Just An Ocean Apart

The Love in the Light

    Sherlock dragged John onto his shoulder, trying to find a suitable method of carrying John to shore, when there was a large floating chunk of wood, seemingly from the floorboards of the ship, floating in the water. Something must have happened, a lightning strike, a wave powerful enough to uproot the wood from the hull, either way it didn't matter. The only important thing on that ship was unconscious on Sherlock's shoulder, and he couldn't care less about what happened to the rest of them. He grabbed the floating piece of wood from where it lay in the sea, getting tossed around through the waves like a mere piece of cardboard, and steadied it the best he could before pulling John on top of it, making sure all of his limbs were safely on top of the wood before starting to steer it to open water, hoping beyond all hope that John was breathing, because he didn't know what else he could do. It was one of the most difficult things Sherlock had ever done, but it was necessary and therefore the pain didn't matter. Sherlock was having a hard time propelling himself through the water these days, but now he had to push a large wooden makeshift barge with the love of his life limp and unmoving on top of it through the angry, roaring ocean, through the waves pushing desperately at them and sending Sherlock ten feet backwards, making him swim after John's raft as it spiraled in the other direction. Every muscle in his body hurt but ever muscle was needed to get John to safety, and therefore he had to ignore the pain and keep going, keep pushing and pulling and struggling because he could see the storm starting to break, he could see the clouds start to lighten and the sun poke it's unfamiliar rays through the horizon. Slowly the churning sea started to calm, and when Sherlock turned to see what was left of the ship he saw nothing. The sea was empty, and that either meant he had gone so far that he couldn't see them, or that the ship sunk and whatever survivors were left to bobble on top of the calming waves or sink down to the coral beds below. Sherlock thought of Greg, if he was still alive, he was probably worried sick about John, he was probably assuming that he had been taken by the sea, when in some reality, he was. Taken by a being of the sea. When finally the ocean calmed to a gentle glassy surface Sherlock could see a small little speck on the horizon, maybe another ship, maybe a small land mass, either way it was promising, it was something other than the open ocean, somewhere John and he could recover from this extremely taxing journey. When his muscles started to feel as if someone had lit them on fire, Sherlock finally stopped and took a small break, clutching onto the wooden structure and staring at John's motionless body. He had to be alive, of course he was, but for a moment Sherlock was unsure whether or not the heart he desired was beating. So he climbed as cautiously as he could onto the board, making sure not to tip it even though he saw some of John's limbs dip into the water with the new weight. Sherlock lay on the makeshift raft and pressed his head against John's chest, which felt rather warm, if not soaking wet. He could hear a dull thudding, a heartbeat, very faint, but present. John was alive. Sherlock took a breath of relief, picking his head back up and staring at his love, his John. The beautiful boy was so close, he was reachable, nothing was in their way now except consciousness. Once John woke up they could be together again, and everything would be back to normal. Sherlock sat up, letting his tail dangle in the smooth, calm water and pushed the watery bangs from John's forehead, wiping the drops of water from his shut eyes and gazing on that beautiful face. The face he thought he would never see again, that Mycroft had worked so hard to erase from Sherlock's memory once and for all, he was right here. Sherlock ran his hand through John's tangled blonde hair, ran his fingers down John's cheeks and across his lips, the soft skin that he had almost forgotten the feel of.
