Archive of Our Own

Present day

Sweet, sorrowful, hauntingly beautiful sound. A song that used to mean nothing, but now reflects a certain kind of longing. And a treasure trove of priceless memories.

The lone man who was making that beautiful music stood on a quiet, distant beach, painted with a burning, kaleidoscope hue of fiery orange, red, and yellow, streaked with soft blushes of peach and pink. Those bright, warm, vivid colours reflect in the vast ocean, and everywhere the light touches as the sun begin to set. The water, sparkling, 

His feet half buried in the fine white sand while the salty sea air blows, whipping his long, unbound, dark hair behind him. The white shirt he wore, disheveled, and flaps around his frame as he passionately played the violin with the faintest of smiles. A distinct, ironic smile to the mournful song coming from the instrument.

The barest of pause. He momentarily glanced up ahead, and the smile on his face slightly deepened, looking like he’d been pleased for pleasing his audience, but what lies in front of him, was only the sea. . .

“Sherlock!”

The sound of the violin halted, and so did the song in his heart, “Ah, Miss Hudson–”

A woman with ginger-red hair approached him, carrying her otherwise brand new shoes in one hand, while a worn-out leather bound book was tucked under her other arm, which she held out to Sherlock, “Here it is. You’re going to miss the ship if you keep lingering out here.”

Sherlock put the violin down right where the rest of his belongings were and finally took the book, flipping it open, shielding the pages from the wind by angling his body a little, “Thank you, Miss Hudson.”

“It’s kind of childish of you but I admit that’s an interesting book. I’ve read a bit of it.” A small, friendly smile, a little teasing, “I guess even you, can’t help but be intrigued in such things, huh?”

The said book in Sherlock’s hand has numerous indication of constant handling, and that it had not been stored properly in appropriate places. It looked too old, smelled of aged parchment, dust, and mold. The title on the cover was engraved in flowing, golden letters, now chipped and faded to a dull brown: Mythical Creatures of the Sea. One of the books he owned as a child, which he kept as an adult. But thought it got lost. . .

“You believe those creatures exist, Sherlock?”

An immediate answer, “Huh? Yeah, ‘course. Some of it perhaps. Exact depth and breath of the sea’s still a mystery. Plus the Earth’s seventy-percent water so it’s possible.”

Soft rustles as Sherlock flipped the book further, stopping at a specific chapter. The pages of it were browned with age, tattered on certain edges. But the stories they meant to tell were still there. Inked in small, handwritten letters, and detailed, imaginative illustrations of sea creatures that Sherlock had never seen before. And likely never will.

Well, except for one.

Approximately three years ago

Sherlock has always been such a curious child growing up. One of the many things that captured his interest are mysteries of all sorts. And to him, perhaps to many as well, the deep blue sea holds so much of the world’s greatest mysteries. For as long as he can remember, Sherlock had been enthralled of what lies beneath the vast, unfathomable ocean. So many things unseen, so many things waiting to be discovered, dark, uncharted depths mankind can only wish to reach. It didn’t matter to him that people laugh at his interest in the existence of enigmatic things. He believed that every myth has a grain of truth in them, even if those truths wouldn’t be what he exactly thought they’d be.

The ocean’s depth is yet be measured, and there are scientific studies and theories that make sense too, so he kept believing.

And believing in such things doesn’t hurt, Sherlock knew his extent and where to draw the line. But as he eventually grew up; exposed more and more to the world’s reality, his little, childish dreams slowly faded in time. . . like the dying flame of a candlelight that once burned so bright.

But the books he’d loved, the books that he’d turned the pages countless of times, the books that were worn and tattered from too much handling. . . they were still with him. And a part of him still lingers with them. Engulfed in the dark, in that one dusty, forgotten corner of his study room.

He’d long accepted that there were things that are not truly meant to exist, mysteries that are meant to stay unsolved, and Sherlock went by just fine. But to fill his hunger and love for the ocean with its endless wonders and magnificent creatures, Sherlock chose a profession that can abate that longing, leaving home at a young age to follow what’s in his heart. For the sea was his calling, to be out in the open water, to meet its wonderful, mysterious beings. . . 

It was all thanks to his above the norm intelligence that he was able to study in places he wanted, which led him to his current life as a renowned marine biologist. It’s hard work, but he never minds as he truly love what he’s doing.

And he never once thought in his whole adult life– since the flame in his heart died– that the road he’d chosen will lead him to one of those wondrous, extraordinary beings he’d long given up on seeing.

A couple of weeks ago, Sherlock received and accepted a project offer that he didn’t know would change his life forever. Of course, at first, he brushed it off, thinking it was a sick joke and told the person to knock it off and to only call him when there’s an interesting discovery. Not until a certain fellow biologist came and personally dragged him out of his laboratory clinic.

He didn’t want to believe it. Sherlock kept mentally rejecting it over, and over. And as it inevitably should, Sherlock will never ever forget the first time he stepped inside that particular room. . .

Huge, spacious, all white and gray. Well-lighted with numerous fluorescent. On the far end opposite to the very door was a gigantic, built-in, indoor metal framed aquarium filled with salt water– from the scent alone. It still smelled strongly of glass shards, iron, and all sorts of chemicals as if the aquarium’s only been built a few days back.

Flat, empty, except, it wasn’t. At the very center of the unadorned tank floor lay a creature that Sherlock had only read about in books. A creature that wasn’t suppose to truly exist, and yet, there it was right in front of him. Curled up, unmoving, face hidden under a tumble of blonde hair.

Right now, the fins and tail cannot be seen in its whole beauty as the creature is at rest, but nonetheless, its lower half was a long, stunning, flawless creamy snow white and pale yellow, with brushes of light metallic gold down the tailfin, fading to cream and transparent white then back to faint gold. It’s upper body of course, resembles that of a human, except the skin looks a lot more supple, a bit translucent and white.

Right then, something inside Sherlock stirred, uncoiled.

Drawn by an invisible force, Sherlock stepped forward, lips parted, leaning in as he pressed a hand against the cool, heavy glass. And, as if the creature had sensed his presence, it stirred, lifted its blonde head a fraction– locked gazes with Sherlock.

Vibrant, hypnotic red. Striking eyes that seem to glow. Far too beautiful, far too alien to belong to a human. It was a color Sherlock had only seen on a ruby of the highest quality. But even that stone would pale in comparison to the extraordinary beauty of the creature’s eyes.

Those mystifying eyes had pinned him in place, seemingly wrapping invisible strings round his body, tightening very slowly that for a moment, Sherlock found it difficult to breathe. He was almost convinced that if one of the lab personnel hadn’t tapped him on the shoulder to snap him out of that enchantment, his breath will be stolen away. Literally.

Sherlock then read through their initial reports, where he found out the creature was of the male specie– a merman. And that it still had remaining injuries they couldn’t treat because they didn’t want to further have the creature ‘damaged’. Apparently, the merman was twice as strong as an average human, fighting back, not wanting to be touched.

However, at his request to bring the creature out of the water so Sherlock can personally examine everything, the merman didn’t even put up a fight. Most probably conserving what little strength it had left, for the merman had refused to eat anything since the day it had been caught– two weeks ago. And Sherlock knew being thrown in this kind of confined environment so suddenly is extremely stressful to any living being.

The merman’s breathing, the rise and fall of its chest became more prominent out of water. Up close, there was a kind of faint slippery sheer on the creature’s skin, even on the upper half and arms, like it was covered with transparent, thinner-than-paper scales.

Sherlock wanted to glide his fingers against that skin so badly out of curiosity and wonder that he trembled a little. See what it truly is, but of course he didn’t do it. This is a whole, entirely different situation. He needed to be more alert and cautious. This wasn’t like any creature he’d ever handled before. Okay, maybe he’d handled vicious predators before like crocodiles, even a shark, but unlike those animals, this was a completely unknown entity, thus, his instincts scream at him that this was a hundredfold more dangerous. He deduce that this is a creature with its own volition, as intelligent as any human, and is hiding secrets that will likely remain untouched by mankind.

“Tell your men to get out of here while I’m working.” Sherlock stated, “All of you crowding ‘round here stresses the hell out of him.”

The one in charge was reluctant, but he eventually agreed after bargaining that himself and least one of his men stays on the far corner along with the wealthy noble who claims ownership on the merman. “We can’t guarantee your safety. That creature already put two of my personnel in the hospital. The doctor we hired before you ended up in coma for two days.”

The statement put Sherlock on edge, but he only said, “I ain’t holding you accountable for anything. Just let me do my job.”

“If you need assistance–”

“The three of you left should only shut it if you want me to succeed here.” It came out quite rude but Sherlock was itching to start.

The wealthy noble nodded firmly to his subordinates, “Do as the doctor says.”

Few good moments after the room was clear, quiet, Sherlock tied the stubborn waves of his dark hair up before crouching next to the merman who’d been placed inside a very shallow glass case for easier access. At this close proximity, Sherlock can see the beauty of those alien eyes full force. It was far more than a hard, shining red ruby, but a live, vivid reminiscent of flowing, fresh blood. Such haunting, gorgeous eyes under thick, long lashes. Its ears, pointed and webbed out very faintly moving in time of its gills, located behind and down those very ears.

Gloves on, Sherlock took a deep breath, and softly spoke, trying to catch the merman’s gaze who sat there unmoving, “Listen, I’m not sure you understand, but I have to touch you.”

No response.

“For me to take that thing out of your body, you have to let me touch you.” Sherlock patiently elaborates. You can’t die here.

The merman’s attention shifts to him at last, those red eyes weighing heavily, and though uncertain, and well, a bit petrified, Sherlock didn’t dare look away, nor put distance between them, but he braced himself from any possibilities just in case. Because the merman, in a way, is also a predator. Its fingernails were slightly overgrown, pointy, and hardened. The fin by its elbows bore dangerously long, sharp edges. Should the merman strike, Sherlock was pretty sure he’ll come out bloody punctured or have his skin and flesh sliced into ribbons. And what of its teeth, he wondered.

