...I'm crossing the ocean and I just can't wait
You won't be an ocean away
You'll only be a moment away
Hamilton the Musical, Take A Break
His head and shoulders emerge from the sea, and he scans the shore. The lighthouse is the same; it's getting dark out but he can see there are lights softly aglow in the windows. Will she still be there, he wonders, or has she left the ocean (and him) behind for whatever life she might find inland?
Had she given birth to his child or had she terminated the pregnancy? Even though his research indicates that the tug of the soul bond would have driven him back to her in the case of a terminated or miscarried pregnancy, he can't entirely rely on that information. Too much of the records are hearsay or shrouded in confusion, mystery and what he can only term deliberate obfuscation.
No matter how often he tries to tell himself it doesn't matter, that he'll never know and that he's better off not knowing, he also knows when he's lying to himself.
Alone protects me.
As if to contradict that inner voice, another head pops up beside his. "Is this it?"
He nods, and J'ahn gazes at the Drylander structure with interest. "Huh. Never seen one of those up close before."
"And you never will again if you just do as I ask for a change and swim back home," Sherlock retorts. "Honestly, J'ahn, I don't need a chaperone. Why risk exile or worse just to keep an eye on me when we both know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself?"
J'ahn lets out a quiet huff of laughter. "Yeah, right, mate, sure you are. Just be glad it was me and not Mycroft, all right?"
Sherlock shudders at the thought of undertaking such a perilous journey with his brother instead of his best friend. Not that Mycroft was interested in him reconnecting with his soulmate; he'd advised him to just let her raise the child and be content with knowing his bloodline had been continued. After all, every other recorded Mer/human hybrid had lived their lives out on land rather than in the ocean and apparently done quite well despite that handicap.
Besides, J'ahn's the one who convinced him to at least see how Molly and the child are doing. "She's your soulmate, Sherlock; just because you fulfilled that particular biological imperative doesn't mean that's all you two could share with each other. Soulmates can be so much more." At Sherlock's sideways glance, he shrugs. "Or so my parents always told me. Can't believe you'll be finding out the truth of the matter before me!"
Sherlock ignores the mock-aggravation in his friend's voice, concentrating instead on the building sitting so solidly on the shore in front of them. The last home his soulmate had lived in. She'd told him she was only there for that summer; had she stayed on, or if she'd left, had she come back? Someone is there, at any rate; the lights tell him that much. With luck that someone, if it's not her, will be able to tell him Molly's current whereabouts.
J'ahn nudges him as he remains lost in thought - and, although he would never admit it aloud, some amount of trepidation. "Well, go on, then. Show me you're no guppie!"
Sherlock frowns at the childish taunt, then returns his gaze to the lighthouse. "I've no idea if the Shift will even happen. I haven't been near the Drylands since…" His voice trails off, but J'ahn nods in understanding.
"Only one way to find out," he says, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder. "If it doesn't happen, well, then you'll know, right? That it wasn't meant to be."
Sherlock nods, eyes still trained on the sandy stretch of beach. Oh yes, he knows this might not work at all. He'd spent several months after his triumphant return from exile immersed in research on soulmates. It's a biological imperative with a spiritual aspect that his people still don't entirely understand, but have learned to take on faith. Much like a Drylander religion, he'd mused at the time.
Soulmates could be lifelong bonded pairs or they could come together for the sole purpose of procreating. It seemed to be entirely random: soulmates who'd only met briefly spent the remainder of their lives together, or swam in different directions as soon as they'd mated. Mer who'd known each other their entire lives would have that moment of connection, then return to whatever relationship they'd had before - or else they, too, spent the rest of their lives together.
And, of course, that was only as far as his own people were concerned. The only thing the records said about Mer with human soulmates was as Mycroft had already told him: the children remained on the Drylands with their mothers. No mention of the fathers (and it was always male Mer for some unknown reason) leaving the sea to stay with them. More deliberate obfuscation as far as he was concerned.
He'd tried for a time to take his brother's advice and just...let it go. Consign Molly and their glorious night together and their potential child to history, delete the entire experience from his mind and go about the life he'd always been meant to live, among his own kind.
Then J'ahn had discovered (pried into and ceaselessly nagged him until he'd confessed) the cause of his restless discontent, and hadn't allowed him a moment's rest until Sherlock had finally agreed to return to the lighthouse.
So here they were. Taking a deep breath of the fresh ocean air, nervously smoothing down his gills (an old habit he'd thought he'd long grown out of), he gives J'ahn a final nod and begins making his way toward shore.
oOo
A knock sounds at the door. With a sigh, Molly gazes down at the bundle in her arms. "Well, here's hoping it's not another group of tourists looking for an unscheduled tour of the lighthouse, lovey," she says, bending her head to kiss the soft, dark curls.
