I am a horrible person for not updating sooner; I have been so busy. But here is another chapter. O_O
-Awhoha
"I never should have followed you."
"Negativity is dripping from your tongue, my dear Watson. It isn't healthy-"
"It's because of you that we are now trapped in this mess-"
"I wouldn't say tra-"
"If we get out of this alive, I will slowly dissect you myself, Holmes."
Sherlock Holmes shot the man beside him a nettled lookâthe expression lost on the broad shoulders. He could feel Watson stiffen as they slowly rotated within the semi circle, their backs brushing in a dance of anticipation. Their polished shoes scuffed against the wood of the boat as they harmonized with the eerie creaks that drifted up from the waters depths. Fog had begun to settle in, the light rapidly disappearing.
The detective's almond eyes darted past each of the seven men, mind calculating; three pistols and four tightly fisted thugs, two of the four holding torches. The four posed no real threat however, the men wielding the firearms were another elaborate calculation entirely. This had been rather unexpected.
2 Hours Previous
Both men crouched behind wooden crates, stray bits of straw sticking out from between sorry cracks. Men hustled around as sweat dripped from their brow, moving large boxes of cargo inside a large warehouse. Smoke rose from lofty chimneys, the red bricks stained with dirt and soot. Sturdy work ponies dug at the earth with their hooves as carts were readied for transport. Shouts were voiced throughout the busy late afternoon, drowning out the sounds of the city. Sherlock Holmes quietly peered from behind the crates, passing his hat over to the good doctor, his thick mass of dark curls combed back to reveal a face grinning with excitement.
"You have a plan then?" John inquired, tossing the top hat towards the earth beside his person.
"I always have a plan."
"What is it?"
"Just follow my lead-"
"You're a selfish bastard aren't you, Holmes."
"Again with the negativity Watson. Will you never let it go."
"Let what go?"
"You clearly have an attitude problem."
"Wait what? An attitude problem? You jest at a time like this?"
John frowned at Sherlock's high chuckle, the man once again kneeling by his side. The laughter stopped completely as the detective glanced into the doctors icy blue eyes. Sherlock made a show with his eyes, rolling them towards the sky, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips.
"Where is the humour within you my good fellow? Never mind, we shall discuss your lack for adventure later. Right now we must focus on the task currently at hand." Sherlock licked his lips, once more peering out from behind the crate.
"So what do we do now? Sit here until it quiets down?" John inquired watching as his friend silently mouthed his racing thoughts.
"The plan is to infiltrate the warehouse, found out what we can and get back in time for evening tea."
"How do we enter when there is no pause in activity?"
"Not we."
"What?"
"I will enter, you shall remain as you are."
John felt the anger bubbling in his blood. Keeping his voice as calm as he dared, the doctor gripped the smaller man's jacket, bringing the detective almost flush against his chest. "What do you mean, Holmes?"
"You are to remain here."
"I am coming with you."
"No."
"And why is that exactly?"
"I will not have you harmed; Mrs. Watson would have me hanged and my neck is far to precious to fall at an end so early on in life."
"I will not sit idle while you risk entering a warehouse on your own!" John narrowed his eyes bringing Holmes closer still. He could smell the aroma of cigars lingering on his friends lips, the scent of honey and spice attacking his senses. John frowned underneath his mustache as the man before him flushed slightly, gaze darting over to the left.
"If you may, my dear fellow, release your hold from my guise."
"Not until you take me with you."
Sherlock felt the fingers tighten against his jacket. The doctors hands were holding him captive, making the air harder to breath. He could almost count the exact amounts of blue hues displayed in the angered glare. A wave of heat flooded between the detectives legs. Sherlock muttered words of consent, putting some space between himself and the doctor as his jacket was released.
"So the plan?" John whispered as footsteps neared the crates.
"Plan?" Sherlock silently cursed himself. All rational thought had escaped him having the doctor in such close proximity. "Ah yes. Right. We need to blend in with this hooligans, take it down a notch. Watson?"
"Yes?"
"Don't miss."
"What do you mean don't miss?"
