before he eventually opened his eyes. They felt heavy and he wished to close them. He sighed lightly as he found himself in his room. A dream? John exhaled in relief. He attempted to run a hand through his hair but realized he was incapable of doing so. John tried to prop himself up but he fell back onto his bed. Just what was going on?
"Ah, you're awake," a voice bellowed.
John craned his neck to look at the voice but was unable to grasp its face. But he didn't need to see to know who it was. "Sherlock," he mumbled, words coming out like lead. "Wh-what's go—ing on? I-I can't seem to – to – to –"
"Shh," Sherlock hummed, walking towards him.
Soon, John was able to see Sherlock's face. He had several cuts on his face and his coat seemed a bit torn, but other than that, he was fine.
"Don't talk, John," Sherlock said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Your mind is still slurred in the moment."
"What happened?" he managed weakly.
"Well… you fell overboard," Sherlock said.
John nodded his head slowly.
"And when you fell, I don't know if you were angry or your emotions were high but you sort of…changed."
"Changed?" John answered, still not realizing what he had meant.
Sherlock nodded his head slowly, turning to look at John. "You're a Phasmatis of Flatus," Sherlock announced finally.
Suddenly, John realized what Sherlock had said and widened his eyes. "God no. I didn't! No, no, no –"
"John, calm down. It won't do you any good," Sherlock replied.
John looked away from him, unable to meet his gaze. He exhaled shakily, feeling tears prick at the ends of his eyes.
"I didn't mean it in that way, John –"
"No, no, you're right," John said slowly. He exhaled sharply, trying to level his breathing. John struggled as he propped himself up on the bed. He covered his face in embarrassment. "I-I didn't. I tried so hard to never let that loose."
"I know, John. I know –"
"No!" John snapped back. "You don't know. You don't know how awful it feels. Have you ever killed someone, Sherlock?" John asked, voice cracking.
Sherlock hesitated before he nodded his head slowly. "I have."
"And how does it feel?" John asked.
"Refreshing –"
"How did you feel when you killed someone for the first time?" John continued.
Sherlock was silent. He pondered for a few moments, trying to relive his first kill. "I didn't quite enjoy it. Guilty."
"Have you ever killed someone unintentionally?" John replied.
"No," Sherlock said firmly.
"Then you wouldn't understand how it feels to kill someone without meaning to. I have probably killed people more than you ever will!" John answered, slurring his words.
"John, you said you never killed –"
"That's different!" John said. "I have never killed someone intentionally. When I killed Eric that was the very first time I killed. That was the very first time I witnessed myself killing someone, Sherlock!"
Sherlock felt his throat gone dry. "John," he whispered. "Relax or you'll going to –"
"Blow up?" John interrupted.
"No! You're going to give yourself a panic attack. John, you're going into shock. Please, relax," Sherlock explained.
John stared at Sherlock, shaking slightly. He nodded silently as he tried to compose himself. John looked down at his hands. After a moment of silence, John whispered, "H-how do you know about…what I am?"
"I read all the stories that people wrote about you. I was always interested in Phasmatis of Flatus, but I knew they never existed. Still, I could never drop it," Sherlock explained.
"They're not about me," John said.
"In a sense, they are," Sherlock answered, staring into John's eyes.
"I never knew there were stories on…us."
"There are. Heavily restricted but my brother had just started working with Her Majesty. When I was a child, my brother would read about them in his room. Out of curiosity, I read them as well. And I well, stole them," Sherlock replied.
John nodded silently.
After a pause, Sherlock said, "The stories would describe you as the Winded Killer. But the original term is Phasmatis of Flatus, meaning the Spirit of the Wind. And your kind had originally existed in Italy, but when the Austro-Prussian War occurred, your kind had divided against each other. Your kind nearly killed each other. That's why the war ended so quickly. But some, obviously, survived.
"From everything that I've read, people aren't sure how they got that type of power. But some say it was God who gave the Phasmatis of Flatus the power to annihilate mankind if things should head in the wrong direction. Also, people aren't sure how they activate their power. Some say it activates when a Phasmatis has a strong emotion. Others say it's by will," Sherlock explained.