Nevertheless. . . A pointed nose, soft cheekbones, sculpted lips. . . The merman’s face was the closest feature it had to a human’s. Except, it wasn’t exactly that way. Sherlock couldn’t find the proper words to describe it. This creature’s face was captivating, exotic, ethereal. Put together in perfect harmony. An immaculate beauty incomparable to any human. The more Sherlock stares, the more his heart throbs with immoderate desire to reach out, touch that face too beautiful to exist, find out if those tiny shimmering light-gold scales framing the side of its face fading across its cheekbones would stain his fingers.

And here I thought those fishtales are exaggerated.

When he still didn’t get any other reaction a few seconds later, Sherlock calmly stuck out a hand, sweat beginning to break out his body, “Maybe an introduction? My name is Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you.” Or maybe he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Not like I can speak ‘merman’ either. Damn it, what to do?

The merman slowly blinked.

He’s got nictitating membranes. The most translucent I’ve ever seen. Wow. “Do you have a name?”

Another slow, watchful blink. Sherlock held his breath, tensing as the merman lifted its arm. . . only to accept the handshake Sherlock was offering.

An involuntary smile of pure joy crept up Sherlock’s face at the gesture, a blush across his cheeks as he firmly shook the hand clasping his, “Yes, nice to meet you.”

His hand. . . Sherlock thought, So human the skin appears but they feel nothing that way. How interesting.

The edge of the merman’s tail twitched lightly.

“Will you now allow me to touch you? I really need to get that bullet out before it kills you.”

Its scarlet gaze flickered to their still connected hands, and the merman slowly let go before going motionless again.

Damn, should I just go ahead? If I aggravate him I’m done for. His hands itched for a smoke, but Sherlock only blew out a sigh. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he glanced at the merman. . . before very, very carefully placing his hand beside the wound, checking if he’s really allowed.

The merman remained motionless under his touch, but alert. And as Sherlock catch the creature’s gaze again, he smiled faintly. Guess I can take that as a yes.

With that, the next steps became easier, and thankfully, anesthesia worked on the merman, it made the removal of the bullet a hell lot easier, especially because the flesh had already began to close around it. As he shortly finished with the minor operation, Sherlock finally had the chance to fully admire the merman’s fish-half and tailfin. It was most likely due to stress and the injury that the merman lost the intense vibrancy of its colouration. Right now, they looked a little dull though still just as beautiful.

Sherlock hesitated giving the merman a dose of antibiotic and anti-tetanus, he doesn’t know if it will work or will do more harm. But then, who the hell knew? This is a creature of myth– supposedly. There aren’t any reliable documents, templates, or previous research that Sherlock can refer to. And the things written in books about mermaids and mermen were mostly theories, legends, figment of people’s imagination.

It will be a hell lot of long study to separate what’s real and not.

He lifted the merman’s arm next, leaning in so he can see closely. The wounds around there had apparently healed, but they were still noticeable, and the smooth plain of jewel-like scales were interrupted on certain spots. “Tsk. Those blockheads.” The line of missing scales, he was sure, was the rope’s doing and their rough handling. Not that Sherlock can blame them for their extra precautions.

Mesmerized, Sherlock removed his gloves, gently brushed the pad of his thumb above the scaly skin. They were thinner, finer than the scales on its lower body, and more transparent to seamlessly blend with the skin. Skin with a tinge of yellow so pale it was almost white. At a certain angle, they shimmered gently under the fluorescent light; a flawless plain. Sherlock murmured, sighing, “How beautiful. . . interesting, I’ve never seen–” And then he glanced up at the merman before returning his gaze down its arm, “You’re missing a lot of ‘em ‘cuz of those idiots. Do they grow back?”

The merman was somehow surprised of what Sherlock was asking, and more, of how Sherlock posed the question, as if who he was asking is a long, familiar friend. “Yes.”

Nearly stumbling back, Sherlock’s eyes widened, “Gh! Y– you–”

“–can speak? Of course.”

Quickly recovering from the shock, Sherlock slowly let go of the merman’s arm, unable to hide his amusement, and that grin on his face as he fixed his gaze on those scarlet eyes, “You were playing me this whole time.”

The merman winked at him with a straight face, and Sherlock’s grin widened ear-to-ear at that until he eventually let out a small laugh. Heart once more leaping in inexplicable, quiet joy. A certain long-gone feeling unexpectedly coming back to him in a soft, steady rush. He felt the sensation from under his skin, to his heart. . . seeping deep into his soul. But he was too occupied to think about it at that moment.

“What’s your name?”

The merman’s soft, too clear voice reached Sherlock’s ears once more as the extraordinary creature answered with the faintest of smiles, “. . . William.”

Sherlock had made a new friend that day. But despite of how William swiftly warmed up to Sherlock, the merman continued to shun every other human that comes close, including Sherlock’s personal lab assistant, John Watson. The noble who ‘owns’ the merman had been very amused at that, laughing how attached it became to its ‘caretaker’. Praising Sherlock for successfully ‘taming’ the creature.

It didn’t make Sherlock truly happy though. Because of the fact that his newfound, very unusual friend is in captivity. And Sherlock knows no amount of persuasion and talk will make the people who’d captured the merman change their mind and set the creature free.

Currently, Sherlock left his own place and put his current research on hold for this job which is of course a thousand fold more interesting, allowing his other good friend, Miss Hudson take care of the place in his stead. Sherlock has been assigned to the everyday task of caring for the merman. And was expected to give new information and data, samples, etc. They gave him and his assistant, their very own room in that facility so they can focus on their tasks more, complete with everything they need.

As of now, the noble was still being indecisive as to what to do with the creature, for this was no ordinary discovery. A fantasy turned reality. And that was why they were keeping it a secret, hired as few selected people as possible.

This secret once out, will provide riches, fame, a lifetime of recognition and many more great imaginable things. Obviously, Sherlock wants none of that, they can have it all for all he cared, as long as he remain to be this merman’s doctor.

Once again, he found himself pressing a hand against the huge tank. The merman’s health had stupendously improved. Its scales had returned to their normal radiance, his colours from head to tail were now truly vibrant and alive compared to how it was weeks ago. The sprinkling highlights of jewel green had reappeared on the side of its lower body. And he finally witnessed the merman’s stunning, extraordinary tail in their former glory. Moving with such ethereal elegance across the water. Strong, flowy, trailing, and everything Sherlock had expected it to be.

Beautiful.

Noticing him, the merman swam in his direction, flashing him such a kind, sweet smile.

Stepping back, Sherlock went up the mezzanine. For William to access the deck easier, there was a slanted area on one side of the tank that leads up to it, which also serves as the merman’s basking area. He found William already sitting on the edge, waiting for him.

“Liam, I got you something.” Aside from the merman’s diet of raw fish and sea plants, Sherlock had been bringing William some human food ever since William’s appetite had returned. Mostly fruits, or fresh vegetables. He initially didn’t want to feed the merman human food for it might ruin the creature’s natural diet, but William had stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes while Sherlock was munching on an apple one time, his beautiful white and gold tail twitching back and forth, as if waiting for Sherlock to give him some.

By far, the merman liked everything Sherlock had brought, and none had caused harm to William’s health. But he’s still careful not to give the merman too much serving.

“Apples?” the merman asks, tail lightly waving in the water as if excited. “Or strawberries.”

“No. This is something else.”

He eyed the suspicious thing atop Sherlock’s palm. “The fish. . . are dead.”

“Just try it before you complain.”

“But I don’t eat dead fish.”

Obviously. What with your sharp fangs and pointed molars. Sherlock speared a small piece of the pie with a fork and held it up to William, “Then just the pie, not the fish.”

The merman hesitated, but he eventually opened his mouth, “. . . it’s good.”

“But tell me quickly if it’s upsetting your stomach.”

“What is this food called?”

“Stargazy pie.” Sherlock put the plate down, handing William the fork, helping him wrap his fingers around it correctly, “Here. Hold it this way. Or just ditch it and pick the food up with your hands.”

The merman lifted the fork, examining it closely, “Hmm, humans make a lot of fascinating things. I thought this was made to stab a prey’s eye, dig the whole thing out.”

“Uh, well, that could work too.”

William struggled with the fork for a few seconds, but he stiffly able to make it work soon, determined to learn, and as he took his second bite, he looked up, “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“Is money an important object in your world?”

“. . . yeah, why’d you ask?”

“We do not have ‘money’ under the sea.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Sherlock scratched his nape, “Well, the concept of money is a very long history. I’m not sure where to start. . .”

“I’m only wondering, because the humans here says I’m valuable because I’m worth a lot of money.” William replies, and though his lips were smiling, his scarlet eyes remain expressionless. “Is that how humans measure a person’s value? Through the amount of money one can give?”

Sherlock fell silent, finding the right words to say, for William to somehow understand.  “. . .”

“How are they going to obtain that object from me?”

Lips on a tight line, fists clenching, Sherlock stood and walked out, “Sorry, I’ll answer you another time.”

It would be a lie to say that Sherlock doesn’t give a fuck about money. It’s what makes the world go round. While it’s true that his current profession is his happiness and passion, in reality, you can’t go very far without money in your pockets. It was partly the reason why he’d once ended up an underground doctor for illegal trading of marine life. Though he was not directly involved with the transactions, he’d been the one taking care of the animals being sold in that very market.

It was part of the contract he’d signed, to fund his research. But Sherlock didn’t last very long. He quickly left as he’d quickly accepted.

It had taken him a couple of years, but he was able to slowly build his personal lab and clinic, using his very own funds accumulated through legal means. He’d accepted private consultations and treatments of aquatic pets, joining small research institutes, clinics, assisting with as many expeditions and rescues. . . until he was finally able to get generous sponsors.

His independent researches, and works as a vet are what made him famous, but Sherlock only thought of that fame as something annoying. He dislike too much attention from the public. Although, on the other hand, he was able to take advantage of that fame to raise awareness for marine life protection and preservation.

In the short time he worked for the black market, Sherlock did everything in his power to nurse the animals under his care. It was the only thing he can do. To ease the animals’ pain, and to ease the stabbing guilt in his heart.

