Sherlock peered over at Noah as she yawned, reaching up to rub at her jaw only to wince at the bruise darkening her skin. His eyes glanced over the cut on her cheek from the assassin's blade, a trickle of anger filtering through him before he quickly snuffed it out and cleared his throat, stretching to pretend as though he'd just woken up.
"You can sleep a bit longer if you want," Noah said quietly, so as to not wake John beside him, though the man could sleep through a train accident with how much he'd drunk. "We've still got a ways."
"I'm all right," Sherlock said, lying through his teeth.
He would probably fall asleep at some point during the ceremony, but he had questions. Some of which he'd been holding back all year. Normally, he'd discover the answers in time or pry them out of people with the right words. Noah though was different. She was smart, not much unlike himself, and fanciful language and tricks of speech hardly phased her. She was also stubborn though, keeping her secrets close to her chest even when inebriated into a drunken stupor.
She already knew about his not-to-subtle attempts to dig into her past and either nimbly slipped out of his hold or was confident he wouldn't find anything—which, of course, he didn't. He even had Mycroft dig around, hence why he was at the stag do, but still nothing. It didn't make any sense. She didn't make any sense. There was no Noah Harris and even if that were a false name, there was no wealthy family anywhere in the world (He'd caught a hint of American slang a few times) who'd had a tomboyish daughter run off and join the army. Yet, here she was. As comfortable with a motor car as though she'd handled one every day when he himself needed a bit of getting used to it. A woman with the stance and outlandish attitude of the most confident of soldiers, flipping men three times her size and not once doing anything even remotely common of women at the time.
The way she wielded a blade, her accuracy with a weapon, the way she didn't even flinch when either one of them stumbled upon the other in the nude. She was a remarkable human being unlike any of those he'd met before. Yet, he'd spent a whole year with her and hardly knew a thing about her. The tarot card reading had been the biggest insight, and he wasn't one to believe in the happenstances of fortune-telling.
The Death card. A big change and transition in her past. He suspected it was her fleeing her confined life with her family and stepping into the military. Yet the Reversed Hermit fit that description more accurately, given she'd been on her own until she'd run into Irene and then him. The Tower he had fewer suspicions of, given the path he was running down. She would undoubtedly follow after him and get caught up in all sorts of trouble. He'd tried earlier in the year to dissuade her from doing so when he started looking into the bombings, but again, the woman was stubborn. He'd even tried distancing himself and disguising himself to sneak away, but she always found him or beat him to the punch. So, he accepted she knew what she was doing and begrudgingly let her bound alongside.
It was… nice, in a way. With John drifting further and further apart from him, having Noah around was pleasant. Another comrade to tackle criminals with and one not nearly as blinkered as John could be. He didn't even need to teach her things! She knew quite a bit on her own and what she didn't, she was quick to study up on without his help and asked when she hit a snag. They'd often gone over past cases together once he'd heard she'd not read one of John's fanciful retellings, and more often than not, she picked up on the same things he had at the time. It impressed him. She impressed him. And without any of the lustful sweet temptings that Irene had attempted to sway him with.
The more he looked at her through the year, the more he started to notice that she herself was beautiful in a way he hadn't expected. Not so much physically as with Irene—Not to say she was distasteful in any way, but no woman could hold a candle to the dominatrix he'd first met. Yet, he'd often found himself searching for her. His eyes wandering until they spotted her lounging across John's old chair, toying with an experiment on his desk, or working out the stove in his kitchen. Then, when she wasn't around, he found the flat terrifyingly empty. He'd felt something similar with John when he'd first started going off with Mary. The echoing silence of the flat and the urge to get up, find the man, and drag him along somewhere. With Noah though, it was different. He just wanted to see her, to know she was around and safe. He'd often felt that one day she might just vanish under his very nose.
"If you keep staring, you're going to burn a hole through my head," Noah grumbled and he opened his mouth. "Don't tell me that's scientifically impossible. It was a figure of speech."
He cracked a smile and folded his arms over his chest, settling into the seat a bit further and staring out at the road ahead of them for a moment in silence. He then turned his head towards her.
