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John doesn’t exactly remember the details of their first encounter.
Actually, he doesn’t remember anything about meeting Sherlock at all.
And he’s asked Sherlock several times about how they met, but the answer Sherlock gives him is different every time.
“You were out fishing on the dock when your line tangled around my tail and I unknowingly pulled you into the sea. I turned to your aid immediately, but you were already unconscious. As a responsible gentleman, I waited until you regained consciousness, and in gratitude for saving your life, you offered up your friendship, as if it held any worth. Do you really not remember any of this? I fear your memory goes with every year that passes, John.”
“I was out toying with some local fishermen by baiting their fishing hooks with seaweed and old boots and tyres when I was speared through my arm with a great big shark hook and, fearing the damage that would befall my arm, I swam willingly towards the barbarian who had caught me. The moment I broke the surface of the water and you had stopped viciously tugging on your line, you gasped and muttered, ‘My god, you’re absolutely stunning. Utterly. Beautifully. Completely…’ but that’s when I knocked you out cold, so I couldn’t hear the rest. You came to quicker than I could get that infernal hook out of my arm, and in the most pathetic attempt for an apology I have ever seen, you got down on your knees and begged to take the hook out of my arm for me. Do you have any pride and dignity at all, John?”
“Boredom is a horrible thing, John. I doubt boredom has ever plagued you as it has me. And to combat these terrible fits of boredom I may dabble in the occasional and completely illegal bit of siren song to pass the time. You happened to fall victim to such a bout of boredom and instead of dragging you down to the deeps of the ocean and watching as the change in pressure destroyed your body, I decided to take pity on you and spare your life. I have yet to hear thanks, might I add, John.”
There is only one thing John is sure of every time he goes down to the docks each night, staring up at the stars as he waits for the sounds of water gliding smoothly over a long and scaly body; that Sherlock is not only a mermaid, but a pain in the arse one at that.
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“For the last time, John, I am a merman. Not a mermaid.” Sherlock dipped down beneath the glassy seawater before reappearing on the other side of the dock, his annoyance visible in the crease of his frown.
“Could’ve fooled me.” John spoke the words under his breath, but the mythical creature’s hearing was too perceptive to not pick it up.
“And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?”
Well, what harm ever came from getting sassy with a mermai… merman? “It means that with those luscious curls, sharp cheekbones, pouty lips, and the ability to change your mind at any given moment it’s no wonder I keep calling you a mermaid.”
The sudden shock of cold sea water made John choke on his own breath. Next time he got sassy with a mermaid he was going to do it from the safety of the other side of the dock. Lesson learned.
Sherlock held John afloat in the frigid water by gripping the human tightly by his firm buttocks, his favourite place to hold the man if he was being completely honest. John’s arms went instantly around his neck as Sherlock moved them slowly away from the dock and out into deeper water. It took a while for John to get his breath back, the chattering of his teeth suggesting to Sherlock that John’s terribly un-evolved human body was poorly equipped to handle the oceanic climate. Not that his brave little ex-army doctor would ever admit to a weakness. No. Never.
“It’s fucking freezing, Sherlock.”
Admit to weaknesses? No. Never. Complain about something? Yes. Definitely. Obviously.
John’s words were barely audible over the chattering of his teeth. “Why the bloody hell did you pull me in.” It wasn’t a question. He asked it every time Sherlock pulled him into the water. Which was every night. Unless John was truly unwell.
“I’ll stop pulling you in when you stop calling me a mermaid.”
“Then stop acting like such a bitch.”
Sherlock chuckled as he moved them farther and farther out into the harbour. The night sky was clear for once, and this far out in the ocean, away from all the light pollution, the stars shone bright against their pitch black canvas. A small smile slipped through Sherlock’s defences when he felt John’s head turn against his shoulder, blunt nose nudging against his throat.
“How do your balls not freeze off in this water?”
A snort escaped Sherlock, John smirking at the unexpected noise. “Because my ‘balls’ are kept safe and warm inside of me. Whoever decided that reproductive organs belonged on the outside of the body was obviously a few grains short of a beach.”
“Female mammals have internal sex organs…”
“I swear to Poseidon, John, that I will let you drown here and now if you keep calling me a girl.”
“You couldn’t drown me even if you wanted to.”
