Chapter Text
“How, in the ever loving Hell, did you get your grubby little fish hands on something as precious as this?” Moriarty had started shouting at the bound Merman before he ever reached the top of the stairs where Moran had been dozing and the fish man had been biding his time, growling lowly enough so that through a combination of shouts and growls, Moran had been awakened fully. “How did you get this picture? How? I demand you tell me at once!”
Moriarty’s fury was clear from here, even in the dark.
John simply snarled and hissed ferociously back at him, face drawn in anger as he tried to round himself up in the tub. His weight was balancing delicately on the fact that he’d been able to get his tail up and under his upper body weight and his claws around the rim of the tub, and was pulling a familiar tactic of looking bigger and badder than what one actually was. The fins and aquatic membranes were all ruffled up and standing on end, appearing larger than they had earlier, and were probably some sort of defense mechanism that protected the Merman in the wild and open waters. They were doing little to impress the likes of Moriarty and Moran, but from the perspective of another creature, it was prospectively terrifying.
But even chained to the banister as he was, the Merman was more than an impressive sight to behold regardless of his defensive disposition, all gleaming scales and angry teeth. It was something that most people would never get to see, and although Moriarty had been privy to seeing a few of these creatures from afar in his life time, he’d never realized before now just how completely inhuman they were. Not before now, anyways.
Traditionally, Mermaids or Merfolk had been drawn, illustrated, painted, rendered, and portrayed as having the beautiful upper torsos of humans with the lower torso of brightly colored fish dyed with exotic colors. Mostly women were the subject of these fantasy fueled renderings, lovely lasses that were so unlike bar maids or dock wenches with their rough features and even rougher skin. Lovely creamy skin complete with exotica features and even lovelier hair, shells and precious stones hanging in stands as long as ropes about their necks. Their fins were physical beauty in and of themselves within the paintings, but they worked much like human legs would, bending at a central point like knees, and at the “waist and ankles.” It’s what made them look so beautiful and unearthly in the depictions, but close enough to human women to be truly attractive.
In reality that wasn’t true, not at all. Instead of fish like, the Merman before him more closely resembled a coiling snake waiting to strike, the beautiful scales a deadly illusion to keep his mind off the fact that the beautiful face and body held a mouthful of horribly jagged teeth and sharp claws that could render flesh from bones. The tail didn’t even work like human legs did, and indeed bent in more places than just the traditionally thought out two, coiling and whipping about like a serpent with ruffled plumage for a tail decoration. It was logically how they were so fast in the water, and Jim -being the sort of person he was- knew that these creatures could out-swim humans with little to no effort. If anyone was to ever fall overboard with a prowling Mer lose in the waters...well, then that person wasn’t likely to be seen above water again alive anytime soon. Moriarty knew that as did Moran.
Mers were more serpentine in appearance too, more or less, their long and well muscled tails moving less like a fish or human’s would, and more like a snake’s would. Moran had once caught a sea snake and skinned it on deck, it fighting the entire time, even after it was supposed to have died. The Mer’s monster tail could coil up and be used as a weapon as well as a propulsion system, and there were no sort of recognizable joints hindering the odd and rapid quick movements as it was flung back and forth with unmeasured strength. This discovery had startled Moriarty at first, of course, but the Merman locked safely in his tub was a sackful of surprises almost every time he moved about the wooden container. Not only did he have a tiny bottle of impossible papers hanging about his neck, but his anatomy was full of morphological differences, improbabilities, and deadly curiosity.
Not one for hands-on science before, Jim was starting to feel the pull.
After he ate the beast he’d dissect what was left.
He’d throw the leftovers to the other Mers he’d have by then.
