A/N: I am so sorry this has been two and a half months since I updated – I couldn't get my mind back to it and then yesterday it was as if the floodgates opened & we have over 7000 words:P – actually it was closer to 9000 but I cut a lot:D There will be one more chapter for Part 1 and then I will take a wee break to figure out how I am going to get tem out of the mess I am about to send them into (more angst – yay) and there will be Part 2 but it will be in the same story:) Clear as mud.

Thanks mattsloved1 for giving it a quick glance so you guys don't have to wait for chapter 9:D

Titles and John's pledge come from and are inspired by the song Selkie by Tori Amos

9. Been Waiting on the Love of My Life

"He knows I am attempting to deceive him."

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "Hmmm. Difficult to explain but he knows. I know he knows. You won't have much time."

"Well, shit."

"Succinct."

They were standing on the deck. Sherlock had felt it would sound more authentic to Mycroft if he were outside, but all John could think was that the sun on his hair brought out hidden glimmers of Auburn. The wind was playing with his curls, and John wanted to reach up and run his hand through them. Sherlock was looking at him with a worried expression. John turned his head and looked out over the ocean, not sure if it was to hide from him what was going on in his head. The blue water in the Basin sparkled with traces of green and twinkled at him the same way Sherlock's eyes did. He cleared his throat and turned back.

"How much time do you think we have?"

It was Sherlock's turn to stare out over the water. John tried very hard not to drink in the profile of the man, but he couldn't have stop if he'd wanted.

"We will have less than 24 hours. I suspect Mycroft has agents in Canada but whether or not he mistrusted me enough to place them close at hand is another story. I've never given him cause to shadow me in the past so I doubt they will be near. Until today, I would have said he trusted me above all others. That will have changed."

"Does that bother you?"

"No. In fact it makes me feel rather," he paused and moved his mouth as if he were trying out different, unfamiliar words, "encouraged."

"Encouraged?"

"Yes, because now he doesn't know what to expect from me. That may give us the element of surprise and perhaps buy us some time."

"Us?" John didn't realize his voice had softened, but Sherlock heard it.

He smiled, and it changed his face from looking almost as if his features didn't fit, to beautiful. He glowed in the sun, and John clenched his fists so he wouldn't touch what didn't belong to him.

"I have promised you I would not hurt Molly. I will never hurt Molly. It would extend to ensuring no others hurt her, either. I will do my best to help you escape my brother and his plans."

John swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Can you…do you know what they want with Molly?"

"You won't like it."

"I don't already. Tell me."

"He was very interested in her DNA. The combination of your DNA and Mary's made her unique. He believes she would make a formidable weapon. If he could train her from a young age and make her his, he could use her in many capacities. He could also potentially use her as a bodyguard." He turned even paler as he said this. John had a flash of insight.

"Is that what he did with you?"

Sherlock blinked, a shudder went through his frame, and he nodded, clipped and short. "Yes."

"I won't let him touch her."

"Nor will I."

"All right. We need to gather the Kin, and we need to get out of here."

"John, he will find you. He will find you wherever you go."

"No. He won't. He does not control the sea." John turned to go, and Sherlock reached out and grabbed his sleeve.

"He will still find you."

John pursed his lips. "Maybe, but it's our best place to regroup and come up with a plan. You can't come where we are going." He said it, small and quiet and surely Sherlock heard the regret in his voice. Some badass tough guy he turned out to be.

"I don't know much about your ways, but what about Molly? She can't be old enough for such a journey."

"Journey? Yes, I guess we will have to go far. Scary how you figure those things out. The less you know what we are capable of, the better. He will want you back as well. He will catch you and make you talk."

"Yes, he will want me back. I'm not entirely sure if he will want me alive in the end, but he will question me before hand. You would be wise to prevent me from hearing your plans." There was a look of vulnerability on his face. John was fairly sure he hadn't looked like that for years.

"Let's see what we can do about that."

"Be realistic. Your family has no reason to trust me. I have no illusions in thinking you do, either."