When Sherlock eventually told and explained his past to William, the merman posed this question: “Why did you think that was the only thing you could’ve done?”

Such an innocent question, from such a pure, untainted being who knew nothing of the greed and ambition of humans. And is now learning that the hard way. Hurt, trapped in an artificial cage, away from home, his freedom forcibly taken from him.

“It’s complicated.” Sherlock answered with an unreadable smile, “And, it’s not like I’m here to save every single marine life there is. . . I have my own selfish reasons why I'm here, so you see, I’m really not that different. What I’m doing for you is basic human decency, nothing to applaud for.”

“If it’s the basic, how come none of the people who’d kept me here doesn’t seem to know that?”

This time, Sherlock burst out laughing. “What can I say, humans are hopeless.”

William, who was lying on his front, head nestled against folded arms, waved his tail to and fro, “I have one more question.”

“Go ahead.”

“You said money was only a part of the reason you resorted to that kind of wrongdoing. But what about the other?”

“Well, I wanted to know firsthand how stuffs like that operate.” Sherlock answered, lighting a cigarette, “So I can maybe, you know. . . figure out a way to– completely stopping it would be impossible though.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Heh.” Sherlock backed away and leaned against the wall, he knew William strongly dislike the scent of cigarette smoke. “It’s as you thought, we sully everything, do things that’s both our salvation and destruction. We’re all blokes infesting this planet.”

“I’m not sure I fully understand.” William smiles, “But we also have concept of good and evil.”

Stubbing off the cigarette a few minutes later, Sherlock returned to William’s side with a smile, slumping next to the merman, uncaring of the wet surface that’ll soak his clothes, “Then, tell me something about your life and your world, Liam. Something good.”

As the days passed, with each smile, each stolen glance, each story they shared in that cramped, hidden facility where their unexpected friendship began, Sherlock found himself getting more and more drawn and attached to the merman. They may have come from different worlds– worlds that only meet between sea and land, but they seem to have found common ground, genuine comfort and joy towards each other’s presence. He sometimes foolishly wonder if William had somehow casted some weird merman magic to him that he starts to feel things he shouldn’t be feeling towards a creature out of myth.

It wasn’t like him, but Sherlock would even read stories and poems to William everyday, and sometimes play the violin for him at night– a hobby. Alone, and likely bored, there’s no way Sherlock can leave the merman by himself just like that.

“Can you play that song again?”

“What song?”

“The one you were playing the first time I heard you.” William replies, gazing up at Sherlock with those gorgeous scarlet eyes. “It’s a beautiful song. What is it about?”

Sherlock winced, blushing lightly, “I’ve no idea, actually. I’m just. . . playing it.”

“Without understanding what’s it about?” William wondered.

“Well, how was it to you? What kind of story does it tell for you?”

“It’s. . . dark, but the stars glisters bright.” William starts, very softly humming the tune, “A melancholic, yet beautiful tale. Like teardrops falling in the ocean on a peaceful night.”

William’s small humming was doing some weird things to Sherlock’s head. Some of the myths says that mermaids, sirens, or whatever, have enchanting voices that lure sailors at sea. He’s never heard William sing or hum, and so he assumed that William doesn’t sing at all though his voice is actually crystal clear. The clearest voice Sherlock has ever heard, as if he was hearing the merman inside his mind. And the humming was even more mesmerizing, radiant, like tinkling, warm droplets of water falling across–

The bow hit the tiles as Sherlock grabbed at his forehead, nearly dropping the violin itself, “L– liam, stop–”

An audible gasp, William suddenly looking alarmed, his tail out of water as he tried to get close to Sherlock, “I– I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

“I guess.” Sherlock replied, breathing slowly steadying as he went down on one knee, “W– what did you do?”

“Nothing. Humans have always been sensitive to our singing since time immemorial.” William’s smile was troubled, and there were genuine worry in those eyes, “It does something to their brain that even we, cannot explain. Our song draws them in at first, but they’ll shortly start to writhe in pain.”

“And on animals?”

“No, it doesn’t have any particular effect on animals. It only makes them aware of our presence.”

“Ah. . . it’s a shame.”

“What?”

“It’s a shame because I can’t listen to it without literally losing my mind.” Sherlock widely smiles, “Your voice is. . . incredibly beautiful– I would’ve loved to really hear your song.”

William looked away as if he was shy, and then without a word, crawled back to the edge of the basking area and dove back into the water, leaving Sherlock dumbfounded.

Scratching the back of his head, he picked up the violin bow with a sigh, and began to play the piece William had requested. Suddenly, he wondered why William didn’t took advantage of the effect of their song over humans to try and get away before they could capture him. Sherlock only heard a little bit of hum, but already, it had that kind of terrifying, paralyzing effect. Directly to the brain.

So their songs are like neurotoxin for humans. How intriguing– how mysterious. There must be a scientific explanation to that phenomenon. Sherlock was damn sure that if they conduct experiments, he’ll find out the secret to it, but he flushed the idea down. There’s no way he’s gonna send William down into that kind of torture.

Still, he can’t help but be curious.

The very next day however, a few of his questions was answered. As the merman sat on the deck, his back to Sherlock, quietly listening to the violin music. And as the song slowly faded to stop, William complimented Sherlock for yet another beautiful piece along with the words: “It’s been perhaps a hundred year since I last sung.”

Huh? Like yesterday, Sherlock almost dropped the instrument. “A hundred year?”

“Mm.” William glanced over his shoulder with an empty smile, “You weren’t the only one who did wrong things in the past.”

“. . .”

“It’s rather complicated but I. . . sullied the inviolable purpose of our songs.” William stared over the water, as if gazing blindly over a long, distant, unpleasant memory, “The last time I sung, hundreds of humans died. I murdered them– dragged them down to the depths of the sea.”

A chill crept up Sherlock’s spine.

“Sometimes I could hear their dying screams in my head– in my dreams. . . I hadn’t sung since. Or even hummed a single tune.” William added, the calm, somber tone of his voice unchanging, “Until. . . yesterday. For a moment, I actually forgot about that heinous past. I didn’t even realize I was already humming. Honestly, it’s such a huge shock.”

Placing the violin on the table, Sherlock sat down beside William, dipping his legs in the water, silently waiting for William to continue.

“Aren’t you afraid?” The merman asks, watching Sherlock from peripheral.

“Nah. You can’t scare me.”

William almost laughed, but he went on with his solemn confession instead, “I hate humans. The way they think they’re above everything. The way they arrogantly think they can do whatever they want– that everything is for their disposal. They pollute the air, pollute the waters, kill for sport, rage war. . . I hated your world, I couldn’t see the beauty in it.”

“. . .”

“Only, I realized, that maybe I was just not looking hard enough. That maybe there’s more to humans than I thought. But it’s difficult to understand and observe the world above when I have to get close yet cannot afford to be seen.” William faintly smiled, “And in search for more, I ended up here. With you.”

Sherlock leaned forward, arms braced on both thighs, “Heh, disappointed I’m sure.” So that’s why he doesn’t sing anymore. And here I thought him ignorant about this fucked up world. He must’ve asked me about ‘money’ on purpose just to see my reaction. Hah, this merman. . . he already knows a lot.

“Not exactly.” Under the water, William touched Sherlock’s foot with the tip of his tailfin, a gentle caress, “I like being with you. Unexpectedly, it’s fun.”

His eyes widened slightly, and then Sherlock felt a sudden rush of blood across his cheeks. He turned to the side, avoiding William’s gaze and that pretty merman smile, “Uh. . . I told you! This is basic human decency!”

William chuckled, “Sometimes, I can’t help but think you’re doing way too much for me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“But it’s true. . .”

Sherlock eventually returned to his and John’s shared quarters after spending the past two hours with William. He took a quick bath, and then sat down the couch, smoking. He learned quite some shocking facts, and more importantly, William’s past. Not that it’s an important thing to the people who’d hired him. What they care about is the merman’s extreme capability to be their cash cow.

Scientists like him however. . . would be itching to start their own study and experiments should they find out about the merman. Sherlock admits that at first, that’s what he was naturally compelled to do. Unearth the secrets and truth of this myth turned reality, but then William reached for his hand, smiled at him. . . and everything changed.

As long as Sherlock play by their rules, and as long as William is attached to him, he will not be kicked out of this underground program.

Joke’s on them, ‘course I won’t give ‘em all data I’ve gathered. It was too dangerous for William, and it was also why Sherlock had been going late at night when the guards are only positioned outside, so that no one else will be able to hear their conversations. At first, he was not allowed to do so, but after a brief meeting, clever words of persuasion, and the great progress of the merman’s health under Sherlock’s care, he got approval to do so, but only until midnight.

“Sherlock.” John walked in the room, carrying two cups of coffee, “How is he?”

“Fine.” Sherlock motioned at the notebook on the table as he sat down the long couch. “John, type the last ten pages for me. I need to submit it on Friday. I’m gonna buy strawberries for Liam too while I’m at it.”

“Okay.” John replied, sitting on the spare wooden chair, leaving one of the coffee for Sherlock, “Sherlock, I’ve noticed this the first time, but really– you’ve gotten way too close.”

Sherlock only responded to John with a small grunt. “Nah, I’m still an ocean away from the whole secret of merpeople–”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” Sherlock immediately says with a carefree grin.

“And I know you’re planning something.” A knowing smile on John’s face. “I’ll help you so spill it out.”

“Haha! You know me too well, John!”

The truth was, Sherlock had decided he’ll get William out of the facility. And thought himself out of his mind when this discovery was what unmistakably brought him back to life, this most exquisite mystery. Nevertheless, he started observing the people who comes and goes to the room where William’s tank is in. Sherlock does his best to memorize their faces, their movements. He also, little by little, ask things about the facility, and roam around without letting the people notice his true intentions, so he can make a mental map of the place and the area around it. It’ll be difficult, and dangerous but. . .

“Why did you think that was the only thing you could’ve done?”

Steeling his gaze, Sherlock firmly said, “I already have a plan but it still needs a bit more work. I’ll make sure to finalize it as soon as possible so we can have plenty more time to think about when to do it.”