This creature wasn’t some harmless beauty trapped by fear mongering humans, as its pretty package would have you too believe. This fact alone would be enough to throw the most experienced hunter off the scent, and it would fool a lesser man. Commandant James Moriarty wasn’t a lesser man though. He knew well just how deadly the Mer allure could be, how fooling it was to be able to stare at a beautiful face out in the lapping waters and assume the mind that went with it was just as shining. Just as beautiful if only you could reach it, gently grasp at it with you undeserving fingers. It was a ruse that made their centuries-old hunting techniques absolutely devastating. And oh so much more brilliant that common spears and nets.
But perhaps it was more than that, more than just the physical allure that drew Moriarty in to begin with? Sure, Irene had been hauntingly beautiful and John was just as handsome in his own way, but Moriarty had long ago found that physical beauty did little for him in the ways it would a normal man. Well, so much less than a good challenge or mental companion: a mental equal, one who could help keep his mind sharp and his wit razor bound. He would prefer that to all else, truly, but he doubted he could stand it if they were an old hag or disfigured Leper. Irony was about, but it wasn’t lost on him. The physicality was something he wanted to take apart, bit by bit, until there was nothing left, but it was also something he wanted to desperately own. Own every bit of, every tiny particle, for himself and no one else.
He would not allow any to take his newfound kingdom away from him.
“I demand you to tell me how you came about such things!” Moriarty roared again, this time ignoring the hissing and seizing the Merman about the frilled scruff of his gills and the long hair at his neck, earning him more than a pain-filled roar. “These are papers and objects that you could not possibly have, that no one can have! These came from the depths of The Byron, a ship that lays asleep at the bottom of the ocean and has for the greater part of two decades!”
“The Byron, sir?” Moran asked suddenly. “As in Admiral Holmes’ ship? The Admiral Holmes’ ship? Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes’ father?”
“One in the same... And this fish has papers and a small painting that could only have been onboard at the time of its sinking, but not when it went down. Not even the illustrious Sherlock Holmes had anything like this after the sinking of his parent’s ship.” Jim responded tightly, shoving John back into the shallow water before starting to pace back and forth. “There are very, very few pictures of the family left, and I open a small bottle that hung about this fish’s neck and find one of the very few still in existence?”
“What do you mean that there are papers that were present at the ship’s sinking but didn’t go down with it?” Moran was standing up now, popping his back as he stretched out the kinks sitting placed into his back. “You’re not making much sense, Sir.”
“I mean that these papers would have had to have been on board when The Byron was at sea, but that they didn’t go into the sea with it. They were never wet or underwater, as you would expect from a Merman having them.” Moriarty handed the older parchment to his Commander before swinging his hand back to John. “These came from on deck. But that isn’t possible!”
The Commandant continued to shout obscenities and questions at the increasingly-agitated Merman, only to receive growls and equally frustrated cooing and trilling in response. The beast’s tongue was none-the-less sharp, even in its own semblance of language, and Moran -as well as Moriarty likely- knew that whatever it was trying to convey was anything but pleasant. His expression told all really, as well as his inhuman body language and the way he kept trying to swipe at them both, despite being in irons.
His tail was not as equally lashed down.
“Beast of Triton!” Moriarty continued to howl, no doubt terrifying the crew resting only a few decks below with his infuriated speech. “Give me your secrets! I will have the location, I will have where the rest of your kind hides! They are mine to call!”
Jim went to lunge for the Merman in the tub, teeth bared and eyes blazing with fires that Moran hadn’t seen in years, only to be caught just short by the fish’s mighty tail, sending the smaller man flying, a flash of something resembling purplish ink upon the blade as well as Moriarty’s white shirt. Not since his first encounter with the mysterious Sherlock Holmes had Sebastian seen such a primal display, and even then it had been controlled rage, a slowly bubbling fury that was merely waiting for its opportune moment to break free. This was something else, this was bordering on derangement and it was horribly dangerous, both for the Commandant as well as the crew. It Moran hadn’t caught him in time, the Captain would have driven his small, concealed dagger straight into the Merman’s heart instead of merely clipping its tail. And not only would it have been too soon for the fish-man to die, it would almost certainly destroy any chance that they might have at finding the Mermaid Isles.