Blue-green eyes with amber flecks flutter open; pink Cupid's bow lips open in a soft yawn; tiny fists flail a bit until one is settled between those pink lips. Sucking contentedly on his own hand her son continues to gaze up at her. She smiles, lost in the miracle of the moment, until another knock - much more peremptory this time - interrupts her. "Coming!" she calls.
Cradling her son in one arm, she lifts the latch and opens the door - and finds herself staring into eyes that exactly match his, under curls just as dark and above lips that form an identical Cupid's bow. "Sherlock," she breathes. "Oh."
Then her eyes widen as she realizes that he's completely naked; with a gasp, she darts her gaze around - no one in the small parking lot or strolling along the breakwater, than goodness! - and hauls him by the arm inside the door. She closes it behind him, then returns to drinking in the unexpected - but oh so welcome - sight of him.
He has eyes only for the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Reaching out tentatively, his hands hover over the small form. "Is that…"
"Our son? Yes, can't you tell? Except for the nose he looks exactly like you!" Molly says with a laugh. "Would you, would you - like to hold him?"
Sherlock nods shyly. She places the bundle in his arms, helping him to properly support the tiny head. The three-month-old looks even tinier in his father's arms. They stare solemnly at one another and Molly feels tears prickling in the corners of her eyes, emotional tears sparked by emotions too deep and complex to name.
Name.. "His name is Lir, Lir Holmes Hooper," she says, the words coming in a burst. "Lir is Irish, it means 'of the sea' which is kind of an obvious choice I guess." She grins nervously. "I hope you don't mind that I gave him your Clan name for a middle name. If that's some kind of taboo I can change it to Henry, that was my dad's name, or Sherlock if you'd rather I named him directly after you, or-"
His lips capture hers in a soft kiss. Her eyes close and she basks in the warmth of remembered intimacy before her mind catches up to her body. "You!" she exclaims, breaking this kiss and frowning up at him. "You just left in the night, in case you've forgotten! I never thought I'd see you again, and here you are all naked and beautiful and kissing me like you want to just take up from where we left off -"
"Can we?" he asks, that velvety baritone sending delicious shivers down her spine. He meets her gaze squarely. "I left because I thought I'd done what had to be done, that I needed to return to my Work and eventually my own kind, my own world; our records say that all the other half-Mer children remained on land, that none of the soulmates stayed together, or it least that was heavily implied…"
"Soulmates?" She gives him a wide-eyed stare. "That's not a real thing! Is it?"
"It is for my people," he replies. Damn, how had they not covered the fact that they were soulmates in that first evening of conversation they'd shared? Oh yes, because he'd been actively avoiding the subject and she hadn't known to ask, he thinks, chagrined. "And in some rare cases, for yours as well." He glanced down at their son. "Obviously, or he would never have been conceived. Especially since I wouldn't have undergone the Shift unless it was true."
Lir's eyelids are drooping; he's long since dropped his tiny fist from his lips, and Molly uses a corner of the blanket to tenderly wipe away the remaining drool. "It's his nap time," she says softly. "Let me put him in his cot - and," she adds, stealing a glance southward on Sherlock's lean, fit form "- maybe some clothes for you as well."
"Won't need them," he says with a shrug. "I'd much rather take you to bed. Yes, it's my own fault for swim...er, running away, that's how you would say it, yes? But I've always lived by the mantra that alone protects me, although J'ahn would...J'ahn!" he exclaims, interrupting himself. "I've left him...here." He puts Lir into her arms as gently as he can considering his current state of agitation, while Molly stares at him in confusion. "J'ahn, my friend, he's waiting - have to let him know I found you, that I'm all right, be right back!" He drops a distracted kiss on her lips before rushing to the door, puzzling only momentarily over the unfamiliar latch before opening it and heading pell-mell down the beach.
Molly peeks through the window, watching as he stops at the edge of the water and begins what looks like an animated conversation with a dark blob that might be the head and shoulders of another - her breath catches - another merman in the waves. After a moment he steps back, gesturing toward the lighthouse (toward her?) and she watches in awe as the dark blob disappears beneath the waves - and a silvery tail breaches the waters before vanishing as well.
She brings Lir to his cot, settles him in and watches over him until she hears the door opening and closing and Sherlock's footsteps heading toward her. He stops directly behind her, putting hesitant hands on her shoulders. She should be angry at him; she should be even more angry at him for not explaining the soulmates thing to her - and for apparently knowing all along that it would result in a pregnancy! - than for the way he left her, but try as she might, all she can feel is happiness.