Just as two men rounded each corner intent on bringing the selected cargo, Sherlock cracked his cane across one of the mens knees, bringing him crashing to the ground with a muffled shout. Watson spun round to see the surprised and then enraged face of the second man. The good doctor managed a surprised grin before bringing his cane up under the man's jaw. The man gurgled in horror giving John the opportunity to knock the man to the ground and render him unconscious. John, remembering that there had been too, hastily turned only to find his friend lighting his pipe as he sat on the other man's back, now oblivious to the outside world. The detective had removed the fallen man's cap and had placed it upon his own crest.
"Now is not the time for smoking your pipe!" John muttered, risking a glance from behind the crate. Their actions had not been heard over the sound of shouts, the crack of whips and the whiny of ponies. "You're lucky we weren't discovered!"
"Hush, Watson." Sherlock grinned showing his white smile, smoke billowing from his nostrils. "Our window of opportunity has arrived and yet you still babble like a dingy bird."
"Dingy bird?"
"Yes. Dingy bird."
*o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o*
The warehouse smelt of smoke and spice, soot smeared across the fiery red bricks. Straw littered the cobbled stones, their golden bodies dancing in the feeble sunlight. The sound of water crashed against a large boat tethered on the adjoining dock mingling with the roar of machinery. Men hollered, their faces streaked with black as they rushed to pack the masses of cigars. Two men clad in workers dress mingled with the crowd, hats pulled low over their faces. Sherlock watched under hooded lids, his cheeks smeared with soot. Passing an open crate, the detective dove twitching fingers into the box before placing his prize in his trouser pocket. Almond eyes darted behind him once more. Good. Watson was still by his side.
"Now what?" John whispered, dancing out of the way of a man carrying a crate over his shoulder.
"Now we search for decisive evidence, old boy." Sherlock's voice was low humming with furor."There."
John Watson raised his brows as Sherlock gestured to a side door to what looked like a storage room. They slipped in, grunting in greeting to a pair of men who were struggling with a large crate.
"Hurry up will ya? These boxes don't move themselves!"
John held his breath risking a glance at the detective. Sherlock widen his eyes, cocking his head. John tightened his lips, heart hammering in his chest. Cursing Sherlock to the ends of time both men joined in lifting the heavy load.
"Come on then, move!"
John felt his brow knit together as they weaved through the crowd towards a large ship being readied.
"Right then! Let's grab the last batch."
Sherlock grabbed John's shirt just as the men walked off towards the dock, pressing the doctor flush against the cold metal. They stood motionless their breathes harmonizing with one another. John felt the curls brushing against his cheek.
"Holmes?"
"Hush John."
The doctor was about to open his mouth to argue when, to his great bewilderment, a set of warm lips crushed against his own. It was as if a horse had kicked the doctor for an explosion of warmth flooded throughout his body. John stared at Sherlock as the man drew back his lips, brown eyes revealing naught. Still pressed against John Watson, Sherlock peered around the cylinder. The humming in John's ears seemed to clear, replaced by a set of fading footsteps. A moment later the detective released the stunned man, walking back out into the open.
"Are you going to stand around like an idiot Watson? The way is now unimpeded."
"I-" John started but Sherlock had already begun making his way to a half open door. Pushing down the emotions welling within him and trying to drive all thoughts of sudden arousal, the good doctor hurried after his friend.
The inside of the ship was dark lit by small lamps hanging from the sides. Sherlock bit the pipe between his teeth, his mind at a stand still. He needed to think but that was now impossible. He had done it. He had kissed Doctor John Hamish Watson. If only to silence the man from being discovered. Sherlock breathed in, the light from the tobacco mixing in with the blank stare plastered on his feature.
"Holmes!" John hissed. "Behind us!"
Sherlock snapped out of his daze, almost falling down the stairwell. Shadows followed by voices were descending, nearing the two men.
"Right you are, old fellow." Sherlock grabbed his pipe in his left hand and made the last few steps before hiding in the shadows, John pressed up against the opposite wall.
"I told you, not until the cargo is fully loaded!"
"That's what I said hours ago, you ninny!"
A burly man accompanied by a smaller well rounded fellow emerged from the stair well. They turned the corner still arguing with apparent dislike, a torch held high to illuminate their path.
"Good afternoon gentlemen." Sherlock greeted from the darkness, the brief light from his pipe displaying his dancing eyes made black by his surroundings. Both men froze, eyes focused on the man before them.
