AN: So, very, very sorry about the long update delay! I've just got a ton of other stuff I'm working on so this kind of got lost in the mix. But I'm not giving up on it! I know it's moving slow and the chapters are a bit short but I hope you guys hang in there with me. Soon enough he'll have The Watson to himself and the real adventures will begin!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. No one does. He's a pirate.
Sherlock's plan to take The Watson was simple enough. As dinner preparations were being made he organized it all within his mind and he was confident of its success. His grin was uncontainable and caused a sense of general unease among the crewmen. It was almost feline in nature and Sherlock was never known for smiling. They couldn't fathom the source of his gaiety and it unnerved them. But he was left alone, per usual and began to put his plan into action.
That evening he declined dinner, complaining of an unsettled stomach. Those who have seen him smiling wondered about this, but didn't dare ask. Instead they wished him well and went to the table. While the crew was dinning he slipped down into the cargo hold and opened one of the barrels, filled to the rim with opium.
He'd brought a large leather sack down with him and he filled it with the heady plant. Then he slipped back up to his bunk, stuffed the bag under his pillow, and laid down, feigning sleep. It took a few hours for the rest of the men to return to their bunks. Once all noise had finally ceased he stirred, opening his eyes and scanning the room. Every bed save that of the night watchman was occupied and all the men were sleeping.
He moved slowly, climbing from his bed and extracted his sack from beneath his pillow and his sword from beside his bed. No one stirred. He crept quietly out onto the deck, mindful of the squeaking steps, which he carefully avoided. The moon was formed into a bright crescent, lightening the night, without giving away all the shadows. It made for a perfect night for his plan.
Swiftly and silently he moved, untying ropes and maneuvering so as not to attract any attention. He even dressed in all black so the scant moonlight wouldn't catch or reflect upon any of his movement. He would seem nothing more than a dancing shadow, which was not an uncommon sight upon the ocean at night.
He managed to slowly lower a long-boat into the water, attracting no attention until the boat hit the water with a slight splash, awakening the watchman. Sherlock quickly leapt into the boat and cut the ties with his sword worried the watchman might raise the alarm. However he simply stirred, glanced about, and settled back into his seat.
The next morning when they realized he was gone and connected the dots. Everyone was fairly calm over the entire incident. True, he hadn't fulfilled his contract, but they were glad to be rid of the imperious prat. Two crewmen went down to check the hold found not large quantity missing. The Captain decided to let him go and they returned to their routine.
Sherlock allowed himself a sigh of relief as he saw the no lanterns being lit and no din being raised. Part one of his plan was successful. Now for part two. He rowed through the silver, star-studded waters, reveling in the sensation of solitude. True, he could clearly see the darkened silhouettes of the ships, but beyond their presence the sea was a vast open expanse, and it seemed as though the wind itself sang of freedom. Freedom he would soon attain with his ship. He would answer to no one. He wouldn't even have to see anyone if he chose, for days on end. The map and stars would be his guide and his mind would be the only chatter upon the deck.
He rowed on until he estimated his distance to be several yards from The Watson. Perfect. He tightly secured his sword around his waist, slipped the sack of opium over his shoulder and leapt into the water. The chill shocked him for a brief second as he adjusted, floundering for a moment as the weight of his sodden clothes tugged him down towards the black abyss of the ocean floor. He struggled upwards; regaining his balance and control, then began with long strokes, approaching The Watson.
Tales have been told in the island near by of a male siren that swims by the moonlight and one can only guess that some stray fishing boat must've glimpsed him. Indeed he must've seemed something from legend as he glided, pale and elegant through the moonlit water. For Sherlock it hardly seemed the stuff of legends as he struggled with quickly tiring limbs towards his destination. Out of sheer will he finally made it aside the ship.
He began splashing desperately about in the water, shouting up at the massive ship. "H-help! Pl-please! Man Overboard!" he called, allowing the chill to enter his voice causing him to stutter.
When no movement was made from the crewmen he tried again, raising his voice slightly to make him seem younger and more vulnerable
"Plea-ase! Is any-yone uo there!? Hel-lp!"
This time he manage to rouse the night watchman and soon enough cries of "Man overboard!" and "Cast a rope for the lad!" where taken up around the ship.
A heavy rope dropped in front of him and he managed to climb aboard. The few crewmen surrounded him and he was offered a blanket and bit of whiskey. He shivered and gulped down the warming whiskey thankfully, before stuttering to tell his well-rehearsed story.
"I – My name is Sherlock – And – and I've only just escaped" he began keeping his voice high pitched and youth-like, taking gasping breaths to enhance his story.
"Escaped from where, my boy?" Inquired the temporary Caption with a friendly smile, offering him a bit more whiskey.
"That s-ship you see across the w-water." He explained, gesturing weakly in their general direction. "They trade opium and I – I was a prisoner aboard." He continues, moving to sit down on the deck, the cold still draining energy from him. Maybe swimming hadn't been such a good idea, though it was the only way to fulfill his story.
"Why where you a prisoner?" the Captain asks, his voice losing some of its warmth and hardening with suspicion.
"My f-father was a beastly man – and –and he owed them a great d-deal of money –so – so he sold me t-to them shortly after my mother – p-passed away…" Sherlock whimpered through facsimile sobs.
The gathered crew made noises of disapproval and sympathy; someone threw another blanket around his shoulder.
"How did you manage to escape?" the Captain inquired, voice soft and sympathetic again.
Sherlock had the sudden, absurd urge to laugh at how easily these sea-hardened men where being taken in by a mere boy; but that would destroy the plan entirely, so he pressed on.
"They w-were fe-e-asting and drinking. Everyone went to their bunks early an-and-d even the night watchman was t-to-o drunk to stand his g-guard. I saw your ship earlier and d-decided that my chance had f-finally come. I - jumped in-t-to the water and swam over." He explains watching as the Captain's face transforms into disbelief.
"You swam the entire length?" he asked, incredulously.
Sherlock pretended not to notice his tone and nodded, shivering with more intensity as he answered "Yes. I – I was desperate, sir."
The Captain nodded, seeming satisfied. "What did you say your name was again?" he asked.
"Sherlock, sir." He answered; hoping that using his real name wouldn't backlash on him.
"And your surname?" the Captain prompted.
"Smith." Sherlock answered thoughtlessly. He hadn't planned on giving a surname so he used the first that came to mind. It was common enough and unlikely to raise suspicion.
"Well Sherlock Smith, welcome aboard The Watson of the Queens Royal Navy."
Sherlock widened his eyes in false wonder. "This is a naval ship! That's amazing!" he proclaimed, sliding easily into the persona of an excited child.
"I've always wanted to serve Her Majesty on the sea. I just didn't get a chance with having to look after my mother, then when the traders came…." He trails of there, allowing the Captain to step in with an offer.
"Well perhaps when we make it back to port you'll have a chance to join." He says encouragingly and Sherlock fakes a smile.
"I certainly will. What's your name sir, if I might know?" He requests.
"Captain Michael Stamford." The Captain answers.
"Well thank you Captain Stamford, you've saved my life." Sherlock said, allowing real warmth into his voice, because it's an accurate statement.
Captain Stamford waves it off and says "Let's get you settled in. We've got spare bunks. You can sleep and return to London with us." Sherlock nearly winces at that, because he didn't think The Watson would attempt to make it that far with the damages.
But if his plan worked then they wouldn't make it that far anyway. He could get rid of the crew then sail it to another port for repairs.
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KP