"How does a woman join the military?"
She didn't answer, though he noticed the tell-tale tightening of her hands on the wheel of the car.
"Better yet, how does a woman join the military disguised as a man, return to London unnoticed, learn to wield blades and fire weapons with the utmost accuracy, and choose to continue such actions instead of doing what all other women tend to do?" He smirked when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Get married and have children."
She closed her eyes with a deep breath, letting it out and returning her eyes to the road. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"
"Me? Asking questions. Ones, I might add, that you've been avoiding telling me the answers to since we met."
"And what will you do once you have your answers?" She asked, keeping her eyes on the road, though there was a hint of tiredness to her voice that he hadn't expected.
Still, he shrugged, hoping indifference might change something. "I'll be satisfied."
"No, you won't," she said so confidently, it rather surprised him. "You don't ask questions for the satisfaction of getting an answer. You ask to prove yourself right."
"Say that's true," he hummed, drumming his fingers on the crook of his arm. "Then, what would be the harm in telling me? I get the answers I've been searching for, whether my deductions are right or wrong, and you get the reprieve of someone else knowing those little secrets you keep bundled up close to your chest. I'd say that's a win in both our books."
"Maybe I like no one knowing those secrets," she argued.
"Then, why was it the fortune-telling upset you so?" He countered, leaning forward to get a better view of her tense expression in the light of the early dawn. "A troubled past is hardly uncommon, Noah. Yet, for it to haunt you so terribly is something I cannot stand. Much less when it is upsetting the strongest woman I know."
"You don't know any women except Irene," she huffed.
"Not if you refuse to let me know you," he pressed, reaching up and startling her slightly as he ran a knuckle lightly over the cut on her face. "I do… apologize if I came off as someone you couldn't confide in."
Noah's expression crumpled slightly and she dropped her forehead onto her hands, making him quickly check to ensure there was nothing on the road ahead of them and that they weren't drifting off it as she did.
"God, why couldn't you just be less nosey?" She grumbled with a heavy sigh, lifting her head and musing her hair in aggravation.
Sherlock smiled, settling back in his seat. "Come now, my dear. I wouldn't have a job if I kept everyone's business out of my business."
She rolled her eyes and he waited patiently for her to explain, knowing that trying to press her for answers now wouldn't do anything but hinder him. When she took too long to respond, his smile faltered until finally, she spoke.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she murmured, surprising him. "That's why I haven't said anything to anyone. I've been trying to not think about it the entire year I've been here because it doesn't make any sense. Maybe I'm just crazy, I don't know."
Sherlock was far more confused than before. "You may have to explain exactly what you mean."
She hesitated before glancing at him. "Have you ever been so afraid to say something because you fear the moment you say it, it might prove to be true?"
He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying "yes." To keep himself from admitting that the stirring in his stomach and the anxiousness he feels when she leaves him alone might be something more than he is prepared to deal with. She seemed to get some form of answer from his silence and turned her eyes back to the road, though her hands were tight on the wheel.
"It's going to sound stupid and it's not going to make any sense," she muttered, "but if I tell you this, I need you to swear not to say anything about it. Not to question me any further, because I… I honestly don't know… I don't know what to think."
Sherlock remained silent, a twisted sense of eagerness to hear what she had to say mixing with a sort of dread as to what it was that made things so difficult for her.
"I… I think I died, Sherlock."
Sherlock didn't say anything more after that, something I greatly appreciated because just saying that much had my past experiences gnawing at the back of my mind, desperate to be noticed. We arrived at the wedding venue, not an hour later and once John had been dragged out of his comatose state and touched up with a bit of makeup to hide the bruises and cuts on his face, the wedding began. It was a short and simple ceremony, though that didn't stop Sherlock from falling asleep until I prodded him awake to do his duty as best man. He seemed rather downtrodden near the end when he slipped away to get the motorcar started. So, I ducked back into the reception area, stole a piece of cake from the back and two flutes of champagne, knowing he wouldn't leave without me.
