Prompt: Water, water everywhere. Have a river, stream, canal, or other body of water play a part.

"We will make port within the hour."

I nodded but made no true reply. Last night's storm agitated the sea even now, and the rough water did nothing to settle my stomach. Most of my attention split between watching the horizon and not dry heaving into the sea.

"Watson?"

And waving him away. His seasickness had cleared hours ago. He did not need to watch me guard the railing.

Quiet steps stopped beside me, faint concern beginning to twitch his mouth. One hand brushed the back of mine as the muttered question barely reached my hearing.

"Are you ill?"

No more than I had been all night, though another nauseating roll prevented me from saying as much. Concern mixed with irritation when I again tried to send him away.

"You told me you only grew seasick during storms," he tried again.

I did. Usually. But the waves had yet to diminish from yesterday's tempest, and my stomach still thought us in danger of sinking. Yet another painful dry heave tried to feed the fish. His cold hand landed on my forehead a moment later.

"You are warm."

"And sweaty," I added. "And exhausted. And—" Nauseated. I swallowed. "Seasick," I gasped instead. "You—were the same a few hours ago."

"Was I also pale and shaking?"

"Yes." Not as much as I was currently, but I would never admit that. I moved to sit against the lower rail rather than lean over the upper. "An hour, you said?"

He hummed an agreement. Good. I could wait that long. Maybe the waves would even ease once we entered the harbor.

Or not. The sea and my stomach once more rolled in unison, and I braced my cheek on the cool railing. I could not make a mess on an empty stomach.

"Watson?"

I made no effort to open my eyes. "Hmm?"

"Is there anything that would help?"

"Get off th' blast'd boat."

He did not quite halt a huff of amusement. "Anything that would help right now," he amended.

Not unless he had the power to calm storm-tossed waves. I knew better than to drink even an antiemetic tea. A silent negative denied answer as a light breeze brushed my cheek.

That might help, I decided. Small readjustments moved to find that cool air, and I nearly sighed in relief when the current started drying my face. Perhaps I would stay here until we docked. I doubted I would be in the way, and Holmes could always return to our cabin if he did not wish to be abovedeck.

"What are you doing?"

Trying to relax. Staying coiled tighter than a spring would do nothing for my seasickness. I forced the tension from my shoulders and ignored the way gravity moved me to lean against the railing's corner. The position proved quite a bit more comfortable.

Now to get my stomach to calm down. Long, slow breaths fought against the churning as one hand used a cold piece of metal as a ground. I had dry heaved enough already. I had no wish to continue doing so until we reached port.

"Watson? The captain is almost ready for the passengers to disembark."

Which should be at least half an hour away. How could we disembark out here?

"Come now, Watson." A familiar hand lightly shook my shoulder. "Wake up."

Wake…up? I inhaled deeply, then opened my eyes. Holmes moved away as soon as I focused.

"Alright?" Do you feel better?

Slightly. My stomach no longer rolled with every wave, but a pounding headache rose in its place. The pain proved only somewhat less nauseating than the sea.

"I already retrieved our bags," he informed me, apparently reading my answer on my face. "Can you stand?"

Without leaning over the rail, he left unvoiced. A half-hearted scowl confirmed I heard the addendum though I took the offered hand instead of calling him on it. I failed to hide a stumble on gaining my feet.

"Watson?"

Fine. I was fine. I was upright. He did not need to know how poorly I felt accomplishing "upright," and I waved the question away. I could sit as soon as we returned home. I was probably just dehydrated.

He studied me but did not press. One arm threaded through mine to steady me across the gently tilting deck and down the gangplank. By the time we hailed a cab, I nearly fell into the seat.

"Do you still feel sick?"

I shook my head, grateful for the shadows of the cab. The throbbing pain would ease soon enough.

"Then why are you so warm?"

Because I had been asleep and wanted to return to sleep. After a long night spent more abovedeck than below, the cab's familiar swaying proved far more therapeutic than the ocean's rhythm. I ignored his cold fingers to prop my head against the wood.

And woke on the settee the next morning, covered in a layer of blankets and with a stoic detective tabbing my pulse. Judging by Holmes' hovering, seasickness and influenza made a nasty—and somewhat frightening—combination. He and Mrs. Hudson worked together to keep me abed for two days longer than necessary.

I retaliated by adding a blue dye to Holmes' coffee.

Hope you enjoyed :)