"John?" Sherlock whispered, laying back down and pulling his tail onto the raft, holding John's limp body to his own and letting their foreheads touch, staring into the closed eyes of his lost lover. He started to feel tears forming once more in his eyes, tears as salty as the ocean water starting to fall down his cheeks, filling up his eyes and splashing onto the dock. He didn't know what he was feeling, relief, maybe, sadness that John wasn't gazing at him as well, fear that John would never wake up, probably a combination of all of them. But Sherlock gazed at John and John stared at the back of his eyelids and Sherlock cried. All of his emotions, all of his pain seeping out through his eyes, through his tears, pooling between himself and John Watson and knowing that he never needed to feel pain again. That once John woke up and took the potion that everything would be alright once more. Sherlock eventually got off of the raft and started to pull John closer and closer to the speck on the horizon, close enough to see that it wasn't just a speck but a small landform, a rocky cave, carved out from years of abuse from the ocean, the shiny dark rocks shining like a beacon of hope. Sherlock knew that this wasn't their final destination, that somehow they both needed to survive on the open sea long enough to get to shore, but for the most part this was better than a floating raft. He pushed the raft the final distance, but as the end seemed so close his muscles seemed to be giving up too quickly. It took every ounce of strength he possessed, ever fiber in his body and every ounce of love in his heart to push that raft into the cold, dark cave, finally shielded from the harsh sun and given a place to collapse. Water dripped down from the rocks above, condensation from the sea air clung to the moss lining the cave walls. Fish scurried in and out, deep sea fish and fish that lurked only in caves, small frogs and turtles and even a snake fled from Sherlock's sudden presence. Obviously they weren't very used to seeing someone else so far out in the ocean swimming in their cave. Sherlock pushed the raft onto shore and collapsed alongside it, finally letting his muscles relax, letting his tail sink carelessly into the water and his head lay on the rocky shore, staring at John's limp face once more. Sherlock lay there for what felt like hours until his body started to feel ready to move again, finally his tail stopped throbbing and his fingers clutched at the pieces of sand and pebbles strewn on shore, tunneling under his fingernails and collecting in his hair.
"John?" Sherlock whispered, pushing himself up and staying there for a while, regaining his balance as the world spun. "John..." he muttered, a little bit louder, scooting over to the raft and poking at his love, still laying still. John's body twitched, but he didn't wake, he just lay there, still unaware of the world around him. Sherlock moved ever closer, taking John's face in his hands and stroking his forehead lovingly with his thumb. The beautiful features, the smile lines, his perfectly centered nose and his hair, finally dry, clinging to his damp forehead, now starting to turn red from the harsh sun. This beautiful, beautiful boy that had once been his, John would be his once more. Sherlock let his hand slide along John's body, over his torso and to his legs, those odd legs that fascinated Sherlock so much. He poked at John's knees and watched as they bent ever so slightly, a joint somewhere in there that allowed him to do so many things. Sherlock was almost tempted to take off John's shoe and play with his toes when his leg twitched violently and he started to cough, lurching up and hacking sea water onto the pebbles. Sherlock panicked, obviously waking up and seeing a merman couldn't be an easy thing to do, so he jumped into the water and hid behind the rocks, pressing himself up against the cool stone while he heard John start to regain consciousness. His coughing slowed and soon Sherlock heard him sit up with a groan, the sound of his fingers running through his knotted hair and observing his surroundings.
"Greg?" he called rather apprehensively, obviously realizing someone must have saved him. Sherlock took a deep breath, fingering the potion around his neck and wondering if this was the time John drank. He wondered how long he would feel the bubbling heat against his chest.
"Hello, is anyone..." John stopped to cough some more, pausing for a moment before regaining his voice. "Is anyone there?" he finished. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and tried to decide what he would say first, what he even could say, when he should go...
"Alright, brilliant, that's...that's brilliant. All alone." John sighed. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, even 'alone' on an abandoned island in the middle of the ocean; John still managed to be sarcastic. One of the many things Sherlock loved about him, one of the many, many, many things. So Sherlock took a deep breath and started to swim out from behind his rock cover, deep enough so that John could only see his shoulders and head, so that he couldn't see his tail flapping along in the murky water. John was still trying to struggle to his feet, groaning with the effort and examining the board he was lying on.
"John?" Sherlock whispered, so quietly he was sure John couldn't hear him, not sure if he wanted him to. That was a weak first word but honestly when he saw John up, awake, and radiating his beauty, it was the only word he could possibly form after so long. John turned, jumping back in terror and falling into the rock face. Sherlock darted back as well, worried that his presence had scared John and clutched to the rocks he had previously been hiding behind, poking his head out just enough so they could still see each other.
"You're...you saved me?" John asked, coming a bit closer in curiosity. Sherlock nodded, inching towards him as well.
"I couldn't let you drown." Sherlock agreed, flicking his tail nervously through the water. John stared at him for a moment, and Sherlock took this opportunity to stare back, John's confuse face looking down at him, eyes squinted, mouth slightly open, trying to piece the puzzle together.
