AN: Yes, I know it's been a very long time.

Of course Sherlock didn't end up as best man in the end. It would have caused too much talk in court, and the king put his foot down – Harry was to be best man. "Besides," it was said, "How could he deliver a speech? He couldn't even write one to be delivered by somebody else!" There had been much argument before it was even agreed that Sherlock was allowed to attend. "I do not think your attachment to this… stranger, is at all wise, John. He cannot stay longer than a sennight after the wedding." And that had been the end of the matter.

John was embarrassed to break the news to Sherlock, though Sherlock did not seem much affected by it. Even a little relieved, perhaps, though John couldn't be sure that wasn't his own imagination. That conversation, up on the tower, was the last moment of peace the two had together before the wedding, and the longest since the night they'd spent together. John looked over the battlements down onto the beach.

"She is… wonderful, you know?" the man said, motioning down towards the wandering figure of Mary. Sherlock tore his eyes away from the way in which John's sandstone hair reflected the light of the setting sun. "I really think we'll be happy together."

I hope so, thought Sherlock, wishing he could dislike her, even a little, to make this jealousy a little more bearable. John had spent more and more time with her over the last few weeks, and though Sherlock had never minded being alone before, coveted it even, Sherlock couldn't help but be jealous of that time. After all, she and John would get the rest of their lives together. The rest of Sherlock's life, however, was becoming more and more likely to be incredibly short.

"She likes the sea too," John continued as Sherlock joined him. After a few seconds, John put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed it gently.

Sherlock should have sabotaged the wedding. It had been his plan, should the need arise, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It wouldn't have been that difficult, but all that would happen would be that he would make John unhappy and then in time he would marry someone else. Sherlock should have known that the prince would always marry.

"What about you?" Sherlock was brought out of his reverie, as John's hand slid off of his shoulder. "I don't know what you'll do when the wedding's over. Are you going to go back to where you came from? Where even did you come from? You know sometimes, I almost think you came from there," John said, motioning towards the sea, giving a short laugh. After a pause, John continued, "You know, if you can't go home… maybe you could marry someone and settle around here, I know lots of women were very taken with you at the ball, and I'm sure we could set you up in some profession…"

Sherlock didn't give any sign that he had even heard what he had said, and so, after a while, John gave up and just stood in silence with the other man, watching the day end.

The preparations for the wedding consumed the entire castle, and the influx of guests was huge, and all the spare rooms were put into use. More servants had to be brought in, and somehow even the most remote corners of the palace seemed to be invaded. The honeymoon was to be a sea voyage, Harry's idea, much to John's amusement. The ship was beautiful: built for the occasion, and splendid, it was painted in the royal colours. It was called the HMS Scarlet.

The wedding day rolled around, and guests were transported in carriages to the abbey. It was splendid, and huge, and the service was insurmountably dull. Sherlock could just see the edge of John's face for most of it – he seemed so happy and nervous. At one point John caught his eye, and flashed him a grin. Mary looked beautiful as expected, and Harry seemed sober enough.

Of course there was the banquet, which Sherlock did not attend. It would have been seen as an offence to have such a common person there. Sherlock did not particularly want to attend; he couldn't have tasted the meal anyway. His tower top was deserted, and so Sherlock lay there, staring up at the sky, so still even the birds came to him. Sky fish, he thought, almost amused, turning his head, and the sea gulls started away.

In the party for the honeymoon, there was to be, of course, the bride and groom, guards, Harry, and a very small assortment of guests. Somehow Sherlock had been included amongst these. The ship set sail the night of the wedding, and Sherlock saw his first real harbour. Well, his first real harbour from the land point of view (there had been a disastrous incident when he was fourteen – the pollution in the water had made him sick for day). There was music and dancing until the small hours of the morning. Dancing still pained Sherlock, but he knew John liked to see him dance, so he danced until his feet bled, and then stayed dancing, until everyone had retired.

So Sherlock stood alone on deck, surrounded by the flotsam of the evening, watching the beginning of the sun rise. And as he did, he saw what he could have sworn was a fiery red tail near the ship. Leaning over, he looked down, and saw something fumbling, almost crashing into the side of the ship. He heard the cry of "Sherlock!" that could almost be lost.

Sherlock looked around and found a rope ladder that could be hoisted over the side. He fastened it to the deck, climbing down to sea level. He gave a few soft splashes in the water, and saw the merman hesitantly make his way over, gripping onto the side of the ship. His face was turned up, but his eyes were shut tightly. "Sherlock?" Sherlock reached over, as best he could, one hand gripping onto a rung of the ladder, and softly touched Victor's face.

"I – I know what you did. I can save you."

Sherlock touched the patch of soft scales littered across Victor's eyes curiously. "It's nothing Sherlock. I can't believe I found you, I thought… I thought it would be too late."

The hands found Sherlock's trouser legs, and Victor's eyes fluttered open in shock. "You – you really have legs. They feel odd." Sherlock's muscles gave a spasm. Where eyes should have been were two large, coloured marbles. "It's nothing." Victor closed his eyes quickly, feeling the change. "He… he took my eyes, in exchange for this knife." Victor fumbled at his waist level, untying something. "I didn't know what to do, so I… I used two of those glass spheres you kept to stop my eyelids falling in…"

Sherlock touched Victor's face again guiltily. "The knife… you can come back. You just need to kill that human with it, and bring him into the sea. You can have your tail again, Sherlock!" Sherlock took the knife from Victor silently. "You can come home, Lock, I'll follow the ship. I'll wait for you." the merman mumbled into Sherlock's trouser leg. There was a sound on deck and Victor dove under the ship. Sherlock carefully tucked the knife into his trousers and climbed the rope ladder again. He was surprised to see a sailor up, swabbing the decks, but then he realised the day was well and truly dawning.

Sherlock had to move fast now, there wasn't much time left. So he entered John's rooms – the lock wasn't particularly difficult to break, and he moved through, until he was next to the bed. He looked down at the sleeping couple, and how John had one arm slung over Mary protectively. He gripped the knife. It was a good knife, sharp, metal – this was unusual for one forged in the sea fires. He ran his finger over the edge and flinched. It was sharp, too. As Sherlock wiped his finger on his untucked shirt, he looked down and bitter anger rose to the back of his mouth. He was angry with Mary, angry with John, angry at all the humans, and angry at himself. He lifted the knife and placed it gently on the bedside table – a wedding gift of sorts. He wished he could have shown him all of the sea. He wished John could have looked like him – with sharp teeth, and scales, and a tail. Sherlock sighed and knelt down, pressing his cool lips to the lazy scrawl just visible on John's shoulder. He saw Mary stir, and wondered whether she wasn't watching him through her eyelashes.

Sherlock left the doors open on his way back to the deck, finding a spot the sailors hadn't occupied yet, and shivered as he watched the bright colours of the sky. He left his clothes in a neat pile, and tried to climb down the side of the ship, but his grip failed him and he fell several feet. It was messy, and he was flailing to stay above the water. The boat was getting away from him, and he barely he was dragged under again and again, salt water burning his throat. He could feel Victor's hands on him, confused, trying to drag him down, away from the humans, and then realising, too late, that he should have been holding him up.

Eventually he lost consciousness, and as Harry told John was the custom of the merfolk, Victor left the body to tun to sea foam. The man sank slowly downwards, until the arms of a sorcerer wrapped around him, and dragged him deeper still, laughing gleefully.