“Understood. But first,” An unusually troubled smile appeared on John’s expression. “Uhm, about him– William, I mean.”

“What’s it?”

John proceeded to tell Sherlock of what had occurred the other day when Sherlock was out, and John had been the one to watch the merman instead. “He stared at me like crazy. Like he’s drilling a hole on my back. But when I ask what he wants, he just dove right back into the water. Honestly, no one else here understands that merman.”

Sherlock gleefully laughed loud, “Liam’s just shy. Hahaha! So what happened?”

“Well, he eventually asked me something, after giving him his dinner.” John replied, sipping his coffee, “I don’t always speak to him, but his voice would really draw you in, huh? Anyway, he asked about you.”

“He could’ve just asked me directly.”

“He asked why you were chosen to be here– to be the one to take care of him. I said it’s because you’re the best marine veterinary and biologist in the country.” John declares, as if boasting proudly.

“Tch.” Sherlock made a face before taking a sip from his own coffee. “Those sods asked for me because I’m the only marine doctor in their vicinity who worked for the country’s black market before. They think I’m a marine life advocate with the word ‘hypocrite’ written on my forehead.”

“I’m not wrong though. They specifically asked for you because they know they needed the best. But, I understand why you accepted this job despite the circumstances. And I’m not worried at all, that’s why I agreed to come here and accompany you.”

Sherlock faintly smiled, “Thanks.”

“It still a wonder to me why he’s so attached only to you. It’s like you have some sort of special taming ability. Even dolphins and seals warm up to you fast.” John laughs, taking Sherlock’s notebook from the table, opening it on the last page. “Ugh, this handwriting again. That’s right, have you asked him yet if he has some sort of magic? That’ll be cool.”

Magic, huh? More like super power. It’s insane.

To be honest, Sherlock didn’t know what to expect when he first came here. Then the most unforeseen thing came down like a sledgehammer. It was when the merman he was tasked to simply take care of and rehabilitate became someone so important to him. William was a merman, a creature of myth, but also a person; scarred, with an open heart; he feels guilt, sadness, happiness. . . he has dreams, own nightmares, and love for fruits and stargazy pie. 

“But, Sherlock,” John looks up after a moment. “Isn’t it bad? That you’re getting so close to him?”

“. . . yeah.” Really bad. In more ways than one.

Apparently, it wasn’t only the two of them who thinks this is bad, but also the noble who ‘owns’ the merman. The last time Sherlock went to submit his weekly report, it was brought up, discussed, a seemingly light-hearted talk, but there was threat beneath those smiles. Fortunately, those people were too cocky and arrogant to think that nobody can steal the merman from them.

They obviously don’t know Sherlock.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” John says as he flipped the pages of the notebook, “He’s gonna visit tomorrow. With a couple of friends.”

“Business partners you mean.” Sherlock blew out a cloud of smoke, “Reckless sod. The more people know about Liam, the more this secret’s in danger.”

I have to hurry.

The next day, Sherlock watched from the first floor as William swim and glide all over the tank, hands in the pockets of his crisp white lab coat. He sees the merman everyday, and yet, the casual display of power, grace, and beauty never fails to mesmerize him. Just then, William pressed a hand on the glass, eyes on Sherlock, and then the merman pointed up.

Sherlock went up the basking area with a cool greeting, eyes on the floor, removing his glasses. “Yo, Liam! Sorry, it was raining so I couldn’t return before noon.”

Instead of coming up to sit on the basking area, William simply folded his arms on the tank’s edge to steady himself, “It’s alright. You look different today.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to take this tightly fitting suit off. There’ll be visitors later, be good.”

“That’ll depend on them.”

“I know. I trust John has fed you already?” There were traces of blood and pieces of flesh near the water. “Seems kinda messy today, huh.”

“The salmons were a little too big.” And then William nonchalantly held up the fish he’s been hiding, placing it on the edge of the deck, nudging it towards Sherlock, “I saved the biggest one for you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared down at the barely alive fish twitching by his feet, it had a few scratches, courtesy of the merman’s sharp nails, “Uh. . . t– thanks.” He’s been giving me fish lately. What’s this behaviour? It was when Sherlock went to the table to put away William’s gift that he noticed the strangely new equipment sitting there. But when he got near, he realized it was only a record player. “This wasn’t here last night.”

William responds, his tail waving lightly, “Can you please turn it on for me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock whipped his head to William’s direction, startled, “Eh? You know what this is? Or someone has already taught you. . .”

“Dr. Watson had brought it in while you’re gone all morning, thinking I was bored. It makes music of all sort. Another fascinating human-made thing. Songs created by humans are interesting too.”

He looks really happy.

Merry and jazz music filled the room as soon as the player was on, and a few moments later, Sherlock turned up the volume a little high when he noticed how calmly absorbed William was while listening the entire time, especially on one particular song. The last vinyl’s content is apparently a love song in ballad.

. . . fell silent to me.
The world didn’t sing without you. . .

“I recognize this.” Sherlock says, crouching on the edge of the tank, “Want me to play it on violin for you?”

William looked extra happy.

“Y’know that player damages records. Only thing good about it’s the portability. I’ll have ‘em install a turntable here for you. It’s a lot durable, will probably last a lifetime.”

The smile remained, not in his eyes, however, “Looks like my stay here is indefinite.”

William’s statement made Sherlock froze a bit, but then he moved closer, gaze locked on those scarlet eyes as he spoke in a low voice, cautious of the lone guard standing on the far corner, “Liam, do you trust me?”

A small nod.

“I need to hear it. Do you trust me?”

William eventually smiled, echoing the words of the song still playing in the background, “I do.”

Mirroring that soft smile, Sherlock leaned down and forward, reaching out as if to inspect the merman’s ear, and then Sherlock whispered the vow he’d set in stone, “I’ll free you. I promise.”

The music faded to stop as Sherlock drew back, but before he could see William’s face, the merman grabbed him with both hands, pulling him into and under the water. Though he managed to brace for the hit, get a sharp intake of air, Sherlock still swiftly tried to surface up, but William refused to let go, as if he knew Sherlock can hold his breath underwater for a longer period than most humans. Surrendering, he just narrowed his eyes at the naughty merman who was smiling sweetly at him.

Ah, whatever. I can never get mad at this guy. Tsk.

The merman intimately swam over and under him, moving across the water with effortless grace and a tad bit of playfulness before grabbing Sherlock’s hands once more, tugging forward, as if William was inviting Sherlock to dance with him.

However, their moment was shortly interrupted when the door to the first floor opened. And three men in undoubtedly exclusive tailored three-piece suit came in with John.

John’s reaction upon seeing Sherlock in the tank was priceless. His friend looked so done, but with a mixture of shock, panic, and irritation. Sherlock himself was wearing a three-piece suit for today was the said ‘visit’, and John was most probably annoyed that his efforts to put Sherlock in ‘decent’ clothes had gone to waste.

Feet dragging, John helped him get out of the water fast.

“Why did I bother?” his friend sighed, shaking his head.

“Oh shut it.”

“Dr. Holmes, what were you doing?” The ‘owner’ demanded as he stepped up the deck. His companions were left on the first floor, admiring the merman, completely under spell. “You could’ve contaminated the water!”

What a bloke–

Sherlock pushed his wet, dripping hair back, “He just wants to play, that’s all. What do you expect? He’s so damn bored.” And this tank is fucking small. Well, bollocks, any artificial tank regardless of size is no match to the ocean.

“Get changed and be quick about it, afternoon tea has been prepared in the dining room. My business partners wish to speak to you.”

As soon as the noble was out, a tall splash of water from the tank deliberately aimed Sherlock on the face. He snapped pointedly at the merman, “Liam!”

John only laughed at their mischievous exchange before following after the noble, closing the door behind him.

William thought nothing of the cloudy stain on one corner of the tank. Not until he mentioned it to Sherlock after a few days, when the stain was becoming more noticeable.

“Wonderful.” Had been Sherlock’s response.

“. . . what do you mean?”

“It’s chemical that will make the glass break with the slightest exposure to flame. Something used to produce liquid explosives like nitroglycerin– oh, sorry. Forget that.”

“I don’t even understand.”

“You’ll see. Just wait.”

Dissatisfied of the answer, the merman deliberately brushed the tip of his tail against Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock was currently examining William’s scales, the part of his lower body near the tailfin where the bullet had gone through. It apparently left a deep, and bumpy, circular ‘scar’. The scales there didn’t grow back the way they were, which was of course, to be expected.

“Liam!” Sherlock wiped at his face, “I’m tryin’ to work here!”

William only playfully waved his tail at him, “My body is functioning just fine.”

“I can tell. But the scales are growing on different directions.” Gaze skimming through the rest of William’s body, “They might pierce through the flesh sooner or later. Or there might be scales growing underneath the lumps.”

“Hmm, would cutting it help?”

“It’s why I’m checking it. I can’t just cut you up, idiot.” He firmly placed his hand back above the scales, brushing his fingers over the scar, and the smooth areas around it. Sherlock inched closer, “But you’re distracting me. Still, I’m thankful the bullet didn’t hit any of your bones. Because it won’t be–”

The words died when William, without warning, placed his hand over Sherlock’s cheek, fingers threading through his sweat-damp hair, pointy nails lightly grazing at the skin of his ear, and nape. William never before tried to touch him this much, this close; it startled Sherlock that he moved away from the touch before he can think of what he was doing.

William dropped his hand, fins folding back and going motionless. “. . . I’m sorry.”

Recovering, and cursing himself for putting that expression on William’s pretty face, Sherlock swallowed, “Dullard, what are you apologizing for? You just took me by surprise!”

“. . .” 

“I’m not upset!” He’s surprisingly very sensitive.

“. . . truly?”

Dropping the small, magnifying glass, Sherlock took William’s hand, pressing the palm of it back to his cheek. “Truly.”

The warm smile on William’s face returned, “Human skin is terrifyingly fragile, isn’t it? I feel like I’ll hurt you with the slightest of touch.”

“Haha, no you won’t. Oaf.” Not when you’re this gentle.

