Trust Issues

Pirates and Deception

Right on the coast of England there was a small town called Selsey, a town primarily based on imported and exported goods coming from all around the world. The town was flourishing, it was the 3rd of July, 1567, and John Watson knocked on his father's workshop door. The sound of the iron mallet pounding against metal paused, and his father's gruff voice called for him to come in. John cracked the door open, squinting to see. The fire was the only source of light in his father's forges, but after a while you get used to barely being able to see. His mother considered it a miracle that he could even see the small details and words he carves into his craftsmanship. Mr. Watson was the best blacksmith in the town, ask anyone, and John was being trained to pick up the hammer in his place, being 18 now.
"I'm going to the market now, is there anything you need?" John asked.
"Not at the moment, but you be safe, I heard they spotted a pirate ship off the coast this morning." Mr. Watson warned.
"Pirates? Why would they come here?" John asked.
"I haven't the faintest, but keep an eye out." Mr. Watson demanded. John nodded, closing the door to the forge, walking through the small house and out the door. The sun was shining down on the town, which wasn't uncommon, it always seemed to be a nice day in Selsey, the sky was always crystal blue, mimicking the waves splashing against the beach. The cobblestone streets were filled with people walking to and from the small shops, men with fishing nets and women with baskets of produce all making way for the occasional horse and buggy. Most people walked wherever they went, it wasn't a big town, but the rich loved to show off, riding through town off to their big manors perched on the hill. John scanned the ocean, which was right in his back yard, the wooden ships all lined on the docks, fishing boats in the water with men calling to each other, but there were no ships that looked like pirate ships. John found no reason for pirates to even bother with their town, even the rich were only average in most of the other towns. He decided it was probably just the children making stories to scare each other since in all of his years he's never even seen a pirate. He knew they were out there though, there were towns in the newspaper, towns burned and looted by the pirates, but he never thought they'd come here. John entered the open air market, tables filled with baskets of vegetables, meats, breads, and cheeses; the smell was able to make anyone's stomach growl. John grabbed one of the wicker baskets and took the list his mother had given him out of his pocket, along with a bag full of gold to buy it with. John walked the streets, picking up things they needed, everything from tomatoes to soap. Even though they weren't one of the richer people, the Watson family had everything they needed to be happy, John never went a day without three meals a day and always had fresh clothes to wear. If they didn't have something they simply went back out to the streets to buy it. John spent his days working with his father, and so far he had successfully made swords, axes, even his own suit of armor, according to his mother he was going to better than his father someday. When he wasn't working in the forge he was out on the dock, fishing, swimming, or reading one of the many books they had in the house. John wasn't lonely, but he didn't spend a lot of time around people. There weren't many people his age around the town, which was a real disappointment for his mother, who never gives up the search to find him a girlfriend. According to her it was his responsibility to carry on the Watson family, but to be honest John wanted nothing to do with other people. He was much happier on his own, where he could make his own decisions and do whatever he fancied. John went over to get some rope, which his father needed for their small farm of pigs and goats, when someone knocked into him, knocking his basket to the floor, spilling everything. John cursed silently, scrambling to pick up the produce before it got too bruised and dirty. Whoever it was he ran into was also scrambling to pick the things up, but John was too busy diving under a stand, chasing a rolling apple. The townspeople jumped over the two, muttering about kids these days. John found the apple, standing up to see who exactly he had run into. There was a younger boy now carrying John's basket, picking the loaf of bread up off of the ground.
"I am so sorry." The boy said, looking up at John. He had short curly dark hair, unusually pale skin, and cheekbones that were probably sharper than some of the swords John had made. John stumbled to find his voice, and then to make words, not sure what to say.
"It's fine, accident." John stuttered. The boy smiled at him, a radiant smile that made John's chest feel tight. The boy handed him his basket back, which John took with fumbling hands. The stranger's hand brushed his for a small moment and John felt his face grow hot for some embarrassing reason.
"I'll pay for whatever was ruined." The boy assured.
"No, I have gold, it's okay." John assured, but looked in saw that most of the food was squashed or muddy. He frowned, his parents would not be happy if he came back with this.
