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Play Pirates

John walked down the dock, standing tall and eyeing down anyone who so much as glanced at him. His sword swung lightly at his side and shone, it having been polished that morning. Other captains stood up straighter when he passed by, not wanting to look bad in front of him. Men in the town glared at him as their children admired his rich red coat and almost-new hat. He smiled to himself and went into his usual pub, raising his chin and sticking his chest out a bit.

As he went to the bar, the crew members and captains alike stole glances at John, acting like swooning women. Except for one. One man in the back sat with his legs propped up on a barrel, his hat covering most of his face. His dark coat was worn and tattered, same as his hat and gloves. His sword was in a dirty sheath and was hidden, so only one looking for it could see it. His table was covered in empty glasses, but he was sitting perfectly still like he was asleep. Johns eyes narrowed as his pint came.

"Oi, mate, who's that?" John asked, his voice a thick London accent. He pointed to the dark man. He looked the direction our Captain was pointing.

"He's a ghost. He just came into port yesterday," He said, trying to not smile. He was fanboying over talking to John, which was fairly understandable. He was fairly well-known... Well-known being very modest.

"What does he do? What's his ship called?" John continued, taking a large drink and not looking away from the dark man.

"As far as I've seen- he just sit's there. We just give him pints and he stays quiet. I don't think he has a ship," He said suspiciously, moving away to serve some raggedy men. John downed the rest of the pint and stared at him more.

 He stood and sauntered over, still standing proud.

"'Ello mate," He greeted, smiling tightly. The man looked up at him blankly and flicked his fingers quickly and looked back down. John bit inside his cheek and narrowed his eyes a little. "I'm Watson. Captain Watson," He continued. The man looked up again and looked John down briefly.

"Spain or France?" He asked, a deep voice ringing out in a refined English accent, almost opposite to Johns. A few people looked their way.

"What?" John asked, furrowing his brows and looking at the man.

"I'm not going to repeat myself," He said, sounding annoyed and not breaking eye contact. John sat down across from him and swept the mans feet off the table so he could see clearly. The man glared a bit and sat forward. John leaned forward too.

"How did you know that?" John hissed.

"Which one was it?" He asked.

"Spain, now how did you know? And what're you called?" The captain demanded. He mans lips turned up into a smirk but it quickly faded. He tilted his head to the side in the slightest.

"My name, you mean?" He questioned. John rolled his eyes.

"Of course, you idiot," He snapped.

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes," 'Sherlock' answered, not being thrown off by the insult.

"Okay Holmes. Listen 'ere." John leaned forward more, gripping his collar and pulling him closer. "How did you know about that? Do you have spies?" He hissed.

"I observed," Sherlock replied, easily removing Johns grip and leaning back.

"What in the seven seas does that mean!?" John snapped. Sherlock smiled and put his hands behind his head.

"Your boots. A specific material, only found in Spain. They're obviously fairly old despite the condition you've kept them in, so you've had them for a while," He began. John looked down at his boots and inspected them. "You walk tall and proud, either an effect of your status in this port or by habit. I'm presuming it's both, but mainly habit," John shifted uncomfortably.

Okay, I saw some pirate!lock fanart and I've wanted to write some for a while, so... yeah. To be continued eventually.