The man was tall. Thin. Unhealthily so, as though he had recently lost a great deal of weight. Pale skinned with a web of blue veins tracing underneath. Delicately groomed eyebrows, pale copper, not quite matching the dark colour of the short hair on his head. Pale eyes as well. Blue. Full of pain. His suit was expensive, the drape of the cloth gave it away. Tailored but not quite fitting properly, as though it had been made for some other version of this man. He moved as though his joints were made of glass. As though every breath caused him effort.

The Cabin Butler was just hanging the last of the expensive shirts up in the wardrobe. The shirts that went with the suits and ties and the other clothes of a man not on holiday. He handed the Butler a fifty pound note, even though the tips were included in the price of the cruise. The Butler took the hint and made himself scarce.

Greg had checked the cabin earlier. They had told him he would be looking after some important politician. Level one clearance. Defence codes. All that sort of thing. All routine for Greg, of course. He did one final sweep to check everything was as it should be.

"It's all clear sir." So far the tall man hadn't said a word, had just looked thoughtfully on at everything. He inclined his head slightly to one side and looked straight at Greg for the first time. Greg felt a shiver go down his spine. In other circumstances the man was probably handsome, even beautiful, almost. But as it was, there was an air of sadness about him. As though his heart had been ripped out. As though he had seen too much pain.

"Thank you, detective. That will be all." He didn't sound how Greg had been expecting. The voice was low and quiet, as though he never had to shout to be obeyed. The speech was deliberate.

"Very good Sir." Greg slipped through the door into the adjoining cabin. Much smaller and less glamorous than the suite he had been in. He supposed at some point it had been the servant's room. Back in the days when people had servants. The rooms weren't used for accommodation these days. Generally they kept them locked and used them for storage.

"Lucky me." Greg surveyed the small room. Next door he heard the shower start up. And then overhead the sound of the ship's horn as it started its way out of port and onto the open seas. He'd always liked the sea. The thought of all that open water. Where it all went. Where it could take you. If he was being honest he'd jumped at the chance of this job. A nice cushy three weeks floating around the world making sure no one poisoned the rum daiquiris. How bad could it be?

An almighty crash from the next door cabin had him reaching for his gun and cursing his thinking. Greg burst through the connecting door and looked around the vast suite. Nothing. Bathroom. Steam. Safety off the gun. It was one of those bathrooms with the panoramic view over the sea. With that special glass you could look out of but no one could look in. The shower was still going and there was a bit of steam on the windows. The tall man was on the floor of the shower. Greg opened the screen door and stepped inside. The warm water raining down on him, fully clothed.

He was so thin. Without his clothes you could see all his ribs, his spine, the sharp protrusions of his hip bones, everything. Just above his left nipple were two neat, barely healed gunshot wounds. Greg knew what was coming as he turned him over. The mass of twisted scar tissue and skin grafts that showed where the exit wounds had been. It must have been a right mess.

"God. I'm so sorry. I must have fainted. Apologies."

"It's fine. Really Sir. Let's get you out of here." There was no real way of preserving the man's dignity until he could sit him down and grab a clean bathrobe. Greg tried not to look. Tried not to imagine what he'd look like without the wasted flesh. The hair on his chest and stomach was gingery, thick, spreading across shoulders that were wider than Greg's but were nothing but bone and sinew, snaking downwards to darken and frame a generously sized cock and... Greg shook his head and focussed. He picked him up.

He could pick him up. That seemed wrong. You shouldn't be able to pick up someone that tall as though they were a child.

"I am so very sorry." The man repeated. A scarlet blush was creeping up his back. "Your suit is ruined detective."

"Trust me, I've had worse. Now I'm just going to ask the ship's doctor to come and check you over." He ignored the protests as he dialled the number, arranging for the Doctor to come at once. Greg removed his soaked jacket, dropping it into the bath where it could do no further damage to the thick carpet.

"Detective, this really isn't necessary."

"I'm afraid Sir that it is. And my name is Greg. Greg Lestrade."

"Gregory is a very lovely name." The blush had progressed up to the man's face. Greg realised his shirt was completely transparent, displaying his muscular torso. The man was trying not to stare. And not doing a very good job.

"No. It's just Greg." His mother called him Gregory when he had been naughty. Did this class as naughty?

"Gregory." The man rolled it around his mouth. "My name is Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes."

"That's unusual."

"Yes. Yes it is. It's..." But whatever it was, got interrupted by the arrival of the doctor.