I cracked a smile when I managed to escape before I was spotted and started for where we parked only to frown. There was a man waiting by the car talking to Sherlock while pretending to be an acquaintance. The man was soon waved off and I snuck around the back of the car to hide in the smoke before climbing in on Sherlock's other side while he started the car with a honk.
"Friend of yours?" I asked, offering him the champagne that he quickly finished and passing the cake.
He grabbed the piece with his hands and took a bite, dropping it back on the plate as he shook crumbs off his fingers. I'd brought forks but ignored his eccentricism.
"Friend of the professor's," he corrected me, earning a hum as I put the rest of his cake on his lap, finished my own champagne, and started eating cake myself.
"You asked to meet or he did?"
"Him, as expected."
"When?"
"This afternoon at four."
"Sounds fun," I drawled. "Two narcissistic geniuses having a pissing contest over disagreeing ideals." I took another stab at my cake, eyeing him out of the corner of my eye and noticing something. "You don't want me to come."
"On the contrary, I think it'd be rather amusing if you did," he replied. "However, I find it interesting that you weren't cordially invited as well. Or, well, taken in by him already given how quickly he sank his fangs into Miss Adler." He looked over at me. "Did she ever mention him at all?"
I shook my head, finishing the cake and snatching the remains of Sherlock's since he wasn't going to eat any more of it. "She kept me well out of his eye line. I met her after she was already working for him, but she was adamant about keeping me hidden. My role at her side was to pretend to be a hired grunt. Nothing more. She wanted me to appear disposable and I found she often left me to be on her own or for me to do my own tasks."
"She was particularly fond of you, yes," Sherlock noted. "All the more reason for you not to be at our little meeting. If he doesn't realize your intellect and helpfulness to my solving this case, you might very well be my trump card, Noah."
"Smart and helpful? Sherlock, I think you're drunk," I teased.
"I assure you, I am quite sober," he hummed, glancing at me with a smirk. "You downplay yourself too much, Noah. Your usefulness has increased in leaps and bounds lately, providing me with much further insight to this case than what would've been possible, given John's… departure."
"You'll miss him," I mused, settling back in my seat with a yawn, flipping up my coat lapels to keep the wind off my neck.
"Miss him? Ha," Sherlock scoffed. "I'll have you, won't I?"
I snorted myself, closing my eyes. "Please. I'm no John Watson."
"No… No, perhaps not," Sherlock said, voice drifting as I started to slip into sleep and something lightly tugged me to the side to give my head something to rest on. "... You're something infinitely more valuable."
I woke up covered in Sherlock's coat with the man nowhere to be seen, parked outside the large campus of a university. I blinked wearily, adjusting my eyes to the light of day and silently wondering if there was anywhere close by I could get a bite to eat or a cup of tea. I spotted a dirty kid nearby and called him over, paying him to go fetch me something quick. He seemed hesitant at first, but paying him half first and promising the second half when he returned was enough to get him speeding off. By the time Sherlock returned, I was chewing on a bit of bread and offered him an apple that he ignored.
"Rough meeting?" I asked around a mouthful.
"Why would a man who wants to know nothing about the art of domestic horticulture own a book on it?" Sherlock shook his head of the thought when I raised a brow. "Sorry. We need to get to the train station. Now."
"I'll take that as a yes. Move. I'll drive."
He shot me a dubious look but moved out of the way as I swapped seats and started driving. Needless to say, we reached the train station in record time and Sherlock half stumbled out of the motor car as I tussled my hair and donned my cap.
"You… are never driving again," he said, earning a raised brow from me.
"You said you were in a hurry, and I didn't cause any accidents."
"You used your apple core to distract a carriage and speed through an intersection that very well could have caused an accident."
I rolled my eyes, scanning the crowded station. "So, plans?"
Sherlock straightened his coat as we walked. "I need a disguise."
"Obviously, but you haven't explained," I said as he began to snatch things off people nearby.
Things I looked at with a frown.
"I'm not wearing that," I said sharply before he groaned and pulled me into a nook near the ticket stand, pressing me against the wall.
