Just An Ocean Apart

Nothing More than a Merman

"Sherlock are you alright?" asked a voice above him after a long while of silence. Sherlock groaned a little bit, opening his eyes from the slight nap he had taken in his warm water. He saw John standing over him, looking rather concerned. Sherlock blinked rapidly, repositioning himself the best he could and staring up at John in confusion.
"Yes I'm alright...just napping." He muttered guiltily. John smiled at him for a moment before looking out the door to see if anyone was eavesdropping.
"It was Anderson who punched you, as expected. He finally confessed after I promised to fire every last one of them." John shrugged. Sherlock nodded, staring at his bathwater for a moment.
"Why would you go through all of that trouble for me?" he wondered, looking up into John's eyes to search for the truth. John sighed, looking away hastily and tapping his fingers nervously against his leg.
"I don't know, I just feel kind of bad, you know? You should be under my protection, I'm the one that took you here in the first place and you're suffering because of it. I think while you're on my ship you should be treated like an equal, like a superior even, instead of a captive." John admitted.
"I don't matter that much." Sherlock muttered.
"Of course you do Sherlock." John said almost too quickly. Sherlock looked up at him doubtfully, trying to pull a sad puppy dog look as he stared into the soft, sad brown eyes of John Watson. "You matter so much."
"Why?" Sherlock asked, and for a moment John looked rather taken aback at the question, blinking a couple of times as he thought of his answer.
"I don't know." He admitted. "You just do." Sherlock nodded, and by the time he looked back up at where John had been standing, all he saw was a closed door and an empty room. Maybe that question had brought out too much reality for him. Sherlock longed around in his bathtub for the remainder of the day, he wished he could get out and follow John around, see what he does in his day to day activities, but alas, he had a tail, so he sat in his mucky water, trying his best to drain and fill the bathtub to his liking. It was about five o'clock, when the door opened and he saw Mary come in, her hair tied back in a very extravagant bun, wearing a green dress and looking much nicer than she had the previous night while running around in her nightgown. Sherlock tried to hate her, he really did, but he couldn't help but smile when she smiled at him. She was just one of those nice people that seemed to worm their way into everything you loved, but they were so darn polite and kind that you couldn't do anything expect sit back and try to convince yourself it was for the best.
"How are you feeling Sherlock?" she asked, closing the door and walking up to the bath tub, her high heels clicking over the wooden floors and making a rather odd knocking sound.
"Hungry." Sherlock decided.
"I could get Gary to bring you something, I'm sure he'll be happy to." Mary suggested.
"No, it's alright. I'll bother John about it at midnight, I'm sure he'll be ever so happy to comply." Sherlock said with a laugh, fiddling with the loofa.
"I really wouldn't make John upset, especially in times like these. He spent his whole day yelling at the crew, nearly chopped Anderson's head off when he found out it was him." Mary sighed.
"What's the punishment?" Sherlock wondered. Mary just laughed, looking rather proud of John's thoughtfulness.
"Well, he said you suggested cleaning the showers with his own toothbrush, and last I checked Anderson was on his hands and knees, scrubbing away at that filthy tile with his only method of dental hygiene." Mary said with a laugh. Sherlock smiled happily, knowing that oaf was down there suffering made his heart happy.
"It's nice of John to make such a big deal about this." Sherlock decided, throwing the loofa in the air and catching it again. Mary watched him fiddle as if fascinated by him, looking rather sad.
"Well, you deserve justice, and John knows that. I've never seen him so angry." Mary sighed.
"Then again, you've never seen him since about two days ago, and he's been playing the nice guy." Sherlock pointed out.
"Is it like him to break character for you?" she wondered.
"I have no idea; I've only known him two and a half days." Sherlock lied. Mary laughed sweetly, a happy little chuckle that made Sherlock's blood boil but also made him smile as well. Freaking Mary, why did she have to be so nice, why couldn't he just hate her in peace?
"When in the wedding?" Sherlock wondered. Mary sighed dreamily, sitting down on the carpet next to the bathtub and hugging her knees to her chest.
"Next week. He still has to propose of course, but I think we all know that's going to happen. That's what I'm here for in the first place." She sighed. Sherlock nodded, trying not to look too somber.
"Doesn't it bother you that you know practically nothing about him? That they basically took you from your home just to marry you to a man you've never met before?" Sherlock wondered.
"I knew that was coming since I was young. Our kingdom is poor, we need alliances with other kingdoms or we will be invaded or concurred, John's kingdom is going to prevent that from happening." Mary shrugged. "And as far as husbands go, John certainly is a nice pick."
"Did you find the warts yet?" Sherlock wondered. Mary just laughed, shaking her head.
