Thanks to FallOutGrl, Celeryy, ThisLooksLikeAJobForMe, BeatnikFreak, PhoenixCrystal, Coloradoandcolorado1, Mutebanana, Rory'sFan, Ktmt1120, Conchepcion, Elliesmeow, Almecestris, Nocturnias, Mrs Dizzy, and Voldemort's Spawn for their reviews!
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John awoke to the sensation of fingers trailing across his scar, soothing the muscles that bunched up painfully every night. He hummed approval, and the hand pressed deeper into his flesh, working out the knots.
"That's nice," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tighter to keep out the dawn. "Early riser?"
"Can't lose the habit, too many years with too much to do on my ship." A warm pair of lips ghosted over John's shoulder. "Downey's already been banging at the door, he's gashed his foot. I told him to shove off for a while longer."
"Thanks, Greg." Unable to hold onto the morning haze any longer, John sat up in bed, the blanket pooling around his waist. Lestrade had already been up and donned his trousers. A shame, he thought.
He smiled as Greg continued kissing across John's scar. "Have a liking for it, do you?"
"I have a liking for all of you," he replied, wrapping his arms around John for a brief kiss. His concerned brown eyes searched his lover's face. "Regrets?"
John responded with a long kiss of his own that had Lestrade nudging him back down onto his back.
"I can't believe I fell for that 'Show me your scar' angle," John said with a laugh as Lestrade knelt between his thighs, clad only in trousers still. He's so different from Tommy, John thought with a touch of guilt. His first love had been pale and freckled, lanky with youth and exuberance.
Greg was broader, thicker, with heavier muscles in his legs and arms. Silver mixed with his brown hair all over and John found he didn't mind. He'd developed a few grey patches himself, since getting shot. He was older now, marked by the years, and so was Lestrade.
Greg was sturdy and kind, but when he bent his head to nip at John's neck and take his mouth, he had no doubt that the man was genuine in his passion. He was as alive as Tommy had been, with the same optimism and impetuous pursuit of John.
John felt the haunting slip away a bit more. Tommy would always have some piece of him, that first memory of love, but he found that his heart was not divided. Instead his love grew larger, with new parts that were slowly belonging to Greg.
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Basil banged the door open unannounced, hauling in a tray and dropping it on the table. He whistled a sea shanty tune while pouring a cup of water.
Molly groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. "Knock, Basil! Females require privacy." Her thighs ached from the prolonged time she'd spent the night before riding Sherlock. She had wrung countless love words from him with her flexing and wetness before she'd been content to let him come inside her. She giggled with the memory of her cheerful teasing.
Basil shrugged at Molly's modesty and moved around the room, scooping dirty clothes off the floor and putting a book back in the trunk.
Molly rubbed her eyes, realizing how roomy the bed was. She drew the covers down to her neck.
"Is Sherlock in his lab, or above deck?"
"Lots to do, miss. Bad times comin', they say." Basil frowned, and slammed the trunk shut. He brushed his hands on his britches and ran out of the room before Molly could question him further.
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"Did you sleep at all?"
"Three hours. More than enough. Too much, there's too much to be done. I shouldn't have wasted that time." Sherlock's face was grim as he mixed together gunpowder with an unnamed solution. "I should have sent you away. Bermuda, yes Bermuda would have worked. Stupid, stupid of me." He banged together vials of fluid, cursing when one shattered. He sniffed it, and then his shoulders relaxed as the liquid appeared to be safe.
He whipped around. "Go. Back to quarters. Or above. Quarters are better. I can't think with you here. I need to work. Go."
Sherlock's eyes never met hers; his world was his lab now. Molly stepped back, trying to not feel wounded by his disregard. She was learning. He would be like this for a day or two, and then he would come back to her. Unless he really did want to send her away...
"Sherlock? Do you-"
"I said, GO. Why do people not listen to me? Bloody damned hell. Leave me alone."
Molly stared at his back for a few seconds before spinning around and walking stiffly up the stairs.
Fifty-five minutes later, Sherlock lifted his head from his mixtures and considered that he may have been more abrupt than he intended with Molly. Perhaps. It was so hard to tell. He couldn't be bothered to deduce the nuances of people's feelings when Moriarty was coming for them any hour. He brushed away the thought of Molly and his hand flew between the glass containers and measuring implements. If I could infuse more sulfur with the powder, then it would take less fire to ignite, quicker, more dangerous but more useful in an attack…Sherlock's mind raced with scenarios that might help compensate for the Hudson's reduced stores and weaker firepower. There was just too much to be done, no competent master gunner to help deploy his inventions, and no way of knowing when time was up. The crew had no idea how close they were to perdition.
