Work Text:
The salt laden winds of Zephyrus brought upon its wings the promise of summer, as the azure sea lay placid, lapping upon that rocky shore. Though it was spring, the season was favorable, and the sun radiated genial warmth as it draped its coat, dappling the purpled sea.
On top of the Neptunic shore was delicate seaweed, lacing the bank like pearls, tangling around my dear friend and I’s feet as we stood at the brink, the sea washing over us.
We stood in our drawers and linen undershirts, our shoes and socks discarded further up the sand, with eyes squinted against the blinding sun reflected across the water.
Sherlock seemed to still, his eyes glazed, presumably reminiscing about his sister’s watery grave.
He appeared to me like a lonely traveler upon the shore, a Byronic hero worn with tragedy faced too soon by a face not even cracked by age or weather.
I put my hand upon his shoulder, and asked him if he would let me show him how to swim.
I had chosen to take Sherlock along with me to the sea, knowing well that the river still held too many ghosts to be conducive to any progress.
Here the water took upon a new shape, in rolling diamond waves chequered by sun, and gave the onlooker the feeling that looking into its depths could calm any fear.
Sherlock breathed in the briny air, as if to convince himself he was alive, before turning to me, clasping my hand in his.
“It has been too long, my dear James, fearing the water that took Beatrice. And look, look at how calm the water is!”
He seemed to say this last part more for his own benefit than for mine, but I gave no comment.
I had seen Sherlock awake in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, a scream silenced half way in his throat.
I had heard in the night mutterings of dark water, and seen an everlasting terror that he would succumb to that same fate.
Still feeling his clammy hand clasping mine, I walked forward, guiding him into the roaring sea.
“Worry not, Sherly, for
‘The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might,
The breath of the moist earth is light,
Around its unexpanded buds; Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
The City's voice itself, is soft like Solitude's.’”
He laughed, a clear happy sound like the toll of a bell, before splashing me and causing me to sputter.
Forgetting for a moment about the danger of the sea, with his shining eyes on mine, Sherlock waded chest deep into the ocean with me.
“When winds that move not its calm surface, sweep
The azure sea, I love the land no more;
The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep Tempt my unquiet mind—“
Thus said I, quoting Moschus’s poem.
“But when the roar Of ocean’s gray abyss resounds, and foam gathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst,” Sherlock grumbled, completing the verse.
We steadily floated deeper, the water up to our necks, as I demonstrated how to tread water.
I laughed, “Jaysus, Sherlock, you’ve been doing great. I’ll show you the first tip to swimming here.”
The wind grew slightly stronger, and Sherlock’s eyes broke from mine, widening as he realized his perceived helplessness.
He began to flail, reaching out for me, gasping as he swallowed some salt water. I immediately grasped ahold of him.
“James,” he coughed, “please don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, Sherlock, don’t worry.”
We floated there for a bit as I held him afloat, as Sherlock calmed down.
Granted, it was not easy to keep another afloat even despite the calmness of the waves, but I was an experienced swimmer, and Sherlock was made light, buoyed by the water.
I looked him in the eyes, and vowed, almost sternly, to never let the waves get to him.
He nodded, brushing his sopping wet hair from out of his eyes.
“Let’s head back to shore, and we can always try again some other time,” I suggested. “We can warm up and head to the local pub for a bit for lunch.”
Sherlock readily agreed, and we headed back together, my arm clasped onto his for the entire length back.