In a normal world, on a normal mission there would be no way John would have ever trusted Sherlock. He certainly wouldn't have believed him if Molly didn't. But also something else was happening to him the longer he stayed in Sherlock's presence. He felt the beginnings of a blush, and he was sure his thoughts were visible on his face. "Molly trusts you. That will have to be good enough. I will, however, have to return you to the basement. As much for us as for you. There is no way my family will want you in the same room with them no matter what I believe."

"Do you have something, anything I can read? It's incredibly monotonous being in that room."

John laughed a short bark-like sound. "I'm sure we can find something. Come on."

Once they were inside, John would tell Harry to start making phone calls to the family and to pass the word. They had always had a contingency plan in place in case of discovery and there was a place for them to hide that John was certain no one would know about, not even the great Mycroft Holmes, not even in this day and age of computer technology and tracking systems.

The family had bought several islands along the Nova Scotia coastline. Many people did not realize just how many hundreds of small islands there were. They had paid cash, and the property had changed hands several times or had been purchased with fake ids. It would not be a permanent destination for them, but it would be a place for them to go until they were able to find a new home. There would be some who would not wish to go, those whose blood ran deepest and longest in this land, far from their original ancestors back in the British Isles but they would not hesitate to leave if it endangered their way of life.

"Let's go and tell my father he needs to leave his home." John sighed but then smiled, a deep and natural smile, the first real one he'd had in a long time. He couldn't tell but his face lit up from within, and Sherlock noticed the warmth in John's eyes. He was puzzled for John had been angry and scared for the better part of the last couple of days, angry with Sherlock and scared for his daughter. This expression was confusing.

Sherlock wasn't the only one who noticed John's smile.

Looking out from a small window on the landing, Jack Watson had been spying on his son and the creature sent to kill them, watching to make sure he didn't need to intervene. What he saw in his son's expression as he talked to this Holmes person stirred memories from deep inside.

"Dammit boy! What are you playing at?" he scowled and crossed his arms. If what was happening between his son and that foul creature was what he thought was happening, there'd be hell to pay.

oOo

John took Sherlock back to the room in the basement. He'd grabbed a few books and a magazine or two on his way down. He smiled at Sherlock before apologizing again for having to lock him in once more.

Sherlock sat on the bed, bemused at John's recent reactions. The man was an enigma and full of surprises. He had gone from threatening to dump Sherlock in the ocean to smiling warmly at him and apologizing for keeping him captive. Some reverse Stockholm Syndrome only it had been just a couple of days, and it's not like John had been trying to be pleasant before that.

Sherlock leaned back and picked up a book at random. It was titled The Treasure of Oak Island. It promised buried pirate treasure and an ancient mystery.

A faded memory of playing at pirates floated up, and he smiled softly to himself. His buried treasure of memories was slowly coming back to him. Perhaps one day he'd unearth them all.

oOo

John came back up the stairs, closed the basement door and stood there, quietly contemplating. He almost didn't hear his father come up to him.

"We need to talk."

"Yes, we do. Sherlock believes his brother knows something is up and he knows he's lying to Mycroft. He feels it is only a matter of time before he descends on us. I think we should call a meeting of the Kin and get out of here. Fall back to one of the islands and regroup."

"Oh Sherlock does, does he? How bloody convenient then."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you think it's odd that he suddenly is all tame and accommodating? Haven't you learned anything about wild animals, boy? You can't turn your back on one for a second."

"Dad, what's this about?" And here he'd thought they were beginning to get along. Showed what he knew.

"You are a stupid fool!" Jack stormed off to the living room. Harry, who had been in the kitchen and had overheard the conversation, came out and raised her eyebrows at John. He shook his head at her, just as mystified as his sister. He followed Jack to the other room. He wasn't sure what had gotten him wound up but they needed to make plans, and they needed to move fast. No matter what snit Jack was in.

"Dad, seriously, we don't have much time." He found Jack sitting in a chair, arms crossed and glowering in John's direction.

"I don't have to listen to a word you are saying, boy. I am the head of the Kin in these parts, not you, and the way you are carrying on you're never likely to be, so don't be ordering me about."