Staying still, Sherlock allowed William to touch his face, feel his skin, warmth, the strands of his dark, wavy hair, thinking that the merman might of course be just as curious towards him, as he is to William. And when those strange, yet familiar fingers lingered across his cheekbone, their eyes inevitably met. His blue, blue eyes watched William as the merman watched him in turn. . . but William’s gaze eventually dropped to Sherlock’s lips, thumb brushing ever-so-gently against the plump flesh.

Sherlock had to fight a shiver that had nothing to do with fear or cold, then his heart started racing, disturbingly so that he had to pull away, shoving his hair back, “Uh, I think that’s quite enough.”

“. . . every part of you is soft.”

“I’m fairly certain you’re just as soft if it weren’t for your scales.”

“And your hair– it’s so interesting. Can I touch it again?” William asks, hand raised and ready.

“. . . okay. But after I’m through examining you.” Jeez.

In the room next to John and Sherlock’s sleeping quarters, John had just finished with all the paperwork and report. There really hadn’t been much development or updates lately, probably because his fellow doctor’s busy being too friendly with a certain merman. Sherlock had completely forgotten– or better yet, discarded– his initial and true purpose for accepting this job. John had been working with Sherlock for a few years now, accompanying him through his research, and veterinary works. He witnessed how Sherlock indeed excel in his field, and how he takes his profession seriously, but John also saw that something was. . . missing.

Like the spark of interest. Or excitement. Sherlock looks bored, and is often impatient.

The discovery of a merman somehow explosively brought that excitement and life back in Sherlock. The man had all but trembling with sheer delight when he first shared the news with John, and cannot stop babbling about how thrilled he was to start extracting samples, do experiments, question the creature, make the research of the century. . .

However, as days passed in the facility, he immediately noticed that the spark in Sherlock’s eyes the merman had caused was not the kind John was expecting. It was different, too friendly, too intimate, only a rock wouldn’t notice– something that John couldn’t help but be worried about.

And he is most especially do, right now, because of Sherlock’s plan to get the merman out of the facility. He has faith in his fellow doctor’s intelligence and cunning mind, but still, John can’t help but be slightly uneasy.

He sighed. Taking a quick glance over his wristwatch, John stood up and went to the basking area to fetch Sherlock.

Acknowledging the lone guard stationed at the entrance, John pushed the door open. . .

The merman was out of the water, and in fact, lay on the deck, resting his chin against folded arms atop the seat of the wooden couch pressed against the wall, that beautiful, radiant gold white body and tail sprawled across the floor as the merman fondly gaze up at the human who sat on that couch, sleeping soundly, unaware of being watched.

It was such a breathtaking, picturesque perfect view, one that would undoubtedly inspire artists to create paintings and sculptures, compose music, and write poems of love. . . if it weren’t for Sherlock’s unsightly open mouth and loud snoring.

Immediately noticing him, the merman smiled at John, “Dr. Watson.”

John laughed, walking over, “Sorry, he’s loud even asleep.”

“It’s interesting to watch, I don’t mind.”

I– interesting? “Ah, you can go back in the tank and sleep yourself, I’ll take it from here.”

“It’s alright.” Another kind smile, “I’m nocturnal.”

John’s eyes widened, surprised, “E– eh? But– but Sherlock– we don’t know that!”

The merman once more glanced at Sherlock, an oddly gentle gaze and smile he seemed to save only for that man, “If he knew, he will insist and find an absolute way to spend the nights here. That won’t be good for his health.” 

“That’s. . . very thoughtful of you.”

With yet another smile, the merman crawled back and quietly slipped into the water.

Shrugging, John laughed a little. Well, would you look at that. The spark lit on both sides after all.

The next meeting went exactly the way Sherlock had predicted it to go. One of the nobles on the table was a renowned naval architect that Sherlock was familiar with. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that the man is still involved in illegal wildlife trading. Some people really can’t change that much. Especially if their power, wealth, and privileges had corrupted them on an irredeemable level. The other person, meanwhile, was an architect working an idea of a public aquarium. A showcase of a sort, saying it was much better than selling the merman to an auction or to the government for research.

Sherlock played along, gave his insight and thoughts about their plans as a marine life expert.

As soon as all that formality and crap was over after three long dreadful hours, Sherlock returned to the basking area, seeking comfort. William sat on the edge at Sherlock’s arrival, noticing the strain and deep lines on the man’s face.

“You look unwell.” William worriedly asks.

“Beat.” Sherlock crouched next to William, deeply inhaling from his cigarette. “Don’t worry, I can still play for you later.”

William’s nose wrinkled at the smell, and he slid back to the water, “Never mind that. Just rest for tonight.”

“It’s alright.” A sheepish grin, another long pull of smoke, “I won’t be able to fall asleep immediately anyway. ‘Sides, playing violin for you has become a daily night habit. By the way, why’d you do that?”

“Did what?”

“Liam.”

William only smiled, “Consent is very important.”

A while ago, before the guests left, they insisted on seeing the merman up close, out of the water. William wouldn’t normally surface, but Sherlock was there so he’d been alright with it. However, one of them subconsciously tried to touch William. . . and unfortunately went home trembling and frightened, bearing purplish bruises around his wrist.

Those people snapped at Sherlock instead, saying he needed to discipline the merman. But Sherlock only reprimanded them of their behaviour when he had clearly told them beforehand not to do anything haste and without permission.

“I never told you before, but I’d actually been captured by humans before, when I was a young.”

Somehow, the idea of a young Liam caught Sherlock’s attention. He wondered how William looks like as a small merman. If his colours and fins had been a little different, “You’re prone to being caught, huh.”

A small laugh, “That had been my first interaction with humans, who had looked at me with dangerous curiosity, and callously touched me as they please. It was a really bad impression, and a hateful experience, that’s why. . .”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“I was really surprised when you spoke to me like I’m not different, and even asked for my consent. A strange human. To be honest, I thought there was something terribly wrong with you.”

This time, it was Sherlock who had to laugh.

“I was easily able to escape back then since I was still at shore, and the humans were frantic. It was also when I discovered about your sensitivity to our song.” William continues, “I was young, so I only managed to incapacitate them, but it had been enough.”

Sherlock knew it must be even harder for creatures like William nowadays, what with the rapidly growing number of humans across the globe, and industrialization will only continue to be a big threat to the ocean that was their home. And the home to so many more living things, creatures left undiscovered. There’s still so much he wants to ask of William, especially about other ‘mythical sea creatures’. His curiosity towards that has yet to be sated. And it was surprising how he’s almost forgotten about it when he raved about such creatures as a kid. . . all because he found himself more interested in William. Not as a merman, but as a person.

“Sherlock, will you play me something a little joyful tonight?”

“Hmm, alright.”

Sherlock reached into his breast pocket for another cigarette, but William stopped him with a touch of his hand, and a warm smile. “That thing pollute the lungs.”

“Did John tell you that?”

“I’ve always known.”

Sherlock went to take William’s hand, paused, “I ain’t gonna get strangled, yeah?”
 
The merman laughed, as if Sherlock said something funny. William’s gaze was soft, welcoming, and a little too. . . sensual, “You’re free to touch me as you please.”

“. . . always generous with me, aren’t you?” Sherlock muttered, taking William’s hand with both his own.  

It never fails to amaze him how ‘human’ William’s hands look– except for the hard nails, and longer than average fingers. One will only know the huge difference the moment you touch it. The last time he touched William’s hand was when he thoroughly examined it out of curiosity and sense of duty. But this time, he simply wanted to touch William. Strangely so.

Sherlock muttered something under his breath, caressing the merman’s hand, from the palm, to the lightly webbed spaces between the fingers, and up until the underside of the nails, “I first expected your hands to be slippery and cold, but you’re warm.”

“Our bodies adjust to the temperature.”

“Depending on where you are? Whoa, really? What about the arctic?”

“Only for a short period.”

“I see. I might ask more about that later.” And then his gaze went south, down William’s lower half of smooth, unbroken plain of shimmering cream white scales with soft hues of metallic yellow-gold. . . It must be there somewhere, hidden under flexible–

“What is it?” William asks, noticing Sherlock’s sudden silence. “Do you want to touch my tail?”

“Huh? No, no, I’ve just been wondering about. . . something.” For quite some time now.

A pretty, accommodating smile, “You can ask me anything.”

“Well, if you say so. . .” Sherlock blinks, curiosity in those blue eyes of his, “Normally, there's an indication, or a mark of a sort. And I can easily tell, but with you, there's none and I just can’t seem to point out where your genitals specifically come out. . . when. . .”

“Genitals?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “Nah, don’t answer that.”

“Your cheeks turned red. How adorable.”

“Uh–” Sherlock quickly looked away, feeling his face burn all the more. Since he knew from the beginning that William was sensitive on both wanted and unwanted physical contact, he never asked, nor tried to touch William’s lower body again if the reason isn’t that important, thinking it might be intrusive. And he had to deduce in his earlier reports about the merman’s complete anatomy. The people who’d caught William apparently just assumed the merman’s sex based on the surface– on the body’s built, because William did not allow them to touch him– even got injured in the process.

The merman was about to reply when John entered unannounced in the deck carrying the violin, and a basket filled with random stuffs. “Sherlock, here’s everything you asked for!”

Sherlock brushed a hand over his own face, “T– thanks. Nice timing.”

“Good evening, Dr. Watson.”

John smiled back at William, “Good evening. The food you requested is in the basket.”

“Food? What food?” Sherlock raised a brow.

To his surprise, William and John answered in unison, “Soft pudding.”

Whoa, I thought they’d never get along. . .

“He saw it on the magazine I was reading.” John explained. “And asked for it so kindly that I couldn’t say no.”

“Oy, you merman, quit hypnotizing John.”

“Eh? But I’m not doing anything suspicious like that.”

Laughing, John proceeded to take the small boquet of lily and purple irises out of the basket Sherlock had ask him to buy for William. John mumbled, too low for Sherlock to hear, “Sherlock, I’m obviously not the one under the merman’s spell here.”