John had been staring at Sherlock, mouth agape. He relaxed his hands, no longer clenching them. Just how much did this man know about his secret?
"How long have you been looking into this?" John asked.
"Even before I became a pirate," Sherlock whispered.
"And now that you've seen one, a Spirit of the Wind, what do you plan to do now?" John continued.
Sherlock shrugged. "I'm not sure. But I find you interesting, John. I'd like to know more about it."
"Well, whatever that you saw today, that's all you're ever going to see of it again!" John announced bitterly.
"Why? What's so wrong with it?" Sherlock replied.
"Have you not been listening to what I just said?" John asked. "I unintentionally kill people whenever I feel threatened or I can no longer suppress my emotions! Why push it more and see more of that monster?"
"Monster?" Sherlock questioned, quirking a brow.
"Yes, that's what it is. What I have, it's a monster," John said. "The most terrible gift I could have ever received."
"I can understand why it would be a pain to have such a thing," Sherlock began. "But think of the positive: you have a power that everyone wants to have. With it, you can even rule the world if you wanted to."
"That's good to you?" John snapped back. "I don't want to rule the world!"
"In a sense," Sherlock said.
"I'm a freak," John mumbled weakly.
Sherlock turned to stare at John in disbelief. He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You have obviously never met me then," Sherlock answered.
John looked up at Sherlock. "You're not a freak, Sherlock," John replied. "You're different. You're just misjudged."
Sherlock's eyes widened. A small smile appeared on his lips. He leaned towards John, lifted his chin up with two fingers, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips.
John had meant to move away when he felt Sherlock's hands on his chin, but was too weak to move. He lay against the headboard, watching as Sherlock captivated his lips. He closed his eyes a few seconds after Sherlock pulled away.
John was at a loss of words. When he finally formulated a sentence, he said, "Why did you…?"
"You say I'm not a freak, but the same thing could be said about you. Yes, you may classify yourself as a 'monster' and so do other people. But you and they only see what you posses rather that your character," Sherlock said, placing his hand against John's chest. John glanced down at his chest, flushing lightly. "The thing is you're no monster, John. Never have been and never will be. You're a good person. You know right from wrong. You're…just misunderstood and misjudged."
John had been looking down at the hand against his chest before he glanced up at Sherlock. Before he could say anything, Sherlock had risen from the bed.
"Well, I've got to go. Rest, will you? You still need to sleep off the sedative," Sherlock announced. He placed his hand around the knob, twisting it.
"Sherlock!" John called out.
Sherlock hesitated before he let go of the door knob and turned to look at John. "Hmm?"
"Since you know so much, do you have an idea what Ebony is up to?" John asked.
Sherlock blinked silently before he nodded. "I have an idea. I may be wrong though. Ebony, obviously, wants what you possess. The only reason she wants you on the throne is because something's happened, something that wasn't supposed to. She wanted to hurry the process up. Why? I've no idea," Sherlock explained. "But there are three people in the world that I know of that want someone like you."
"And who are those three people?" John asked.
"The first being is Ebony. The second being James Moriarty," Sherlock replied.
"James Moriarty?" John questioned, quirking a brow.
Sherlock waved his hand in the air. "That is a story longer than we have time to explain," Sherlock announced.
"All right," John whispered. "And who's the third?"
A small smirk tugged on Sherlock's lips. "Me," he said.
"What?" John questioned.
Sherlock nodded. "And you're lucky," Sherlock announced. "You're with the one who wants you out of pure interest."
John furrowed his brows, confused. "I don't understand."
But Sherlock had opened the door and shut it behind him gently.
A week had gone since the incident. John was back downstairs, listening to Molly's lecture. This time, she was teaching him the different cuts made by different instrument. She explained to him which instrument was used on what.
Sherlock was by the door, tapping his feet impatiently as he waited for John to come out already. He had his arms crossed angrily, rolling his eyes. Just how long does a lesson take? Sherlock groaned angrily.