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The tension rippled through the crew, who slowly became aware that they were vulnerable. They'd only had to worry about the slow navy ships until encountering Captain Hope. Now they had to worry about proper pirates, who took rich hauls and didn't waste time and money on research when they could be plundering.
John noticed the discomfort and worried faces as he strolled to the galley to grab a bite between patients. Chase always accommodated his off eating hours because of his position, but he would still be unpleasant about it. Gearing up for the usual gruff food negotiation with the cook, he was distracted by the sight of a glum Anderson sitting at the long meal table, drinking ale. The sailing master had apparently tried to shave his beard and made a right mess of it, with small cuts dotting his newly shorn cheeks.
The man's rodent-like appearance was not improved by the revealing of his weak chin and the patches of rashy, scaled skin on his face.
"Good morning, Anderson. Interesting time for a new look. It…suits you." The lie stuck in John's throat.
"Do you think so?" His voice was so forlorn John had to fight the urge to laugh. "Got tired of m'beard. Never grew in full, anyhow. Though Dono- that woman said different."
"Ah." So he was shaving his beard in defiance of his friend who's abandoned them. He'd seen stranger behavior in men. "You know, she fooled everyone. She's cunning."
"She fooled even the captain then?" Anderson looked up hopefully.
"Well…no." Sherlock had confirmed his longtime knowledge of Donovan's gender after they'd returned to the Hudson. John felt a flash of pity for the downtrodden sailing master. "But he sees more than we do. She was bloody good at dressing and walking like a man. And hey, she was your friend, from what I saw. Seems like she did what she had to do. No harm done. Except us being without a master gunner now when Moriarty's wanting to kill us all…"
"Yeah, that's ill luck. She ain't natural, is she. Passing herself off as a man, living amongst men, kissing on other females in an intimate way. That's an abomination. Thank the Lord I've got a proper wife back in London." He wrinkled his nose, and his beady dark eyes shone with disgust.
You've got two of them, you shit, John thought. His temporary good will toward the man evaporated. "Don't drink any more. We've got a lot of work to do today, and you need to be sober. Sherlock may think he doesn't need you, but the rest of the crew does."
"Oh are you first mate, now? Here I thought the lightskirt in his quarters took your place in his confidence."
"Shut up, Anderson," Chase roared as he stormed into the galley. "Swear to God, the damned room fills with gas and bile whenever ya open yer gob."
For once, John was appreciative of the cook's demeanor.
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Two men held the boards together under Lestrade's direction as he hammered the pegs into place. The sailors were still wary of working with the navy man, but more catapults were needed, bigger ones. Anything that helped the coming fight was worth tolerating his company.
Basil sat on the deck, legs crossed as he rolled a cigarette in the fashion of the French. One of the Caribbean men had instructed him in the method, explaining how the captain's method was inferior, only fit for the weak English.
The cabin boy smoked and watched the building, calling out his opinion of the progress which mostly amounted to insults.
"I could smooth a board better than that with my arse." He blew smoke at Lestrade.
"Watch your mouth, lad, or you'll get a tanning on that arse," he responded sternly. "And snuff that cigar. It'll give you a cough."
"No, it won't. See? I ain't coughing." The boy inhaled and breathed out dramatically and bowed toward the former navy captain.
"The blokes that use tobacco are shit for running, boy. Didn't your mum and dad teach it's a nasty habit, anyway."
"My mum and dad are dead, long time." Basil stuck his chin out. "I don't care none either. I take care of m'self."
"And making a muck of it. You're not a good cabin boy. Why hasn't Holmes taken him in hand yet?" he asked the sailors.
An icy voice from behind Lestrade answered him. "Basil's survived a long time relying on his own wits. Would you prefer I discipline his native intelligence out of him with rules?"
Lestrade whipped around. "Like a cat, you are, with the sneaking. And yeah, he could use some discipline. It doesn't do him any favors, growing up wild."
Sherlock's lip curled. "Navy- you think regulations solve everything."
He hammered the boards together and checked the fit. "They help. He's got to learn. He'll never be anything but a thief or a pirate if he can't behave. At least make him wash once a week. I swear, he's got flies."
Sherlock's face remained impassive. "We've given you some freedom. It seems it was a mistake."
Lestrade dropped the hammer and stood, crossing his arms. "Sure, toss me in the brig for a bit of criticism. Then you'll have one less experienced man to fight Moriarty, not to mention less help building your contraptions."
John's mild voice cut through the tension. "Sherlock, is there a problem here?" The smaller blond man hurried across the deck.
The captain took in his best friend, assessing him from head to toe in a shrewd, stripping-to-the-bone way that John hadn't seen for a year. It was as though Sherlock were seeing him for the first time, all over again.
