Chapter 12: There is No Where to Run~
John woke up, being rolled onto the shore in a huge whiskey barrel, that broke against a large rock upon impact. His head was spiraling, as much from the sea, as from dehydration, and the drug he was on.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock ,likewise being rolled in a large barrel, and when he made impact with the stone, he swaggered out on all fours, shivering like a half-lit chihuahua.
He was swearing under his breath at the pirates, trying to come up with some sort of curse that was bad enough to call them in English, and English failing him miserably, he started shouting at them in Turkish. Until he wavered, and wobbled, and turned to look at the island that opened before him, tucked in the Caribbean's shadow, like the circles of Dante in the midst of the sea.
"Neat!" he gasped, a sideways grin turning up the corners of his nostrils, making one eye to squint against the sinking sun.
"Right, you WOULD find being abducted by pirates, and being marooned on some drug test site/ abandoned tourist attraction to be NEAT!" John spat, spouting sea water rather than steam out of his ears.
For it was true. They were now stranded, not expecting any means of escape, on an unchartered island around 30 miles south west of Rochelais Reef, that used to be a heavily toured attraction, but was abandoned for "unknown reasons".
Unknown reasons being magic pipes full of Baskerville style hallucinogenics, sticking up every where there was a palm tree.
"This CASE, John! Thank you for having worthless parents, and a turn coat sister, it has proved to be anything but boring!" he cried, getting to his feet, folding sand encrusted hands together, like a mild-mannered child.
John knelt in the sand. If anybody but Sherlock had said such thoughtless words to him, he would be highly insulted right about now. But with Sherlock that was as close to a vote of confidence that everything happens for a reason, that one should look on the bright side, as well as highest compliment ,that one would ever get. In a twisted way, those tactless words lifted John's spirits, and he shook his head, easing himself to his feet.
"Yeah...a bit more boring...would be good, for a change." he said , clenching his lips together, as he stared into the chemical jungle.
It was almost indistinguishable from any other island, save that, when the wind blew, the reeds would bow over, revealing metal poles fixed unmoving to the ground.
"No, really!" Sherlock gasped, practically purring with laughter, " It's Christmas! Just wait till we bust all of this! How much fun this is going to be, John! We are currently the envy of every street junkie extant, with all of these hallucinations at our disposal!"
John sighed. Sherlock was giddy. The Pirates, particularly the Captain, were giving him very weird looks.
"Sorry. He's...he's always like this...it has nothing to do with the sun, or the barrel voyage, or the drugs, or the fact that you are probably the lousiest hosts since the crew of the Titanic." John sighed, looking the Captain straight in the eyes.
The Captain blinked, as if he was trying to process all this information. Could Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson be actually far greater Freaks than the entire Universe had forewarned him?!
Sherlock spun on his heel, ignoring John, with a childlike smile on his face,
"Right, Admiral. How much for the tour?"
"I wouldn't give them a silver paper wrapped chocolate nickel for it; it was an absolute RUBBISH cruse!" John spat, indignantly.
"Mr. Holmes...You do realize that you have been taken captive by the most powerful sea-witch yet in practice, as well as the chief executive of the current Rum Runners Guild, and his wife? There is nowhere to run, except the ocean. Nowhere to hide, except to kneel before the garish sun. It behooves me to tell you, that you are going to die here..." the Captain ventured.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, "First lesson in conversational English, never use such phrases as "behooves"; you're just asking for one of those little paper dunce caps they make the naughty children wear!" he mocked.
"Now, where is this "chief executive" / worthless excuse for John's father, that I don't know why he's still upset over, considering that he was only the sperm donor in the cause and effect of his very engineering, and John ,being the absolute perfection of the science that inspired "Man", is NOTHING like him, and shouldn't waste valuable energy or thought processes caring what he thinks, much less does?"
The pirates blinked, not really understanding this rapidly spoken tangent. But John did, and was actually so flattered by it, he felt that he might cry. He coughed, trying to hide the emotion.
"Yeah...right. Your boss. Take us to him. Please? So we can get this over with, SOME TIME TODAY?!" he snapped ,instead, giving Sherlock an odd look.
The Captain swallowed, "Right this way." he said, gesturing for them to follow him.
"Sperm donor? Really? Are you suggesting I was a test tube baby?" John whispered teasingly, elbowing Sherlock in the ribs.
"No, I was merely stating the quality of the status of your father's parentage of you. Which is about the quality of a random sperm donor, hence the idiom..." Sherlock's voice trailed off into oblivion, and John looked to the sky, rolling his eyes, and praying the God behind that overbearingly bright sun for some mercy on his behalf, at the absolute RIDICULOUSNESS of this situation, and at the thought of seeing his father again...