Molly could practically hear Sherlock from the other side. She couldn't help but smile at the notion, shaking her head lightly.
"What's wrong?" John asked, catching Molly's headshake. "Did I do it wrong?"
"What?" Molly said, looking back at John. "What? No, no, it's fine. You're really progressing John," Molly answered, smiling fondly.
"Really? Thank you," John replied. "So, what's next?"
"How about we give it a rest? You can come back tomorrow, same time as always," Molly murmured.
John smiled faintly and nodded. He rose from his seat. "Thank you, Molly," John said, opening the door. He took several steps back when he noticed Sherlock in the doorway.
Sherlock had scoffed, grasping John's arm wrist and pulling him along. "Where're we going?" John asked, as he tried to catch up with Sherlock's pace.
"We've landed," Sherlock explained. "Secret place where I go to."
John barely comprehended what Sherlock had said. "Sherlock, can we slow down?" John pleaded.
"Nope. We only have ten minutes to be on here before we have to go," Sherlock mumbled, pushing the ladder overboard. "We'll return in a few minutes. Continue moving the ship as it is," Sherlock instructed Clara.
Clara smirked at the two as she nodded.
They both climbed down the stairs, onto the shore. Sherlock grasped John's arm again, pulling him. "You can swim, right?" he asked him.
"Uh… yes?" John said.
"Can you or can't you?" Sherlock asked again, stopping to face John.
"I can, I can," John replied, nodding his head.
"Okay then," Sherlock answered, pulling him once more.
They stopped before a pile of rocks. Sherlock had pushed a giant rock aside, exposing an exit. John could barely see what's inside but made out something farther inside. Sherlock grasped John's arm and hauled him inside. Sherlock grasped the rock that he shoved aside and covered it over where they had just entered.
It was dark for a few moments. John could see nothing. He could only make out the sounds of their feet and breaths. Soon enough, John noticed crystal colors against the wall, shimmering. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what it was.
"Almost there," Sherlock whispered, pressing onto John's hand lightly.
John nodded silently.
Within a few seconds, John could see more light come in. Sherlock stopped, forcing John to stop as well. They were by the ocean.
"We need to swim," Sherlock said.
"Is it cold?" John asked.
"Not really," Sherlock replied, jumping in. "Come in."
"I'd rather not," John said, shaking his hands in protest.
"Come on," Sherlock answered, grasping John's arm and forcing him inside.
John made sure he closed his eyes as he entered the ocean. He realized he was sinking and made his way to the surface. He sputtered as he reached the surface of the ocean. He trembled lightly, glaring at Sherlock. "Liar!" John snapped back, splashing Sherlock. "Th-this i-ss bloody c-c-cold!"
"You'll get used to it," Sherlock murmured. "Let's go. The quicker we get there, the faster our bodies will heat up."
Sherlock began to paddle his way through, expecting John to follow. He couldn't help but grin at John's reaction to what he's going to see. John had not swum in a while, but at least, he wasn't sinking. He trudged his way through the water, trying to catch up with Sherlock. Sherlock stopped and said, "You'll have to hold your breath for a minute underwater, can you do that?"
"Let's find out and see," John said hoarsely. Oh, god, this is how he was going to die, John thought.
There was a rock, hanging onto the ceiling, in their way. Sherlock held his breath in as he ducked down. He swam under the surface, finding the opening to the other side. He swiveled inside and passed through it safely. He resurfaced, breathing heavily.
"Come on, John," Sherlock answered.
John could barely see Sherlock through some of the crevices of the rock. He hesitated, breathing in deeply. Once he felt ready, John held in his breath and allowed himself to sink below. He could barely see. John had to touch around the rock to find the opening. He soon found it and tried to squeeze his way through. But something was wrong. John couldn't get out.
"John?" Sherlock called out. His eyes widened. "Damn it! John!" Sherlock inhaled as he swam below. He found John and grasped his arm, forcing him out of the opening. He pulled John to the surface, exhaling sharply.