"Moriarty has made threats against John and his wife because they were close to me and refused to take my offer to leave them alone. Now, we don't have time to stand around arguing about disguises when action is needed."
I gave him a second to breathe, starting to notice just how close to me he was as our noses were nearly touching. My eyes drifted down his face but I quickly drew them back up and cleared my throat.
"Right. I was just going to offer to sneak in as a train worker."
He frowned, brows furrowed, and about to say something when the train let out a whistle, making him snap his head towards it. "We're running out of time. Whatever you do, do it quick. I have a plan to rig some of their weapons useless with what I've already grabbed, though another hand on the inside would be decent. Just don't get caught."
I couldn't help but smirk at that. "You don't know who you're talking to."
I reached up and pat his cheek a few times, getting him to release me as he too realized how close we were. I gave him a nod and started to step away to go find something to wear only to pause and look back.
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?"
"It's not your fault, you know," I told him, knowing he was blaming himself for Moriarty trying to hurt John and Mary.
He bristled, attempting to play it off. "I don't have the slightest idea of what you mean."
"Just… if you were thinking about it. I think if John had to choose to do this all over again, he would. Danger and all."
He watched me for a moment before shaking his head and disappearing in the crowd as I sighed and spotted a young coach attendant yawning near the back of the train. Too easy. Tricking the man into thinking there was an emergency, I soon knocked him out and tied him up in one of the bathrooms in the station, stripping him of his uniform and hat. Having learned to keep the basics of a makeup kit on me and some general adhesive, I shaded the contours of my face, added a bit of drawn-on stubble, and trimmed a bit of my hair for a mustache.
"Black is not my color," I muttered under my breath as I hurried for the train.
Blending in with the other attendants in black uniforms was a little harder, given I was doing my best to get as close to the disguised hitmen as possible. Army men in bright red? Couldn't be a bit stealthier? It was there I nearly ran into Sherlock, who looked more than disgruntled that I'd managed to get a decent disguise over his… outfit. Don't laugh. Can't laugh.
"I-I'm sorry, madam," I said, struggling to keep my lip from twitching up at his annoyed look and the makeup smeared over his face rather poorly. "But you can't use the lavatory while the train is in the station."
He mocked me silently as the train prepared to pull out and we both glanced behind us to ensure John had ducked back into his coach.
"Plan?" I asked again, closing the outer door to ensure we weren't overheard. "Compartment directly behind us has a number of well-armed men dressed up as soldiers. I believe I saw them bringing a Gatling gun on board disguised as luggage. I know there's a saying about the obvious looking the least conspicuous, but wearing bright red as an assassin really gives away a lot."
"Well, no one can be quite as capable as us," Sherlock mused, nodding to the bathroom. "I can work from here and slip into their carriage for a few moments. Keep an eye on the happy couple."
"Me?" I hissed as he stepped into the bathroom and latched the door. "Sherlock, they're on their honeymoon!"
He unlatched the door and poked his head out. "And?"
"And very much alone to themselves in an isolated, sound muffling, first-class carriage. I'd rather not interrupt whatever they plan on doing."
"If you're worried, then I could just—" He started to step out before I blocked his way, leaning in with a scowl.
"No." I sighed heavily, dropping my head a bit and allowing it to press against his. "God, fine. I'll do it, but any grievances he has are going to be your problem." I lifted my head with a frown. "And I'll be waiting outside his coach, thanks. They're not about to be sneaking in from the outside of the train."
"Excellent. Now, make yourself scarce," he waved off and I started for the door only for him to grab me by the arm. "Ah, wait!"
I paused, turning in confusion before his knuckle came up and brushed my cheek where my cut from our last assassin lay hidden under makeup.
"Do be careful."
I took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before letting it go and turning away. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be careful."
Then, the two of us settled in for the night and the moment the assassins would strike.
There was a knock on the door and John hastily ushered his wife off his lap in an attempt to appear civil towards whoever was disturbing them after she'd just pulled a gun out the back of his trousers. Her smirk alone made him want to get back to what they were doing, but the train attendant was adamant about entering.
