"I hate flying." John groaned as the plan lurched once more in the light turbulence, "Couldn't we have taken a train?"
Planes reminded John too much of his deployments, when the aircraft was dodging and weaving through the sky in an effort not to be shot down or simply fall apart due to rust. He'd already taken motion sickness tablets and a ginger pill but neither were quelling the awful nausea that was gradually getting worse and worse. At this rate he'd be in the tiny bathroom throwing up his in flight meal within the hour.
"Trains and boats would of taken days, John." Sherlock sighed as if he were talking to a child, "This way we only have one day of travel."
"One awful day." John moaned.
"We'll be in Germany for your birthday." Sherlock pointed out still not meeting John's eyes, opting to read the case file again instead, "I thought that would cheer you up at least."
It was true, his birthday was in four days, but he'd assumed Sherlock would spent it solving the case. Honestly John didn't mind that really, he'd already had many birthdays and solving crimes with Sherlock wasn't a bad way to spend it. This case was particularly interesting, at least it seemed so to John, Sherlock seemed slightly annoyed by it since it had come by Mycroft's hand.
The doctor wasn't sure on some of the finer details but apparently some rich German diplomat 'friend' of Mycroft's had attempted to kill a German count and frame the British Secret Service. They had failed naturally but he would try again and getting the proof required to convict the diplomat took too much leg work for Mycroft's taste.
"I'll of wrapped this case up within the next two days," Sherlock continued, "It's barely a seven, barely. Then I suppose I could handle two days of tourist attractions or whatever it is you want to do."
The offer would have sounded reluctant and somewhat cold to an outsider but John knew better. There were very few people Sherlock was willing to spend two days with doing things he hates just to make them happy.
John would of thanked him but the plane gave another lurch and he had to focus on not throwing up all over his companion. Sherlock glanced at him and sighed.
"You've been up to your elbow in gut and yet a plane ride renders you sick." Sherlock muttered, "Honestly, it's another three hours just take a sleeping pill before you ruin the seats."
-oOo-
Though he tried to make it appear otherwise, Sherlock had spent much time debating the topic of John's birthday in his mind. John was a traditional person, he liked to celebrate his birthday, he also liked it when people remembered it without his reminding them, it made him feel wanted, which was very important. John needed to be needed in a way Sherlock had noticed, it was obvious just looking at his profession, Army Doctor, he lived to make a difference, he needed to feel as though he was doing something important with his life.
Sherlock didn't have experience with birthdays, he'd occasionally gotten the odd cake for Mrs. Hudson or solved a hard case without being condescending (A very hard task) for Lestrade but other than that his knowledge on the subject was severely lacking.
He knew he had to get John a gift, but what? He'd spent countless hours online as well as on the streets of London but had come up with nothing. At least until the other day when he'd come across the perfect advertisement outside a small bookshop. Simply hand them a usb with writing on it and they would bind it for you, in leather even and engrave the front. So, unbeknownst to John, Sherlock was housing a small leather bound copy of A Study in Pink in his suitcase.
He was more worried than he felt he should be about whether or not John would like it. What f he didn't? He kept telling himself not to be an idiot, John was stupidly sentimental at times, a book version of their first case together? It was perfect. But still...
-oOo-
Despite his terrible motion sickness on the plane John was rather enjoying the case, they had spent the entire day sneaking about a German country club pretending to be waiters getting information on the count. Tomorrow they were sneaking into the diplomats country home to steal the last pieces of needed evidence from his safe and hand them over to Mycroft, then John could sit back and enjoy his birthday. All in all, it was turning out to be a fantastic trip.
He was about to call out to Sherlock, who was in the bathroom, if he wanted to go out for dinner when he spotted the small book sitting inside the mans open suitcase. Sherlock didn't read much, except scientific journals and such, it was odd to see him with such a delicate looking book. It wasn't particularly big but the outer cover was a deep red leather, it must of been pricy.
He picked it up to look at the cover just as he heard Sherlock reentering the room.
There, in gold writing was the title A Study in Pink.
"Sherlock, what's this?"
"Well, it was going to be your birthday present." Sherlock grumbled, "Should of wrapped it, stupid. Isn't that the custom?"
John flipped open the first few pages, skimming the words.
"Is this...is this the first case I typed up?" He breathed, slightly in shock.
"Yes." Sherlock replied looking more than slightly uncomfortable, "You have no idea how hard it was not to fix it and add in all the important details you missed."
John felt himself smiling and he looked over the book again. This was beyond anything he thought Sherlock capable of. There was even a note written on the inside cover in think black pen, he'd recognize Sherlock's handwriting anywhere.
