John spent his time that night as he spent most of his time- pacing the ship, making sure everything was running smoothly and there was no harm done to any of the crew or passengers. When his watch had alerted him to the fact that three hours had passed since midnight, he had taken over for the captain, letting him gain as much sleep as he could for the night. Usually the nights were peaceful, excluding mainly just natural anomalies, such as storms. He had no problem with focus on most nights, concentration coming easy in the dark, steady night. This one, however, was not bringing out the best in him, and he felt less like a captain than ever. The star filled sky could not hold his attention, and the wheel felt like nothing under his hands.

His mind, he did not like to admit, was more interested in the day's events. He was wary of the man they had been sent for. Though he had been not in his mind and hardly as powerful seeming as expected, there was something dangerous about him that was putting him on guard. He saw too much- a fact that he had been made aware prior, though he supposed he had underestimated. He was sure to be a disruption.

Everyone had been so interested in him before he came, John had been fully fearful that his actual arrival would throw them into some kind of frenzy. They had, in fact, been even more curious when he came aboard, and their questions hit him in floods and waves, but he did not drown in them, and they did not relish it as much as he had thought they would. They were whispering now, he knew, among themselves again, but their words lacked the intensity that they had had hours before. They knew who he was, and to them, he supposed, that made him a mystery solved. John, however, thought that perhaps the mystery was just beginning.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong- there was a feeling of dread on the air he was sailing through. He knew it was paranoid and far beyond reason, and so he tried to overlook the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was not convinced that it was a feat that he could follow through with.

He took hold of his thoughts and pulled them away from their current destination. There was something about that man, and he felt his mind fluidly roll now off of premonitions and fall to him again. There was something off about this Sherlock Holmes, not just the opium that had been, he liked to assume, clouding his judgement, but John could not think of it as sinister. He could merely see it as something not quite as it should have been, like a sharp object protruding from somewhere, not a weapon on its own, just odd how it was, but potentially, he thought, very dangerous.

He tried yet again to put his mind back on his task of sailing the ship forward. Again, the stars were blurring above him and his hands were growing restless against the wheel, tapping absent mindedly on the wood. There was a soft glow in the sky now, alerting him that it wasn't much longer until his shift would be over. He sighed and tried to get lost in the task of sailing instead of in his own mind.

"Watson?" A familiar voice called to him.

He turned from his wheel to see the captain standing near to the helm.

"Captain?" He questioned the figure before him. "It's not your shift for-" He checked his pocket watch. "an hour and a half at least. You need to sleep."

"Ah, I've slept enough," He told him easily. "I'd like to say it's your turn now, but I'm afraid there's an issue you need to deal with."

"An issue, sir?"

"The new passenger, Sherlock Holmes, is causing quite a ruckus," He told him with a small sigh.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I think it's best if you just go and look."

John nodded and decided to do just that. He left the helm and made his way to Holmes' quarters.

It was quiet on the main deck, too early for anyone to be up quite yet, and he couldn't imagine what kind of a ruckus could possibly be occurring. As he descended into the lower parts of his ship, the strain to his imagination instantly evaporated.

His ears could pick up deep tones of music, and as he walked it became louder and louder to the point of actually being obnoxious. The music would not have seemed such an issue on its own, but as it was accompanied by the cries and angry shouts of other passengers, John determined it to be a problem indeed.

It came to no shock when he discovered that the room that held whatever was producing this music was none other than Sherlock Holmes' himself. He did not get to it before his attention was called and his thoughts interrupted.

"I want to get off, Captain Watson," Hilda Hope called out to him, reaching out her fingers to pull him nearer. Fat tears were blooming from her eyes. "He's ruined everything."

"I'm sorry, but-" He did not finish before he was pulled yet another way.

"Captain Watson!" Sarah Donovan said loudly to him. She was a member of the guard on the S.S. Reichenbach and he had had little issue with her in all the time she had worked there- in fact, he had no reason to see much of her at all. "I cannot work with this man. He should not be allowed as part of any society, and he should not be allowed around me. He is only fit to be a-" She sucked in a breath, eyes flaring in anger and mind grabbing for words. "a freak!"