She reaches up and rests her hands on his, feeling some of the tension flow out of him as she does so. "I gave birth in the ocean," she murmurs, her loving gaze still fixed on Lir. "My friend Mary is a midwife. I had to tell her; what if Lir had been born with fins or scales or fully functioning gills?" She reaches out, lays a gentle finger along the right side of his neck and the barely visible lines that mark the vestigial gills he had been born with. "Even these could have lead to some pretty awkward questions and concerns. So, I told her, when she asked why I was staying on at the lighthouse and who the father was, and do you know what she did?"
He shakes his head, waiting silently for her to speak. "She pulled down the collar of her shirt - she'd always worn high collars ever since I'd known her, said it was to hide some scars from a nasty burn she'd got when she was a child - and showed me her own gills. Her father was a merman! I mean, what are the odds?" She shakes her head in remembered amazement. "It's such a weird coincidence, that I not only know someone who was saved by a merman - you! - but one of my dearest friends shares the same lineage as my son!"
Sherlock goes very still as she finishes speaking, and she cranes her head around to give him a concerned look. "It is just a funny set of coincidences, isn't it?"
"One of my brother's favorite sayings is that there is no such thing, that the Ocean - the universe, I suppose you'd say, yes? - is rarely so lazy," he says slowly, contemplatively. "However, I do can say that I'm not surprised. An amazing woman would have no problem surrounding herself with equally amazing friends and companions."
"Like you?" she teases, feeling a bit overwhelmed - was that a compliment he'd just paid her? Yes, it damn well was!
He cocks his head to one side consideringly. "Mm, yes, I suppose so," he replies, very seriously. Then his lips lift into a grin. "It's not many of my kind who would be willing to give up the sea to be with a human soulmate, I can assure you of that!"
"Give up the sea?" Molly echoes, turning wide eyes to meet his. "Sherlock, no surely you don't mean that!"
Lir makes a discontented little squawk; they both turn their attention back to him. He squirms a bit, waves his tiny fists in a restless motion, then subsides back into sleep.
Without another word Molly takes Sherlock by the hand and draws him toward the door, a finger to her lips - an entirely unneeded motion, but he simply nods his agreement.
Before they leave the room she tugs him to a stop, then darts over to the large wooden chest at the foot of the bed and pulls out a pair of loose trousers - or do they call them pants, he can never remember - and thrusts them at him. "Put these on," she says in a low murmur, and he does so without protest, knowing that she'll feel more comfortable talking to him without the distraction of his external genitalia, something he knows eventually he'll get used to.
Unless, of course, her distress is due to her not wanting him to remain with her and their son.
With that unhappy thought foremost in his mind he begins speaking as soon as she's closed the bed chamber door behind them. "Molly, I know I acted precipitously when I left that night, but I can assure you, I've had ample time to reflect on my actions since then and I...I regret it. I regret how I left without saying good-bye, without explaining anything to you about soulmates, without warning you what the likely outcome of our coupling would be, but most of all I regret...panicking and leaving in the first place. I hope you'll give me a chance to prove that I-"
She silences him by placing a slender palm over his lips. He resists the urge to dart out his tongue for a taste of her soft skin. "Sherlock," she says, "I'm not really angry with you for leaving. Well, I was, off and on - especially when the morning sickness was particularly bad and definitely when I was in labor! - but I'm not now. I understand, I truly do, why you left. How could you stay, baby or no baby? You don't belong here, you belong in the sea, with...with your own kind. That doesn't mean you can't visit, of course you can!" She hurries on as his brow wrinkles in a growing frown. "You can come and see Lir any time you like, I promise! I mean, you'll have to find a way to let me know when you're coming, of course; I do have to finish my studies and eventually that means I'll have to move away from here, but Greg would let us stay with him, he's already said so."
Sherlock's eyes narrow and his lips thin. "Greg?" he sneers. "Is that why you're really so eager to send me away? You've fallen for some boring Drylander, is that it?"
"No!" Molly exclaims, her own frown now matching his. "That's not it - it's not like that - he's a friend! A friend," she adds pointedly, jabbing her finger into his chest for emphasis, "that you rescued from drowning, in case you've forgotten! He's like an uncle to me, has been my entire life, you git!"
"Ah." Sherlock's brow clears. "I see. Well. Then it's simply that you've no desire to continue on from our time together. Fine," he says stiffly. "I suppose we can work something out concerning Lir, if that's what you wa-"
This time she silences him with a kiss. Not a soft kiss, or a friendly kiss; no, this kiss practically burns his lips with the fierceness of her desire. He gladly opens his mouth to her, deepens the kiss as he pulls her close against his body.
She responds by wrapping her arms around him, thrusting her fingers into the mass of curls at the back of his neck, tugging him down even as she rises to the tips of her toes to fit them ever closer to one another. He pulls her down to the floor, softly carpeted with a colorful patterned weaving of some kind; she makes no protests, only murmurs encouragement against his lips as they struggle out of their clothing.