"If this is about Sherlock…"

"Sherlock, is it? How come you are so chummy with the man, if we can call him a man, more like a wild animal he is?"

"You're one to talk."

Jack stood, his whole body vibrating with anger. He stepped into John's space. "What have you two been up to down there? What filthy and unholy debauchery is going on behind my back?"

Harry stepped further into the room. "Dad, what…"

"Get out of here. Bad enough your carryings on, turning your back on a natural relationship between man and woman, but now your brother too. How am I suppose to get grandchildren with the two of you acting like this?"

"In case you've forgotten, you have grandchildren. You have Greg's girls and Simon's boy, and apparently you seem to forget about Molly, who is living right here in your house."

"I thought I told you to leave, girl."

Harry stood her ground and crossed her arms. She wouldn't have been pleased if someone had pointed out that she looked uncannily like her father at this moment. "We have names, you know."

"Out!"

"No, she stays. Whatever is going on with you, affects her just as much as me. What the hell are you talking about?" John stood confronting his father with the quiet command. He was just as intimidating as his father, but he didn't have to bluster and bare his fangs the way Jack did. At this moment, he was in better control of his emotions. He didn't want a repeat of his unleashed anger causing havoc.

"You have no idea do you?"

"Not really, no."

"You have gone and found yourself a soul mate, you stupid boy."

'What?" replied John, blinked at his father. He wasn't sure he had heard him correctly. He did hear Harry's quiet gasp.

"You and that…that thing downstairs. And not even a proper match. You and your unnatural ways. That's what comes of meddling and leaving your Kin!" he was shouting so loudly John was sure they could hear him across the Basin.

"I don't have a clue what you're going on about. But as for trusting Sherlock, yes, I believe I do, and I do because Molly does. She says she fixed him, that he isn't the same, and I trust her."

"She's five. What the hell does she know?"

"A lot more than you, it appears. And I don't know what fool idea you have in your head, but nothing, and I mean nothing is going on between Sherlock and me."

Jack narrowed his eyes and appraised what he saw in John's face and what he heard in John's voice. "Maybe not yet, but you want something to happen. I recognize the signs."

"Of what?"

"I told you, a soul bonding. You and that thing, the way you look at him and even now your voice so full of regret. You want him."

John stood there, not sure what to say or do. His father wasn't wrong, he did want Sherlock, wanted him bad, but that was not going to happen. Not here and now when so much else was at stake.

John gritted his teeth. "Even if I did want him, even if I wanted to take him to my bed, I will not, not with my wife newly dead and my five-year-old upstairs sharing a room with me. Besides the fact that Mycroft Holmes is on his way with a team of highly trained agents looking to take my daughter and turn her into a weapon. He will kill anyone who stands in his way, you, me, Harry, all of us. He doesn't care about your leadership or your position. You are no more than a thing to him, a thing to be used or harvested. Do you understand? The way you think about Sherlock is the way he thinks about us."

"He is welcome to try."

"Right, I can see you are going to be just as pig-headed as ever. Harry, start making calls. Tell the Kin we're in danger and if they want to live they needed to get out of here, hide their trail and go to water."

Harry made to move. Jack barked her name. She glared back at him over her shoulder. "Just so you know Dad, you can't order me around anymore." She left, and John could hear her in the kitchen begin the long list of calls she would be making.

"You are more than welcome to join us. In fact, it would be a good idea if you did, because when Mycroft gets here if he doesn't kill you, he will torture you to find out what you know. We will rendezvous at one of the islands if you change your mind, but I won't tell you where we're going after that."

John went into the kitchen to talk to Harry. She was in the middle of dialling but put the phone down when he started talking. "Call Greg in and tell him to leave his boat here and get his family and we'll start with that. I am sure he's smart enough to go with us. Simon and Jenny, too and Mike. Call them and tell them to spread the word. We will leave at first light."

She grabbed his arm. "What Dad said, about the soul mate stuff? You need to get that sorted before we go. There's stuff I know that you don't. You think there isn't time, but you need to go downstairs and do something about it, right now." There was an almost hysterical edge to her voice John seldom heard.