Sherlock could feel John’s cold lips smile against the flesh of his neck. “Oh? And why would such a feat be impossible?”
“I’ve been blessed with a mermaid’s kiss. A man can’t drown with a mermaid’s kiss.”
“There are several things wrong with your hypothesis. One: I believe that rule only applies to a mermaid giving a kiss to a sailor. Two: that legend is utter whale’s shit anyway, how in the seas could a mere kiss save a man from drowning? And finally, but most importantly: I’m not a bloody mermaid. So even if all that other crap was true, it would have to come from a mermaid, not a merman.”
“I dunno. I feel pretty confident that even if all that wasn’t true, which it is, you still wouldn’t be able to drown me.”
“And why not?”
“Because you love me too much to ever drown me.”
“You humans and your sentiment…”
“Do you mean to tell me,” John moved his head from Sherlock’s shoulder to gaze into those ice blue eyes. “That you could happily,” He got closer to Sherlock, their lips almost touching. “And willingly,” John barely grazed their lips together before speaking again. “Drown me,” He bestowed the lightest of kisses upon Sherlock’s lips, licking lightly at that prominent cupid’s bow as he pulled back. “And you wouldn’t be absolutely distraught that I wouldn’t be around anymore.”
Sherlock lunged forward, his mouth colliding with John’s as he sealed their lips together, pulling him under the water. John kissed him back as if his life depended on it, and it very much did. He sucked down the air from Sherlock’s lungs greedily, the merman doing his very best to not chuckle at how ill-equipped the human’s body was.
They were about three metres bellow the water’s surface, the moonlight bouncing off Sherlock’s scales as his tail moved gracefully with powerful sweeps to keep them under water.
Sherlock let John take one more deep breath before he pulled his head back and looked John over in his almighty element. His sandy blonde and grey hair had grown a bit longer than John generally liked, the strands moving together in the water to sway hypnotically in the current. Sherlock released John’s buttocks to run his hands through the golden and silver fibres, the man instantly wrapping his legs around Sherlock’s midsection for support.
John was absolutely stunning submerged. Sherlock lived to see him like this. He let his fingertips glide over the man’s features, tracing paths that he had traced numerous times before but never grew to be boring or unexciting.
John reached out blindly for Sherlock; his eyes shut tight against the salty sting of the sea. When his palms bumped against the merman’s chest, Sherlock pulled him close by the back of his head, kissing the human fervently as John stole recycled breaths.
Without warning, Sherlock surged upwards with deft motions of his tail. The moment they broke the surface of the water, John gasped in fresh air, hands clutched tight on Sherlock’s shoulders as the merman sucked biting kisses onto any exposed inch of John’s skin below his jaw. He nipped his way along prominent collar, jaw and cheek bones, John’s skin numb from the cold of the water so the stinging bites weren’t quite so sharp, but the pain spread and lingered, making John gasp.
John loved this.
Everything about this.
There was something to be said about being completely ordinary in every way, yet somehow managing to be interesting enough to make something that shouldn’t even technically exist crave the very essence of you.
There was nothing more exciting, more dangerous about being pulled out into the oceans dark depths only to be ravaged by a creature of lore.
“Told you a mermaid’s kiss could save a man from drowning.” John managed to let out a small laugh before Sherlock claimed his lips and sucked the air out of John’s lungs for a change.
It took a while for the kisses to slow down and become characterized by sensuality rather than lust.
John cupped Sherlock’s impossible cheekbones, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over the ridge of bone. His fingertips grazed over the gills that were hidden behind Sherlock’s ears and under his curls of inky auburn hair.
Sherlock shuddered, taking John’s left hand from his face in his right and kissing the man’s upturned palm. “Anything. I will give you anything, Dr. John Hamish Watson. Pearls the size of your fist. Treasure long lost and sunken beneath the sands of tide. The location of every sunken ship that has every fallen victim to Poseidon. The history of each man upon those sunken ships. Anything. You need but ask.”
John let his head fall forward until their foreheads rested against each other, soaking up the raw affection that Sherlock bestowed upon him and him alone. “I wouldn’t mind going back to the dock now. My external sex organs are about to freeze and fall off.”
Sherlock huffed a laugh against John’s face, kissing the warm smile from his lover’s lips. “I did say anything.”
“That you did.”