"Come in."
At the sight of the large bottle of alcohol he carried, Mary grinned.
"Oh, yes, please."
John, though, was suspicious and had been since seeing the odd group of soldiers boarding the train earlier. The urge to pretend for once in his life that he wasn't friends with Sherlock and in some sort of danger was just constantly fighting with his mind telling him something was wrong.
"We didn't order that," he said as the worker smiled.
"With our compliments, sir."
"Thank you. Put it there," John finally admitted, keeping an eye on him and for good reason.
The man stepped in and started to slide the door closed behind him as the lights flickered only for the door to get stopped by a foot. The worker turned, grabbing the concealed knife he had but a second too late. His own blade was already between his ribs when his wrist was grabbed and John pushed Mary behind him as his cry of pain was muffled behind a hand. It was hard to see with the lights flashing, but the person moved the worker forward, nodded to the door outside, and spoke in a familiar drawl.
"John, door, please."
John hastily did as he was told, opening the door out as they pushed the man through it and into the brush outside when the lights steadied.
"Noah?" He gaped as she wiped the stolen, bloody dagger against her pant leg and eyed it for a moment.
"Yeah, sorry about the honeymoon," she replied, making him bristle and about to say something, only for her to bring a finger to her lips and move back to the door.
John took his pistol from his frightened wife, prepared as he moved up beside Noah and she opened the door to peer down the hall. Another door slid open and there were muffled shouts as a large, imposing woman dropped her shawl and elbowed an approaching soldier in the face. John stared in shock, ducking back into his compartment as Sherlock fired shots at the two men on the other end of the carriage and Noah fired her pistol at the others coming up behind him. Noah pulled him in then, keeping an eye on the door as John stared open-mouthed at Sherlock—the imposing "woman" from down the hall.
"I agree, it's not my best disguise but I had to make do."
"My God," Mary breathed as Noah reloaded her weapon, eyes, and ears perked for more signs of trouble. "Oh, John, close the door."
"They'll only shoot through it, my lovely," he informed her as Sherlock nodded.
"He's right."
"High or low?" Noah asked as he came up to the door.
"High."
She shrugged and knelt on the ground with him aiming right while she kept her gun pointed left.
"We don't have much time!" Sherlock warned, poking out the back door to see where the train was at.
"How many are we expecting?"
"Half a dozen," Sherlock answered.
"Less than that if I keep hitting my mark," Noah commented. "The attendant is dead and I've just downed one of the soldiers. Knee and chest."
Mary let out a whine at that, getting a mild apology from Noah as she fired at another with a click of her tongue when they ducked around the corner too quickly.
"Who are they?" John asked.
"A wedding present from Moriarty. Lovely ceremony by the way. Many a tears shed in joy."
"He means he slept through it," Noah said with a teasing smirk. "He's just trying to make you feel better."
"Oh, John," Mary complained, worried.
"Just a minute, darling."
"Do you trust me?" Sherlock asked Mary, lowering his voice a bit.
"No."
"Well, then I shall have to do something about that." He spared her a small apologetic look before promptly pushing her out of the train.
She fell to the water below and Sherlock shook himself in preparation for what was going to come when John realized he'd just shoved his wife out the door.
"Who's up to bat next, you bastards!" John shouted as Noah came back up and ducked back into the carriage. "Send out the fastballer!"
"John, do shut the door," Sherlock said, making him pause and do just that as Noah realized the missing person and John quickly followed.
"It had to be done," Sherlock said, holding up his hands as John rushed for the door. "She's safe now!"
John understood that Mary had just been pushed by Sherlock, turned towards him in shock and quick, growing rage.
"In my own defense, I timed it perfectly!"
John lunged, grabbing him around the throat and pushing him back onto the bench as Noah quickly looped an arm under his and began pulling the man off.
"Did you kill my wife!" He shouted. "Did you kill my new wife!"
