This is my foray into both writing Sherlock fanfiction and Cabin Pressure fanfiction, let alone a crossover fic. This is, if you can't tell, a JohnxMartin pairing. Why am I writing about a JohnxMartin pairing? Because I think that it's kind of adorable. Martin himself is a cute, blundering captain who works hard and does what he loves, even though he doesn't get paid for it; and John is a BAMF in jumpers, someone who seems adorable but will put a bullet in-between someone's eyes if you call him that. The two of them together just seems… I dunno… cute, if I really have to put a label, although one doesn't really come to mind.

Anyway, this is the first in a series of oneshots/possible multi-chapter fics about John Watson and Martin Crieff. I hope you enjoy it!

John was spending much more time than usual getting ready for this date. Sherlock had no idea why.

If this date were like any of the other women John went out with, it would be pointless. The women John fancied were all incredibly dull anyway. Some boring dinner, ending with maybe a gentle peck goodnight, and then coming home well before midnight for a cup of tea and a small amount of crap telly. Even John seemed resigned to how dull it could be, since the time it took for him to get ready was dismally short.

But this time, John seemed to be fussing more than any woman would. Sherlock had frowned, plucking at the strings of his violin. It was completely ridiculous for John to be so fussy. Either the woman was very young or possibly someone who was also in the army, or lead an equally thrilling life.

And then there was a knock on the door. Sherlock checked the clock on his phone. She was early. And judging by the knock, they were equally as nervous as John apparently was.

"Sherlock!" John called from upstairs. "Can you get the door?"

"They can wait!" Sherlock called back. "They're early!"

Another knock, this time more timid.

"Sherlock! Get the bloody door!"

But Sherlock didn't have to answer, it seemed, since Mrs. Hudson's gentle call wrung from downstairs. The door opened, and Mrs. Hudson exchanged pleasant introductions…

… With a man.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this, turning towards the entryway of the sitting room. John Watson, the ex-army doctor who completely denied any connotations of being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes or being gay in general, was now going against the latter and going out with a man. Sherlock had suspected that John was at least bi-curious at some point, possibly experimenting in school, but John was now planning on going out with a man, throwing any bi-curious notions out the window and replacing them with straight up bisexuality.

And judging by the way the male voice stuttered at Mrs. Hudson from where they stood, Sherlock presumed that John must have equally poor taste in men as he did in women.

Finally, John rushed downstairs, looking rather well-groomed and admittedly well-dressed, wearing a button-down shirt under his coat rather than a jumper.

"Well?" John breathed out, obviously seeking out a compliment. He must really be worked up about this date.

"You look ridiculous." Sherlock said simply, tuning his violin. "Worst kind of outfit for casework."

"Well, good. Because I'm not going on a case, I'm going on a date." John corrected. He patted at himself, then sighed. "Well, too late to change if I do look ridiculous. Better go. Martin's probably waiting."

Sherlock merely watched as John headed down the stairs. Usually, Sherlock would just leave John to his date if they met them here, which was also rare, maybe watch them leave out the window.

But this was a new development, and damn it all, Sherlock was actually curious.

So, with a huff, Sherlock leaped out of his armchair and went downstairs as well,

As soon as he reached the middle of the staircase near the entryway, three faces turned towards him. John and Mrs. Hudson, and one he remembered from a case he worked with John a while back.

Said face belonged to a man, of course. A ginger, with freckles and red hair, and he was flushing, obviously nervous.

It was Captain Martin Crieff, pilot for MJN Air. He remembered having to use the decrepit plane to get to a case, and he remembered the crew well enough. The old woman was evil, her son was like ten Andersons in one body, the first officer was a recovering alcoholic, divorced, and dabbled in smuggling, and that the captain himself was a stuttering, easily riled man who wasn't taken seriously and had a second job in some kind of moving service. The fact that the man himself seemed to bare a bone structure similar to Sherlock's also seemed to unnerve the crew. He had no idea John and Martin managed to arrange a date.

But now that he thought about it, John did seem to talk to Martin quite a bit. He didn't think that they had gone and exchanged numbers or anything like that.

"Ah." Martin spoke, head raised slightly, trying to put on an air of dominance and failing miserably. "Mister Holmes."