Moments after, John left the two of them alone to finish paper works Sherlock wouldn’t work on. Sherlock meanwhile, was busy entertaining his lone audience, whoʼs eating pudding while speaking to Sherlock, tail lightly waving. An indication that he’s happy and in a good mood.

One would think that the merman’s gotten used under these living conditions, but Sherlock knew better. 

“Would you like some pudding, Sherlock?”

“No, just eat ‘em all.” He’s gotten so good at using silverwares too.

“I wish we have food like this underwater. Can I have stargazy pie for dinner tomorrow?”

He can see that William can definitely live on human food. However, it will most likely be dangerous in the long run as his body isn’t entirely built for such things. William was obviously more sea creature than human. “Sure, but only a little.”

William ate the last bite of pudding, putting the spoon down. “Dr. Watson isn’t that stingy.”

This clever merman, really. “Ah, so that’s why you’re being friendly with John? We don’t know the long-term effects of human food on your body. In the first place, you never should’ve eaten–”

“Point taken.”

“You’re making fun of me.” Sherlock pointed the violin bow at William, “Now, what do you wanna listen to before I fall asleep?”

The merman thoughtfully cocked his head to the side, “I’ve never told you about the primary purpose of our songs, haven’t I?”

“It’s to let creatures around you be aware of your presence, call for help, communicate locations, find a mate, and probably some other merpeople kind of reason I won’t understand or not allowed to know.”

“Sharp as always.” William smiles, “But we also sing on normal days when we’re happy, or in a good mood.”

“Heh, just like humans.”

“But for a mate. . . it’s an entirely different thing. Our vocal chords produces a very unique, sophisticated sound that is unlike anything else we make. However, the song is not an instantaneous thing. To be honest, I have never experienced it myself so I cannot give you an elaborate description.”

“The hell are you talkin’ about?” Soft laughter, “It’s fine. ‘Sides, I can’t really listen to it if I wanted to.” 

“It's a very mysterious phenomenon that even our elders cannot explain. They say the song emerges from hearts joined, and intertwined fates; will freely flow just like the ocean; that once it’s there, it can’t be stopped.” William answers, eyes languidly watching Sherlock, “If there’s no such feeling of glister in one’s heart, no song will truly rise. It can mean that the other person isn’t compatible for you.”

Hmm, interesting. And convenient.

“It's quite different, as I have observed, but humans use songs for their mates, or who they want to mate with, correct? You even put words in your songs, unlike us.”

“Uh. . . I guess so– sometimes?”

“Do you use songs as well when you try to find a mate, Sherlock?”

“Me? Well, I dunno.”

“Oh, could it be you are not fully matured yet?”

What’s with that term? Sherlock glanced away. “Uhm, I am, but. . .” How can he explain to the merman that he’s got no interest on the female of his very own specie? Sherlock was unsure if William can understand. “We kind of have our own pace when it comes to, uh, mating, as you call it. Argh, Nuff of that! Do you want me to play something or what?”

William rested his chin against the back of his hand, staring over at the pretty flowers Sherlock had given him, “A song you will play for me, if I am your mate, perhaps?”

What’s with that? Oddly, Sherlock didn’t have to think that much about it. “. . . alright then.” He held the violin in place, and began to play a song that for certain, William will like. If he may say so himself, it’s a piece he would definitely play should he lose his mind and try to find a ‘mate’.

None of them spoke as the song regrettably ended too soon, savouring the airy remnants of sentiment, and a time-old tale that utterly enveloped the room in flittering firefly lights. But before William could comment on, Sherlock started playing another song. A song that resonated deep inside William, reminded him of a love that appeared, bloomed, and got lost at sea.

“That was. . .” William says, cutting the silence that followed after the song, “Beautiful.”

“Every piece I play for you is.” Sherlock replied, putting the violin down the table. He wonders what else he can do, while the merman is still here. It’s only a matter of time since he know he can’t allow William to stay here much longer. Sherlock is certain that his plan will succeed, that he’ll be able to get William out of here, return him back to the ocean that was his true home, but after that. . .

What then?

“That book,” The merman began, making Sherlock shift his attention, “Is that the next part of the mystery novel you were reading?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock took the red book sticking out of the basket and flipped it on the first page, sitting down the wooden couch, “I can pretty much guess who the culprits are and what happened with the three cases. I’m reading to confirm my deductions.”

William, completely out of water, crawled until he was on the other end of the basking area where Sherlock was.

“Oy, don’t do that! I can come over!”

Not listening, William folded his arms on the couch’s seat, eyes up. Right beside the spot where Sherlock sat. His shiny tail waving, brushing across the smooth floor, “It’s only fair, and you’ll be able to rest better if you’re sitting on this. . . thing. Anyway, you really love mysteries don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock answers, flipping the pages further, and without thought, said what was on his mind out loud, “And right now, you’re the most exquisite mystery to me. I feel like I’ll never be able to unravel all of you no matter what I do.”

Discovery is one thing, figuring out the rest of that discovery is a whole different story. For it can lead to more questions, open up to more secrets. And William is exactly that, a seemingly unsolvable mystery in every fold, as far as Sherlock was concerned.

The movement of William’s tail quickened, he inched closer, placing his hands on Sherlock’s knee, “Oh, I didn’t know you love me so much, Sherlock.”

“Geh, don’t go taking it the wrong way!” But though blushing, Sherlock didn’t brush off William’s hands. Instead, he pulled out another book from the basket, “Here. It’s a picture book on heavenly bodies. You can dry your hands on my coat.”

“Oh, you remembered. Thank you; how are the stars tonight?”

“Hmm, it’s a cloudy night, so. . .”

Pausing, Sherlock remembered that time he first showed picture books to William, teaching the merman a whole bunch of things. There were photographs of forests, mountains, land animals, cities, houses– of people going about their lives, and many more. William hadn’t been that adamant in his questions about land, and human world, but Sherlock thought that those, can help William in his search for ‘answers’, or whatever it is he seek.

“I never would’ve known about the true nature of stars hadn’t for you. It’s amazing, how far humans had gotten.” Since William suppresses his instincts, preferring not to sing even when he needs to, he sometimes would use the stars as his guide to know where he's going.

“Too far even, sometimes. In more ways than one.” Sherlock glanced down with a soft, yet confident smile, “Don’t worry, you’ll see the stars– and the ocean– again. Soon.”

“I know.” William gave Sherlock’s knee a light squeeze, “Because you promised.”

Present day

“–lock. Sherlock!”

Flinching, Sherlock looked back to his friend, Miss Hudson. Forgetting he’s not in that place anymore. That he’s now on a certain beach, sand between his toes, his beloved, moldy book in his hands, the sea breeze cool and gentle against his skin. Then there was the warm sunset on the distant horizon, “Oh, sorry. What were we talkin’ about again?”

“Where has your mind wandered off to this time?” A sigh.

Sherlock closed the book, slipping it inside his bag. He mumbled, “Just. . . to where my heart is.”

Though puzzled, Miss Hudson only smiled, did not press the question any further, “Well, go on and get out of here! You’ll miss the ship! Be sure to take care of yourself, okay?”

“Of course, of course.”

“If you come back wounded and bloody again, I’ll shoot you myself!”

“Yeah, I know.”

What Miss Hudson spoke of, was the night Sherlock last saw William. Sherlock indeed kept his promise. Even if it meant he and William had to part forever. Leaving only memories he could only look back to. In contrast to it being the cage of a beautiful, magnificent, mythical creature, Sherlock can’t deny that his time in that facility was precious, and contain, inarguably, the best days of his life. Days that seemed so ordinary, late night conversations mingled with laughter, songs, and meaningful gazes. The time he spent in that place with the merman seemed like a blissful, distant dream. One that he couldn’t hold on to, one that will not fade.

It had reaffirmed his choices, and what he truly stands for.

Bidding goodbye once more to his friend, Sherlock went on his way. He thought he had a place in mind, but once he set foot on the ship, the wind tugging at his coat and hair, he felt a little lost. And then more fragments of memory flashed through as he gaze up the sky.

High smokes, scorching red fire, hollers, and haste, heavy footsteps.

An explosion that resulted to a massive fire Sherlock orchestrated out as an ‘accident’. They blocked out the guards first, ran through smoky halls, burning rooms, exiting via the filter room fire exit where a pick up truck was waiting for them. Sherlock made certain that all of the people would be exiting through the front and the other fire exits..

And because Sherlock planned it all, they were a few steps ahead. They were out of the facility and was in the truck before anyone could see them. And to make sure they’ll have ample time to get to the lake, Sherlock tasked John to remain around the facility and cause panic among the ones who had gotten out, calling out that the merman was still inside the burning structure with Sherlock.

Sherlock raced the vehicle through the forest at a hazardous speed. Sweat has dampened his hair, clothes stuck to his skin, his heart pounding. Then he stepped on the gas and drove at full speed the moment they made the turn where they’ll inevitably be seen.

By the time they got to the lake which connects to the open sea, Sherlock was able to hear the distant sound of heavy terrain vehicles most probably coming after them. He could’ve driven the truck straight to the water, so that William can go out of the back without difficulty, but Sherlock needed it for his and John’s escape.

He stumbled on the rocky banks as he hastily carried William to the water, huffing as he fell on his knees, “Fuck, didn’t think they’d catch up so fast. I misread the guards– those blokes aren’t that incompetent after all.”

But instead of swimming away as swiftly and far as his fins could get him, the merman remained in the coastline, as if hanging on a thread he couldn’t let go of, no matter if it was making him bleed, “Sherly. . .”

“Go, now–”

Since that escape, Sherlock had been keeping a low profile. He almost died of blood loss that night hadn’t for Mycroft’s arrival with the military, though it was John who actually called for the help of Sherlock’s brother. With it, the people involved in there that were meant to be arrested were caught, interrogated, and imprisoned for illegal wildlife trading. The place where they’d kept William wasn’t apparently the only facility they had.