"Are you kidding? There's nothing going on, Harry."

"John, I mean it. It's just as serious as what you told Dad. If you two are bonding, you need to figure it out sooner rather than later."

"What the hell do you expect me to do?"

"If you don't, John, it's not good to refuse a bond. Look, you need to get Molly ready to go, and then you need to take that man out into the water, and you need to bond with him. If you don't if you deny a soul bond, the ocean will turn it's back on you. It's a gift, see and you'll throw it in its face by not accepting it."

"This man just developed the ability to feel, and you want me to say, 'Hey guess what. We get to have sex.' I cannot believe I am having this conversation with my sister."

"John, you know Dad left his first wife and Greg and Simon. He left them because he had to. He had a soul bond with Mum, instantly. He had no choice. It didn't matter if he lost face because of it. You don't either. How is this any weirder than all the stuff you've been through?"

He opened his mouth to say something to her, shut it and tried again.

"What am I suppose to do?"

"Why that's the easy part, John. You just bring him to the ocean, and you give him your skin to hold."

oOo

John had left Harry calling their sib out the back door and jogged up the stairs. He had to pass his father in the living room to do so, and he could feel his glare on his back like hot daggers. He went into the room he shared with Molly and dug around at the back of the closet. Inside there was a special waterproof overnight bag. All selkie families had several. He started gathering essential items they would need; a few changes of clothes, a couple of sweaters, extra socks and pants, Molly's favourite stuffed toy, toothbrushes. Inside a smaller waterproof pouch, he put in the money he had on him, both pounds and dollars, and their passports and the like. He then took out a pair of jeans for Molly to change into, a long sleeve t-shirt and her wellies and raincoat. It would be cold on the water, and he wasn't sure what the island held it the way of shelter. It had been a long time since he'd been out to them.

He then changed into similar clothing. As he was changing, he looked at his hands. He was still wearing his wedding band. He thought for a minute and then removed it and put it in the small pouch along with the few pieces of jewelry that had belonged to Mary.

He looked out the window and could see Molly out back on the hammock. He stood looking at his daughter and thought about what had to happen. He had just uprooted her from the only home she'd ever know, and he was about to take her away from here, too. He wanted to talk to her again about Sherlock, but how the hell do you ask a five-year-old that. The words his father and sister had thrown at him were bouncing around in his head, and he was utterly confused.

He left the bedroom and went down and out to the garden.

"Hey Molls, can I talk to you?" She looked up when he called her name and smiled at him. His heart clenched.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Molly, when you look at Sherlock now, what do you see?"

She thought for a moment and said, "Do you mean does he glow?"

"Yes, sweetie, does he glow?"

"Yes, he didn't before, but it was buried underneath, it hadn't gone not like Mummy's."

"So he had it with him all the time?"

"Uh huh."

"What does it look like?"

She thought a moment. "Kinda like yours, blue and gold, but with flashes of green. When you were on the porch, you were glowing very bright."

"Me?"

"Both of you."

"Okay."

"Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to marry Sherlock?"

John stood there making what he was sure was a great impression of a fish. "Wh…why do you say that?"

"'Cause you glow more, you both look happy. Not before when you were mad at him, but now you both looked happy."

John cleared his throat. "Ummm…would you be mad at me if I married Sherlock?"

She shrugged.

Good lord, he, though, how does one do this? Her mother is dead less than a week for crying out loud. How do I accept this? When this is over, and I am somewhere quiet, I am going to have a small mental break down.

"Molly, I…umm. I think I need to ask you if it is okay if Sherlock and if we…oh for Pete's sake if I were to marry Sherlock." He said it in a rush, muttered and slurred and he wasn't sure she understood him.

"Will Sherlock live with us?"

"I guess so. I haven't talked to him yet. I wanted to ask you first."

"Do you still love Mummy?"

"Sweetheart, I will always love your mum. She gave me you and she was a part of me, but now there's Sherlock." God, is she going to understand how fast this is?

Molly was looking at him with a strange expression. "He's your missing part. He's the part you were looking for only you didn't know it."

"What?"