To John,
Remember I'd be lost without my blogger,
Sincerely SH.
John chuckled. He could see Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table in his minds eye mulling over what he should write and how to write it. He wouldn't want it to sound too emotional or caring, yet at the same tim he wanted John to know this wasn't a casual gift.
Suddenly he realized the room had been in awed silence for at least three minutes now and Sherlock was slowly beginning to imitate a beet he was so red.
"Of course you don't have to keep it if you don't like it." He added not meeting John's eyes, "It's not a big deal."
"Sherlock, I love it." John chuckled giving the man a quick hug which he didn't return not because he didn't want to but because the action had taken him by surprise.
"You do? I mean, of course." The detective cleared his throat and turned away, but not quite quickly enough of John to miss the small smile of satisfaction on his face.
John knew Sherlock cared for him, probably more than anybody, but confirmation of said care was rare at best. It was always nice to see Sherlock's more sensitive, human side.
"Come on you idiot, let's go to dinner." John laughed.
"Idiot!?" Sherlock countered with mock hurt, "I'm insulted!"
"Well it is an insult."
"That's it you're paying for dinner."
-oOo-
Lestrade remembered a time when he still believed in free will, that was a good time, a calmer time. A time when Mycroft Holmes couldn't magically have him on a plane to Germany if he so wished. The inspector didn't even see why his presence was necessary with John there. But no apparently Sherlock had been planning on breaking into some diplomat's house to steal paper work instead of using the proper channels so here he was in the German countryside, trudging through bushes trying to locate the detective and his blogger before they could commit said break in.
"Ow, Sherlock!"
"Be quiet John I hear somebody!"
"Get off my hand then!"
Speak of the devils.
"John? Sherlock?" Lestrade hissed, "It's me! Where are you?"
There was some rustling and little more quiet whispering from the nearby hedge when suddenly the two men fell out of it and onto the ground.
"John, get off!" Sherlock growled trying to get out from underneath the smaller but heavier man.
"Children, the both of you." Greg shook his head.
"Mycroft sent you." Sherlock deduced getting to his feet, "Honestly, your presence is not required here Lestrade."
"I know but trying to argue with your brother would result in me getting every red light for the rest of my life."
John sent him a sympathetic look, he knew the feeling.
"Can we just go and get the files?" John asked, "He's going to destroy them soon."
"Something my brother obviously wasn't counting on." Sherlock sneered, "Come on John let's go."
And without another word Sherlock had given John a leg up through the bushes and over the stone wall into the diplomat's garden and followed him. Oh well, it you cant beat them join them!
"Wait for me!"
On the other side of the wall was a large estate house that was far too big for a single man and made Lestrade feel even shabbier in his old suit. Three walls surrounded the house and gardens with a sharp cliff face acting at the final wall. Why anybody would want cliffs in their garden was beyond Lestrade.
"Um, Sherlock?" John whispered, "Isn't that the diplomat? Charles?"
John was pointing to a figure making their way over to the cliffs with a small box in his hand.
"The evidence!" Sherlock gasped, "Stupid! Of course he;s going to dispose f it in the ocean, untraceable! Let's go!"
"Hey! Stop!" lestrade yelled the man turned to face them, then began to run.
Why do they always run?
John got to him first natural, tackling the man to the ground and knocking the box from his hands which Sherlock dove for before it could slide along the ground and off the white cliffs.
"Hands up!" Lestrade pulled out his gun and aimed but didn't fire, John and Charles were still rolling on the ground. John reached for his own gun but Charles go there first, grabbing the handgun and firing, missing John but scraping Lestrade's leg.
The wound was superficial but it made Lestrade yelp all the same, dropping his own gun in shock.
"Lestrade the box!" Sherlock yelled throwing the evidence at him and reaching for his gun.
"No!" Charles was on his feet again and reaching for the box before Lestrade could grab it and lobbing it towards the sharp drop. John's training kicked in and he moved before either Lestrade or Sherlock could, leaping forwards and grabbing the box from mid air just as it was about to fall off the edge.
Growling Charles aimed the browning, which he was still holding at John. This time both Lestrade and Sherlock moved, tackling forwards and knocking the man to the ground just as he fired.
Lestrade watched the horror spread across Sherlock's face and blood burst from the side of John's head and he stepped backwards into thin air.
"John!"
Sherlock reached out as if to grab the older mans hand despite the distance and John fell, straight off the cliff and down into the black ocean below.
I know this chapter isn't exactly exciting but all the info needed to be said :) To make up for it I will be updating as fast as I can as long as you all like where this story is going.