John peeked through a small opening in the wooden railing. The humans’ merriment buzzed through the ship, even reaching the water below. It was endearing, and questioning it was bound to be done. John grasped the hard wood of the ship, getting a firm grip on it before holding his head up to watch the fun. His eyes swept across all of the broad shoulders and sea worn faces, dancing and tapping along to the music with glee. They came to a slow stop on a tall figure to his right. This human’s dark hair flowed down his head, pooling just below his ears. His eyes shined with the coolness of the moon. This figure’s shoulders were less broad than those of the others, however still masculine in a sense. His shoulders were draped with a dark trench coat, and his undershirt stretched across his chest, straining to stay on his muscular torso. John’s insides vibrated with wonder and adrenalin as he gazed at this human. While everyone else was dancing to the music and chugging their goblets & chalices down as fast as they could, this man was not. This man leaned against the wall of the taller part of their ship, icily staring at the others with a look that could be only described as one of distaste. Was the music not of his liking? Did he not know how to dance? Could he not participate in the nights activities? John’s mental notes ceased when one of the other men walked up to the man he was currently studying. The other was shorter than his original one, therefore making him less intimidating; however he sported an authority that couldn’t be denied. Keeping a noticeable length between them, the shorter man took on last swing of his whiskey and opened his mouth to speak.
“Sherlock, come on! Join the party! Loosen up!” The other pleaded. Sherlock, thought John, is a beautifully fitting name for such a dazzling human. John blushed at this thought. He simply couldn’t control his inner self for some reason. It was annoying at times, but it was true some of the time.
“Why would I do that, Lestrade?” Sherlock bit back, punctuating every word. His voice was smooth and deep. John found it entirely gorgeous. Sherlock continued. “I can’t just drink my problems away like the rest of you lot.”
Sherlock gazed out at the sea lain before him. After a second or so, he waved off the one called Lestrade, replacing his far off look with one of annoyance. The human returned his gaze towards the other crewmen dancing and enjoying their night. John felt a bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t understand what it was until he heard the man say these seven simple words.
“I’m a freak. No one wants me.”
Sherlock’s voice faltered, which unsettled John farther. Sherlock went back to staring at the ocean with her beauty and perfection. Only then did John understand what he was feeling now. What he was experiencing was a need to prove this man was perfect and his own desire for such a magnificent being that stood before him with his guard so far up that it could fly. John heaved a frustrated sigh. He stopped mid sigh to slap a hand over his own mouth. Sherlock’s head snapped towards the small noise
“Who’s there?” Sherlock called out, regaining his composure quickly. John ducked his head down a bit more, his breaths becoming more muffled on his command. A small amount of time passed in silence. Assuming no one was there, John slowly pulled his head up from his hiding place. Large, intelligent eyes were staring back at him with a look of questioning. John yelped, almost losing his grip of the railing. Sherlock quickly grasped onto his wrists to help him back up. He brought John up to the very top of the rail, keeping him in place with his own elegant hands. John took a deep gulp of air, glancing at his pinned down hands. His heart rate sped up. Sherlock’s eyes swept his body, widening when he saw the scales leading down John’s body to his tail. They both stood (and hung) there in shock.
“C-can you let go of my wrists?”John asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I-It hurts a bit.” Sherlock blinked a few times before loosening his grip on John’s wrists, but not fully letting go. A moment of silence passed. Sherlock’s eyes eventually evolved back into the dark, hard orbs they were originally, making John shiver with strong attraction. He took another sharp intake of breath, thinking he was absolutely screwed.
“Served in some sort of army, pierced by some sort of weapon-I’m going to go on a whim and guess a trident-,” Sherlock mumbled, letting go of one of John’s hands to brush it over his wound, “age around 19 to 21, and are some sort of authority or ruler of where ever you came from.” Sherlock moved his head towards John, squinting his eyes in examination.
“Did I get it right?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. John stumbled on his own words to give an answer.
“Well, did I?” Sherlock demanded this time.
“Y-yes,” John replied and then hastily added, “except it was a harpoon not a trident.”
“There’s always something,” Sherlock sharply whispered, still examining John’s wound with a steady hand. A few moments passed with Sherlock staring down his whole body.
“Come with me,” Sherlock finally demanded, giving John’s shoulders a squeeze to emphasize his words. John hesitated, biting his lip.
“I need to examine you more thoroughly in order to determine what you are,” He elaborated, scrunching his eyebrows in deep thought. John stifled a laugh insufficiently, causing Sherlock to come out of his confused state.
“What?” He impatiently asked.
“Oh come off it, you know exactly what I am!” John exclaimed, giving a small chuckle. Sherlock’s eyebrows scrunched even more, but this time in annoyance.
“What are you talking about?” Sherlock demanded.
“I’ve heard your kind speak of us before, quite a lot, actually,” John replied. “You called us um-gosh what was it?-um Mermaids!” John glanced at Sherlock’s face but was returned with an empty stare.
“Boring. I’d rather name you Qui Piscibus,” Sherlock stated.
“That’s not my name,” John said hesitantly, pausing afterwards.
“No, do go on,” Sherlock spouted, rolling his eyes.
"M-my name is John.”
Sherlock hesitated, tilting his head to the side.
“Such a boring name... And yet, you are quite a beauty within the science world… hmmm,” Sherlock spoke almost to himself. John blushed on the word beauty; he wasn’t used to compliments.
“I wonder-” Sherlock stopped mid sentence, his eyes wide, staring where John’s tail should have been. John followed his gaze, gasping when he saw the issue. His tail had been cut in two, replacing them with human legs and a fleshy pink tinged stick, straining in the middle.
“Does this happen often?” Sherlock questioned, not taking his eyes off of John’s enlarged organ. John didn’t answer at first, still staring at what he assumed was a human genatailia. Sherlock nudged his shoulder.
“Well?”
“No,” John replied, running a hand down one his silky smooth legs. They both halted, staring at John’s new edition. Then finally, Sherlock whipped his trench coat over his head and wrapped it tightly around John. He hoisted John over the railing, picking him up bridal style. This action earned Sherlock a few questionable glances, however he continued into a door below the helm of the ship. He bursted into what was apparently his room, laying John down on his bed. John’s heart pounded against his chest. Time stopped.