"Captain Crieff." Sherlock responded, eying the pilot. The clothes, if possible, seemed even cheaper than John's were. A few years old, not that he wasn't thinking about not needing to buy more, just that he couldn't afford more. He used more cologne than he should, Sherlock could smell it from where he was. Hair was gelled, but still had its curl. Obviously, Captain Crieff also put a lot of effort into his look for tonight.

"Right." John said, forcing a grin. "Well, shall we?"

"Wha? Oh!" Martin said, snapping out of whatever reverie he was in and beaming at John. "Yes! Yes, of course."

With that, John ushered a willing, almost eager Martin to the door. "Don't wait up!"

And with that, the door slammed and Mrs. Hudson let out a sigh, grin on her face.

"Such a nice boy." Mrs. Hudson cooed, heading back into her own flat and Sherlock stomped up back to the sitting room, heading for the window and peering outside, seeing John and Martin converse before getting into a waiting cab.

"Dinner. Possibly a walk." Sherlock mused aloud. "Nothing more than maybe a peck on the cheek."

And with that, Sherlock walked over to the sofa and flung himself upon it. "He'll be back at around ten." He said aloud, hands steepled under his chin. "Dull."

xxx

It was midnight when the door to 221 opened again.

Sherlock snapped out of his train of thought, hands frozen over the keys to John's laptop. He had moved from the sofa now, and was working on his site when he heard John's strangely light footsteps on the stairs. The fact that he seemed energetic at midnight after a date was rather curious.

The state John was in when Sherlock saw him was even more curious.

His clothes were ruffled, and his hair was so slightly askew at the sides. Sherlock's eye twitched, seeing the scene that must've played out at the doorstep play out in his head. The fact that John was practically glowing didn't help matters. Apparently, John managed to get more than just a peck on the cheek from the timid Martin Crieff.

"You're still up." John spoke absently, slinging off his coat, the tone in his voice almost made it sound like a chirp. "There's no case, so I thought you'd be in bed by now."

John was right, of course. Despite his erratic sleep schedule in-between cases, Sherlock did manage to usually go to bed around this time. But John was usually home from dates way before then, and Sherlock had always somewhat looked forward to the post-date tea that his friend indulged in, since usually he'd make a cup for Sherlock and said flatmate would deduce the programs that John would leave on the telly.

"You're home late." Sherlock mused instead, typing away. "You're usually home at ten. Either this date of yours with this pilot went very well, or went very badly."

"You're never this curious about my dates, Sherlock." John mused, loosening the cuffs of his shirt, still grinning. "But yes. It went very well. In fact we're going to out for a coffee tomorrow after a delivery he has to take care of in town."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at this. Now this was a curious development. John never stacked up two dates like this before.

"And before you ask, yes." John said, still grinning. "I do like him. He's nice and rather charming, despite what you might think."

Sherlock snorted. "I wasn't going to ask." He said simply.

"Of course." John said in a tone that spoke the opposite. He loosened his collar and paused, staring at Sherlock. "Is that my computer?"

Sherlock bit back a smirk. This was always an argument with John; Sherlock commandeering his laptop, despite his poor attempts at password protection. Perhaps he was going to get some late night entertainment out of his flatmate after all.

"Of course." Sherlock said. "Mine is in my room. Yours was closer."

And now Sherlock waited for an irritated John to snap at him and scoop up his laptop. Then, there was probably going to be a lecture as John made his usual dance of irritation around the flat, and possibly have some late night tea after all.

Instead, John merely hummed. "Just put it back in the charger before you go to bed." He called as he headed upstairs. "See you in the morning!"

Sherlock stared after John, even as his bedroom door had long since closed. After a long pause, Sherlock definitely did not pout as he closed John's laptop up and rose from the table, stomping off to his room, purposely forgetting to put it back in its charger.

So John seemed to find someone, a man no less, who apparently managed to put John in such a state of delirium that he seemed not to, as some might put it, "not give a shit" about what Sherlock usually did to rile the doctor up. This relationship might actually last longer than a couple of months.

At this thought, Sherlock scowled at his ceiling. This was no longer dull. It was dreadful.