After surviving all of that, he chose to leave the country, his research and clinic to John and Miss Hudson, and went back to the life he had before he became a renowned doctor. John had named it ‘soul-searching’, but Sherlock disagreed. Still, he aimlessly travelled far and wide, wherever shoreline his feet would take him. But eventually, he chose to build a life on a tropical country that consists of many islands along the Pacific, almost a year ago after getting a decent job offer along his line of expertise. He immediately fell in love with the beautiful place, surrounded by water and abundant wild life. Yet to be tainted by the hands of irresponsible humans.

Sighing, Sherlock decided to go back to his new home for now. And so a few days later, he finally arrived.

He’s tired, jet-lagged and all, but was unusually restless. Instead of sleeping, he spend time along the beach of the small, uninhabited island all afternoon thinking of William. He misses the merman so deeply he wanted to shout and call William’s name, but instead of screaming like a madman, he simply kicked at the waves touching his bare feet. Not like William would magically appear in front of him should he shout till his throat bleed.

He must be with his family. As he should. William had told Sherlock about his brothers and a few friends. The merman even said he’ll introduce Sherlock to them one day. Sherlock wasn’t sure he can handle more of merman and mermaids with their dazzling beauty, but the idea of meeting William’s loved ones made him happy, as if he was becoming a part of the merman’s world. Slowly, steadily–

An unusual splash caught his attention, interrupting his thoughts, raising his head immediately to that direction. The wind was a little strong, the clouds above weren’t so thick, but the coast and water was otherwise clear. Convincing himself in need of rest, he shrugged and blinked his sleep-deprived eyes. Sherlock walked a little further back and roughly lied on the sand with a deep sigh.

Liam. . .

He had every intention of getting up after a few minutes, but the cool breeze and calming sound of soft ocean waves gently coaxed him to a slumber. . . and then he was dreaming.

From afar, high smokes, scorching red fire, hollers, and haste, heavy footsteps.

The sound of dripping water, rustling of trees. Soil, pebbles, and dry branches grounded under heavy, rolling wheels of a certain vehicle. Distant, incoherent shouting, a supposedly quiet, soundless evening–

“Sherly. . .”

It was the first time William addressed him that way, and though flattered, every part of him screaming in silent joy, Sherlock could only clench his fist, “Go, now. Before they come.”

The open water was at William’s hand, but the merman refuses to leave just yet. Sherlock can see that William is worried for him, but they were press for time. John may probably be there or on his way to the meeting place but he’s still out there by himself. They both needed to go.

Unusually trembling, the merman pulled down at Sherlock’s collar in urgency, almost tearing the fabric, knowing they do not have enough time in their hands, his white and yellowish-gold scales glowing faintly under the moonlight as he arched up.

Smooth, cold lips touched Sherlock’s in a soft, utterly incandescent kiss. A sweet, warm caress that seemingly froze time itself. And when William drew back, it was with a smile so beautiful it threatened to make Sherlock pull William in a tight embrace, never let go. But he only smiled back and said, “You’re welcome.”

And with those final gestures, the merman with vivid, scarlet eyes disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. 

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open. What welcomed him was the vast sky, swatted in warm colors, brushes of orange, red, yellow, and streaks of pink. Indication that sunset was approaching, which meant he managed to get at least an hour of sleep or so.

Why did I have to dream of that?

In truth, that kiss, that smile, haunts Sherlock every time, as did William’s voice, mysterious eyes, and gorgeous colors. Shrugging, he let out a weak yawn, and nonchalantly sat up as he gazed around, brushing off the sand on his back, sides–

And froze. He might as well have stopped breathing.

“Good morning, Sherly.”

“. . .” 

“You should refrain from sleeping at such a close distance from the sea, high-tide may come in fast and sweep you to death.”

He was still staring, but his heart finally hitched as it began to sink in. Like the rush of water flowing through a dry river after months of draught. He can never mistake that crystal clear voice for anything, nevertheless, what’s before him was too good to be true he refused to believe it. Especially after that dream, “Uh, I should stop staying up for thirty hours straight. . .”

The image of William lying on the sand next to him stirred, and smiled in a way that stole Sherlockʼs breath and heart as it always did, “Found you, my beloved human.”

“Liam. . . but, how?” Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and repeatedly blinked, “You’re– you’re not supposed to be here. Maybe that food on the plane was laced with LSD–”

The merman lifted his shining tail, brushing it across Sherlock’s feet as he moved closer, laughter in those familiar, too beautiful blood-red eyes, “What an awful thing to say, after I crossed oceans for you.”

Very much real, the familiar sensation of that tailfin touching his skin. Giving in, Sherlock came to his senses once and for all. He reached out, wrapping both arms around William in a tight embrace, cradling the back of the merman’s head against him.

And he felt like he can finally breathe again.

The moment Sherlock let go, William took that chance to softly kiss his beloved human on the lips. The smile on the merman’s face was a thing of pure joy and sheer excitement. Every inch of him radiating with delight.

Sherlock was startled with the kiss, but his attention swiftly gravitated towards something else. His eyes took a leisure look on William’s body, from the tip of the merman’s tail up to the tips of his ears. The merman’s beauty was already an otherworldly thing back when they first met, but now, that beauty impossibly elevated even more. Or better yet, this must be how William supposed to truly look. “Damn– makes me think I did a bad job taking care of you.”

“Sherly, what are you talking about? You took very good care of me.”

“The shine– y– your colours, your hair. . . your scales, fins– you look more beautiful than ever.” Good. This must mean his health is in top condition. The fact that he’s in his natural habitat was an enormous help.

William, delighted with the compliment, thanked Sherlock with another kiss.

Sherlock pursed his lips, “Why do you keep doing that?” 

“I like it– I like kissing you.”

“But your lips taste like rotten fish.”

“How rude. It means I’m healthy and eating properly as I should.” Another smile, William obviously taking Sherlock’s words as a compliment.

“It’s gross.” Sherlock laughed, but there was no indication that he truly hated it, nor repulsed by it.

“Sherly, your breath don’t exactly smell pleasant either. You know that cigarette smoke disgusts me.”

“Ah, good point.”

William laughed at that, “But I’ll keep kissing you.”

“Well if you can handle the stench, do as you please. But in moderation. We got all sorts of bacteria in our mouths–”

William cut him off with another smooch, and Sherlock can’t help but smile against it. “Maybe we both need to chew on peppermint leaves.”

“Pepper. . . mint?”

“It’s a plant with antibacterial properties and a refreshing and cool taste to it.”

William practically jumped on top of Sherlock, tail energetically twitching to and fro as he managed to pin the human under him, “I’d stop eating living fish for you.”

“Not done.”

“Then I’d eat peppermint or anything, if it means I can kiss you more.”

“You serious. . .?” Uncomfortably shifting to accommodate William’s lower body. Then Sherlock felt a suspicious, hot, and slippery wet sensation below through the thin fabric of his summer shorts that he had to glance down, “Liam, hold on– is that your–”

“Now you know where exactly my genitals come out.”

Hah?! “You knew what I’d been talking about the whole time?!” Sherlock blurted out loud. Ah, for real, this merman–!

“Eh? I never said I didn’t know, did I?” Fake, innocent smile, mischievously shining eyes, playfully waving tail and all.

Sherlock continued to blush along with that troubled expression, trying to sit up while gently pushing William off of him, “L– liam, retract your genitals first please. It’s dangerously pressing against mine.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I don’t particularly dislike it. . .”

“Oh, I can tell. I feel it.”

Turning even more red and fighting a shiver, Sherlock stiffly responds, “A– are you in heat or something? Is it that season for merpeople?”

“No.” William answers, “We don’t have such a thing. It’s a reaction of being overwhelmed that we’re together again.”

“So it’s an involuntary response to excitement?”

“Not exactly.”

“You. . . !”

William laughing under the wide open sky, free, and happy was a sight to behold. Sherlock’s decision and efforts had not been in vain, seeing his beautiful merman this way.

“It was at the time you. . .” Words faltering, the smile on William’s face disappeared, their silly, naughty game suddenly forgotten. Then the merman reached out, and pushed the collar of Sherlock’s shirt aside, to reveal a scar by the chest. A scar William knew wasn’t there before.

“I lived. But it had hurt like a bitch.”

“Show me.”

Undoing the rest of his white shirt’s button, Sherlock explained as William touched the scars with gentle fingers. “Well, it's a long story, but shortly after we parted, some of those guys caught up to me and I was shot there, then another bullet grazed me on the side.”

“And Dr. Watson?”

“My brother helped us, John is healthy and unscathed.” And in fact, is now, happily married. It was the reason why Sherlock had taken a long leave and returned to his homeland, to attend John’s wedding.

William’s face as he looked at the bumpy scars is serious and blank that Sherlock pressed a hand on the merman’s waist, scales lightly bumping on his fingernails, “Hey. I’m alive, ‘kay?”

“I could’ve lost you.”

This time, it was him who had to kiss William. “But you didn’t.”

As they drew apart, gazes glued to each other, the smile and spark on William’s eyes resurfaced, “. . . disgusting smoke.”

“Hah, rotten fish!”

Their silly intimate laughter mingled in the air, the soft crashing waves, and dusk painted sky. They lied down the beach side by side as they spoke of many things, told what each other did during the time they were apart, melting the years away as night fell. Time was theirs alone in that moment, in their own private world, as if only the two of them existed. . .

“Sherly.” William says as he sat up, unusually reluctant, “I have something to give you. But first, close your eyes.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes instead as he too, went into a sitting position, brushing a bit of the sand off his skin, “What are you planning to do?”

Hands on either side of Sherlock’s face, William laughed a little, “You’ll see.”

Eventually, Sherlock obeyed meekly, and slowly, the sound of ocean waves, sea birds, and rustle of trees began to disappear in the background, fading into white and whisper, a brief ringing sound. . . until what he can only hear is a single, smooth, clear voice. Inside his mind.

Sherly.

He almost panicked, but William reassured him with a gentle caress, and a soft whisper, “Hush. . . It’s fine. Just close your eyes. Listen.”

To my dear Sherlock Holmes,

I could’ve left you this message in the form of a letter, but as you know, we merpeople had no use of human writing and reading in our world. We only knew to speak the language. I’ve learned to write a few measly words on the sand, nearly not enough, so I thought it best this way, no matter if I’d be able to convey this to you or not.

