A Long Time Ago, In a Galaxy Far, Far Away…
MILLENIUM FALCON - COCKPIT
Sherlock Holmes stormed into the relative sanctuary of the cockpit and slung himself into the pilot's seat, where he sat glaring at nothing in particular. By the time his friend and colleague John Watson had joined him, he was in full sulk mode.
They were on a case that had required them to go undercover as smugglers, Captain Will Scott and his First Mate, Hamish Turner. From the moment they'd accepted the assignment it appeared that the whole bloody galaxy was determined to do everything in its power to confound and annoy him.
His attire was a case in point.
It consisted of a simple, cream-coloured long sleeved shirt made of a cheap, scratchy material, while the black sleeveless jacket was made of a course, heavy fabric. They were at least practical, and enhanced the image that he was a smuggler down on his luck, the type willing to take on unsavoury, if somewhat dangerous jobs as long as they paid well.
But then there were the trousers…
They were brown, with yellow stitching that ran the length of the seam down both legs, extremely tight fitting and made of a material that seemed determined to cling suggestively to certain parts of his anatomy. While around his waist and the upper thigh of his right leg was strapped a holster that only further enhanced the emphasis on these particular attributes. Knee-high black boots completed his ensemble.
Sherlock was by no means ashamed of his figure, and was not above using it with a little charm to get anything he needed. But his current dress code had led to a number of embarrassing incidents with certain females, both humanoid and alien who inhabited the Outer Rim Systems that he and John found themselves having to frequent.
He shuddered just thinking about it.
Then there was the ship they'd…acquired.
It had been clear just from looking at the state of the YT-1300 Freighter that it wasn't worth the credits being asked for it. But they were desperate to get their investigation underway.
Sure enough as soon as they'd left the saleyard things had started to go wrong. The hyperdrive motivator was constantly malfunctioning. Not an advantage if you needed to make a speedy exit.
It was clear they'd been swindled. They'd been blindsided by the sales pitch, the reputation this particular freighter had apparently gained over the years.
"It made the Kessel Run in less than 12 par-secs…" Sherlock quoted the salesmen under his breath before snorting in disgust, annoyed with himself that they'd been so easily taken in.
"Might I remind you," John broke through his brooding thoughts. "The salesmen also referred to it as 'the fastest hunk of junk in the galaxy'. So it wasn't like we weren't warned…."
Truth be told, his outfit and the ship were not the true source of Sherlock's current bad mood.
And both he and John knew it.
Sherlock was in a strop because of their passengers whom they'd been forced to reluctantly rescue from their stranded vessel.
"They're bad luck," Sherlock sniped defensively, scowling when John openly laughed at him.
"All this," John chortled, indicating Sherlock and his current foul temper. "Because they're female!"