"You can come up on shore." John pointed out, trying to step out of the way to let Sherlock up.
"No, I um...I like it down here." Sherlock muttered, his words getting caught in his throat as he gazed up at John and tried to look as if he wasn't breathtakingly in love with the man he had saved.
"What's your name?" John asked. Sherlock hesitated, had Greg mentioned something about him? But no, John was going to find out soon enough.
"My name is Sherlock." He said. John smiled, nodding a little bit.
"I'm..."
"John." Sherlock finished, the name rolling off of his lips like an angel's song. John laughed, as if that was a really neat trick or something. Sherlock loved his laugh, he wished he could watch and listen to John laugh all day.
"How did you know that?" he wondered.
"I heard them calling for you, on your ship." Sherlock muttered, looking at the water in shame. John would surely be mad at him for not taking him back to the ship, for not saving his crew members. John would want to be taken back straight away, to make sure they all survived.
"Are they alright?" John asked.
"I don't know." Sherlock admitted, staring at the ripples in the water as the fish got more curious and started coming up to investigate. "I only saved you, and looking back, I should've saved more, I'm sorry."
"Did the ship sink?" John wondered, sitting back down on the raft and looking worried for his friends.
"I don't know. There was a horrible storm, you were thrown overboard, I found you." Sherlock muttered.
"How did you find me? There were no other ships around and I don't recognize you from the crew, why were you out in the middle of the ocean alone?" John wondered. Sherlock took a deep breath in anticipation, he didn't know if he should show John his tail or not, he didn't know how he would react. Last time he was fascinated, but he had fallen in love with the man, not the merman.
"I um...I was just..." Sherlock sighed in defeat; there was no other way to answer that question than the truth. "Please don't...um...scream, or something, I'm really not a monster." He whispered. John was looking a bit nervous, looking prepared to run, but then again, there was no where he could go but into the water, and he wasn't going to out swim Sherlock in his condition. That condition was being a human.
"Why would I think you're a monster?" John muttered. Sherlock sighed but flipped onto his back, letting his tail flop through the air quickly, just quick enough so John could see it and know the truth without observing too much. Sherlock didn't want to be too forward, he wanted to talk to John as a human and not as a merman. He rather expected John to scream and panic and attack him with rocks, but instead his face lit up into the sun itself, his smile lighting up this dark cave. Sherlock could only smile back in relief, John was amazed by him, he didn't think he was a monster.
"You're a mermaid?" John asked in amazement. Bloody humans, can't care less about gender pronouns.
"Merman, but yes, right species." Sherlock muttered.
"You have a tail?" John asked excitedly. Sherlock only laughed, shaking his head at John's obvious stupidity. He was so perfect, so beautiful; it warmed Sherlock's heart to see him so happy.
"Kind of in the job description, yes." Sherlock agreed. John scrambled onto the very edge of the shore in excitement, trying to get as close to Sherlock as possible.
"Why did you save me?" John asked in confusion, as if merpeople had so many other better things to do.
"I saved you because I knew you were special." Sherlock decided, thinking that was the best answer to that particular question.
"I'm not special." John insisted. Sherlock looked up at him in shock, narrowing his eyebrows in doubt.
"You most certainly are, even if you don't know if just yet. You're definitely the light of someone's world." Sherlock pointed out. Yes, and that world happen to be his own.
"You're a merman." John muttered. "Can I um, can I see your tail again?" He looked as if this was the highest honor, as if he felt guilty just for asking such a thing. Of course Sherlock would never deny him anything.
"It's horrible, I'd rather have legs." Sherlock muttered, raising his tail above the water again. John scrambled out into the shallow water and reached his hand out cautiously, looking for Sherlock as if asking permission. Sherlock just nodded, trying not to look too anxious, too relieved. John loved him for who he was, he knew this would happen, he knew Mycroft was wrong. John's hand ran up and down Sherlock's tail, across his fin and over the ugly scales.
"You're beautiful." John muttered, obviously too amazed to say logical things.
"As are you." Sherlock whispered. Thankfully John didn't hear him; he was still so fixated on Sherlock's tail to hear his pathetic mutterings. It was a good thing too, because Sherlock didn't mean to say that, it just sort of slipped out.