"You loved Mummy, and she will always be my mummy, but Sherlock is yours. He's a bit mine too, so that's okay. Can I tell him?"

"Whoa, hold up there a minute. No, sorry love, that's my job. He doesn't know anything about this, and I have to show him first. I'm not sure he will be as accepting as you are."

"Are you going to take him to the ocean and have it bless you?"

"Good Lord, Molly, where do you get these ideas?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. If you bring him to the ocean, he'll understand."

"All right, okay. Well, that was not what I expected. Umm, so I am going to talk to Sherlock, but then sweetie, we are going to have to leave Grandpa's and hide from the men who are coming here."

"Grandpa's mad at you isn't he?"

"Yes, I think he is."

"I heard him shouting. He doesn't like Sherlock."

"Well no, I don't think he does. I don't think he understands about Sherlock and me."

"That's stupid."

John laughed. "Yeah, well, things were different when Grandpa was growing up, so it's hard for him.

"Well he should 'cause he had a soul mate and now you have a soul mate and he should understand that you don't say no."

"How do you know all these things?"

"The ocean tells me. It would tell you too if you'd listen."

"Okay, well, all right. You had better come in now and see if there's anything else you want to bring with you. I, uh, I'm going to ask Sherlock to marry me, I guess." What the hell? It wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened so far today, this week, in his life.

oOo

Sherlock had spent the afternoon looking through the books John had given him. He was a fast reader, and they weren't scholarly tomes. John had obviously not looked at them carefully when he handed them to Sherlock. The one about the supposed lost treasure buried on nearby Oak Island had made him feel a little nostalgic as he read it. After a few chapters, he put the book down, memories of his faithful dog Redbeard were clamouring up to the surface. He felt the unaccustomed welling of tears in his eyes. Apparently he was still emotionally compromised and didn't feel he could read about pirates at this time. He then glanced at the other titles and settled in with a book about botany. That was less stressful.

It was also not nearly as engaging as he had hoped; he found his mind beginning to wander. That was unusual. He was normally extremely focussed and had no problem reading something in which he was interested. It was possible he was still adapting to the new him. Molly had changed him profoundly.

It wasn't about Molly he was thinking. Every time his mind drifted it was John whose face crowded his thoughts; John full of righteous anger, John taking Molly out of the room, John standing in the sun on the deck whilst he spoke with Mycroft, the little thrill of electricity that had run through him when John had put his hand on his arm. He had wanted to feel it again, so he had reached out to stop John, to grab his arm, but had only caught hold of his sleeve. The way the sun shone on his head and then he had smiled. That smile, when he lit up from within, and his whole face glowed. It was all Sherlock could do to stand there and not place his hands on John's face and…

He frowned. And what? What did one do? It's not like he was a virgin. He had certainly had sex. A bright burning shame filled him. He had not had sex he had not made love. He had used and abused people. It's what he had wanted to do to John, back, before.

Now…

Now he wanted to hold John, he wanted to touch him and kiss him. He wanted to make love to John, slow and gentle and have him reciprocate.

Stupid, stupid, stupid man. John wants nothing to do with you. You are like a lovesick teenager. You know nothing about the art of love.

He closed his eyes and tears trickled out of the corners. Before he could get worked up and lose control of this new flood of emotion a calm filled him. He could hear, when he concentrated, the sound of the ocean and the play of waves on the beach. It was odd, though. He shouldn't be able to hear it down here. The walls were too thick.

The door rattled, and he sat up. John entered the room.

"Hi, I just came down to tell you something."

He appeared oddly flustered, and he couldn't quite make eye contact with Sherlock. He knows. He knows how I feel and he wants nothing to do with me.

"Something has happened, and there's something I need to tell you, but I don't quite know how."

Sherlock sat up and tried to appear attentive, but his heart was hammering so loudly he could no longer hear the waves.

"Your father is angry, and you are planning on leaving by morning if not sooner. He is not happy about your plans and he is upset about something else." Sherlock frowned at John, not sure he was seeing what he was seeing.