"Hey you're not supposed to be down here!"
Sherlock chuckled, his hands bringing the hat further down his face. The beady eyed man made a step forwards but clutched at his throat as John grabbed him in a headlock from behind the shadows, the torch falling in a vast array of sparks. The unfortunate man's companion swore and charged at the detective. Sherlock closed his eyes letting his mind fly.
Male, roughly seventy kilograms in weight. Pain in lower left shoulder. Side step right right hook, elbow to the seventh cervical vertebra of back torso. Step behind and engage headlock, thus successfully engaging cerebral hypoxia.
"Sherlock!"
The detectives eyes flew open at John's warning. The man was inches from his person, right arm thrown high, mouth turned up in an angry howl. With an agility that surprised John, Sherlock stepped with graceful ease, bringing his elbow down on the man's back with sickly force. The burly man gasped as needle sharp pain spread throughout his shoulders. Sherlock wasted no time in bringing his powerful arms around the man's throat. Within seconds the man was left slumped across the ships floor, unconscious to the world.
"Brilliant!" John muttered darkly, kicking the man's legs off to the side. The doctor reached for the fallen torch, the light not yet burned away. A low hearty chuckle rose from around the glow of a pipe.
"Do I detect a manner of amazement in your tone, old boy?"
"I would put it more under the category, aggravated."
"I do so imagine that it must be exceedingly difficult to witness such skill and not let your adoration burst forth! Hurry now, Watson. There may be more of them-"
John blew though his mouth as he followed the brisk tap of his friends shoes, successfully hiding the blush that had risen from his cheeks. The hiss of steam and the occasional groan accompanied the pair as they wandered further down. They paused at a large metal door, the doctor pressing his ear close.
"There doesn't appear to be anyone inside; no audible sounds that I can identify."
Sherlock allowed a brief shudder to pass, his mind filling with the soft whisper that escaped those hard pressed lips hidden behind a dark mustache. The voice, so brass and filled with briskness, was as light as a summers breeze. Sherlock felt the doctors shoulder brush up against his chest as John examined the current impediment to their case. Blue eyes re-focused on the detective, his brow creasing towards his nose, discovering Sherlock to be staring absently at the tops of his shoes.
"Well? Must I open the door myself?"
Sherlock grunted. John had a brief moment to catalog his friend's peculiar behavior before the large circular knob began to turn. Both sets of hands, still stained with soot, grappled with the handle all the while earning a squeal of protest from the door. With a final strain the door swung open. Sherlock further progressed with out stretched fingers, dark eyes scrutinizing the inky hold.
"Now what?"
"We investigate, Watson. Don't worry; I can almost see those frown lines decorating your brow. By now most of the workers will have gone home for the day. We have plenty of time."
John mumbled to himself, allowing the torch to extinguish the darkness as he advanced further into the ships belly. They had entered to what seemed a study; books hugged the floor along with bits of scrap yellowing pages. Small candles glued themselves to the desk pushed against the far corner while a quill stained with ink, was left abandoned by a page scribbled with calligraphy. John covered his nose with his free hand; the smell of musky paper overpowering as the two men moved through the small room.
"Interesting."
"What?"
"These pages, rather poorly inscribed, hold details to the comings and goings of this ship along with all its contents."
"We can use them to search for-"
"Yes, Watson. The cigars. If these poisoned choices of indulgence were in fact manufactured here, we may find who the guilty-"
"Person is. "
"Precisely, my good fellow. Our adventure has led me to believe that there are only a few, a few select number of persons that are actually involved in this titillated case. No. Most of these men here are common, far too moronic to spin such webs of deceit. Oh don't give me a look Watson; most people are common its insulting. Back to our most relevant subject. These papers will help us in pin pointing the very- Did you hear something, Watson?"
"We are in the belly of a ship, Holmes."
"Shhh. Quiet."
John sighed, switching the torch to the opposite hand. Flexing his numbing fingers the good doctor listened, eyes on the unmoving detective. Sherlock's eyes reflected the light of the torch, an endless sea filled with secrets; secrets that the doctor wanted to unlock, marvel in all their glory. This man watched, fascinated as the colours changed from brown to gold with each hungry flame. A strange pain filled John as he continued his gaze upon his friend; a pain filled with anxiety that he could not control. Sherlock's eyes flashed to the blue, his brow narrowing.