"I'm sorry," John said more forcefully. "but that cannot be arranged. He is on this ship until Mycroft Holmes tells us that he is not and there isn't a thing any of us can do about that. You will work with him, I'm sorry, but you have to."

She frowned and looked as if she wanted to argue, but thankfully she did not, and he was able to make his way successfully to the door. He hesitated as he raised his hand to it, then rapped on it with his knuckles. There was a small pause in the playing before continuing on as if no one has knocked at all. John tried again, and this time the music stopped for more than a second. A loud sigh came from inside the room, followed by heavy footsteps.

"What is it now?" Sherlock called out in pure irritation as he turned the handle on his door. "I told you she was in the second to last room on the left, can't you remember directions? Do you have an issue distinguishing between left and right?" His face became visible, and after a moment of staring at someone who was not there, his gaze dropped down to John. "Oh. You."

"What..." He wanted to be eloquent and powerful, but instead he could only say, "What in the world is going on?"

"Nothing much," Sherlock replied with an air of annoyance. "This ship of yours really is the most unlively thing I've stepped on- and I have investigated dead elephants."

"Well, what is all... this?" John looked back to the crowd of his passengers. It certainly did not look like "nothing" was all that was going on.

"I play violin," He replied, an answer that did nothing less to confuse John. "I'm sure Mycroft made you aware of this."

Of all the things he could have made them aware of, he had indeed made them aware of his violin playing. John was starting to wish their conversation had been a little longer.

"Uh, yes."

"I was attempting to play a song and it apparently bothered some of these..."

"I only asked him if he could play softer," Lawrence Hudson told John loudly. "and he began to make the worst accusations about my character that I have ever heard- all untrue, of course. Mr. Thomas May came with me to investigate and this man nearly gave him a heart attack."

Sherlock looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes, and honestly John was surprised that he did not. Instead, he shook his head looking both annoyed and amused.

"I am not the one that 'nearly gave Mr. May a heart attack'," He said. "I believe that would be his wife."

"What are you trying to say?" John asked, intrigued even as he fought to stay professional.

"I simply informed him that his wife was a few doors down with Mr. Bradstreet," Sherlock said as if he found nothing wrong with this. "I think I did him quite a favor, did I not? Though he can't judge her too hardly, seeing as what he was doing with Miss Hope while she was gone." His eyes moved to the still sobbing Hilda. The Mays were nowhere to be found.

"And the accusations Mr. Hudson spoke of," He continued. "were all true- though I believe you already knew that. You'd have to be an idiot not to."

There had been whispers of the things Mr. Hudson did for as long as he had been there. Their biggest source of gossip, Langdale Pike, had let them all become aware of the things Mr. Hudson did in secret. These things involved drug use, illegally selling drugs aboard the ship, sexual deviancy, and aggression towards many women- usually his wife. John had never been fond of him at all, but he was influential enough that he couldn't do a thing about any of it. The captain did, however, ask him not to sell to the crew, as it could be dangerous. John wasn't sure if he even adhered to this rule.

He did not respond to Sherlock Holmes, but the man looked slightly pleased, as if he had agreed.

"Absolutely preposterous!" Mr. Hudson rang out, face hot. "Who do you think you are to slander my character, sir?"

"I am Sherlock Holmes," He replied with a tone that John thought he enjoyed a little too much. "The man with the ability to have you incarcerated."

With these words, Mr. Hudson's face turned from red to a soggy white, and his eyes widened in fear. He opened his mouth to speak again, and then instead when into his room, slamming the door behind him.

"Message my brother," Sherlock said, bringing his gaze to John. With this, he spun back to face away from them all, and went back to his room. As soon as the door closed, John could hear the violin start up again.

Though he knew he should be angry at the command, at the problems that this man had already caused, John instead felt a rush of relief- and a rush of respect.