They stood out on deck together for another hour and then John went down to the galley to make some more food while Sherlock stood watch.
"I'm not hungry, John," Sherlock said.
"Eat!" John commanded. "It won't do for you to weaken yourself for no reason. We've got plenty onboard. I think I saw some fishing nets during my search earlier too. If we have to, we can drop them overboard and see what they bring up."
"Fish, John?" Sherlock said in his haughtiest voice. He took the plate John thrust at him and began eating the beans and crackers.
"Yeah, well if we run out of edibles, you'll appreciate a fresh fish or two," John countered. He really hoped it would all be theoretical anyway. He'd done some survival training in the army and knew the basics of how to catch and clean game including fish, but it had been years since that training.
The sky pinkened in the east and that lightened John's spirits. A new day, a new hope, John thought. It that's east, I saw we turn the boat west and let her run. One of us needs to keep watch for land at all times. We can take turns sleeping,"
"Agreed," Sherlock said. "I do the first watch, you can go get some rest if you need more."
"I'm all right," John said. "I'll stay up here with you. But," John hesitated a moment, "we need to do something with the body. He's going to start to smell soon and we've got to use the engine room. Let's find a secure location for it and move him before he gets too bad."
Sherlock swallowed and looked toward the covered form. "I'll take the head and you take the feet," he managed. We'll take it up out on deck for now."
Together, they scouted around and found a storage locker on the side deck held in place by a padlock. Sherlock picked the lock and they placed the still-wrapped body inside. Grateful for the canvas covering, John found he did not want to see the man's face ever again. Vanquishing the villain wasn't like in the movies. Most films ended when the hero gets the bad guy, and someone, (usually not the hero) came in and cleaned up afterward. John wondered how Sherlock was handling this aspect of it. But, he only clenched his jaw and went grimly to work to get the job done.
Later, they returned to the cabin and John asked, "What do you want to do…after?"
"After?" Sherlock asked looking confused. They both perched on the stools near the ship's controls. Sherlock had one hand on the throttle and one on the wheel. Their westward movement had been steady and sure.
"After we get back," John tried again. He wanted to talk about their future, his future. He didn't want Sherlock dwelling on grimness at hand. "We're going to get home, you know," John said. "What do you want to do when we get back?"
Sherlock stood silent for long time. "Mycroft and the Yard know I'm alive now. Baker Street is still there, John. I'll go there first, but I won't consider it home unless…" here he paused. "Unless you're there too," he finally said.
"I can't imagine Baker Street without Sherlock Holmes," John said and grinned. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will have a thing or two to say to us, however."
"Us?" Sherlock said sliding off his stool and coming to stand next to John. "Does that mean you'll come back….home?"
"You have to promise me, Sherlock, promise me you'll always talk to me about what you're feeling in the future. You have to let me arrive at things in my own way, in my own time."
"Yes, I promise," Sherlock said looking steadily into John's eyes. "I won't ever take you for granted again. Without you, I'm as adrift as we are in this boat."
John reached up and put his hand on Sherlock's cheek. He leaned forward and Sherlock met him half-way. They kissed long and sweetly.
"All right. I'll come home," he said.
They spent the day heading west. When night fell again, they let off two more rounds of flares. John stared at endless ocean and felt his heart sink. They were clueless landlubbers. If only he'd joined the Navy, he'd have some kind of idea how to get out of this mess. They'd torn the boat apart looking for their phones or any other method of help. Nothing.
"I'll take this watch. Get some sleep Sherlock," John had said when he saw Sherlock's eyes glazing over. "I'm not arguing. Go downstairs and get some rest. You can relieve me in a few hours." Sherlock nodded and shuffled off to find his bed. He'd become strangely compliant, obeying suggestions to eat, sleep and generally take care of himself. It eased John's mind a great deal but it worried him as well. He had no idea how much penance Sherlock felt he needed to perform to satisfy John. John didn't really know what the detective might do to earn back John's trust. But, the last thing John wanted was to twist Sherlock into something he was not. In the end, that would feel like he'd collared Sherlock.
He watched for at least five or six dark hours. Just as John's mind began to grow fuzzy from lack of sleep, he saw the light ahead. He had no idea if it was a ship or something else. "Sherlock!" he shouted forgetting the fact the man was downstairs. "What do I do?" he asked the wind coming off the sea.
Think, Watson. He went to the box with the remaining flares. They had six left. He'd shoot one now and see if got the light's attention. If it were a ship, perhaps they would answer his distress signal. After firing off a single shot, he flew out of the cabin and pelted down stairs as quickly as he could minding the slippery parts of the deck. He burst into the room only to find a frowzy Sherlock still sleeping. He sat up and asked, "What?"
"Light, Sherlock. Off the starboard bow."
Sherlock got out of bed pulling his shirt on over his thin shoulders. They both clambered back up the stairs and strained to catch a glimpse of whatever was out there.
"I see it, John!" Sherlock said excitedly. "Did you fire a flare?"
"Yeah, should I do another?" John asked worriedly. Maybe they didn't see the first one. The bright flash had already dissipated before Sherlock had made his way on deck.
"This is a good chance," Sherlock said. "Let's fire another."
John's hands wavered just a bit as he took aim again and pulled the trigger. They both watched the red flare arc up, pulsate brilliantly for a few seconds then fall back toward the ocean. That left them with only four more chances. Nothing happened for a full minute then, with a gasp, John saw a bright yellow flare rise up from the light in answer. "They've seen us!" he said shouting. "Sherlock, they've seen us."
He embraced Sherlock intensely then reared back and kissed him soundly on the mouth. "You bloody, brilliant man."
Sherlock held him tightly, grinning. And if his eyes shone a little more brightly than they normally do, well John wouldn't call his attention to it.