"Don't worry about it." the boy assured, walking away with the basket to where the coins were collected. John took a moment to watch him go, but then remembered he was walking off with John's stuff.
"Hey, come back!" John called, running through the crowd in his wake. But by the time he pushed past a particularly fat lady the boy had already passed the coins over.
"You didn't have to do that." John muttered as the stranger went to dump the ruined food in the trash.
"Of course I did." The boy gave John the basket back, which still had the things that weren't ruined in it.
"I'm Sherlock, and you?" the boy asked.
"John." John muttered uncomfortably. He had to go back through the shops now, not that it would matter; he didn't have a time limit or anything.
"Tell me John, do you know where I could find a blacksmith?" Sherlock asked with a smile that made John short of breath.
"Oh, um, my dad is the blacksmith here, well, the one everyone prefers." John said truthfully.
"Well that makes it easy then. I imagine you know a few tricks?" Sherlock asked. John nodded, fidgeting with the basket uncomfortably.
"He taught me how to make a few things." John shrugged.
"Any good?"
"I think so, not to be stuck or anything."
"Do you think you could show me? My father's sword has gotten very rusty, we're afraid if we use it it'll just break in half." Sherlock said with a small laugh.
"I just have to finish up here, but my father's shop is just down the street, you can't miss it, there's a big sign." John said, pointing down to where the shop was.
"I'll wait for you." Sherlock decided. John nodded awkwardly, half of him wanted Sherlock to go away, and the other half wanted him never to leave. John continued his shopping, loading up the basket once again. Sherlock helped, even though John insisted he was fine, but he didn't seem to want to leave John alone. Once all of the stuff was paid for, John and Sherlock walked back onto the streets, dodging a horse and buggy that had just passed by.
"There it is." John said, approaching the large sign that said Watson's Blacksmith. He knew Sherlock could see the sign by himself, but John hated the awkward silence, he wanted to say something but had no idea how to start a conversation.
"So you're a junior blacksmith then?" he asked.
"I guess so." John nodded. He thought he heard Sherlock mutter something, but whatever he said was lost in the air. They approached the wooden shop, which was built into the house; they were connected by a door behind the counter. John ran into the house, setting the basket on the counter and running back out to where Sherlock was waiting patiently.
"In here." John said, opening the door to the shop. The shop wasn't much, there were swords hanging on the walls, a counter where they made the sales, and display cases full of his father's work for sale. Most of the blacksmith business was repairing things, but occasionally people wanted brand new things.
"So, is there anything in particular you wanted to see?" John asked. Sherlock looked around the cases, seeming impressed.
"Did you make any of these?" he asked.
"No, these are all my father's." he explained. "He's in his forges if you want to meet him or something."
"No, I think I'm okay for now, but I'd love to see what you could make." Sherlock said.
"I thought you just wanted to repair a sword." John protested.
"I do, but it's always good to see options. I'm actually looking for my own sword, the one I had before is very small, a child's blade." Sherlock explained.
"Your parents let you have a sword when you were little?" John asked in amazement.
"Of course, how was I supposed to defend myself?"
"I wasn't even allowed near fire until I was eight." John laughed.
"Well that's a shame. Can you fight?" Sherlock asked.
"I guess so, my father taught me a little bit, but not enough to really fend for myself." John shrugged.
"So, what have you made?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, ya, one second." John said. He opened the door behind the counter, slipping into the house and into the forges. His father was pounding an axe into shape with a hammer, he barely looked up. John smiled at him, but he knew it wasn't returned, so he made his way past and to the corner, where he kept his projects. He chose the best sword, a particularly sharp iron one that had engravings in it, and the helmet he had made. He left the forge, walking back into the shop where Sherlock hadn't moved, still looking at the swords in the display.
"Here, I made these." John said, putting the sword and helmet on the counter. Sherlock came over, admiring them from above.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing at the sword.
"Go ahead." John agreed. Sherlock picked up the sword, holding it in his hands, admiring the blade from every angle.
"Yes, this is nice." He muttered, as if forgetting John was there. "It would do well in a fight."
"There are no fights here." John pointed out.