His electric eyes skipped over to Lestrade and performed the same rapid scrutiny.
"Huh."
"What?" John stepped between the two men and stared down his captain.
"Interesting. Irrelevant and terrible timing, but interesting."
One of Sherlock's eyebrows rose, but John was unmoved, his blue eyes stony and his jaw firm as he held his friend's stare.
After a moment, the captain broke the eye contact and his voice piped up, addressing the sailors.
"Well then. I've got some new toys to play with. If Monsieur Lestrade has finished with this mangled bundle of wood, we'll see if this batch I've whipped up is functional."
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A great frightening bang startled Molly out of her reverie, as she sat on a crate, trying to read. She dropped the book and ran to the source of the sound. Not spotting any enemy ships around, she asked Melas what was happening.
"Just tests, ma'am. Not to worry. You know how the captain is."
"Oh I see. Thank you." She smiled, and the Greek grinned in return before hurrying back to checking the riggings.
She came upon the cluster of men, gossiping about the captain's latest invention. "Going to blow the bejeezing lot o' us into bits," she heard one swabby whisper to another.
Sherlock was hunkered down on the deck. Molly took a moment to admire the way the dark blue trousers clung to his legs, and how his white shirt gaped at the throat as always. His neck was so sensitive; her captain could be reduced to a gasping mess when she paid it enough attention. She lost herself for a moment, contemplating the cords of his neck.
The hem of her plain white dress appeared in the far left periphery of his vision, and her faint scent of soap carried on the breeze. Sherlock turned to her, and saw her bright face beaming at him, her soft brown eyes almost black with the dilation of her pupils.
How can she still be hungry for me, after last night? he wondered. But it wasn't just wanting in her eyes, he saw, but affection and curiosity and excitement. Everything she was to him. He stood and extended a hand to Molly, which she accepted. He pulled her over to his modified packets of gunpowder and began to explain the process. Her chemistry background was not as strong as her anatomy, but she understood the weapons' capabilities after a few careful questions. She contemplated the assortment on the deck before her, as Sherlock's gaze lifted up to the water.
"Everything is looking fantastic," she said enthusiastically. "With these and the added catapults, those big guns loaded up, we're in superb shape. Right? Nothing to fear?"
"I think we're almost ready, yeah. At this rate, Sherlock just needs a few more hours to finish this work, and we'll be able to take on Moriarty." John nodded at Molly, and then turned his attention to the captain whose eyes were still locked on the ocean.
"We haven't got it. We haven't got a few more hours." Sherlock raised his finger and pointed.
There on the horizon was the clear outline of three sails and with them, a black flag flew.
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"We were so close. So bloody close to being ready." John swore and rubbed his forehead. Sherlock continued to stare at the Thanatos as it approached. The enemy had doubled their guns since their last meeting. The Hudson would surely sink, riddled with massive holes, before their guns and gunpowder bombs could do any notable damage to the other ship.
"What now, Captain? What next? You've thought of something, right?" John hoped that the panic wouldn't show in his voice.
"Molly, go back to the cabin. There's only one thing. John…get the white flag."
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Molly protested and fought with Sherlock as the men fetched the flag and sent it up the ropes.
"I'm not leaving you here. I'm not a child. I decide. I am not leaving." She punctuated her last statement by stamping her foot with every syllable.
"Moriarty wants me. He's made that clear, I'm his target. We're going to negotiate. Stay out of sight, do not interfere, and perhaps we can all walk away from this. Well, sail away." Sherlock kissed her fiercely, and then tugged her arm toward the stairwell.
She refused to move, her feet dragging on the deck as he yanked. "No."
"You are an idiot. An idiot. Stop this." Sherlock ran a hand through his dark curls, ruffling his hair with frustration.
"You can't hide or send me away every time there is a problem." Molly pulled her arm free, and placed her hands on her hips. "So piss off," she added for good measure, looking quite proud.
Basil giggled.
"Go downstairs!" Sherlock bellowed at him. The boy saluted, stuffed a loaf of bread inside his shirt and ran into the ship as ordered.
"This is your decision, then." Sherlock's voice had turned chilly, to match his eyes.
"Yes it is."
He paused.
"Please stand behind the men at least. And someone give her a gun."
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"I was going to wait, you know, but I was simply too excited. I'm so changeable that way. You can hardly blame me. This is a special day." Moriarty was exactly as Irene had described him, from his deceptively sleepy and bland face at first glance, to the dagger-sharp blackness of his eyes. His body was unimpressive, but the bulk of his tall companion made up for that. Sebastian Moran stood guard beside his captain, assessing their defenses and taking in the weak firepower of the Hudson. Their voices easily carried back and forth.
