Get ready to feel sorry for poor Watson…

Disclaimer - Holmes and Watson are not mine.

Sailor

I sat on the deck of the good ship 'Mariskia' feeling utterly sorry for myself. I had suffered from sea-sickness from when I was a little child, and even now, in my twenty-eighth year, setting foot on a ship in weather that was even a little stormy had a startling effect on my stomach. My insides felt like they had been turned upside-down and inside-out, I felt weak and empty, after losing any sustenance I had eaten over the last twenty-four hours into the sea which swirled around the bottom of the ship.

I groaned, trying to steady myself and overcome the disorientation I felt. I looked up as a shadow fell across my face. Holmes stood there, in absolute perfect health, with a smile upon his face. "How are you feeling, Watson?"

"How do you think I am feeling?" I asked crossly, cursing the dratted man's steady stomach.

"Well, you look absolutely awful."

"Thank you for your concern, Holmes."

Holmes let out a short bark of laughter "Oh, my dear friend, why did you not tell me? I would have not insisted on your coming."

"You were in danger," I grimaced "Oh Lord, and now I am. I think I am dying, Holmes."

"Trust a Doctor to be a hypochondriac." I bridled at Holmes' comment. This was, after all, his fault. Holmes had been brought news of an illegal smuggling ring on board this ship and it's sister ship, the 'Alaki'. Holmes had suggested that we sign up as sailors, and I take on the responsibilities of ship's Doctor, an idea that I was not altogether happy with. But after we were attacked by a group of very large sailors in an alley near a theatre, I realised that Holmes needed all the help he could get, and determined to join him. I now wished I had stayed at home.

"Blast it all, Holmes! I am a Doctor, not a sailor."

Holmes smiled again "It is providence indeed that the Captain was not present when you decided to become ill all over that poor sailor, Watson, or our cover would have been blown."

I scowled at him and struggled to my feet "There are some times when I really detest you, Holmes."

Holmes grinned at me, and I started to walk away. I was half-way across the deck, when one of the cabin boys stuck his head out of a door. He was pale, and his breathing was erratic. "Doctor!" he yelled "The cook is dead."

In that instant, I forgot my sea-sickness and made my way down to the kitchen, followed quickly by Holmes. We went inside to be greeted by a terribly unpleasant sight. The place smelled of blood and gore, reminding me inescapably of Afghanistan. The walls were covered in blood. The body was…I shall refrain from describing it, but instead say that the body was decapitated and it was a particularly violent assault. My instincts as a Doctor taking over, as well as my experiences on the battlefield, I began to…piece together…the body.

My attention was gained by the sound of a gasp, I looked up to see Holmes running out of the room. I nodded to the cabin boy and followed my friend, thinking that he had got a lead. Instead, he ran out onto the deck, having turned a very delicate shade of green, groaned, then leant over the side of the boat and promptly lost his breakfast.

My first instinct was to laugh - but he looked so pathetic standing there. I felt much better - better enough to show sympathy to Holmes even after he had shown me none. I walked over to him as he still leant over the side, and placed a supporting hand on his back. "Poor old fellow," I said, gently, "But perhaps now you see…"

"Oh heavens, Watson. I am so sorry…"

I smiled "Quite alright, Holmes. But maybe now you will remember in future that you are a detective, not a sailor."

My answer was a groan from Holmes as he brought up more of his breakfast, followed by a cry from behind us. "I say…" said the Captain menacingly "What kind of sailors get sea-sick?"