"You know you and Molly should get an act and go on tour. How the hell do you know all that? No, wait, never mind there isn't time. All right. Yes. We are leaving. We are going to go and hide someplace for a few days and then move somewhere else. I wanted to know if you'd come with us." John was definitely blushing. Why was he blushing? A thrill was building up inside of him. He didn't want to think what he was thinking incase he was wrong; he hated being wrong.

"But you shouldn't take me, I could endanger you."

"Well see, here's the thing. I think you are supposed to come with us. I can't leave you behind to fall into your brother's hands. For one thing, Molly wouldn't like it and for another, well, I, uh, wouldn't like it."

Sherlock said nothing, only continued to stare at John.

"So can I show you something?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, come with me."

Sherlock stood up off of the bed and followed John up the stairs. The house seemed quiet although he could hear Molly and John's sister Harry talking upstairs, faint and hushed. There was no sign of Jack Watson. A vague disquiet flowed through him, but he dismissed it when he saw John was waiting for him at the door, holding it open. He had two beach towels in his hands. He had this look on his face, both pleading and trusting that made Sherlock's stomach flip. He didn't know what was going on, but there was something about John that made him want to trust him badly. He followed John out the door and down to the garden. He was leading him down the driveway and across the road. Dusk was descending rather rapidly, and impossible colours of a glorious sunset painted the sky. Because of the direction of the house, the sun was behind them and hidden by large pine trees and it made it darker here earlier.

John led him across the road. The day had been warm, and he could feel the heat of the road through his shoes. They walked out onto the dock. John stopped at the end and then turned in Sherlock's direction. The light was fading, and it was getting harder to see John clearly. The moon wouldn't be up until later, but the stars were coming out, becoming more visible as the sun descended.

"It's beautiful here."

"Yes, it is. I missed it. Only I didn't know I had missed it."

There was something in John's voice, his words vibrated on Sherlock's skin, and anticipation was building up making his blood thrum. He wasn't sure what was about to happen, but it felt momentous.

"Sherlock, I know this has been strange for you. All of this. It's been strange for all of us."

"It has been incredible, John."

"What was it like? Before?"

"Before Molly fixed me? You wouldn't have liked me. I was cold and brutal, a foul and base creature full of vile thoughts and deeds. I can't believe I am the same person." A shudder ran through his frame. "It was my brother's doing. I know that much. He, he changed me somehow. I was different when I was younger. More like Molly, I'd like to think." He shrugged. "I have much to pay for, the crimes of my past, but so does he."

"He ordered Mary's death."

"Yes, he did."

"Why?"

"He had reasons."

"Sherlock."

It was all John needed to say. He told him everything he knew, from the files Mycroft kept on them.

"He wanted Mary eliminated because he knew she was going over to an enemy government, hiring herself out, partly for revenge. She was changing. John, I read her file. The experiments they had put her through made her different."

"Was there another reason?"

"Yes. He wanted Molly. He thought you would be more malleable with Mary out of the way, with a dead wife and being a single parent. He doesn't understand the love a parent has for a child. Who would you turn to but the Agency? They took you in and gave you a home. You are still valuable to him. Or you were. I am not sure he will want you alive now. He will definitely want Molly."

John collapsed to the dock. Sherlock watched not sure what to do. He could make out John's shoulders. They were heaving and then he heard a sound.

"Oh!" He moved over to where John was, and he knelt down beside him. He thought about Molly and what she had shown him and he put his hands on John's shoulders. An electric thrill ran through him. He thought the wind must have picked up because it seemed as if the waves were crashing harder on the shore.

John cried deep, shuddering sobs and even though Sherlock's knees were beginning to hurt he didn't move. Instead, he found himself getting closer to John and somehow John's head was on his chest, and he had turned sideways and Sherlock had wrapped his arms around his body. It felt warm and right, and Sherlock lifted his hand to run it through John's hair.

"I am sorry, John. I know this has been a shock. I don't want to tell you this, but you need to know. The Agency planned for you to have children. They were hoping that by having their more talented agents have families they could raise an army of special children. She did love you and Molly, but the experiments were driving her mad. She would have turned on you if she hadn't left."

