"You probably heard all of that, ya?" Sherlock muttered. They just nodded slowly, and Sherlock bit his lip uncomfortably. He could feel Greg's heart rate start to spike; obviously he wasn't too keen on carrying the merman who was ticking off the entire crew.
"Well, I mean, have you ever heard of a maid service?" Sherlock asked, his voice now very small.
"Women don't make it very well on ships." One of them growled. That was sexist, Mary was doing just fine.
"Ever heard of cleaning up after yourself?" Sherlock suggested.
"It's a good thing there's drains in here, that way cleaning up your blood will be plenty easy." One from the back decided, cracking his knuckles excitedly. Greg backed up a little bit, and Sherlock looked around nervously for an escape route, there was one door, and the men were blocking it.
"Oh, so you do know how to clean? Except these drains might not work very well, your filth is clogging them up." Sherlock pointed out.
"Sherlock you might want to shut up." Greg hissed, backing up so far that his back hit the far wall. The men started to come closer, and just now Sherlock realized just how big their biceps were, very good for punching rapidly, and brutally. He'd just have to talk his way out of this one.
"You can't touch me; I'm under the prince's protection." Sherlock pointed out.
"Where is he now?" one of the men asked.
"Upstairs, trying to sleep, and trust me if you lay one finger on me I will start screaming. And trust me, I can scream loud enough to get his royal highness out of bed in thirty seconds, and he's grumpy when he's tired." Sherlock snapped.
"You can't scream if you're dead." One of them insisted, looking rather apprehensive.
"I can scream while I'm dying though, and then what are you going to tell him when his merman is dead? What are you going to do with my body, what's your cover story? I image all of you can't count above ten, so I can't imagine how you can outsmart the prince. Then again, you could always claim you ate me, that wouldn't be too far of a stretch upon seeing your enormous stomachs." Sherlock decided. The crew muttered a little bit to themselves, taking in Sherlock's insults and trying to decide if it was worth it to attack him or not. Of course, John would have their heads, so they had to be careful.
"John will be really mad." Greg added. "If you beat us."
"I think the prince gets mad at everything." One pointed out, but that really wasn't a good argument.
"Make sure you know just what you're getting into here. You lay one finger on either of us and you can lose your job, your family, your house, the kingdom can take your lively hood away. John could take your ship away." Sherlock added, knowing that might be enough to get these pig like men to cooperate.
"Our only love is the sea." One of them insisted. Sherlock sighed, as if this was a real tragedy.
"No wonder the ocean seems so miserable." he muttered.
"Just, go back to bed." Greg insisted. The men all looked at him curiously, as if wondering how angry the prince would be if they killed him as well. But slowly they all seemed to become scared enough to walk away, down the hall and back to their bunks were they belonged.
"You can't keep me here." Sherlock whispered once they all disappeared, leaving the doorway clear.
"You're right, I can't." Greg agreed. "I think we'll both sleep in his bathroom tonight, they'll kill me as well."
"Let's go back up." Sherlock insisted. Greg nodded fearfully, starting his way into the hallway once more. The oil lamp had somehow managed to go out, and the darkness was almost tangible, Sherlock was almost able to smell Greg's fear. The boat rocked and the floorboards squeaked, and there was no telling who was lurking in the shadows. They almost made it to the stairs when the shadow of a man appeared from nowhere, and with a great punch he sent Sherlock to the floor, his nose throbbing and bleeding immensely.
"Who was that!" Sherlock screamed, flopping helplessly on the floor as Greg scrambled to get him back up. His nose was a geyser of blood, he was sure it must be broken, god those men could punch.
"I don't know, come on!" Greg insisted, grabbing Sherlock from under his arms and dragging him out of the hallway. Even though the man had probably fled before they could get a good look at him, Sherlock was terrified, what if they all decided that John's punishments weren't enough to keep them at bay? What if the entire crew rioted? Sherlock's nose felt horrible, he tried his best to clutch onto it, but Greg was dragging him by his arms up the stairs, his tail thunking against every single step, little splinters of cheap wood impaling his scales. When they were finally on deck Greg slammed the door shut, letting Sherlock flail on the deck floor, trying to manage his bloody nose.
"I don't think they'll come up here. That's their terrain." Greg decided.
"Oh that's brilliant." Sherlock growled, feeling the river of blood streaming from his nostrils.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know they'd get so violent, but we should definitely keep you upstairs." Greg decided, leaning against the door to make sure no one got out.