"I asked John about that, and he said that you were making up stories. Then again, he did look rather suspicious." Mary admitted with a laugh. Sherlock forced a smile, a crude expression of happiness when his heart was breaking inside.
"He'll be good to you Mary, he's a good person." Sherlock decided.
"He's been good to you as well, it's not like we'll ignore you when we get married. We should figure out some way for you to be part of the wedding, the ring merman or something." Mary decided with a laugh.
"Oh, I don't think I'd be a very good attendee." Sherlock decided sadly, placing the loofa aside, suddenly uninterested in fiddling with it.
"I think everyone would be more focused on you anyway." Mary decided with a laugh.
"Do you have any plans for the wedding? Childhood dreams?" Sherlock wondered.
"Oh, well, I was thinking on the beach, you know, next to the waves, toes in the sand, sun shining. I hope John would like it." Mary decided.
"On the beach, yes, there's a lovely beach next to John's kingdom." Sherlock agreed.
"You've been there?" Mary asked curiously. "I thought they picked you up around here?"
"I've been a lot of places Mary, undiscovered. I've seen a lot of beaches, a lot of shores, a lot of kingdoms. But John, he was the first human I've ever talked to." Sherlock admitted.
"Do you regret that decision?" Mary wondered. Sherlock thought about that for a moment, but obviously it was an easy answer.
"Of course not. I've never had friends before, and I never thought I could find them in humans." Sherlock admitted. Mary smiled softly, her eyes shining with kindness.
"Well, I've never had a merman friend before either, so it's a first for both of us." She agreed, taking Sherlock's hand and squeezing it with a very mother like instinct. Sherlock nodded, forcing himself to smile back at her, forcing himself not to let tears start sliding down his cheeks. He had come so far only to give up his love to such a nice woman, he should be drowning her right now, he should be livid, instead he just let her hand slide away from his as she got back to her feet, brushing her dress off and making sure her hair still looked alright.
"Well, I'm off; John has a special dinner planned for the two of us." Mary decided.
"Oh, do you think there will be a ring involved?" Sherlock wondered. Mary smiled hopefully, shrugging.
"I have no idea, I can only hope so. Have a nice night, I'll send for Gary to get you some food." She decided.
"Good night Mary." Sherlock agreed, his voice cracking a little bit as he thought of a diamond on that woman's finger. Thankfully she was already out the door, and she didn't hear him. As soon as the door closed Sherlock filled the bath as high as it could go, slipping under the surface and letting his tears finally leak out, mixing with the water so that if anyone saw him, they wouldn't notice his sadness. Not that anyone would come looking anyway. John was plenty occupied, he was probably observing the ring right now, trying to see how it would shine in the moonlight, Mary was probably coming up onto the deck right now, they were probably sharing a quick kiss before sitting down in a romantic table set for two. More tears fled Sherlock's body and his heart started to feel as if Anderson had punched it as well, many, many times. Why couldn't John realize he loved him, why did he have to waste his time with Mary? Why couldn't he just admit to himself that there were things between them that they both felt, why couldn't Sherlock sit across from him on the deck over a candle and a bottle of champagne? Simple, the reason was simple. Sherlock had a tail. It was times like this when he felt like ripping that pathetic fin off in the hope that legs would sprout from his bleeding torso. It was times like this when Sherlock wished he could peel the scales away from his body and walk towards John, he wished that his gills would fade away and he could drown himself in this bathtub. He wished that John didn't look at him like he was some creature, some pathetic creature that needed all the help it could get, a fish human hybrid that deserved no love and no affection, just a cage, people throwing money just to gawk at his freakish nature. Why couldn't John understand that Sherlock wanted to love? Why couldn't John realize that Sherlock was in love with him, that even though their limbs weren't the same that their hearts were? Sherlock's heart beat just as John's did, it yearned for the same attention and affection and it longed for John to realize that Sherlock was ready, he was committed to the love they had once shared. All he had to do was wait for John to be ready as well. Sherlock closed his eyes shut, forcing his tears to retreat back behind his eyes, clenching his fists and trying not to scream, trying not to drag himself out of that bathtub and claw his way onto the deck, back to John. Suddenly though, when he opened his eyes, someone looked down on him, their form shimmering and mutating through the water. Sherlock poked his head up so see Gary staring down at him, a familiar silver platter in his hands.
"I'm sorry to disturb, but Mary requested I bring you your fish." Gary muttered.
"Oh, fish, why must there always be fish?" Sherlock groaned.
"I could go back, make you something else...?" Gary recommended, but Sherlock shook his head in annoyance, grabbing the platter out of his hands and setting it on the floor besides the bath.
"Do humans experiment in potion making?" Sherlock wondered. Gary gave him a rather blank look before shaking his head.