"Pirates?" Sherlock asked doubtfully.
"I've never seen any." John shrugged.
"Well, then I wish you the best of luck that you never have to. They are awful people, truly awful." Sherlock said. John nodded, he already knew that. Pirates were ruthless; they'd do anything to get gold and riches.
"So, how much?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh, that one's not for sale, but if you want we could make one for you, it would be done in a couple of days."
"Oh, I'm not in town much longer, just passing through." Sherlock explained. "Pity."
"Where are you from?" John asked.
"Everywhere I guess you could say, we never really stay in one place long."
"Why not?" John asked. Sherlock didn't answer his question; he set the sword down and picked the helmet up.
"Beautiful craftsmanship, you said you made this?" he asked.
"It's not my first attempt." John explained, an attempt to sound modest. Sherlock's complement made him glow with pride, the most he got as praise was a pat on the back from his father. No one had ever seen his work; no one cared about the son, just the master blacksmith. Sherlock set the helmet down carefully, and John noticed just how green his eyes were, in the dim light they seemed emerald. Sherlock looked up at him slightly, noticing John staring, which made John blush and immediately look away. What was with this guy, why did he make John feel so uncomfortable? He had worked with customers all his life, and now, this one boy made him struggle to find words.
"Have you made anything else?" he asked.
"I made a whole suit of armor, plus an axe. I tried to make a shield once, but it was all lumpy and not exactly circular." John explained, talking a bit quickly.
"I bet it was a lot better than half of the blacksmiths out there." Sherlock assured, making John's heart seem to skip a beat.
"John, I'm about to start cooking, I could use a hand." John's mother entered the room, noticing Sherlock at once. "Oh, hello, who might you be?" she asked.
"Sherlock Holmes and you must be Mrs. Watson." Sherlock said, extending a hand for her to shake. Mrs. Watson shook his hand, looking flattered at his manners.
"He was just looking at some swords." John explained.
"Aren't those yours though?" she asked.
"Your son is gifted as a blacksmith, most adults I've met couldn't make swords as fine as this one." Sherlock explained. John tried his best not to smile at the complement.
"Well, he's learned everything from his father. What are you looking for exactly?" she asked.
"My father's sword is getting old, and it was my intention to get it fixed, but seeing the sword here, I don't think it would hurt to get my own." Sherlock said with another radiant smile.
"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr. Holmes, but we could never sell John's first sword." Mrs. Watson said, sounding truly sorry.
"It's fine, I understand sentiment, I hope one day I can come back when Mr. Watson makes some more swords, and by one for myself."
"Mr. Watson is making swords, they are..."
"This Mr. Watson." Sherlock said, looking at John. John felt his heart glow, no one had ever called him Mr. Watson before, he was always John, or boy, or him, but never Mr. Watson.
"Well I doubt the wait will be very long, he'll take up the business in a couple of years."
"Unfortunately I only have today, my family and I were just stopping in." Sherlock explained.
"That's a shame; there are barely any boys John's age around here." Mrs. Watson sighed. "You two can go enjoy yourselves, then, John you can go out, I suppose there are some coins left from shopping?"
"Yes." John said excitedly.
"If you want to go out for diner you can, this is a rare opportunity I suppose, if it's okay with you?" Mrs. Watson decided, looking at Sherlock for approval.
"Sounds great, thank you Mrs. Watson." He said with a smile. John thanked his mother, who just smiled at the two of them and told John to be back home by ten o'clock, adding that if they went to the tavern he wouldn't be allowed to leave the house for a month. Once she left with one last smile, the room was silent. John had just met Sherlock, and now they were going to have dinner together? It was a little bit awkward, but he couldn't hide his excitement, he had never gotten this opportunity, especially with a potential friend.
"So, where do you want to go?" John asked.
"Let's start with outside." Sherlock decided. John nodded, walking out from behind the counter and following Sherlock out the door. The sun was already starting to sink from the sky, and most people were getting off the street and into their houses to prepare dinner. It seemed a lot emptier than John was used to, and walking side by side with a stranger made it a little bit uncomfortable. He couldn't deny that he was excited, he'd never had a friend before, and just being around Sherlock made him feel special, and all the complements that he had given him would stay in his heart forever.