Shouldn't have bothered with the stupid trousers, is his first thought as he fumbles his way out of them, followed immeditately by Oceans, I've missed this! as her glorious body is revealed to his approving eyes. "Beautiful," he murmurs, drinking in the sight of her, cataloging the small changes time and motherhood have brought to her petite form.
She blushes and starts to turn away, but he tugs her down for a lingering kiss, then lightly settles her back so he can study her in detail.
Her breasts are slightly larger, naturally enough, and he deduces that, although their son is breast-fed, he's suckled recently and so no milk is likely to leak from her coral-pink nipples. He tweaks one experimentally; she gasps and squirms from her postion atop his supine form, and he smiles happily. She's more sensitive than she was, her body softly rounded and marked from navel to hips with the proud, silvery lines that delineate where her flesh had been stretched to accommodate the new life they'd created together.
He reaches up and strokes reverent fingers down a set of those lines. "Beautiful," he says again, then can't help smirking. "I believe you called me that as well, yes? Then we're well matched."
She shakes her head, still blushing, with a smile that is at once bashful and enticing. He can't help kissing her again, and again, and again, leaving them both breathless as he rolls her body beneath his. "May I?" he asks softly, as his penis nudges the warmth at the apex of her thighs. Her cunt, he recalls, is the word, but he's not sure if it's too crude a word to use with her right now.
"God, yes," she groans, spreading her legs wider. He slips a hand between them, rubbing softly at her pearl (clitoris, he'd researched that as well, although pearl is far more descriptive, in his opinion, a hidden treasure well worth the effort of locating) and testing her readiness with the tips of two fingers.
They come back drenched in wetness; he licks the taste of her from them, humming in appreciation making sure to maintain eye contact with her as he does so. Her flush deepens, the warmth radiating from her very pores, and slowly, carefully, he presses his way deep, deep inside her.
They release equal sighs of contentment, followed by gasps of pleasure as Sherlock begins moving within her. He wonders briefly if she would enjoy coupling with him in his Mer form, beneath the ocean waves, or if she'd be put off by the feel of scales and fins beneath her legs, but such thoughts tumble from his mind as her movements harmonize with his.
He feels her reaching the crest of pleasure as she tenses around him and digs her fingers deep into his shoulders; hears it in her gasping mewls and soft panting breaths; sees it as her eyes clench tightly shut and the sweat gathers in moist droplets on her brow. Then he, too, is swept up in the sensation of impending orgasm, the waves of pleasure crashing over them both until they lie, panting and sweating, warm in one another's arms - and with what she'll later describe to him as 'rug rash' on various portions of their anatomy. His knees and her posterior and shoulders, to be precise.
A small price to pay, to be certain. One he would never begrudge.
Afterwards, they lay wrapped in the same orange blanket she'd tucked around him on his last visit, and they finally finish the conversation their impulsive - and very satisfying - coupling had interrupted. "So you're not in love with this...Gary...or whatever you called him, nor with anyone else. And clearly you're still attracted to me. Which means we can find a way to make this work, yes?
"But you said you'd be leaving the sea behind, and I can't let you do that, give up everything, not for me!"
He considers Molly's protests, his mind speeding through the various scenarios that could play out should he make this radical choice. After a moment he says, "I wouldn't be giving it up entirely. Lir deserves to know something of his heritage, and not just from that midwife friend of yours. Who probably doesn't know much more than you do, although I admit I look forward to meeting her and finding out exactly what she does know," he adds musingly.
"I know she'd love to meet you as well," Molly agrees, snuggling closer and yawning. "All right, fine, you've convinced me. We'll give it a go, and if it doesn't work out, well, at least we can say we tried, right?"
"Exactly!" He kisses the tip of her nose and settles them both into more comfortable positions. "Get some rest, I'm sure Lir will be howling for his next meal soon enough."
They sleep, cradled in one another's arms, and when Lir awakens them exactly as his father had predicted he would, Sherlock watches in wonder bordering on awe as his son suckle's at Molly's breast.
Their life won't be easy, he reflects as Molly demonstrates the intricacies of nappy changing and swaddling when Lir has drunk his fill, but at least it'll never be boring. As Molly smiles happily up at him; as she settles Lir into his arms and he gazes down at his son's face, he feels an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. Looking back up at Moll, he returns the smile.
No, their life together won't be boring. No matter what challenges lie ahead of them...
...it'll be perfect.
End note: I've kind of stolen the Elfquest version of soulmates for this fic, where it's a biological need to mate and you don't always stay together once you've done the deed. So what do you think? Did you like the ending as much as I like your wonderful comments? Please let me know!