"John? John!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking at him.
John was panting heavily, gasping for breath. He felt weak. His body was sore and the water wasn't helping him.
Sherlock grasped John's shoulders then cupped his face with his hands. "John, look at me. John! How are you? Are you all right? John!" Sherlock replied.
"I-I'm fine," he mumbled weakly, opening his eyes to stare at Sherlock.
Sherlock looked at John intently, trying to see if there was any damage. He was still cupping John's face firmly. He panted heavily as he sighed in relief.
John had his mouth parted. He grasped both of Sherlock's hands with his own. He looked down before looking back at Sherlock.
"Sher…Sherlock," he mumbled. "We should probably –"
Sherlock pushed John against the rock, pressing desperate kissing against John's lips. The kisses would last three seconds maximum as he pulled away to only kiss him again.
John was confused during the ordeal. But he complied every time he met Sherlock's lips. He gripped onto his shirt, afraid he'd sink.
"What's taking them so much time?" Lestrade questioned, after glancing at his pocket watch.
"Probably snogging," Clara said, smirking.
"You honestly believe that, Clara?" Lestrade shot back.
"Well, come on, isn't it obvious?" Clara replied. "It's obvious that Sherlock likes our newest crewmember."
Anderson rolled his eyes. "You've got to stop reading those books," Anderson murmured.
"Well, I think Clara's correct," Molly whispered. "I've been teaching John in the mornings and Sherlock's always by the door, waiting for him to come out. I can hear him sometimes. I doubt John can."
"But that doesn't imply anything," Sally replied.
"Does it?" Molly answered. "I've seen the way he looks at him. He's never looked at anybody like that before."
"Of course he has," Lestrade shot back. "He's looked at…at…" he trailed off, ending his sentence. Oh god.
"In my opinion," Clara said, "our captain has it got it in for the Prince of England."
"Even if he did," Dimmock interrupted, "it'd never work. As long as Ebony's alive, the two can never really be together. And plus, I doubt John has the same feelings for Sherlock. He's so much in love with that fiancé of his."
"Oh, yeah. I just remembered about her," Sally said. "Jesus, even if Ebony died, they could never be together. There's still Mary. And even if she's out of the picture, they still can't be together because, let's face it, they'll never be married. It simply won't be allowed for."
"Well…this is a bit of a problem," Anderson mumbled.
"Our captain's going to be in one hell of a ride," Dimmock said.
Everyone nodded in agreement.
Sherlock and John had made it out of the ocean, both drenched wet. John had kept his distance with Sherlock. Everything felt awkward at the moment. He didn't know what to do now or what to say as a matter of fact. They had snogged each other breathless. And when they had finished, they pretended like it never happened. Now, John was staggering behind Sherlock, shivering from the ocean.
"We're almost there, John," Sherlock whispered, after a long period of silence.
John looked up at Sherlock. "Y-yeah," he stammered, teeth clattering.
"Cold?" Sherlock asked, turning to face him.
John halted instantly, staring at him. He had his arms crossed as he trembled in his spot. He nodded silently.
"Don't worry. We won't have to swim back into the water again. There's a second exit where we're going," Sherlock replied.
"Then why didn't we use that one?" John asked.
"The thing is it's really hard to find. I've tried, John, believe me. But it never worked," Sherlock said.
Sherlock turned around and stalked off once more. John hesitated for a moment before he followed him. They walked in silence for a few moments more until Sherlock stopped abruptly. He grasped John's arm suddenly and hauled him through a small corridor.
Before John could protest, he was engulfed by blinding light. He glanced away, covering his face. He waited for his eyes to adjust before he actually took in the sight. His mouth parted as he stared at the place. Everything… everything looked like it was made of ice yet it was not cold. The walls shimmered in hues of colors. John smiled instantly, captivated by the sight.
"What is this?" John asked.
"Jewels," Sherlock said simply. "This place here is infested with jewels."
"Really?" John questioned, turning to look at him.