The Spitalfiend, Sherlock saw. A former military man, an expert with all his weapons. Frequent murderous raids. Dominantly right-handed, though quite able with his left. Spent considerable time in Africa and Asia. A hunter. Some education, ended early by his violent tendencies.
"What the hell is he looking at?" Bastian was uncomfortable under the studying stare of Holmes. The man was not scary-looking, he was sure he could take him in a fight, but the man was unnerving.
"He's learning you, Sebastian. He sees you, sees right through you." Moriarty was amused. The two ships pulled closer together.
"I must say, I'm a bit disappointed, though this is the more intelligent maneuver. Surrender, hope I'll spare a few lives, rather than slaughter you all and tear you to pieces and blech, I'm boring myself. A fight would've been unwise, but exciting. And it's all so predictable, isn't it, Sherlock. Every day, dull, uninspired people clogging this world. Tolerating it is more than I can bear, sometimes."
"How do you know about me?" Sherlock stepped closer to the railing, further aft and away from Molly.
"Oh I've known about you for a long, long time. Before you set sail, even."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed.
"Oh yes, you caught my eye almost ten years ago. I was looking for something in London. Someone special." Moriarty smiled. "I heard about a young man who understood crime so well he must be a criminal master himself. I watched him for days from afar, watched him wallow in the underbelly of the city. Deducing people, helping people. Such brilliance wasted on toads. I thought he might be the one who would understand, want to come and play with me. But the laudanum. Drowning his intelligence in the tincture of opium. Boring. Stupid. Just like all the other fools. Someone who helps people for free and dulls his razor mind on purpose? I thought I was wrong and I moved on. I found my hunter." Bastian grinned, and it was ugly.
Moriarty shrugged and smiled sheepishly. "You never forget a name like Sherlock Holmes. When you took to the seas, a pirate, a free man, I realized I wasn't wrong. Your brilliance is legend everywhere you've been, and you're no longer bound by petty laws. You're ready now."
The blond man by his side shifted his weight, looking confused by the direction of his captain's speech.
"And so I've come to offer you…everything. Join me. No longer are pirates the kings of the sea, free to operate independently of each other. The stranglehold of the Royal Navy and the trading companies grows. Tortuga, Port Royal, the great buccaneer forts are overrun or fallen into the sea. The pirates report to me now, Sherlock. We're stronger together, an armada if you will. We must stand together or we will every one of us fall."
"Tell me, Moriarty, how many ships has that recruitment speech worked on? I've heard more convincing arguments from the press-gangs." Scorn rang in Sherlock's voice. "An armada? All under you, naturally."
"You would enjoy being under me, I assure you." Moriarty smiled lazily. "And you would never be bored again. Imagine an ocean where you could study at will, welcome on any island, free to take what you wanted always, when you're at my side."
Sherlock cocked his head to the side and pretended to consider the offer.
"I've no wish to force my men to join you. What if it was just me? Would you accept those terms?"
Moriarty was suspicious, but he was interested, Sherlock could see. John whispered beside him, "What the hell are you playing at?"
"You, come to my ship now, and we let them go? And you'll swear yourself to me?"
Sherlock nodded.
"Very well. I accept. We don't really need your ragtag crew and your little boat." Moriarty made a face, and laughed. "Bastian, get the plank." His first mate threw Sherlock a dark glance and trudged off to follow the order.
"NO! You can't take him!" The high-pitched voice rang out over the grumbles of the crew.
Molly pushed her way through the crowd, a pistol clutched loosely in her hand. She shook with anger. Moriarty squinted at the small, brown-haired female as she came into view.
"You stop this right now, Jamie. You can't have him."
He burst out laughing, clutching his belly and working himself into a state of cackling glee. "Oh my…oh MY." He righted himself and sighed. "Molly Hooper? Can that really be you? I thought surely you would be chained to a slab in the morgue for life. What's a nice, morbid girl like you doing on a pirate ship? I am truly delighted."
"I said, he's mine." Molly slipped one arm through the captain's, holding him tight.
"Shut up," Sherlock bit out between gritted teeth. "He doesn't want you lot, just me. So shut up and let me go."
"Oh…oh I see. Well this is sweet," Jamie said thoughtfully. "You're in love, Sherlock. Is that even possible? I hadn't anticipated that." He tilted his head in thought. "Bastian, get the plank set."
The imposing blond obeyed, connecting the two ships with a wide board. Moriarty nodded at him. "Go on."
Bastian climbed over the board to the Hudson, his pistol and cutlass in hands, ready for an attack. The crew stood back, wary and uncertain. The long row of guns of the Thanatos was ready and aimed.
Molly glared at the pirate as he approached and reached out a hand toward the captain.
"No, not him." Moriarty called out from the other ship. "Take her."