A/N: Hello again. Here's the second part. Just a quiet diversion from routine and insistent pressures of daily life. Might pick it up again one day, and turn it into a bigger story. -csf
2.
Ahead of Sherlock and I, the vast openness of the deep blue sea, for a yard or so, before the distance itself is engulfed in dusky, murky lack of detail. It intrigues me. And I vow to explore it some more, if at all possible. I want to stay, and indulge in my curiosity, in this fragile world, so far removed from the straining tensions above the surface. It appeals to me, the unknown, for it holds in itself the answer to the mystery of life. And, just like at the surface, you can't really see where it leads. An intriguing world of possibilities to be revealed to a patient observer.
There is so much to investigate already just besides our deep maritime pod. Peaceful water undulations at the beck and call of invisible streams, created by imperceptible changes in temperature and consequent density, scatter the daylight filtered from above. Not just floating atoms of Hydrogen and Oxygen, but a constantly evolving soup of elemental and multicellular organisms, feeding, multiplying, living and streaming peacefully in multi-layered strata.
Jellied creatures, opalescent yet translucent, like upside down bowls, and several shooting, stringy appendices, dancing to a silent operetta of drama and grandeur, propelled through the recoiling and opening like petals on a flower with those perfectly timed jellified arms, of tantalising beauty and deadly toxicity. A shoal of silvery bullet-shaped fish transits by, in military precision; soldiers in a rank. They all turn and rush away, slapping forked tails as a bigger, predatory fish crashes the scene; the arrival of a bully in the playground. It too gently drifts off, too big, heavy and lazy to waste energy in the pursuit of a difficult catch, so it trails off, searching for easier meal; patrolling the pond.
Far below surface, at the gravelled sea bed, wavy strands of algae attempt bravely to photosynthesise the little daylight available, lacklustre as it filters through the body of water. They are reddish in tone, breaking contrast in the sea of teals, greys, blues, greens and silvers, with a crisp dry, springy appearance of tumbleweed in a desert. Tiny fish frivously weaving in and out might just break it away. A hide-and-seek game played by eager infants under the matronly watchful eye of an elder.
More furtive movements draw my eye to a proud creature lifting itself of the sandy depths, up until now disguised cleverly as an immobile rock. Slowly a tentacle unravels, extending away from the wobbly, ugly shaped head and those dark, wistful eyes. Bright yellow fish, flat as a pancake, drift past, under the wistful gaze.
A festival of colour and natural extravaganza, shape and function beyond our surface creatures' constraints, fill this deep underwater theatre. It runs smoothly as a collective society, a world unknown to us humans on the surface.
No wars, no crimes, no hidden motives, hinder the peace and collective wholesomeness that keeps this world tightly knitted. Interconnected, vulnerable and dependent, it holds itself together through the importance of every element in the chain. What we see, limited by the constraints of our vision, the morphology of our eyes and the anatomy of firing synapses deep in our brains, tells us only partially about the fullness of industry that built this underwater empire.
Here there are endless possibilities of animal, vegetable, or another, altogether, species. How they may look like, how they adjust to their environment and thrive. It reminds me of a submerged alien world, where form and purpose follow their own cryptic set of rules. Sherlock's underworld. The demons lurking in the shadows, in intense cooperation with the peaceful dwellers.
For who would have thought all aliens would be little green men?
We are privileged spectators from our pod of safety, as long as it can encase us in a safe expanded bubble of air, keeping us alive.
I glance over at Sherlock, wanting to ask him how he conjured yet another brilliant magic trick, if it is indeed safe, and how long we have here before we're forced back onto the surface. Would I leave if he told me it wasn't all that safe? My words die on my lips as I see reflected in Sherlock's misty coloured eyes the depths of these unexplored oceans, as if he was indeed a part of them. It's funny, I finally got a simile for Sherlock's eye colour. They are the shifting colours of the deep sea, of promised lands and strange alien creatures, of possibilities far beyond our wildest imagination. It suits him, too.
'Judging by your current levels of wordlessness, this setting meets your approval', he impossibly smirks as he says those casual words, glancing at his wristwatch.
Got anywhere special to be?
But how— would be the question to invoke, it's always the unspoken question with Sherlock Holmes. So I dismiss it with prejudice. It's probably all a dream anyway. A nice dream.
'Where to, Sherlock?' I ask instead.
'Far and beyond', he answers, his honeyed voice quiet and deep as the sea. 'Wherever we like.'
He watches as I take hold of the main controls power lever.
'Just drop it John', he advises me, unrolling a huge parched old map from the table besides his chair. We'll go where adventure may take us.
I pull that lever down, feeling the gentle propelling of the hidden engine. A burst of air bubbles encapsulates us for a moment, scaring away the smaller fish, waving the drifting strands of algae, revolving the waters in burst of air bubbles.
I smile at last, refilling those reservoirs of Hope that recent trying times have emptied.
Yes, I'll have that. Endless possibilities to explore.
'Turn left on the octopus, and straight ahead to a deep and narrow gorge', he directs, as an avid explorer of foreign lands. 'There's something more I need to show you, at sunset.'
'Sunset?' I repeat, and frown. Sundown will make this an inhospitable and dark filled dangerous place to be. Ragged edges on solid rocks, protruding from the sea bed, Invisible in the pitch dark maelstrom of deep swirling waters. larger creatures will come out of hiding, biding their opportunity to prey on us. I wonder for a second, what weapons of war Sherlock and I bring to this alien world. Would they be enough to keep us safe, to grant us a place of security, fighting for harmony in this unseen world?
Perhaps we do not belong here, and soon will be the time to return to our own world. but before that... I want to take advantage of this break in time and space, of this wondrous opportunity to be a part of something bigger, spectacular, intriguing, mischievous and unexplored, I want to dive deep and let the surrounding borders be a part of who I am, soothing me as if I were another one of those fish drifting in peaceful turns of tide. It can't last long. It is not in our nature. As humans we will try to contain, inspect, dissect, and control these engineered wonders of nature. Breaking the magician's charm.
I vow to keep this place a secret, a memory shared by Sherlock and I, in order to keep it shielded from the greedy hands of the society above.
I look around me in the quiet darkened control room, and I understand I'm not the first to make this decision. Sherlock and I exchange glances full of synchronised intentions.
These quiet waters blurring into an indistinct mist of colours as my consciousness drifts back to reality.
I'm slowly waking up, peacefully slumbering in my bed. Safe, content and warm.
I vow to remember how it feels like, this freedom, this daring posture to face yet another mechanic routine filled day, as I blink myself awake in my warm bed. The alarm clock fighting for attention.
Feeling refreshed after a good night's sleep.
Then I'm startled, and push myself up all in one go.
'Sherlock, why is there water running?' I ask a second later, all quiet now dispelled, as I rushed downstairs to quench whatever burst water pipe is running riot in 221B's bathroom. I can hear the water gushing everywhere.
Sherlock must have poured concentrated sulphuric acid down the bathtub drain again!
Damn it, Sherlock! How many times?
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