Written because it needed to be done. I do not own Sherlock or anything out of Sherlock, nor the characters, nor the brilliant writing or personalities. I do not gain anything financial from this, only the joy of seeing others liking the story.
Also, in case you were all wondering. Each chapter's title is the actual name of a song sung by sailors, which I found on a lovely website while researching Merfolk facts and lore. Have fun, and please review!
Well over one hundred followers now, thank you all so very much! I really appreciate that you all are reading and enjoying the story. Sorry this chapter is a bit short, but I've been busy trying to finish papers and have midterms, so hopefully I'll have more for you soon. Thank you for all the reviews as well, I love getting them, even the anon ones.
The Shivering Sands is an actual place, a British Naval Base constructed during WWII that is essentially several large, inter-connecting buildings on stilts in the middle of the ocean. They were abandoned afterwards, but left to stand, and were used as by a pirate radio station later. As far as I know, they're still standing, though they're located off the coast of England, not in the Caribbean Sea. I just...used the name and idea, while moving them quite a bit.
I unfortunately couldn't write the next chapter in a timely manner due to playing Cumber!crunch at the Oscars. The only reason I really watched it was to see him on the Red Carpet, but then I really enjoyed the rest of the show regardless, plus he was at the Elton John AIDS benefit, so I'm pretty cool with that. Bravo, Benedict, Bravo: I don't mind you missing the carpet for that. It was a damn good cause and I'm happy to be called one of your fans.
Chapter Eight: Across The Western Ocean
They snuck out of Tortuga in the dead of night, Moran long since gone from the port, the local dockies seeing him off in a small long boat some hours earlier. Sherlock had made sure that the men who'd tailed him back to his boat had been thorough and well paid off, which in turn ensured their dedication and diligence. They'd made sure he'd actually left and didn't simply circle back around to dock or Sherlock's ship, and when they were certain he was long gone, had set up post to make sure he just didn't wait them out before reporting back with the direction he was traveling in.
Luckily for the Crew of The Deduction and her Captain, Moran had been headed in the direction of a less known cove that was where Moriarty most certainly had to be hiding out, awaiting their move. There was no port on the entirety of Tortuga that would allow a British Royal Navy warship into its ports, and so he'd most certainly have been forced to drop anchor remotely and then paddle into the populated areas. And as laughable as that idea was, it was still unnerving to know that somewhere very close, The Westwood lie in wait for them to depart. Biding its time to spring out of the scenery and take them for all they were worth. The thought alone caused more panic in Sherlock than he'd felt since his brother had gone missing.
Combine that with the fact that he'd need to surely inform John where they were headed and why, not only to lie low for the duration of the journey, he couldn't come out whenever he chose, and you'd have the state Sherlock's inner mentality was taking on. Not that you'd be able to tell it from his cool exterior, of course. No, Sherlock was everything but emotionally expressive, especially in times like this. He thrived in stressful situations, his immense intellect flourishing and blossoming under adversity and the tension caused by straining conflict. Especially when dealing with the mad man James Moriarty.
He'd need to get the meeting with John done as soon as they were good and free of port then, so he didn't risk the Merman's safety.
"Headings, Captain?" Lestrade had asked him as they'd walked together back to port, the rest of the crew quickly filling in their stations around them. No one had drunk much, so there was no fear of human errors while sailing out, and for that Sherlock was glad. One less problem to deal with in the long run. "I need to know where you wish to sail."
"The Shivering Sands." Sherlock replied in a clipped manner as they strode down the dock together, over-seeing the last bit of supplies and rigging as they made their way on and off his ship. "We're headed West, far West. We need to go into hiding for a while, and I know no better place than those isles. Not only are they secure, they're also dangerous to navigate unless you know exactly what you're doing. I'm counting on Moriarty not knowing them like I or my brother do."
"Aye, Captain. I just wonder why you would pick such a...dangerous route for hiding. You know, it requires a run past several British Strongholds and what with being chased by Commandant Moriarty and all, I just think it is a bit, well, daft, Sir." Lestrade hedged cautiously, knowing full well how Moriarty's name affected his Captain, and being on edge already would certainly not go over well. "Why not simply go back to Baker Island?"