"Time to go."
"I thought you said we had time!"
Without an answering word, Sherlock stuffed a few pages into the hidden folds of his pockets, John following close behind. There it was. Footsteps sounded above; loud and angry.
"Your friend must have recovered and went to get help." Sherlock stated in a snarl of disappointment as they rounded the corner. John bit the inside of his lip, that statement a stab to his pride. His friends words rang true however. The smaller of the two men which they had encountered prior, had vanished.
"I-" John started in an attempt to rectify his person, but the detective covered the doctors lips with a soot streaked palm.
"Now is not the time to admit your mistakes Watson. We can gladly discuss the matter in which you failed to successfully render a man unconscious over tea, but we cannot swaddle like a pair of chickens."
The heat across his lips vanished as Sherlock spun up towards the stairs. Dropping the dying torch to the floor, John hastened to pursue his friend all the while ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg.
Just a few more steps, John he thought to himself. He paused, jaw slack as a man flew past down onto the grate below. Looking back up, John caught a glimpse of Sherlock's striking fists.
"Just what a I need. More fighting!"
*o.O.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o*
"Is that the lot of them?" John heaved, wiping a trail of blood from a split lip.
"Look, Watson, the mist is settling in." Sherlock remarked, hand buried in his trouser pockets, pipe between his parted lips. His hair was wild; marked with soot and driven in all four directions.
"Good. Lets just enjoy this lovey view shall we?" John hissed, leg now shaking with the effort of supporting its carry. "Why not have a spot of tea with these lovey chaps, smoke a few cigars and call it a day!"
"Your angry."
"Why would I be angry?"
"Your tone is angry."
John flared his nostrils, enraged. Looking up into the misty sky he tried to count down his emotions, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Every time I accompany you with one of your cases, you get us into trouble. No- don't speak Sherlock, listen. You dash off on your own, insult me to no end, and you endanger us both. I ask with the utmost respect; don't go running off on your own. Consult with me, let me know what you've planned so that we don't run into these situations."
"Watson."
"There you go again. Just when I ask you to do something, anything, you go ahead and do the opposite!"
"John."
The doctor stopped. Sherlock's gaze was not directed at him but rather across his shoulder. A chill passed through John as he slowly turned; ten men loomed from the mist, mouths turned up into fierce snarls. The doctor slowly hobbled back, stopping only when Sherlock's hand clasped the back of his shoulder.
"Ready?"
"When this is all over you and I are going to have a serious talk."
"Splendid."
Three men charged, bellows echoing throughout the empty warehouse. Sherlock moved, bringing his fists with the force of a sledge hammer. John cursed his injured leg to the very depths of Hell as he narrowly missed being driven to the ground. Moments later, the three men where soon moaning, wallowing in their misfortunes.
An unmistakable click resounded throughout the soft moans of distress. John was sweating. Three of the seven had pistols. Pistols!
"I never should have followed you."
"Negativity is dripping from your tongue, my dear Watson. It isn't healthy-"
"It's because of you that we are now trapped in this mess-"
"I wouldn't say tra-"
"If we get out of this alive, I will slowly dissect you myself, Holmes." John promised, voice trembling with the effort to stand. He felt his boot hit the side of the vessel. They were surrounded by a gang of thugs with no where to turn to.
"I humbly ask that both you and Mr. Watson keep your noses out of this investigation of yours, Mr. Holmes."
John's followed the voice; deep like the cords of an organ. A shadowy figure, half hidden in the mist, emerged behind the men. Sherlock stiffened, hand held protectively over John's shoulder.
"So kind of you, but I think I will politely decline your most generous offer."
A pregnant silence followed. The doctor started beneath the warm hand that kept his steady as a harsh bark of laughter rang out.
"I somehow knew you would say that. Men!"
"Do you trust me?" Sherlock whispered, breathe hot against the cold flesh of John's throat.
"No."
"Pity."
Falling backwards was an odd sensation. John felt the air flow around him as if trying to keep him air borne but finding his weight unbearable. He felt Sherlock's arms tighten around his chest as they fell down towards the waters below while the sounds of gunshots fired from above.