"John, control yourself!" Noah yelled in return, struggling with him as he fought back against her to try and get to Sherlock. "He wouldn't have hurt Mary! You know that!"
"He just threw her off a train!"
"And timed it so she'd be safe!" Noah grunted out as he managed to elbow her in the ribs to loosen her hold.
He clambered onto Sherlock again, tearing through the top half of the dress he'd been wearing as Noah tried to get him under control again.
"What does that mean!"
"Calm down before you hurt Noah!"
"He already did that!" Noah complained a leg wrapped around John's to prevent him moving forward again and her arm looped around his arm and head."We can explain later, John!"
Sherlock agreed. "By the time I'd finish explaining, we'd all be dead!"
The compartment opened again and the soldiers had returned, aiming their rifles and not realizing that Sherlock had slipped into their room earlier and tampered with their weapons. Nimble as ever though, the moment they'd fired and gone up in flames Noah had kicked the gun upward. So, if it had been able to fire through some misplanning on Sherlock's part, no one would've gotten hurt. Still, they had to move and couldn't afford to bicker amongst themselves any longer. Noah threw John off onto the bench again and shut the door as Sherlock pulled out a few other things he'd picked up—namely a part of a toilet attached to a grenade—to arm the door.
"That was no accident. It was by design," he informed John as he rigged it and dropped what was left of his torn dress. "Now, do you need me to elaborate, or can we just crack on?"
"Door?" Noah asked and Sherlock nodded, heading out first to cling to the side of the train before John followed with a wave from Noah.
"Don't worry, old boy," Sherlock told John as Noah slipped out behind him. "She's as safe as houses. She's with my brother."
"I'm on my honeymoon!" John shouted, kicking him in the leg. "Why did you lead them here! Why did you involve us!"
"He didn't!" Noah supplied. "He actually went to try and talk to Moriarty to keep you out of it!"
"What?" John questioned, rather surprised and looking at Sherlock who rolled his eyes in mild annoyance at Noah giving him away.
"They're not here for me! They're here for you! Fortunately—"
A soldier peered out from the compartment only for the grenade to finally go off and knock him out. They fought to regain their footing as Sherlock continued.
"—so are we. Now, mind the door!"
Sherlock ducked into the compartment he'd opened, greeting its inhabitants, and hastily shooed them further up the train as John and Noah slipped in. Both doors were shut and John turned to find Sherlock lying on the ground. Even Noah raised a brow at this, not privy to the plan Sherlock had in place.
"Lie down with me, Watson," Sherlock demanded. "Though we may have to double up to make room for Noah."
"Why!" John yelled, frustrated with what was happening.
"I insist."
Sherlock pulled him down and John sighed, squeezing beside Sherlock before the man grabbed Noah and pulled her down on top of him.
"Hello, dear. How's the side?"
"Bruised, thanks to John's elbow," she snapped, glaring at John who muttered an apology as Sherlock hummed.
"Could you get my lighter? Front right pocket."
Noah rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath as she went to rummage through his trousers. "Don't get excited."
"Oh, and the pipe in my handbag?"
"A smoke? Now?" She complained, shoving the lighter in his hand before getting the pipe.
He popped the pipe in her mouth, earning a glare while he worked to get it lighted and John hissed at them.
"What are we doing down here?"
"We are waiting. Noah and I are smoking. Puff on that a few times please, Noah."
Noah did as he asked and he was pleased to see her relax a bit as she leaned on her propped-up elbow to prevent her head from lying on his chest. He could see the dilation of her eyes though and the slight rosiness in her cheeks, which was new. It wasn't often he'd been able to embarrass her. He took the pipe from her and stuck it in his mouth just as the hidden Gatling gun fired through the walls. He turned, tucking her into cover in front of him as he spoke to John.
"Patiently waiting."
"For what!" The man snapped.
"Your window of opportunity," he replied, passing John his gun just as the Gatling gun jammed and Sherlock rolled onto his back with an arm tucked over Noah's waist. "Make it count."
John sat up and fired a shot through a hole in the wall, missing if the resuming gunfire was any indication.