"I know, the outside may look discouraging and lame but the inside is absolutely beautiful," Sherlock answered, smiling faintly.
"Where is this? It's just so… I've never seen anything like this," John replied.
"This is…my home," Sherlock said.
John looked at Sherlock, quirking a brow.
"What I mean to say," Sherlock corrected, "is that this place is part of my actual home. Though I can no longer go back to my house, I still come here. I used to come here to think. And no, we're not in Britain," Sherlock said. "This is the house that I paid for with my own money. My family home is at Britain."
"Why can't you return home?" John asked. "If this is yours, then you should be allowed to live in your own home."
Sherlock shook his head silently. "Not a lot of people like pirates, John," Sherlock announced. "I kept my identity secure for two years. I would always come here when I didn't feel like 'pirating'. But, then Her Majesty found out and told the authorities in Belgium," Sherlock explained.
"We're in Belgium?" John questioned.
Sherlock bit his bottom lip and nodded.
Wrong thing to say, he thought. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," John murmured. "That's not fair now. You deserve to live in your own home without worry of persecution."
Sherlock chuckled. "Well, life's not fair, John. And, in some twisted way, it's fair. I'm a pirate, 'violating' people's rights in a way," Sherlock replied.
John shook his head lightly. "It doesn't sound fair to me."
Sherlock smiled as he rubbed John's head. "You'd make a good king, John."
"I don't want to be king," John murmured, looking away. "Even if there was no danger with Ebony, I still wouldn't want to be king. It's a huge responsibility, something that I can't handle. I'm not meant to be ordering people around; rather, I'm meant to be ordered around."
Sherlock's smile broadened as he shook his head. "You've got some thinking, Watson."
John rolled his eyes, looking back at the jewels. "Beautiful."
Sherlock looked at John, noticing the colors in his eyes change. Now, that was beautiful. Sherlock reached for John's hand, entwining his fingers with John's.
John didn't look. He didn't need to look to know what had just happened. He felt his face tinged scarlet. John reacted by squeezing Sherlock's hand. He tried hard not to – even bit his lip so it wouldn't form – but smiled in the end.
After a period of bliss, Sherlock sighed in annoyance. If only they had more time. That's what it came down to in the end. "We have to go, John," he whispered.
"Do we have to? We can stay here forever."
Sherlock half smiled and nodded. "Some day, but not today, I promise I'll take you back here," Sherlock answered. Sherlock loosened his hand from John. He walked towards the other side of the room, motioning for John to follow. Sherlock touched the wall, trying to look for something. He found it. He walked through the wall.
John quirked a brow. "How'd you do that?" he asked.
"What?" Sherlock replied.
"Go through the wall," John said.
"There was never a wall here. Our eyes are easily deceived with false pretenses," Sherlock explained. "Once we see how one side of a room is, we make a picture on how the other side looks like. That's where the illusion comes in."
John smiled faintly at Sherlock, nodding his head in comprehension.
"Come on, let's go. We wouldn't want the ship to leave us behind," Sherlock announced.
John nodded, following Sherlock's lead.
As the two finally exit, they were blinded by the unforgiving sun. The waited for a moment before their eyes adjusted. John looked around, finding himself on another part of the shore.
"You see that, over there?" Sherlock asked, pointing to the right of John.
John looked in the pointed direction, squinting his eyes. He noticed a dark blue rooftop with shingles covering it. Other than that, he couldn't see anything more.
"I do," John said.
"That's my house," Sherlock whispered, smiling at a forgotten memory.
John looked at the roof of the house, smiling. He looked at Sherlock, seeing the sadness in his eyes. "Let's go, Sherlock," John murmured.
Sherlock jerked out of his thoughts and nodded.
"Well, well, look who we have here," said a voice.
Sherlock pushed John aside, pulling out his sword at the same moment. He pointed it towards the voice. "Leave us be, Luke!" Sherlock exclaimed.
Luke had light brown hair and brown eyes. He raised his hands in the air as if surrendering. "Come on, Sherlock. You know I don't like getting my hands dirty. That's why I have men."