"Do you have any food recommendations?" John asked.
"I haven't done much exploring yet, but I'm sure anything around here is good." Sherlock decided.
"My parents go to this one place on the corner, I don't know what it's called but they speak highly of it." John said.
"Then it must be good." Sherlock decided. John nodded and started walking in the general direction of the restaurant; he had only seen glimpses of it when he had been out so he was going off his best judgment.
"So, what made you stop in this little town?" John asked, finding only the sound of their footsteps a bit rude.
"Oh, just passing through for food and supplies." Sherlock shrugged.
"Are you staying in a hotel?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock shrugged.
"Where then?" John wondered. Sherlock didn't answer; he simply looked out into the sea, which was glowing with the now sinking sun. They walked to the restaurant in silence, luckily it was there still. John had never been out to eat, there were always cooked meals at home for him, and it was more of an adult thing to do. He felt very mature now, going out on his own with a new friend, even if this was Sherlock's last day in town.
"After you." Sherlock said, holding the door open for John to walk in. The restaurant was packed with people, all eating, drinking, and talking loudly. Waitresses were walking around, trying their best to take everyone's orders and hand out the food to numerous customers. John and Sherlock took a seat near the window, where menus were sitting there for them to look over. John noticed there was a candle on the table, which made him fidget a little bit with the corner of the menu, but Sherlock wasn't paying him much attention.
"What would you dears like to drink?" asked a waitress that seemed to appear from nowhere.
"Water, please." John said simply.
"Make that two please." Sherlock said with a smile. The waitress nodded, walking away with the order.
"What are you thinking then?" Sherlock asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Um, I have no idea." John admitted, squinting to see the small writing on the menu. There was all sorts of stuff, and he didn't know how much money he had, so he would try to keep it cheap.
"I think the lamb looks good." Sherlock decided.
"Lamb?" John asked in amazement. "That stuff is super expensive!"
"I've got money." Sherlock assured, shaking a bag of coins from his pocket as proof. John looked at him in wonder; John's parents haven't even eaten lamb before. When the time to order came, John just ordered chicken, he didn't get a chance to have chicken much and it wasn't all that expensive. Once the waitress left John did his best to find something to talk about, anything to break the silence.
"You said pirates were awful people, like you've had experience." John pointed out. Sherlock looked mildly surprised to hear that question, but he just sighed.
"When I was little they raided my town, took everything I owned, killed my friends, my neighbors, I was only about eight." Sherlock admitted.
"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry." John said, and he truly was. He'd never be able to handle a disaster like that.
"Well, it was a long time ago, I've learned to live again, I've recovered." Sherlock explained.
"Well moving around can't help can it?" John asked.
"It's not that bad, I mean, sure, I can't really make any friends or anything, but it's definitely been an adventure." Sherlock said with a smile.
"I've never really had friends either, like my mom said, there aren't a lot of kids my age." John shrugged.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" Sherlock asked, taking John by surprise. Immediately he felt his cheeks grow hot, wishing they wouldn't because he knew Sherlock was looking.
"No, but mother insists I find one soon." John admitted.
"You don't sound excited." Sherlock observed.
"I don't really want one." John shrugged.
"Do you want a boyfriend?" Sherlock asked. John's head snapped back up to look at him, trying to decide if he was being serious or not.
"No, even if I did my parents would kill me." John explained. Sherlock nodded, as if he understood. John knew he was blushing like crazy, but it was true, his parents would be furious. Those types of relationships were punishable in this country, John knew about two guys that actually got hung for it, they were in the paper a couple of weeks ago.
"Well, I doubt you'd have any trouble finding someone, with your talent." Sherlock assured, making John smile shyly.
"What do you and your family do, if you have so much money?" John asked.
"Oh, my father is a carpenter, we got all of this money from my dear grandmother's will." He said with a smile.
"Consider yourself lucky then." John laughed.
