Now and then we had a hope that if we lived and were good, God would permit us to be pirates
...
John had been travelling on board the pirate ship The Irregular with her Captain Sherlock Holmes for just over a month now, and this was their first call at a port. The rest of the crew seemed to know the town well enough, and were even familiar with the inhabitants, but that did not mean to say that he'd be willing to trust anyone he didn't know as far as he could throw them.
He was currently following close behind the ship's captain as the enigmatic man as he wove through the dingy alleyways of the port town, seemingly unaffected by the sights and scenes around him.
After a while - a rather long while, John was inclined to say - he started to notice the streets becoming cleaner and buildings more upmarket, and he realised in a beleaguered way that they had gone rather more uptown than he himself would usually dare go.
The pirate, still in his distinctive scarlet coat, strode into one of the shops as though he belonged there. And when the proprietor seemed to recognise him, he wasn't entirely sure any more that he didn't.
"Ah! Mr. Holmes - of course, of course, it is Captain now, I never do remember. And who is this?"
Sherlock spared a glance John's way before taking something - a small piece of parchment - out of one of his many inner pockets.
"Mr. Trevor, meet Dr. John Watson. He serves as ship's surgeon, and my very own chronicler, for reasons entirely unknown to me. John, this is Victor Trevor, an old friend of mine from my youth and an invaluable link to the outside world and England. I gather you have a message for me."
Victor Trevor shook his head, a certain kind of familiar amazement written on his face.
"I still wonder how you do that, even after all these years. But never mind that, yes. It's from your brother."
Sherlock immediately frowned, and took the proffered piece of parchment and putting his own down on the tabletop.
Dear Sherlock, it read. I understand that as I write this you are likely still out at sea on one of those foolhardy adventures of yours, and that it may in fact be several months before this reaches you, but I thought that I should send word just on the offchance that you weren't gallivanting for quite as long as usual. In fact, if it weren't deemed as important as it is, I would not have bothered at all. A case has arisen, and since I can hardly give up my post for such a thing, my hand, as they say, has been forced.
Here is to hoping that you do not use this as fuel as you did my last missive,
Your elder brother, Mycroft.
John looked, completely baffled, between the short letter and the Captain's face, which seemed intrigued. And intriguing.
"...What? What's all that about?"
"Gather up the men, John. We're going back to England!"
...
AN: Because I can't see Sherlock turning down a case as interesting-looking as that, worlds and universes be damned.
Also... yes. I may actually be continuing this, insofar as extra drabbles whenever inspiration strikes is a continuation. Same with any of my other drabbles and shorts here.