"You're nothing but a coward, Luke!" Sherlock snapped back.
"Who are you shielding there, eh? Ah! It's Prince John Watson! I've always wanted to meet you, Mr. Prince. I just never had the chance to schedule a meeting," Luke said quickly, reaching his hand for John.
Sherlock swiped his sword towards Luke's hand. Luke immediately retreat his hand. "Lay one hand on him and it'll be your life," Sherlock warned, glaring at him.
"Sherlock, don't be a child. I just want to say –"
"Like hell you do!" Sherlock snapped back. "Who sent you?"
Luke groaned irritably, glaring at Sherlock. "Her Majesty the Queen."
"Go away Luke. I've no intention of hurting you, but I won't hesitate for one second if you touch him," Sherlock explained.
Luke rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Sherlock, I'm trying to protect you. Don't you understand? As long as he's with you, you'll never be safe. Neither of you. Give me the boy and you'll be –"
"No!"
"Okay, I've tried being nice," Luke began, voice lowering with each word. "No more Mr. Nice Guy. Sherlock, this is for your own good."
With that, Luke snapped his fingers. Sherlock immediately grabbed John, placing him in front of himself.
The moment Sherlock had used John as a shield, rifles had been pointed at them. "Drop your weapons!" Sherlock exclaimed, sword over John's neck.
"You wouldn't!" Luke exclaimed.
"He's just another hostage to me. He's of no real importance," Sherlock shot back.
John's eyes had widened. What?
"Am I stuttering or what?" Sherlock yelled again. "Drop. Your. Weapons!" He placed the sword against John's neck. John was afraid to even gulp, feeling the edge of the blade against his skin. "Now!" Sherlock had been forcing John into the currents as he talked.
The men had no other choice than to do as they're told. They lowered their guns to the ground, leaving it there.
"Come on, Sherlock!" Luke exclaimed.
"I know your tricks, Luke."
"Five seconds," Sherlock whispered in John's ear gently. "We go below surface, got it?"
John gulped down before he nodded.
Five…
"Sherlock, don't –"
"I've heard enough!" Sherlock interrupted.
Three…
Luke huffed lightly, frowning. "Goodbye…cousin."
One.
Sherlock had released John. They were now hip-width to the ocean. Sherlock had grasped the back of John's shirt as he allowed himself to fall beneath the waves, taking John with him.
Sherlock and John were panting heavily as the climbed the ladder. They were both drenched once more again and cold from the ocean. John hugged himself as he trembled. Sherlock rose from his feet and grabbed a blanket. He bent down in front of John and wrapped it around him.
"Better?" he asked.
John shook his head, teeth clattering rapidly. Sherlock sighed as he wrapped his arms around John, pulling him closer.
All the crew could do was gawk. They pretended not to notice and be busy, but they couldn't stop looking at the two.
Soon, John's teeth stopped clattering. He lay against Sherlock's chest, listening to his heartbeat. He hadn't realized that Sherlock was stroking his hair.
"Molly, prepare a hot bath for John," Sherlock managed after a while.
Molly smiled faintly and nodded, going downstairs.
"Go with her," he whispered in John's ear.
First, his brother told him that John wasn't safe. And now, his cousin was telling him. What more? Sherlock sighed irritably as he shook his head. He covered his face, unsure what to do now. A day had gone by since he saw his cousin.
Maybe, they're right. John isn't safe. He can fight, sure, but look where his style of fighting has led him? Sherlock had to prepare John if he didn't want to lose him. And Sherlock, most definitely, did not want to lose John.
Did you see how easy it was for me to capture him?
You left his side when you needed to stay by him the most.
He's so devoted to you in such a short time.
And that is his downfall, Sherlock.
One of these days, you'll get careless and he'll be there to protect you.
But who will be there to protect him?
Surely, not you.