"John's going to be really grumpy." Sherlock decided. Greg nodded, shaking out his arms and picking Sherlock up once more, trying to keep his nose far enough away so that blood didn't ruin his pajamas. When he knocked on the door there was a groan, obviously John wasn't in the mood for moving at the moment. Greg knocked again, and there was a loud thunk, like someone had fallen out of the bed in an attempt to answer the door. Sherlock waited very impatiently, poking at his nose to see how easily it would move, just in case it was broken. When the door opened he had expected a lot of cursing and shouting, but instead of John it was Mary who answered the door, pulling on her robe once more and looking slightly annoyed.
"What is it Greg?" she asked with a yawn.
"Sherlock was attacked." Greg muttered. Sherlock looked over at her dramatically, letting her see the bloody mess of a nose. Mary's face contorted into a look of fear, and she gasped a little bit.
"Oh dear, come in, let's get that cleaned up." she insisted, holding the door opened wider and letting Greg carry Sherlock into the bathroom. The lump that must be John was lying on the floor, his pillow clutched over his head in annoyance. Mary lit a lamp in the bathroom and filled the bath up with fresh water, letting Greg drop Sherlock into the bathtub and lay there with his nose in the air, trying not to lose too much blood.
"Go and get John, would you Greg? I have no idea where the medical supplies are." Mary asked sweetly, observing Sherlock's nose. Greg nodded, rushing into the bedroom once more. Sherlock heard a very loud scream and a pillow flew past the open doorway, but in a moment Greg and John both walked into the room, John looking rather desperate as he ran over to the bath.
"What happened, who did this to you?" John asked, pushing Mary's arms away as he investigated Sherlock himself.
"I don't know, it hurt though." Sherlock mumbled. John's fingers held Sherlock's face gently, and every fiber in Sherlock's body begged him to lean into his touch, to let his fingers slide against John's cheeks...Nope, stupid idea, his nose was a geyser of blood, now was not the time for confessions and emotions.
"Greg, did you see who it was?" John asked rather aggressively. Obviously this man was not going to go unpunished. Sherlock took this moment to stare in John's eyes, his beautiful chocolate eyes, darting around desperately, looking at Sherlock's nose and the blood that was dripping into the warm bathwater.
"Alright, Mary I'm going to need you to get some rags from under the sink, maybe a bandage although I don't know how that's going to work. I can't tell if it's broken." John admitted.
"You're going to fix it?" Sherlock asked, his voice sounding very high since his nose was blocked up.
"I'm going to try to contain the blood, I have no idea what to do, I'm no doctor." John admitted.
"Do we have one on board?" Greg asked, leaning against the wall next to the bath and watching as Mary handed John the rags.
"No, it wasn't supposed to be this perilous of a journey." John insisted. "We'll just have to wrap it up."
"I'm going to look like a bloody idiot." Sherlock growled.
"Well, you're an idiot, and you certainly are all bloody...." Greg said with a sort of laugh. John paused for a moment and looked at Greg in disapproval.
"You're going to need to lie back." John decided. Sherlock looked at Mary for approval, trying to make sure John wasn't being a complete idiot about this. She nodded, and Sherlock just sighed, letting John's hands push him gently back so that his head was lying against the rim of the bathtub.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Sherlock asked.
"I already told you, I have no idea what I'm doing." John insisted, mopping up the blood the best he could with the rag. The water was now a very weak shade of scarlet, the water mixing with the blood and looking very eerie. Usually when someone gets a deep cut underwater they bring them to a heavily guarded facility, just in case of shark attacks. Blood attracts sharks, and sharks don't have a problem with snacking on merpeople. It rarely ever happens of course, but if there is so much as a shark sighting everyone loses their minds.
"I can do it John." Mary suggested as John rinsed off the blood soaked rag and stuffed it under Sherlock's nose once more. The bleeding was slowing down, but it didn't seem anywhere near stopping.
"No, I've got it. He's my responsibility; I never should've sent him down there." John insisted.
"He's sitting right here you know." Sherlock pointed out.
"What did you say to them?" John wondered, looking Sherlock straight in the eyes and making the poor merman's heart rate increase rapidly.
"Nothing, I didn't say anything." Sherlock said very quickly, the only thing he could think of saying when he was under the spotlight of John's beautiful eyes.
"Oh that's a lie. He was calling them pigs and disgusting creatures and all of that. They didn't seem too fond of his accusations." Greg shrugged.