"Oh, you'd hate to have my life, I guarantee it." Sherlock sighed. The waitress arrived with their food, cutting off the rest of the conversation. John couldn't imagine life being so bad if you've got all that money. He'd love to travel the world, all he knew was this little port town, but he dreamed of getting on one of those boats and sailing away to some unknown land. Adventure was always something he craved, but he knew it was impossible. The chicken was great, a perfect change from all the soups and pork they ate at his house. Sherlock's lamb looked fantastic, but John was far too polite to ask to try a piece. Sherlock looked unimpressed though, even though he ate the whole thing. By the time they were done and paid the sun was just about down, leaving the town with an orange glow, reflecting off the water like fire. John walked down the steps and back onto the cobblestone streets, which were now deserted. It looked like some sort of ghost town, and it was very odd since this was usually the time the Watson family sat down to eat their dinner.
"So, I guess I'd better be going, it was a pleasure meeting you." John decided.
"What's the rush? It can't be past nine yet, still got an hour or so left." Sherlock guessed. John looked towards his house, which he couldn't see, but decided Sherlock was right, he still had some time.
"Do you have a curfew?" John asked.
"No, I just show up when I show up." Sherlock shrugged. John found that a bit odd, but then again, Sherlock obviously had a different life then his; he wasn't on such a tight leash. Sherlock started walking the opposite direction of John's house, walking down towards the more empty side of town, where it was primarily shops now closed for the night. There were oil lamps hanging from some of the buildings, casting light through the shadows, but not much.
"Have you ever been out of town?" Sherlock asked.
"No, we've always had to stay here with the forge." John said simply.
"Have you ever wanted to leave?" Sherlock asked again.
"Of course, but I know I never can, so I don't bother dreaming." John admitted. Sherlock frowned slightly, as if he wasn't satisfied with that answer.
"Come with me." Sherlock decided. John looked at him with confusion.
"Where?" he asked nervously. If Sherlock was inviting him on his family road trip, John would have to pass.
"Just follow." Sherlock encouraged. He smiled at John, making his heart seem to expand. John nodded, and Sherlock started walking towards the sea, where the swimming docks were. John followed obediently, but he was nervous, he didn't fully trust Sherlock. Of course he doubted there was anything wrong with him, he was polite, charming, and an overall nice person, but he seemed very rebellious. He didn't seem to want to listen to anyone, and John was a bit suspicious about how he obtained so much gold. Sherlock walked right out to the end of the dock, staring into the water, gazing through the horizon. John met up with him on the edge, admiring the fiery look of the sea.
"Imagine you could go anywhere; do anything, would you do it?" Sherlock asked. John thought about that for a moment, it was tempting.
"Not without my family." He decided. Sherlock seemed disappointed, but his gaze didn't leave the water. Suddenly he turned to stand right in front of John, a mischievous sort of smile on his face that made John's blood run cold. Sherlock grabbed John's arms and pulled him very close, a lot closer than John would've preferred, if anyone saw them they'd be arrested immediately.
"I could give you so much more than gold." Sherlock said in an almost whisper. John looked up at him, the height difference being very obvious when there was no personal space. His emerald eyes made John's heart jump. And then John felt Sherlock's lips on his own, kissing him like there were no laws against it. At first John was terrified, he barely knew Sherlock, they could be executed, but after a moment he found that it was actually quite nice. His first kiss, on the docks in sunset. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, breaking through the only gap of air between them. John heart was out of control, it was a feeling he had not yet felt, the adrenalin pumping through his body as he and Sherlock kissed. But then he felt what felt like a metal tube thrust painfully into the back of his head, and Sherlock pulled away immediately.
"Ah, once again, no one can resist the captain." said a growling voice behind him. John screamed as he felt numerous hands tie his hands together behind him, what must have been the barrel of a revolver dug even deeper into his hair. He tried to kick out, tried to shake them off, pirates.
"If you move one more time boy, you'll never live to see another day." said another voice. John's entire body was rigid with fear, what did they want from him, why were they taking him? Was this all a set up?
"Sherlock... what?" John muttered, unable to believe it.
"I'm so sorry Mr. Watson; this wasn't how I wanted it to end." He admitted, but his smile was cruel, the warm sparkle in his eyes gone.