A.N.: I would like to apologize in advance to all of you. This story is going to be historically inaccurate on several points. There are many things I don't know as well as some things I do. I know that pirate crews operated more like a democracy than a monarchy, and I know that most pirate ships didn't have captain's quarters. But I am ignoring as much of history as I can bear for the sake of plot. Sorry.

Captain… Sherlock rather liked the sound of that; Captain Sherlock, it had an appealing ring to it.

After the unfortunate death of the previous captain Sherlock had been promoted, although the rag-tag group of pirates he had been made captain of was hardly ideal they had proven to be as fearsome a group of ruthless marauders as any pirate captain could hope for.

They had once again showed their prowess in another successful raid (but for the loss of their captain).

Sherlock bore the marks of it, his cutlass was stained red by the blood of the soldiers he had killed and the crimson liquid was splattered all over his tall black boots. The pirate was clean and well-dressed for one of his profession; he had unruly black curls that creeped out from under his broad tricorn hat, a lightweight shirt with loose pants, and perhaps his most defining feature was a long black coat that was fit to him as though they'd been together their whole lives.

As Sherlock wiped the blood off of his sword and returned it to its sheath a member of his crew breathlessly rushed up to him.

"Captain…we can't…find…the cargo." The pudgy pirate said between gasping breaths. Sherlock frowned at the more recent addition to his crew, Michael Stamford was his name.

"What do you mean you can't find the cargo? This ship isn't that complex." Michael swallowed hard and dabbed his moist forehead with a soiled handkerchief.

"I know sir, but we looked everywhere below deck and couldn't find anything except the sleeping quarters, the captain's chambers, and the weaponry. Nothing else, not even drinking water." Sherlock's frown deepened and he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a gun being fired.

"It came from below deck, come on." Sherlock said and he dashed towards the doors, Stamford lagging behind. Sherlock burst into the sleeping quarters, his feet splashing in the thin film of water that had collected on the floor. His eyes immediately fell upon the unconscious form of the idiot Anderson. Sherlock briefly wondered if he could get away with just calling Anderson "idiot" now that he was captain. As stupid as Anderson was he might've just slipped, knocked himself out, and accidentally fired his gun. Sherlock disregarded this theory when he saw blood on the water that was too distant from Anderson's body to belong to the idiot. He went into observation mode, taking in every detail of the room he could see, the single rifle on the rack, the layer of water on the floor, the organization of the hammocks, everything.

A sudden loud splash caused Sherlock to whip around with his sword drawn but the cold steel of his blade only met with the oversized tummy of Stamford. The man laughed nervously and stepped back from Sherlock's cold stare. Took him long enough Sherlock thought as he sheathed his sword and turned back around to search for the supposedly invisible cargo bay.

"CAP-!" Came the stifled shout of Michael Stamford accompanied with a metallic thunk. Sherlock spun around a second time to have the roles reversed from earlier and a sword pressed against his throat. Michael lay in a unconscious heap similar to Anderson's and the man who had done the deed was now glaring at Sherlock with enough rage to set fire to Sherlock's hat. The man before him was short by comparison with a muscular build and cropped blonde hair. He was clothed partially in a military uniform but much of it had been removed for comfort and most likely because it had become dirty. There was also a considerable amount of blood pouring from the man's shoulder.

"Leave it to Anderson to miss." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?" The stranger asked.

"Oh, nothing." Sherlock said with a shrug to mask the hand that he was slowly bringing down to his sword.

"It's just, you shouldn't be alive." Sherlock said and he swatted his opponent's sword out of the way. The stranger only looked surprised for a moment before replying with a slash of his own. Sherlock hadn't anticipated the speed of the man's reaction and had to jump backwards so as to avoid the cut. Almost instantaneously the man lunged forward with another strike but Sherlock was prepared this time and he easily deflected it. The sailor pivoted and went in for another blow which Sherlock was only able to block because he was an exceptional swordsman. With a thrilled laugh Sherlock went in for his own attack which the stranger barely avoided. The battle was only starting to get good when the man was seized from behind by Sherlock's new first officer, Lestrade.

"Got 'im captain." Lestrade said with a triumphant grin only for it to be wiped off his face when the stranger elbowed him in the ribs and threw him unceremoniously to the floor. But the stranger lost his sword in the scuffle and as he was bending to retrieve it Sherlock pressed his cutlass to the man's neck.

"As much as I hate to cut our fight short I suggest you put your hands up if you wish to continue living."

"Why don't you just kill me? That's what pirates do, isn't it?" The man spat, not moving from his bent position.

"Hands. Up." Sherlock demanded, his voice like ice. The man stood and gave Sherlock another angry glare before Lestrade peeled himself off of the floor and looked to Sherlock for instructions.

"Tie him up." Sherlock said and he sheathed his sword again as the man's wrists were firmly immobilized behind his back.

"What's your name?" Sherlock asked the man with an amused smile, this stranger was oddly intriguing.

"Why should I tell you? You're just going to kill me anyways." The man said bitterly.

"Perhaps not, you're hiding something on this boat and I intend to find out what that is." Sherlock smiled inwardly as the man's eyes grew ever-so-slightly wider. But this man was not about to give up that easily, just as quickly as his eyes had widened, they narrowed.

"What makes you think we're hiding something on this boat?"

"No ship sails without provisions, especially drinking water. We boarded this boat in search of valuable cargo, considering the lengths you've gone to in order to hide it, it must be worthwhile." Sherlock leaned in close to the man and whispered

"I will find it, and you're going to help me." Sherlock smiled.

"We'll see about that." The man smiled defiantly back.

"So what is your name?" Sherlock asked again. "I'm Captain Sherlock Holmes."

"John, my name is Doctor John Watson." John said and Sherlock smiled a bid wider.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Doctor; I believe you and I will soon be getting better acquainted." And with that he led the doctor up to the deck to meet the rest of his crew.