"I should've known you would run your mouth again, you don't have a filter." John sighed.
"Those showers are disgusting. They go in there to try to get clean when in reality they only get dirtier." Sherlock insisted.
"I'm not really in charge of how clean our showers are, and it's not my biggest concern at the moment. Are you alright or not?" John asked.
"I'm fine, I mean, I'm alive, aren't I? Back in my bathtub, with the best medical staff this ship could provide." Sherlock said with a sort of smile. He was happy to see John smile back.
"Well then, Greg, thank you very much for helping, you're free to go." John decided.
"Um, well, they seemed pretty anxious to get me as well; I was wondering if I could just sleep up here?" Greg muttered rather nervously. John sighed heavily, checking the clock that was hanging on the wall. It was a little bit past three in the morning.
"Alright, fine, take my makeshift bed on the floor." John decided.
"Where are you going to sleep?" Greg asked worriedly, as if he didn't want to take the prince's only sleeping arrangement.
"I'll just stay here with Sherlock, he needs someone to stay up with him, and you have chores and duties to do in the morning." John pointed out.
"I'll be fine John, honestly. You go off to bed; you're the top priority around here." Greg insisted.
"Nope, I'm staying up, final decision. So either sleep in my bed or go down there with the crew, I'm sure they'll be very happy to see you." John insisted.
"I'll just stay up and help you with Sherlock." Greg decided, standing firm.
"If you don't go sleep you're fired, end of discussion." John insisted, glaring dangerously at Greg until finally the servant sighed in defeat.
"Why do you have to be such a nice person? It's annoying sometimes." Greg decided, but with that he walked off to the bedroom and disappeared.
"And Mary, you need your sleep as well, we've got a good two more days at sea." John insisted. Mary sighed, watching as Sherlock poked at his bloody nose once more, but nodding.
"As long as you think you don't need any more help?" she muttered.
"I'm fine Mary, get some sleep." John assured. Mary smiled softly at him, adoration in her eyes. Obviously some ghost story about warts wasn't enough to keep her from loving John. It seemed Sherlock and her shared the same stubborn hearts.
"Alright then, thank you John." she said, patting his shoulder before going off to the bedroom and closing the bathroom door silently, so that Sherlock and John were once again the only people there. Sherlock watched him curiously, wondering why he was so insistent that everyone else go to bed. Was there something he wanted to say? John was obviously noticing the awkward silence, wringing the washcloth out under the tap and pretending not to notice Sherlock staring.
"Is it feeling any better?" John asked, bloody water dripping from his hands.
"It's alright." Sherlock admitted.
"Can you hold the washcloth there?" John wondered. Sherlock just smiled the best he could, nodding.
"I've been able to hold it from the beginning." He pointed out, taking the washcloth from John's hands and holding it to his nose.
"The bleeding's slowing." John pointed out.
"Yes, I'll be alright." Sherlock assured.
"I don't want my merman to be hurt, that would be tragic. Especially if you're the only one." John pointed out. Sherlock nodded, feeling rather guilty for not telling John that there was more of his kind floating around in the ocean. Then again, it really wasn't any of John's business.
"I'm glad to know you care. For a moment there, I thought you didn't." Sherlock muttered.
"I was angry, you were being a bit, hard to handle." John muttered.
"You can say annoying, I won't get offended." Sherlock assured. John just smiled, nodding and avoiding eye contact.
"Alright then, you were being very annoying. Still, it doesn't justify sending you down to that filthy hole, those men truly are disgusting." He decided. Sherlock nodded, letting his tail glide slowly through the bloody bathwater as he held the washcloth to his nose. He held it up for a moment to see how much blood he had lost in the last couple of seconds when he felt soft fingertips on his chest. Sherlock nearly dropped the washcloth, but he felt the familiar heat of the potion get lifted up off of his skin.
"This potion, you wanted me to drink it?" John muttered, holding the bottle up so that he could see.
"No, now's not the time." Sherlock insisted, grabbing the potion from John's hands quickly.
"What does it do?" John wondered.
"I suppose you'll find out eventually." Sherlock decided, sliding his necklace so that the potion sunk under the water, far away from John's reach.
"Is it poison?" John wondered. Sherlock shook his head, wondering why he was holding out on the truth. Maybe because he was guilty about taking John from Mary? Maybe he was worried John would think it was all a joke, or that it was some weird scheme to get away from this bath? Either way, Sherlock wasn't sure it was the time to start telling the truth.