"That's witchcraft, that's not allowed." He pointed out. Sherlock sighed heavily, flopping his tail angrily.
"Do you think there's a way to get my tail to turn into legs?" Sherlock wondered.
"Why would you want that sir, your tail is beautiful?" Gary pointed out, as if disturbed by Sherlock's question.
"I hate it. I want legs, I want to walk among the humans, I don't want to be stared at like some sort of freak." Sherlock insisted. "I'm not a freak."
"No, Sherlock of course you're not a freak!" Gary insisted, kneeling beside the bathtub so that he could stare into Sherlock's eyes, as if that would somehow help convince him of his worth.
"John looks at me like I'm a helpless child, sending me food, pretending to be interested in my conversations, pitying me like I can't fend for myself. I'm a human being; I have a human brain, a human heart..." Sherlock insisted, his voice starting to well up once more. It was rather embarrassing, but Gary looked as if he were blessed to witness his merman crush brake down in tears.
"Sherlock he doesn't think you're helpless, he doesn't think anything bad of you, he knows you're a beautiful creature, he respects you and he cares deeply for you, you're his equal if not his superior." Gary insisted.
"I'm nothing to him, I'll never be anything. He's proposing tonight, isn't he?" Sherlock muttered. Gary looked rather uncomfortable with the topic, if not guilty to nod his head.
"A ring in her soufflé, we're to put it there ourselves." Gary muttered. Sherlock let his head fall back into the rim of the bathtub in defeat, his tears hiding among the drops of bathwater traveling down his cheeks. There was a silence, but Sherlock could almost hear the questions bouncing around in Gary's skull.
"Do you love him sir?" Gary whispered, as if not daring to ask such a daring question. However Sherlock just stared at the ceiling, wondering what to say, if he should say anything at all.
"With every morsel of my human heart." Sherlock agreed. Gary's silence was telling enough.
"I'm very sorry." Gary decided, getting to his feet.
"I am too." Sherlock agreed, still not looking at the cook.
"Well, have a nice night." He muttered. Sherlock didn't respond, but he knew that they both understood he was going to have a very, very bad night. Once Gary's footsteps faded away Sherlock finally looked at the door, closed, not going to be opened for a long while. He carefully picked up the tray, some new types of fish sitting in their leafy orientations, all looking so innocent. He knew that this food once swam the ocean just like himself. That humans hunted and killed the part of him that wasn't like them. Half human, half fish, and while the humans chatted and loved each other above him, they caught and murdered and ate the fish. If Sherlock hadn't been born with a human torso he would be eaten as well, they wouldn't give him a second thought, if he hadn't been literate and friendly and caring they would've butchered him and served him with a side of whatever these leaves were. They pretended that he was special when he was only half an acceptable member of society and half disappointment, he was one half away from being slaughtered just like the swordfish and the salmon and the flounder. And nevertheless, because he had human emotions, he felt like he was being slaughtered nevertheless. In a fit of rage Sherlock flung the tray as far as he could, screaming in anger and listening as the tray collided with the wooden wall, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. The fish and leaves and mysterious yellow fruits littered the floor as Sherlock grabbed the rim of the bathtub, using all of the strength he could muster, and pulled himself out of the bath, collapsing on the rug, and staring up at the ceiling. Why couldn't he just be normal, why couldn't he just be human? Sherlock grabbed his discarded bloody washcloth from the side of the bath, pulling it as tightly as he could around his mouth and nose, preventing any of that cruel air to enter his lungs, asphyxiating himself as best he could while his gills struggled to find water. Why couldn't he be human, why couldn't John love him? The washcloth covered his nose, his mouth gasped for breath but he didn't loosen his grip, his tail started to flop, his body writing on the carpet, he was a fish out of water and human who couldn't get a breath. He had lungs and gills and neither of them were working. This was exactly how it should be; John would never love him, not after Mary unearthed a diamond in her desert. Sherlock was no more than a freak, a mutant, a hybrid, unworthy of John's love or his attention, unworthy of the air he so desperately needed, but ever so worthy of the washcloth clutched over his nose. He would never be good enough for John Watson, so why bother even trying at all? His eyesight was starting to sprout black spots, his tail flopping madly, his muscles cramping, his mind begging his fingers to loosen his grip, he could feel his life starting to drain away just as his tears had, so easily, so peacefully. He saw the ceiling start to fade away, the darkness starting to take over; this was how he should be. Live as a fish, die as a human, this was how it had to be. But he saw a figure above him, heard faint screaming, sounding far away, someone's fingers were prying at his own, trying to get the washcloth from over his nose, trying to heave his limp body back into the bathtub, screaming....splashing...breathing...blackness...