Disclaimer: Nothing mine. Obviously. A.N. So it's (still, somewhere) Talk (or even Meow!) Like A Pirate day. So it demaded this. Enjoy!
Celebration
She was not going to laugh. It was an important day, and she was not going to ruin it for the boys. But damn, John's face at this exact moment was a bit hilarious. Because that wasn't the face of love. Then again, they'd all seen way too much of that specific look, and undoubtedly would for ages. No, he'd stared at her with sheer victory, Sherlock's hand clutched in his own. Maybe in a decade or two he'd finally understand there had never been any competition. She'd told him, and Sherlock had assured him, and they'd both begged Kate to confirm it. But she'd said that if he was that stupid, he deserved to suffer. Besides, jealousy could do wonders to spice a relationship. And she'd winked.
Well, hopefully after she married them, the jealousy would finally vanish. She ought to be offended, really. Sure, she didn't exactly come clean about everything to John when he'd boarded the Sting, but there was no reason to. It was, frankly, not his business if Irvin was actually Irene. So long as she could fight and help steer the ship, there was no reason to investigate her further. Like there was no reason for people to wonder about Kitt. Irene did, because she knew what to look for. And because Kate was gorgeous, and damn but Irene had wanted her on sight. Then Irene was injured when they'd boarded that Spanish galleon and John had discovered her actual identity. And immediately assumed she was Sherlock's lover. Well, fuck him. If anyone had a quick career because they made Sherlock too horny to think, it was John himself. But she wasn't going to throw it at him on his wedding day.
She was probably wrong, anyway. It made sense to make their medical officer the first mate. John was also a good shot, knew his way around the artillery...and you couldn't unstick him from Sherlock's side. Even before they were actually together. The same way she deserved to be second mate. She'd found them so much prey, after all. It was easy when you knew how to obtain information, and she was the best.
So there she was, in Irvin's best clothes, ready to celebrate Sherlock and John's wedding. Maybe in a while she'd manage to convince Kate to marry her, too, and Sherlock could reciprocate the favour. Right now, she smiled, looked around at the thrilled crew – any occasion to party always welcome – and started the ritual.
The answers were loud and clear, and Irene couldn't help but find adorable that they didn't just have rings – it was the proper way to do that, after all – but also a ringbearer. Mike was the natural choice, since he'd talked John into ditching his current job and joining their crew when their former doctor came down with a lethal case of bullet-itis. He offered them with a silly proud grin. Finally, she pronounced them matelots (trust the French to come up with a workaround since 'husbands' would confuse landlubbers). They didn't even wait for her prompt to kiss. Then again, there'd been lots of kisses lately.
Cheers and toasts exploded, with the finest drinks they'd stolen from a French ship last month. You could find many flaws in Sherlock, but unappreciative of the fanciest joys of life he was not. In fact, once she'd asked him why he would pick this career when he clearly had an aristocratic background, and could have quickly become a proper officer in the Navy – or Army – if the chance to fight appealed to him. And then go home in between voyages and get all the perks of his class. It was the only time he'd looked at her as if she was an idiot.
"Perks? Like my brother's company? Or having to behave?" He'd sounded so dramatic that she could do nothing but laugh. Not that she could criticise him. Having to behave sounded like the exact description of hell, unless orgasms were coming. Preferably quickly.
Speaking of, now that her role was done, she could join the party. Find Kate. Join the betting pool on how long the lovebirds would stay and make merry before they rushed to their cabin. (Not even a full half hour, if you asked her. She'd seen the look in Sherlock's eyes.) Make sure that the helmsman was not too drunk himself, because someone had to. Damn, she hated having to be sensible right now. She usually was the first and loudest in any revelling. Sherlock better be grateful, and up for his responsibilities tomorrow. Besides his new matelot official responsibilities. There was no doubt he'd be up for these. He'd officiously performed them for months, after all.
Ooh there was Kate, Louise on her lap. Well, as nice a sight as that was, things would have to change. Irene liked the ship's mouser as much as anyone - the sleek orange cat was more useful than some fellows she could have named - but that was her spot. Louise could have her own lap, and double the pets, if she was in the mood. Or go look for someone else to focus only on her, demanding little thing that she was. Irene was going to keep an eye on everything, honest. But she'd do much better from a perch. That was only logic, right?