James Moriarty - Tempestuous Tides

Chapter 13

Rough seas. Turned stomachs. Rough weather. Turned back. 

Nothing prepares you for the feeling of ducking and diving on the waves. Aella had promised that this would not be anything easy for them to face, being out of their comfort zone. Sherlock was unable to even begin mourning the death of his closest, and dearest friend John. John was always by his side, no matter what was happening, John's loyalty would outweigh the possible dangers Sherlock could encounter.

Once dead, no one can go back.

No one can turn around and change, because our efforts are futile in trying to raise the dead. It is impossible. 

That young boy had been taken for no reason at all, he was innocent in all of this. Yes, it might be him being Aella's younger brother, but she had killed him and taken his body with her, it was strange. 

Below the ship, in the bottom where the sleeping deck was with the kitchen, Sherlock and Mycroft were conversing in a heated discussion of feelings. They had both experienced losses together, but neither of them knew how to console each other since the feelings were never something they came to terms with on a regular, normal basis. 

"Sherlock, we have been going around in circles, we are getting nowhere," Mycroft, sat back in the seat, looking to the ceiling, almost praying for some support from God.

"Your right," Sherlock admitted, hating to hear himself say those words. "We just need to do what we have to here as Aella had said."

"Did you write down what she said?"

"Yes, here," Sherlock produced a piece of neatly folded paper, with her instructions and notes written in detail. 

Get on your ship and leave, there is no time for you to linger around here. We know that we have no more time to play these games, people will be coming for me soon enough, for all the murders. 

Maybe he was right all along, I am a murderer. For once, I want to prove I was right to be called a warrior, to be called strong, like that of a whirlwind. Alina always made sure I knew she was dominant, she knew I was crazy. Something like that. People have always wanted to break away from who I really was, including me. 

This journey is to prove to my father that I have always been his Devil and no one else will take that away from me. So, in a series of clues, or hints, or challenges I present, you will face them one after the other. I will bring back those you want to bring back because I can. 

So, do what I tell you.

Mors nobis pars - Death do us part 

"So, we have to expect the unexpected, Mycroft," Sherlock stood up, leaving the room, taking a raincoat to protect himself from the distrustful weather. 

"We have always been the ones to expect the unexpected, especially from Moriarty."

Sherlock left, listening to the sounds of the voices coming from up above. His skin was a lot more pail than usual. It is to be expected. 

On the wall just outside as he opened the door, a note was nailed to the side of the boat. Instead of trying to remove the nail from the metal, he ripped the paper from the nail, bringing it with him to the helm where Moriarty was. 

"Found something," Sherlock said, looking to where Moriarty was supposed to be. "Well, at least I had hoped to say that I found something and not be listening to silence." 

Turning back to go back out of the helm to go and find James, he tried the handle of the door, but the door was locked. 

"Thank you!" throwing his hands in the air, he released someone needed to be in control of the boat in this weather. Sherlock had not yet read the note in his hands. 

Turning it to his eye line, he read the Latin words out to himself. 

"Aqua, amor, homicidium," considering the words carefully, he racked his brain for what the language was. "German, no. French, no. Greek, no."

Just outside, Mycroft emerged from beneath the boat, coming to see what was going on. Sherlock slammed his hands against the glass trying to scream so Mycroft would hear, pressing the note against the glass for him to see.

"Water, love, murder! Water, love, murder!" Sherlock tried the door handle again, soon attempting to kick it down, but nothing was working. 

Inside of the helm, none of the weapons was there. The sailors had removed them after the incident that had happened before, resolving to never use the harpoons again. Whatever had happened no one talked about it. 

"Water, love, murder," Sherlock paced around the small helm, thinking to himself out loud. "Why is this making no sense? Why do I not know?"

Stopping dead in his tracks, he heard the slamming of something against the glass behind him, squeaking of something heavy moving down the glass. "Oh my,"

Another scream was heard, a scream of one of the sailors again.

On the front of the window, there was a trail of blood getting washed away by rainwater, and the seawater sloshing against the sea. In his fingerprint, the man had written something that Sherlock immediately noted down. 

Salva nos

"More Latin!" sitting on the floor, he placed his head between his knees, his and behind the back of his neck. "Save us."

Shooting up like a bullet, he checked below the bottom of the helm, seeing if there was an emergency axe stashed away, but there was nothing. Nothing at all for him to use. He needed to wait to see if someone else was going to come out. Sherlock's hands were shaking, but not from the thrill. From being in fear, something he was never used to feeling. Everything was going crazy around him. Two different sets of screams. 

A knock resounded on the door, someone calling to Sherlock from the outside.

"I am glad you made me shoot her, I am going to get you out and save you. Before she comes for you first,"

"What?" Sherlock got closer to the door, trying to listen to her. "Who is it?"

"It's Camilla, I have made somewhere safe for you to go first, I heard she was coming for you. Giving you the note, I heard the last one, but did not know what it meant,"

"What was it?" Sherlock's voice was deep in concern, wondering what it was she was talking about. 

"Qui cum amico suo morietur,"

"He will die with his friend."

Camilla wrenched the door back, her strength undeniable. The door came away from the hinges, allowing her to get to Sherlock. She smiled, trying to reassure him as best as she could, knowing full well he needed to be the one who lived out of him and John.

"Is she coming personally?" Sherlock asked, wondering if it was her who would be doing the deed.

"No, she is a coward and a fool. I know you let me kill her, and I am glad you did. I am glad you got Moran to run. But, we need to run now."