"Too obvious. If Moriarty has been watching our movements as well as I know he probably has, he'll be expecting us to go back to Baker Island, or any other number of similar places near there." Sherlock explained patiently, something as rare as a blue moon over the ocean. His own eyes were locked with the moonlit horizon. "No, we need to throw him off our trail and fast. I want to summon John before too long passes, and it has been nearly a week now. I do not wish to leave him afloat, as it were."
Lestrade chuckled a bit, the sound strained into the gently sea breeze. If anyone had asked about Sherlock Holmes' social skills a few months prior, even Lestrade who'd known him for years now, would have told you that he had practically none. Of course he cared for his crew, he wasn't a heartless bastard like some accused him of being, but he'd always been...inept in a way. Lacking, in unsure terms, that single spark that made all humans crave other social connections or interaction. But now only months after meeting John, look at him go! The Merman -who they all had thought was evil incarnate at first- had turned out to be exactly what Sherlock needed to remedy his broken soul.
And Lestrade was sure it had been broken.
He wasn't sure when it had happened, exactly, seeing as how Sherlock had been that way when they'd first met. Lestrade hadn't been with Sherlock since the beginning, since his break with England like Molly or Mike had been, and they swore up and down that he hadn't always been so ice cold. Brisk, being a lighter term, his mannerisms tight and controlled, tone dismissing and cutting, an icy barrier between himself and the world. Sherlock had been cut-off from the rest of life, it had seemed, and was one of the many reasons Gregory Lestrade had found himself tailing after the man into the midst of danger. Not long after Sherlock had asked him to be his first mate, and as they say, it was all history now.
Though it was probably all thanks to John, if he had to guess. And a part of him, a deep seated part that desired to be recognized by Sherlock for how intelligent or brave Lestrade really was, was jealous to just the tiniest degree of John and his unnatural ways. But the rest of him -the majority of him really- all of which was dedicated to the ship and her enigmatic Captain, knew that nothing could have been better for the man's wounded soul. Because unlike the crew or Sherlock or anyone Sherlock had ever known, except for maybe an infant, John was innocent and completely pure of heart, untainted by human horrors...
Well, for the most part anyways. And even though John had been shot, though by who they still didn't know, he had still approached Sherlock and the rest of the crew without overt fear or hostility. He'd saved Sherlock from drowning, for Pete's sake, and had done so out of the goodness of his soul. Sherlock didn't believe in souls, so he'd told Lestrade that imaging John having one was rubbish, but Lestrade firmly believed in them and would continue to do so until proved wrong. John had a beautiful soul, one that reached out to others and healed them. He'd healed Sherlock, after all, of that Lestrade had no doubt.
"Aye, Captain. But may I suggest waiting till we're underway? I know John can keep up with us, which he's clearly been doing, even at the fastest of sailing. He can probably swim to the ship while it is in move with ease." He could suggest the plan, Greg thought tightly. It couldn't hurt. "But we cannot stop if we're being followed. It would open us up to such attacks that I would fear for the lives of the crew and their Captain."
"Hm, perhaps you are right, Lestrade. I will default to your better judgement in these things." The Captain called over his shoulder as the boarded the ship, the lines being released deftly as they made their way back out to sea. "After all, that is why you are my First Mate."
"Of course, Captain." Lestrade replied with a smile, hands busy toying with the compass that rested at his hip. "Best keep me working or I'll end up as useless as one of Mrs. Hudson's cabbages!"
Sherlock smirked back, his boots clicking on the deck as he spun around, making his way up the stairs towards the helm and whoever was manning the station once they'd passed out of the bay and back into open ocean. If he meant to relay orders for their destination, he would have done so through Lestrade, but this...this was a different type of madness. Captain Holmes was planning on navigating the ship himself. He meant to take on the helm himself and drive them probably all to the brink of madness.
After all, he had said the way to The Shivering Sands were treacherous.
Lestrade had nothing but utter faith in his Captain.