John raised his hand and wiped his eyes. "I can't believe you are saying sorry."

Sherlock felt his stomach tighten. John was angry with him. He shouldn't have said that. He didn't understand these feelings well enough.

But then John lifted his hand and touched Sherlock's face, and he looked at John and he could see that he wasn't angry with him; his expression was soft and full of wonder.

"You are the most remarkable thing I have ever seen. Did you know that?" John's voice was barely a whisper, barely loud enough to be heard over the waves, but he did. He leaned closer, not quite knowing what to do so he mimicked John's touch and stroked his face.

John laid his hand over Sherlock's and pressed it to his cheek.

"Come. I want to show you something."

He stood, and he began to strip off his clothes. Sherlock's heart began beating a little faster, and he felt strangely lightheaded. Very quickly John was naked, but before he could really make out anything, John turned and dove into the water. His dive was perfect, and he made very little splash. Sherlock stood, walked to the end of the dock and stared into the water. He got there in time to see John surface and brush the hair off of his face.

"Come in Sherlock. It's cold, but I think you would like it."

Sherlock hesitated. There was a jangle of nervous energy, and he didn't know what to do with his hands. And then he could see John was looking at him, wide-eyed and trusting. He knew he had to. His clothes quickly joined the pile of John's and stood there, self-consciously, his hands over his privates.

John called up to him. "There's a ladder at the end of the dock. Climb down and come in."

Sherlock nodded and lowered himself slowly into the water. It was cold, but it was invigorating, and he found himself slipping into the water easily. "You should know I don't swim very well."

"That's okay. Come over here to the side of the dock; it's a little shallower here."

Sherlock dog paddled over until his toes brushed the rocks and sand of the Basin bottom. He stood; the water was up to his waist.

"Okay stand there and don't move."

"All right."

John ducked under the water and was gone long enough that if Sherlock hadn't known what John was, he would have started to worry.

He felt something brush his leg, and he let out a shriek. He was not sure he liked this. A moment later a head surfaced, and he could make out the dog-shaped head of a seal.

"John?"

The seal slapped a flipper down on the water, and it splashed him a little,

"Stop that!"

The seal came closer and nudged his hand as if apologizing. He bobbed his head up and down at Sherlock and slowly circled around him, occasionally brushing him lightly with a flipper. Sherlock reached out and tentatively touched John's fur. It was coarser than he had thought it would be, although it was also, oddly, smooth and sleek from the water. Another shock travelled through him.

The seal was moving around him in a slow circle, occasionally brushing him with a flipper, small touches, more curious than anything. Sherlock was self-conscious of his nudity but not as much as he had been when John was human. He reached out again, and his fingers skimmed along the brown, wet back of the seal. The thrill he kept experiencing with each touch was stronger. He noticed the water didn't feel as cold as it had when he first entered, and the air was warm enough that he shouldn't be shivering, but he was. The skin on his stomach tightened, and his mouth felt dry. The hum that he had heard ever since he had woken up the first time in this house was louder. He followed the progress of the seal and saw him dive again under the water. John came up flinging his hair back and stood.

"Sherlock," he said, his voice lower than he'd ever heard it. "I want to give you something."

"Yes?"

"I want to lay my skin at your feet and have you wrap me in your embrace. I want you to take up my skin, fold it and place it in your heart. I want you to join with me. I know my shores are not like yours, but will you make a home with me in the ocean?"

The words didn't seem like something John would usually say; they didn't seem like a learned piece; they were a proposal and a pledge, both ancient and new.

"Yes John," was all he could say in return. John waded closer to Sherlock and raised his hand. He trailed it up Sherlock's chest, one finger following the goose bumps raised on his flesh. He brushed over his nipples and Sherlock jumped a bit. John was following the course of his hands watching were they led. He then laid his hand flat over Sherlock's heart.

"Your heart and mine are one. This is a blessing from the ocean." He stepped closer and Sherlock could feel the warmth from his skin near his own. John laid his other hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and leaned close, so close he could feel his breath on his damp skin as he spoke into the crease where his shoulder met his neck.

"I want to kiss you."