I didn’t think it was the end when I’d been caught, but I had expected the initial treatment and eye that I got. Humans hadn’t changed, but I had hope. My only concern was that I might never be able to get out of the cage they’d put me in. Until you. . .

Unexpectedly, you being there gained me a momentary kind of freedom that made me truly happy. You’re loud, brash, and always smelled of unpleasant smoke. But I only loved you more– not just for your empathy and love for the sea– you’re full of life, light, and wonder, beautiful smiles and songs; eyes so blue they remind me of home.

In that what you call ‘facility’, you treated me like a friend, treated me with respect and care, always making sure I was fine, that I won’t feel so alone, but truthfully, despite your efforts, I still felt trapped in that forsaken place. I never said this out loud, for I didn’t want to hurt you. But even then, you must already know.

My instincts told me not to leave that night, but I had to. We both know I had to. I turned and didn’t look back, for I believed in you. At last, I no longer feel that dreadful sensation of being trapped, yet each glide across the water was heavy even though I was finally free. . . A freedom that meant I’ll soon be oceans away from you. Half the way home became an agonizing journey it made me wish for something so selfish and absurd.

For once, I– in all my two hundred years of existence– wished I could become human. I desperately wished there was a way. I would’ve traded anything, if it meant I could spend a lifetime with you. Listening to your stories, your laughter; the songs you’ve made your own– the songs we’ve made our own. . .

To hold such strange feelings towards one of the beings I hated between every fold is truly ironic. More so, of how I couldn’t ever sing when I’m with you, though in the first place, you’re the one who made me want to sing again.

If there could be a way for us to be together, then my remaining wish is for you to be able to hear my song. It’s here because of you– was borne from you and me.

Meeting you had changed my life. Thank you for showing me the colours and beauty of this world.

Yours forever,
William

Sherlock’s eyes slowly opened as the last words faded to a faint echo, blinking repeatedly. More than being amazed of the mysterious ability that William had just shown him, it was that ‘message’, William had mentally written.

Clearly shaken, robbed of words and breath, Sherlock let out a trembling smile, “What– what am I suppose to say to all that?”

Smiling himself, fangs lightly showing, William carefully wrapped his arms around Sherlock, burying his face against the curve of the man’s neck, “That you’ll teach me how to read and write over a plate of stargazy pie.”

Not wanting to be accidentally stabbed by the merman’s fins, Sherlock chose to gently place an arm around William’s shoulders, “Heh, fine then.” Ah, seriously, how am I suppose to respond to that?

A soft, airy laugh, “I missed it.”

Sherlock turned his head on the side a bit and pressed a kiss on William’s blonde hair, then the corner of the merman’s eye. Cold, briny, lightly sulfuric and more. He smiled. The raw scent of the ocean. Just when he was about to kiss William again, heart brimming with emotions, the merman pulled back, went predatory still, ears perked up.

“Liam?”

“Someone’s watching us–”

Before he could finish, a figure stepped out of the rock formations on the further back, calling out. “Mr. Ponytail! Dinner’s served!”

Sherlock held William in place when he would’ve slipped away, “It’s alright. He’s a friend. He helped me get a job out here. His name is Billy.”

“And. . . he knows about me?”

“Yeah.”

Billy walked closer to where the two were, but maintained appropriate distance. “The truth is you’re all he ever talks about. Honestly, every single day.”

As Sherlock had expected, the merman did not respond to Billy. William was just staring at the other man without blinking, pretty much how he was at first with Sherlock and John. “Liam, don’t worry, we can trust him. I'll explain later.”

“Nice to finally meet you, William!” Billy greeted, all smiles. His icy blue eyes round and glimmers with youthful energy, “Whoa, Mr. Ponytail here wasn’t exaggerating when he described just how ridiculously beautiful you are! You seem to glow–”

“Shut up, Billy.” Sherlock grumbled.

“See here, William.” Billy whined, hands in his pockets, “Can you believe this guy? He’s got too many demands with regards to the place where he wanna build his house. So that you don’t have to worry about being seen, and you two can meet regularly. Considering the topography, location, accessibility, census and many more, finding this island was a huge pain. And don’t even start me with the house design and construction– he was all ‘Liam this and Liam that’, everything is for Liam.”

“Quit badmouthing me I say.”

William finally blinked, eyes on Sherlock, “The human dwelling on the east side that seem to float above the water, it’s yours?”

“Oh, you already saw. . .” Sherlock pushed back the damp strands of hair whipping his face. Knowing deep in his heart that he’ll see William again one day, Sherlock was determined to settle in a place near the ocean. And the house he has had been built with an area which William can enter through from under.

“We have a spare house not far from there.” Billy added, “In case there’s a storm or something. Can I please explain the rest of our work, how we met and all, over dinner? I’m starving and we mustn’t keep the food waiting.”

“Liam,” Sherlock squeezed William’s hand, “Let’s go.”

Smiling, William slipped back and into the water, but not before giving Billy a small nod, “I’ll meet you there.”

As soon as William was gone, Billy hopped on Sherlock’s side, and then they were walking in quick footsteps towards the house, “He’s such a vision! Now that I finally saw the real thing I don’t know what to do! Man, this is so exciting! Seriously, I can’t even word my feelings out properly!”

“Thanks for not bursting out like that in front of him.”

“But. . . what kind of relationship you two have?”

“Huh? It’s bloody obvious, ain’t it?”

A pause, “You do know you’re from different worlds, and both the male of your respective specie.”

“Hah, fuck the law of nature.” A gentle, endearing smile on Sherlock’s face as he gazed over at William, “I’ll be with him for as long as I live.”

The smile on Billy’s face was pure warmth and support, without any traces of judgment, “Ehehe, how cute. If it’s you two, I’m sure you’ll be just fine. But, a few photographs and data are still floating around, what are you gonna do about that?”

“Nothing. People know that photographs and subjects can be manipulated. No one’s gonna fully believe in those unless they see the real thing in the flesh.” Sherlock answered, watching William wave at him from a distance, “And with things like this, people won’t easily believe in verbal testimonies without any tangible proof, so I’m not worried ‘bout those tattling blokes who had seen Liam. Things should stay as they are. Some mysteries are meant to stay unsolved. That’s where the fun and appeal lies.”

“Hehehe.” Billy kicked at the sand, wiggling his toes, “But, it’s such a waste though, having a magnificent, intelligent person with you and you can’t even brag about it to everyone!”

Sherlock looked up the night sky, the stars slowly appearing one by one, “Well, some secrets are best kept hidden.”

The three of them ate dinner by the shore, and shortly after, Billy went inside the house first, to give Sherlock and William some privacy.

As the quiet time of night where the stars shine their brightest came, they once again lied down the beach side by side, the soft, cool waves of the ocean whispering by Sherlock’s feet. They pointed out constellations, galaxies, stars and pattern that guide wanderers through their journeys. The subject was interesting, yet Sherlock wasn’t entirely that fond of astronomy, but since William seem to like them, he’d been reading books about it. So much that Billy had once teased him that he might as well be changing professions.

“Your grew your hair out really long.”

Sherlock watched as William play with his blue-black, wavy hair, twining it around his fingers and then letting go. “I’m too lazy to have it cut.”

“I like it.” Another pretty smile, “I’ve missed your violin songs, so play me something later, Sherly. Before you go to sleep.”

“’Course. But first, Liam, how did you find me?”

William eyes twinkled mischievously, “Some secrets are best kept hidden.”

“. . . hey that’s eavesdropping!”

“I can’t help it. My big ears aren’t ornaments you know.”

As William laughed, music to his own ears, Sherlock reached out, touching the back of his fingers against the merman’s cheek, a small, endearing smile on his face, showing in those blue eyes of his. Sometimes, it would hit Sherlock all over again, and things would suddenly feel unreal. Everything. From the time their eyes first met, their time in that facility, the night they parted, and even now that they’ve reunited.

While seeing a mythical being had been an old, distant childhood dream, everything that occurred between him and William, Sherlock had never thought of even in his wildest dreams. He’s no longer a child, yet couldn’t tell that whatever this is they have, is what his lonesome heart needs. And now it has left an indelible mark. Burned and scarred deep.

“Liam, thank you.” For coming back to me.

The merman leaned in to Sherlock’s touch, eyes soft and serene, “I should be the one thanking you, Sherly. It’s you who made me want to sing again.”

“Huh? But you can’t even sing when you’re with me. . .”

“Let us say it’s part of the price I got to pay. For my crimes.”

Sherlock pursed his lips, “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

“Sherly, it’s not the matter of whether I can or cannot, it’s about the desire do it. Songs mean everything to our race. In due time, I will tell you all of it.” William took Sherlock’s hand, carefully lacing their fingers together, so different yet their hearts beat as one, “Losing your will to sing, is the same as losing your voice, and your heart. So thank you. Thank you for breathing life back into me.”

I could say the same to you. . . Again, Sherlock found himself robbed of words, both from William’s confession, and that beautiful smile. For William to say such things, it made Sherlock irrevocably, stupidly happy deep inside his chest might burst.

A shaky laugh, “So, since you left me speechless once again, what else did your big ears picked up, huh?”

Quiet, intimate whisper, like a secret, “That you’re going to be with me for as long as you live.”

Their kind, live so, so much longer than humans, and as such, they don’t physically age much either. William will certainly retain his current youthful look and strength even fifty years from now, while Sherlock will grow old and fade. . . Which was why, those words from Sherlock, spoken so true, would burn in William’s heart. Forever. The merman squeezed his beloved human’s hand, scarlet eyes sheen with tears yet to fall.

“You good with that?” Sherlock follows up, lightly blushing, “I mean, you’re no immortal, there’s a tiny possibility you won’t outlive me, but the opposite is a hundredfold more possible so. . .”

“Sherly,” The present is the most important, to savour, treasure, and live every bit of the moment. Eyes gleaming, William playfully tugged at Sherlock’s hand, inching closer, “Fuck the law of nature, right?”

“Ha! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

Really, I couldn’t be any happier you chose to come back to me, Liam.