"I said make it count!" Sherlock snapped. "How many windows must I provide? God, I'll give it to Noah next time, since she's a more accurate shot than you."
An explosion rattled the train then and when the fire died down the trio looked out to see the rest of the train had been detached from their half. Noah sighed in relief, dropping her head back onto the ground as Sherlock hovered over her with a smirk.
"Well, then. One problem solved." He reached out and brushed some debris off her face. "And not a scratch."
Noah rolled her eyes and rose up, pushing him off lightly as John got up to walk to the end of the train.
"Talk to him," she muttered to Sherlock. "I'll go secure the train."
"And how will you do that?" He asked, curious what tricks she would use to stop any curious bystanders or workers.
Surprisingly, she pulled a police badge from her pocket. "Nicked it from Lestrade ages ago for emergencies."
"Clever girl," he chuckled, leaving her to deal with the riff-raff while he went to reassure his friend.
"Why boat?" Noah groaned, doubled over on the bench Sherlock and John were seated at, with her head in a hand while John checked her pulse. "Why do we have to go to Paris by boat, Sherlock?"
"Because continuing by train would mean yet another possible attempt like before, and it's much harder to go unnoticed on a small vessel like this," he replied simply, digging through his coat pockets for something. "Why didn't you mention you were prone to seasickness?"
"I thought I grew out of it. I was fine before. It was a short trip," she choked out, hastily standing. "Oh, God."
She rushed over to the railing as John winced and Sherlock pulled out what he'd been looking for.
"Ah-ha! I knew I had some in here. Noah?"
"Sherlock, I really think she should just rest below deck."
"Nonsense. She'll be fine," he waved off, heading over to the woman as John softly sighed and shook his head.
He looked over at the two as they spoke for a moment and Sherlock handed her some sort of leaf. Noah seemed confused and John half expected her to just wave him off but she surprisingly took it and put it in her mouth. John started to get up, concerned his friend had just poisoned their companion yet again, but Sherlock was smiling and despite Noah's disgruntled expression she seemed content.
"Well, they certainly have an odd dynamic," John muttered under his breath.
He'd been suspicious of Noah at first but had quickly grown fond even after he'd learned of her true gender. She—much like Sherlock—took a bit of getting used to and would often do things that had him second-guessing her and questioning how she was raised. Sherlock's deduction of her being a runaway from a rich family could probably be confirmed, but John too had his suspicions of her origins. Even he'd noticed the haunted look in her eyes from war, something he was well familiar with given his time as a doctor. He'd seen it occasionally in the mirror but had more often seen it on the faces of soldiers he'd treated. He doubted Noah could have truly participated in the war in a male disguise, however, that look said otherwise. He'd seen her skills at hiding as well, and while they'd be something difficult to hold up long term, he wouldn't doubt she was capable.
Still, he was glad for her presence. Both, because she was more often than not a helping hand when they were threatened, but also because her being around gave someone for Sherlock to latch on to. John knew it was hard for Sherlock now that he was leaving to be with Mary. He promised to visit and drop by, but that wouldn't have ever been enough for Sherlock. Just this last year as he was trying to move out, he'd seen hints of the detective's clingingness. Not nearly as bad as it could have been though, and only because of her.
They were clever, the two of them, and equally strange and eccentric. A good pair, he thought before catching himself and giving the two another look. Sherlock was smiling and even the ever stoic Noah had a quirk to her lips. He'd never seen Sherlock that way with anyone, really. Not other than him, anyway. Sure, he knew Sherlock was in love with Irene; the first woman to one-up him. Yet, with all the touching and looks between them, he couldn't remember a time when Sherlock was comfortable enough to smile and laugh with The Woman. Noah was different and, the more he thought about it, Noah was good. John's only concern was if either of the two of them recognized the slow shifting of their relationship, and what that would mean given the trouble they were about to deal with regarding Moriarty.
All the while, no one on the ship noticed the blood-stained handkerchief with a red embroidered "I.A." that had fallen out of Sherlock's pocket slowly drift with the wind to disappear into the sea.