"You may.

"I don't want to alarm you."

"You don't."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You can't."

"May I touch you?"

"You already have." And Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him close. He could feel him, from their mouths to their chest to their cocks both full and hard, pressing against each other, warm, skin to skin, kissing not just with their mouths, embracing, not just with their arms. He crushed John's mouth with his own. John opened his mouth, inviting, and their tongues touched tentative and then bold and Sherlock didn't think after that. His brain, always so noisy, always thinking just experienced this moment, let it happen.

There was no sound except the water and the wind. In the shadow of the dock, there were no eyes to pry and watch this most ancient and sacred of acts. John's hands were both gentle and firm, and he moved them everywhere, never lingering on one spot long, but sweeping, pulling Sherlock with him, rocking with him like the waves, heightening his pleasure, all of his pleasure, it was for him. John was giving him the gift of his skin on his own. Sherlock had never been held like this in the embrace of his lover nor by the embrace of the ocean. The water lapped at him, and John moved with him. His hands much smaller than Sherlock's, finally, finally reached under the water and grasped them both. Sherlock was panting now, his breath coming out in gasps. John leaned into his chest and left open mouth kisses on his inflamed skin. Sherlock moved his hips in time with John's thrusts, and it wasn't long before he was crying out, spent, the sound seemed much louder, here on the water as it was reflected back. John shouted soon after, quieter than Sherlock's, his seed joining his in the salty water, mixing together, an offering. He wasn't sure where from where that thought had come. He wrapped his arms around John, once more, pulled him close, once more and never wanted to let him go.

John grinned, tiredly. "Well, I've never tried that before."

Sherlock touched John's cheek. It had become darker while they had made love and the light from the stars seemed caught in John's eyes. He gasped because his eyes almost glowed. Even though he couldn't see him clearly, he was as beautiful as the night sky, standing there, cloaked in the dark and water.

Sherlock kissed him, softer than before, gentle and warm, small kisses, each lingering longer than the one before, each one wanting to tell John of his feelings, passing them to him like treasures from the sea. And John, beautiful John, kissed him back, his hands wrapped firmly around Sherlock's waist, pulling him closer to him as if he were trying to drag him under his skin and join them together.

The air was beginning to lose its warmth and John murmured it was time to go; they had much to do. He swam the short distance to the ladder and climbed, Sherlock got an excellent view of John's backside, and John laughed at him as he helped him up the ladder. There were more touches and kisses as they dried each other off, and as they helped each other into their clothes. John picked up the wet towels and held his hand out to Sherlock, who took his smaller hand in his own.

"John, I never…that is to say…no one has ever touched me like that." He felt his skin burn with shame as he thought once more of the past and his treatment of others.

"Shh, that's behind you. You couldn't help who you use to be." He brushed Sherlock's wet hair out of his eyes and looked up at him. "Promise me, Sherlock, promise me you will learn to forgive yourself?"

"I will try, but John there are so many memories, so many horrors buried in here," he pointed to his head, "I don't know if I can."

"Then I will help you." He stood up on his toes and kissed Sherlock on the mouth once more before they walked back across the road, hand in hand.

They paused for a moment on the other side, and John looked back at the ocean whilst Sherlock looked above at the night sky. There was such a thick scattering of stars above their heads it looked like a picture from a book he barely remembered from when he was a child. He thought of the way the author had described the night sky, and he heard himself saying, "'And the stars were scattered across the sky, like jewels thrown at the feet of God. If he reached up, he would have brushed them with his hand, and they would have fallen to the earth.'"

"That's beautiful. What's that from?"

"I can't remember. It just popped into my head." He turned and could see John silhouetted by the light reflected off of the water. Across the Basin, the summer cottages were strung with lights, and faint voices could be heard.

Oddly he could still hear a hum, but it seemed to be getting louder and was not coming from the ocean but the trees.

He frowned. There were odd lights coming in the direction of the humming. "Do you hear that?"

John glanced at Sherlock and then toward the lights. He recognized that sound and it filled him with dread.

"They're coming," he said to Sherlock, as two helicopters came into view over the tree line.