Sherlock bit back a growl. He clenched his fists angrily, knuckles turning white. Sherlock heard noises coming from outside. Sherlock keened his ears, trying to take in what he was wearing. Sword fight. Sherlock reached for his sword but realized it was threatening. It was just two people practicing their skills. Clara and… John!
Sherlock opened the door in time to see the sword pointing towards Clara's chest.
"I win," John said, grinning.
Clara rolled her eyes. "I let you win."
"Sure you did," John answered. "You're just like my sister, I swear. Can't admit defeat, can you?"
"All right, all right," Clara said, raising her hands in defeat. "You win, happy?"
"Indeed."
"Impressive," Sherlock murmured, joining in the crowd. "But I thought I specifically ordered for you all to clean the ship. And where's Sally?"
"With Anderson," Dimmock said. "I wouldn't be done there if I were you."
Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes. "Clean. This. Ship. Up. Now!"
Dimmock, Lestrade, Molly, Clara, and John all shook their heads simultaneously. The crowd dispersed and began walking their separate paths.
"John," Sherlock said.
"Hmm?" John hummed, stopping to turn to him.
Sherlock handed him his sword. "Let's see how much you've improved."
"But the…ship –"
"I think they can handle it," Sherlock replied, taking out his own sword. "Come on."
John bit his lip, wavering. He had a bad feeling about this. But he couldn't refuse him. John gripped onto the sword, nodding his head slowly.
Immediately, Sherlock had charged forward, sword above his head. John barely had time to react, using the blade to block the sword. John pushed the sword forwards, un-clashing their swords. John jerked backwards as the blade came towards his stomach.
Damn it. His movements were too quick. He could barely keep up.
"Come on, John!" Sherlock persisted, swinging his sword around. "You can do better than this."
What did he expect of him? He wasn't as skilled as he was! The tip of Sherlock's blade had barely scraped John's arm. He winced slightly, biting onto his lip. John moved his sword upwards, blocking the next attack.
"Sherlock. Sherlock, stop!" John cried, arm feeling numb.
"John, there are no stops in the real world!" Sherlock snapped back, blocking one of John's attacks.
Sherlock had knocked John's sword out of his hands. He kept on swinging for John, unable to stop himself from charging towards him.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "Sherlock! STOP!"
John had fallen down on the ground. He closed his eyes, expecting a blow, anything. But none had occurred. He heard a thudding noise and opened his eyes afterwards. Sherlock was on his knees, sword in front of him on the ground. His palms were flat against the floorboards. He was panting heavily, hair covering most of his face.
John's mouth was agape, surprised by the look on Sherlock's face. It was a look of desperation. John quirked a brow, confused. "Sher…lock?" he asked.
Sherlock remained his position, but this time he began trembling. "John, I-I am so sorry," he whispered softly. "I-I didn't mean to…get so carried away. It's that-that I don't want to lose you, John. You were taken so easily by my brother. Who knows who else might take you? I-I can't bear the fact of parting from you," Sherlock explained. He willed them away. He willed them away. But, nevertheless, his betraying body had allowed a drop of tear roll down his cheek. "I can't, John. I would give anyone away in a heartbeat, but not you. Even Lestrade, and that's saying something, John. I don't know what you've done, but you've made it impossible for me to be away from you.
"Listen to me, I must sound so pathetic to you, don't I?" Sherlock asked weakly, looking up at John.
John's expression had softened. He noticed the tear roll down Sherlock's cheek and his heart began to throb in pain. He never knew… He should've known. It was always there since…that day, when Sherlock had looked at him differently. John's breath had hitched in his throat, making it impossible for him to breathe.
John shook his head slowly upon hearing the question. With a sudden jerk, John tilted his head upwards, pressing his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock was surprised. He hadn't expected – He figured John was going to agree with him, but he… Sherlock's mind tried to process what had just happened but was unable to.
The kiss didn't last long. The next moment, John had broken away yet they were still inches apart.
"If you're that worried," John began, "then you should train me properly."
Sherlock stared into John's eyes, eyes half-opened. He smiled faintly, nodding his head slowly. "Shall we begin again?"
John grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."