Sail Away - AU PirateLock!

"Ah, good morning, Sherlock. You're late." the crisp voice greets him as he enters the elegant office. The speaker, Mycroft Holmes, sits behind an ornate mahogany desk, with an expectant look on his face.

Sherlock continues his stride until he comes to the front on the desk. "What do you want, Mycroft?" he demands, cutting past the expected courtesies. He leans in, on the desk, his fingers drumming impatiently.

"Amiable as always." Mycroft quips in sarcastic response, and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. "Take a seat." He says, expertly disguising the command as a request.

Sherlock quirks and eye-brow and instead perches on the corner of his desk in defiance. Not an easy feat, made awkward by the sword and sheath dangling from his side, but it makes his point.

Mycroft sucks in an exasperated breath at his childish tactics, but proceeds as though there is nothing unusual about the situation. Considering its Sherlock, there really isn't.

"Would you like some tea?" he offers, knowing Sherlock will refuse, but he enjoys antagonizing him with pleasantries.

"No." comes the crisp refusal and the drumming fingers start again.

Mycroft lets out a soft sigh, leaning slightly back in his chair. "Must you always be so disagreeable?" he asks, leveling him with a cool, disapproving stare.

Sherlock shrugs nonchalantly in response and quips "Just my natural state of existence I suppose." Leveling him with a defiantly blasé gaze of his own.

"Indeed." is Mycroft's crisp retort. It's hasn't always been this way between them, but it seems that every time they see each other, more tension is created.

"As much as I'm enjoying this, I know you didn't summon me for a social call, so why am I here?" Sherlock questions, growing impatient with Mycroft's games.

"I need to be at the port in an hour, so can we get on with this? I'd prefer it to be over quickly, if you please." he adds the last with a mocking undertone.

"It's about your position." Mycroft answers, his tone conveying the gravity of the situation. He'd heard many complaints of Sherlock's conduct, particularly his disrespect towards superiors and he hopes to remedy the situation.

"What about it? You forced me into it, if you're not happy with my time being spent at sea and out from under your thumb, it's hardly my problem." Is Sherlock's response as he chooses to ignore the hidden concern in Mycroft's voice. Not an encouraging response.

"If you wish to enjoy your continued 'freedom from my tyranny' as you like to think, then you'd best pay heed to what I say." He warns, his voice loosing its smooth quality and hardening with vexation.

"And what exactly are you saying?" Sherlock snaps in exasperation.

"That your virulent lack of decorum and the ability to conduct yourself according to your rank will soon cause your demotion or removal within the Queens Royal Navy." Mycroft reprimands.

"And what exactly does it mean to 'act according to my rank'?" Sherlock asks with a mocking tone.

"Making tedious small talk to my superiors and their wives, whom a majority of them are cheating on? Honestly the number of 'respectable' gentleman who has a mistress has considerably lessened my respect for the bond of holy matrimony."

"Sherlo-" Mycroft tried to cut him off angrily, but Sherlock continued on with his rant.

Or perhaps I should offer untruthful flattery to some lord or another who thinks they know something of sailing, to stroke their ego, when they're in fact clueless as a lobotomized frog?" he takes another breath to continue on in indignation, but doesn't get the chance.

"Sherlock Holmes!" Mycroft cuts him of with a fierce reprimand, cold and low.

Sherlock returned it with an unconcerned expression. "I've said nothing more than the truth. I act according to my rank when it befits me and those in my company are deserving of it. It's hardly my fault if those two events rarely coincide."

"I worked hard to secure that commission for you, Sherlock. Called in a lot of favours. I will not allow you to squander it." Mycroft warned.

"Ah yes, I'd forgotten. This is all about your reputation isn't it? Couldn't stand to have me 'idle' so you sent me off to sea. 'His brother is an officer in the Queen's navy'. Liked the sound of that didn't you?" Sherlock argues, with a sardonic undertone.

"Sherlock you're the youngest-" Mycroft starts, only to be cut off.

"Youngest Officer in the past two decades. Yes, I know." He finishes, his tone indicating that this is something he's been reminded of far to often and is weary of.

"And you're willing to risk losing that?" Mycroft challenges, trying for a different tactic. Sherlock's one weakness is that he loves people to know how clever he is. This commission does that for his in many ways.

Sherlock remains silent, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. Mycroft allows himself to relax, it seems he's finally gotten through to his younger brother. It's all a matter of knowing which strings to tug and Mycroft is very good at knowing that sort of thing.

The seconds ticked by as Sherlock remained silent, considering, but not what Mycroft thinks. "You're right." He finally says, breaking the silence, as a strange light sparks in his eyes.

Mycroft hide his triumphant smile and says "I'm glad you've seen reason."
He's too busy enjoying his victory to notice Sherlock's slightly distant expression. "Now, I trust you'll take the necessary actions to restore yourself to favour among those higher ranking?"

Sherlock isn't listening to him, though. Instead he's moving slowly towards the large windows, talking as he does so. "You're right about the fact that I'm the youngest officer in two decades."

Mycroft narrows his eyes as he realizes that something isn't quiet right. They're having two different conversations it seems. Sherlock continues talking, moving around the office, and Mycroft follows with his eyes.

"And you know what? It's not to your credit. You may have secured the commission but I've kept it. I know the sea and ships better than most. I've got a natural touch for it. I think it's time I expanded my horizons, don't you think?"

Mycroft tried to register exactly what Sherlock was implying and he did so as Sherlock flipped the latch on the switch.

"Where are you going?" Mycroft demanded, standing in surprise as Sherlock opens the window and puts a foot upon the ledge. He's not the sort of man to wrestle someone on his own, so he makes no move towards the window to grab at Sherlock; he has more dignity than that.

"Out." Is Sherlock's devious response and in one swift moment, he steps out the window and leaps out onto a banner hanging over the street. At his unexpected weight it broke,

and he rides it to the street, landing with a dull thud upon the pavement.

His acrobatic exit had roused some attention from those on the street, causing shouts and curses from those walking and driving, children squealing in delight at a show. He can here Mycroft's shouts as he summons soldiers with the alert of a deserter.

Thinking quickly he darts into an alleyway, escaping the scrutiny of those on the open street, who would surely join in the hunt as soon as they heard. He'd made a bit too much of a spectacle by exiting the way he did, but it was worth the look on Mycroft's face.

He shed his elegant blue hat, gold stripped coat and formal wig. Now dressed in a poet shirt, blue leggings and boots, he was unlikely to attract attention. The sword was obviously an officer's; however he refused to leave it behind.

Given the fact that he looked vastly different with erratic chestnut curls as opposed to the powdered wig, even his own crewmen were unlikely to recognize him. His skin looked paler, his eyes a sharper blue and is face several years younger, making for the perfect

"disguise". He slipped out the other end of the alley, deciding that he should keep to the shadows as much as possible.

These was already an outcry on the streets, lines of red-coated soldiers on the move, searching for him. Time to leave Londontown. He headed for the port, knowing he wanted nothing more that to be at sea, the Captain of his own ship.