Disclaimer: I own nothing. And I used many, many quotes from the Titanic and Sherlock scripts, none of which I own.
Brock Lovett threw his hands up in exasperation. He was sure, so sure, that he would find the rare blue diamond necklace, the Heart of the Ocean, in that vault. He made a fool of himself in front of the press. But the expensive, time consuming voyage deep into the ocean was not in vain. They had retrieved a charcoal drawing of a naked woman, lying on a couch, wearing the famous piece of jewelry. In the corner was written: The Woman -S.H. April 14th, 1912
The Woman. What a vague title. Though the word "The" implied that the lady in the drawing was important to whoever S.H. was. More importantly, the drawing gave a clue to wear the missing necklace could be.
Sherlock sat in his living room, playing "My Heart Will Go On" on his violin while his granddaughter made lunch. He was barely listening to the television in the kitchen when he heard the word Titanic among the jumble of words the reporter was spewing out. Sherlock froze.
"What is it?" his granddaughter, Lizzie, asked.
"Turn that up." Lizzie obeyed and cranked up the volume to the television. Sherlock slowly walked over to it. A drawing appeared on the small screen. His drawing.
"Brock! There's a call for you," a crew member told him. Brock looked up, annoyed. He was poring over maps and diagrams all concerning the sunken ship.
"Can't you see I'm busy?" said Lovett.
"Trust me. You want to take this call," the crewmember said with a slight smile.
"This better be good." Brock followed the man to where the phone was.
"And you gotta speak up; he's kinda old, and his name is Sherlock Holmes."
"Great," Brock said sarcastically. He put the phone over his ear. "This is Brock Lovett. How may I help you Mr. Holmes?"
A deep, baritone voice replied. "I was just wondering if you had found the Heart of the Ocean yet?" Sherlock smirked. He knew that would get their attention.
Brock widened his eyes. "Alright you have my attention, Mr. Holmes. Can you tell me who the woman in the picture is?"
"But of course. I drew it after all. The woman in the picture is Irene Adler."
Sherlock flew to the ship where Brock Lovett was in a helicopter with Lizzie and his dog, Watson, in his lap. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't nervous. He hadn't been on a ship in quite a while. The helicopter landed and a crew of workers rushed over to help with the luggage.
"He's a fake, I tell you. If he really was on the Titanic, he would have to be over 100 by now."
Brock calmly replied to his friend. "Everyone who knew about that necklace should be dead on that ship. Yet he knows." Brock knew he was being a bit too hopeful, but really, what did he have to lose? This man was the only lead he had to finding the legendary necklace.
Sherlock was gently lowered down from the aircraft; the spinning propellers of the helicopter ruffled his loose, gray curls. Brock rushed over to shake his hand and introduced himself.
Once Sherlock had arrived at his room, he unpacked all his belongings. Brock walked in with a smile on his face. "Is the room alright?"
Sherlock sighed. "I suppose it'll do. Sorry for taking so long to unpack. I just have to have my pictures with me. And Watson of course," Sherlock explained, affectionately petting his dog.
"Can I get you anything? Is there anything you'd like?"
Sherlock brightened up at this question. "Yes. I would like to see my drawing."
Sherlock peered down at his drawing in the lab. The water gently lapped against the walls of the container the image was placed in. He never thought he'd be seeing it again. Not that it mattered. He had the image of it stored in his Mind Palace.
"This diamond," explained Brock, "would be worth more than the Hope diamond today. This picture was drawn before the day the Titanic sank, meaning the diamond had to have gone down with the ship. If you're who you say you are, the artist of this drawing, then that means the model was wearing the diamond the day before the Titanic sank. And that makes you, my new best friend." Brock showed Sherlock a few more items retrieved from the wreck, all of which Sherlock seemed to recognize.
"Are you ready to go back to Titanic?" he asked.
Sherlock sat in a small, dimly lighted room. A bearded man pointed to a screen showing animation of how the ship sank and slowly tried to explain what had occurred that day.
"Yes, yes. I know what happens. The ship is hit below the water line and the compartments flood. The water level rises and fills to the bulkhead. The bow goes down and the stern goes up. The ship can't support that kind of pressure so the ship splits in half. The stern splits from the rest of the ship and floats for a short time before finally sinking," Sherlock said in an exasperated tone. He was there. "I don't need some fancy demonstration telling me what I already know."
"Will you share your experience with us?" Brock gently asked.
Sherlock adjusted himself comfortably in his chair as Brock pulled out a recorder.
"Tell us, Mr. Holmes."
"It's been 84 years-"
"It's okay," Brock interrupted. "Just try and remember something. Anything. Anything at all."
Sherlock glared at him. "Do you want to hear this not Mr. Lovett," Sherlock snapped.
Brock gave a low chuckle and motioned him to continue on with the story.
"It's been…84 years. And I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called: The Ship of Dreams."