Date: 2019-08-22 07:03 pm (UTC)
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Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. "Too late now, I'm already going to have to clean the sea water off of this. Might as well not dirty up anything else."

He looked around the chest, it was small, but heavy. He found a tool and managed to remove the rusty, barnacle covered lock. It was a bit tricky to open, the barnacles and rust tried to seal it closed, but he eventually got it open.

Inside were...

"Books."

Sherlock took them out, gingerly. They were wet, but the chest had prevented them from being eaten or disintegrating. He looked at the titles, and gasped.

They were from England.

England, his home that he hadn't seen since he'd gotten on a ship at 14 years old, not even a man yet.

For a moment, he was silent. He very, very carefully lifted the three tomes out of the chest and put them on the table.

"We... are going to have to let them dry out. It may take weeks, or longer. And the pages will be very brittle." He explained to John.

"Th-thank you, John." He whispered. "These are from where I was born. I very much want to read them when they are ready. " It would be hell waiting, but any little thing that he could find out about his long lost home, a place he was sure he would never see again now, was welcome.
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John Watson

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