“Sir, no!” Moran begged as he attempted to wrestle the bit of metal from the man’s hands, trying to take it without hurting either of them, but only managing to knock it so that it went flying onto the deck. “Sir, get a hold of yourself! Don’t let that thing know it is getting the better of you!”
Like sharks, the predators began to circle at the sight of first blood.
The tiny blade was glinting dangerously in the lamp light just to their right, the left of the Merman, an arm’s length away from the tub the opposite of where the Commandant had fallen. When Moran realized just where it had landed he froze, keeping his smaller Captain’s form held tightly to his front, trying to prevent too much movement or notice. But the Commander wasn’t the only one who noticed where the bloodied blade had landed, and indeed it had caught the attention of both Moriarty and the Merman, pinning everyone in place for only a hair’s breath. The sea went as quiet as the men on deck, as if holding its breath to see what would occur in the wake of such a move.
“Keep the blasted Merrow from reaching the blade...” Moriarty’s heavily accented voice whispered quietly between the two of them, naught but the air to hear what he had to say. “I require him to lead us before his use is up.”
Sebastian nodded tightly before taking a hesitant half-step backwards.
He could only watch as the Merman lunged for the blade.
The heavy beast hefted itself up and out of the tub far faster than Commander Moran would have thought possible, that was for sure. It had only barely braced itself on its arms and hands at the rim before the entirety of it was slithering out onto the deck, mighty tail flopping loudly with a wet slap. The small cut where Moriarty had drawn blood when John had smacked him to the ship’s deck was bleeding sluggish, deeply colored blood that looked almost black in the dim light, unheeded or unnoticed by the wound’s recipient. It was hardly more than a scratch, really, but it was something that would certainly sting when exposed to the open air and the salt water sluicing off the Mer’s body rapidly as he slithered forwards, the wood no doubt tugging as well. The golden scales of John’s lower body flashed as much as the dagger had, belaying the quicksilver movements it was able to make even out of the water.
“Use the Clutch, Sebastian!” Moriarty hollered as he too lunged for the blade, trying to get it from the possible reach of John before it was too late, small body scrabbling across the deck. “The damn shell I gave you for keeping! Use it! Use it now!”
The Commander didn’t need to be told twice.
Deftly, he reached beneath the collar of his tunic, grabbing at the soft leather of the clutch’s band and tugged it up and out of the cloying cloth. The shell’s fragile ridge met his lips with little hesitation as the taller man used it to produce a sharp, harsh, single note that cut through the air to where the Merman was still pulling its way across the deck. But all movement stopped when the tone pierced the night, and instead of continuing forwards, John turned all of his movement into twisting about to face where Sebastian was standing, the Clutch still resting there at the ready. The Merman looked confused before he swung his head too and fro in one graceful movement, as if looking for something...or someone, Moran realized. He was looking for Sherlock Holmes, to whom he’d given the Clutch, looking to him for direction on how he should react to the new situation. But Sherlock Holmes was dead, and if the Merman was too stupid to realize that it was Sebastian blowing the tune, then it deserved to be confused.
The Mermaid cooed lightly, only three notes in succession, before resuming to searching for his missing Captain. He waited a few moments before repeating the notes, head swiveling about once more before Sebastian realized he was waiting for a response. Delicately, he blew a few notes into the tiny Clutch, praying it was the proper response. If they could only get the beast to calm down, respond to their commands, then they would be in fantastic shape for the journey ahead. And whatever the Commander had said via tones, it appeared to have worked. The Merman lowered itself to lay belly down on the deck, mighty tail curling to rest near its upper torso languidly, before he gave some sort of tonal affirmation.
“Hold him there while I go and retrieve Triton’s Conch.” Moriarty said as he scooped up the small dagger, replaced it, and righted all of his clothing. “That won’t fool him for long, and we’ll need something heavier duty before our trip is out anyways.”
The predatory smirk on both of their faces matched perfectly.