John could feel himself being measured, weighed in the wake of his almost flippant response. He had almost expected violence in reply – given the situation thus far, it certainly wouldn’t have been unexpected – but instead he was subjected to a focused, almost predatory gaze for several long, tense moments. The other man replied, then, rattling off facts and assumptions, reaching out to tug John’s I.D. circles free and inspect them before he finished his mindboggling assertion and topped it off with what sounded like an earnest, if misplaced greeting.
It was through sheer force of will that John didn’t jerk away this time; he knew it wouldn’t help, would likely overbalance him before freeing his chain, but it still took effort to hold himself still. Shaking his head instead, once, sharply, John pitched his voice lower, taking on an almost conspiring tone. “Listen, what are you playing at? This can’t-“ He paused, shaking his head once more; there’s almost no way this was some kind of contrived plot – he simply doesn’t have any information that would be useful enough to bother, he wasn’t that kind of officer – and even if he were, had been mistaken for one, he can’t see how this would be effective in any useful capacity. Certainly, it could throw someone off balance through sheer confusion – it had done for him – and that was a recognized tactic, but John couldn’t see how any useful information could be parleyed from this particular scenario; it was entirely too absurd. No, as far as he could tell he hadn’t been captured in the traditional sense, but what that left was… far stranger, more disturbing.
“Either you’re mad”, he continued after a moment, thoughtfully, as if he was only just now truly considering the possibility, “I’m mad, or…” his eyes started to flicker down towards his shoulder – where he’s almost certain he had been shot, but didn’t feel as if it bore obvious signs of recent trauma, now – but he stopped himself before he could complete the motion. Meeting the captain’s eyes again, instead, he finished with an almost imperceptibly more subdued tone, “The last doesn’t bear consideration.”
A slightly uneven hint of a smile pulled at Captain Holmes’ lips, though his eyes were cool and sharp, his voice velvet over steel. “I have been accused of madness many times, Mr. Watson, and a number of other less savoury things, I assure you.” Eyes tracking down and to the side, Captain Holmes tilted his head and lifted one dark eyebrow. “Intriguing. To what can you be referring? If madness is the lesser worry in comparison, I think perhaps it does bear consideration; especially when you are a… guest… on my ship.” Leaning just a bit, as much for the hint of intimidation it might lend, as well as for practicality, he lowered his voice till none of the men on deck around him could have overheard without stepping closer. “You’re thirsty, tired, perhaps hungry; furthermore, you obviously have questions of your own. Give me your solemn word that you’ll conduct yourself in a… gentlemanly… fashion, and I will see that you’re treated commensurately.” His hesitation and the slight drawling edge he gave the word ‘gentleman’ was subtle, but Captain Holmes had plenty of experience with the actual behaviour of many who claimed the title of Gentleman; in truth, he could not use the word as it was generally meant without at least an internal sneer.
There was something under the captain’s words, in his tone, that was not quite a threat but spoke of a dangerous line not to be crossed. It was subtle, and it’s that very subtlety that alerted him to the truth of it; a man who told you how dangerous he was is the last one you have to worry about – one quietly confident in himself, however… John stiffened slightly at the initial reply and the posture that came with it – an almost-grin and cold, dispassionate eyes that held no madness /he/ could see, but every bit of will that told him any threat given could be expected to be carried out – for the moment biting his tongue, but raising a brow all the same at the other man’s dubious use of ‘guest’.
Holmes leaned in slightly, almost without pause, and John fought the urge to lean away again, to gain space, bowing to the impulse only so far as to turn his head slightly away, never breaking eye contact. The low tone carried easily at this distance as the other man finished his firm-handed ‘offer’. This time John couldn’t help the small, reactive snort, and he muttered, “Explaining that one would bring us back to my probable madness”, to himself in an undertone before inhaling, bracing himself further.
Head tilted away, still, John canted it slightly back, just enough to meet the other man’s eyes more squarely while maintaining what personal space he was able. He’s sure this sort of ‘offer’ would sound good to a panicked, hopeful captive, but he could see the barbs in it, the possible hooks under the bait that was never expressly offered. Lips tight, back straight, he let out a long, controlled breath that hitched faintly with the hint of an ironic laugh once or twice in its stream. Probably best to keep quiet and go with it, there’s really not much to be gained by calling the man on it – John was aware of just how precarious his position was, assuming as he had to, that this was really happening – but he had never been one to bow meekly to circumstance. His own voice low, but meant to carry his reply this time, John asks evenly, “That sounds reasonable enough, but was mostly a statement of fact, letting me assume what your ‘commensurate treatment’ might mean.” His lips turned up in a faint, wry smirk. “So what does it really mean, and what exactly do you expect me to trade for this… kind treatment?”
Lady Karasu 