MJN air is about to see two of its most important passengers to date. Martin Crieff drums his fingers against a plastic table in the galley, trying hard to curb his anxiety. He runs a hand through his red hair (which he figures is long overdue for a haircut), and tips his head back. He heaves a deep sigh, and slumps down in his chair. He wasn't told who the passengers were, or what kind of job it was that they had to do. All Carolyn said was that they were "two very important young men that you're going to recognize right away if you the one man's blog". As if that explained much at all. Martin checks his watch, and decides to head to the flight deck.
"Mark...Gatissssssss," Douglas hisses as Martin opens the door.
"Who? Douglas, what are you- Oh!" he settles into his captain's seat. "Yeah, good one. I forgot we were playing that. Yeah, I guess Mark Gatiss does sound kind of evil, doesn't it?"
Douglas shrugs. "I thought so."
There is a brief silence. Martin opens his mouth to ask about their two coming passengers, but he doesn't get a word out before Arthur Shappey bursts into the flight deck.
"Doctor Watson called a few minutes ago," the young man says cheerfully. "and they're on their way!"
"This is ridiculous, John," Sherlock grumbles as he turns his coat collar up.
"No, I'll tell you what's ridiculous," John replies tersely. "breaking into your brother's flat to carry out an experiment that you knew was going to end badly, and then setting half of his kitchen on fire as a result! It's no wonder Mycroft won't fly us to Germany himself after that."
Sherlock rolls his eyes.
"I saw that."
"And I see our plane." Sherlock points at a small passenger jet with "GERTI" printed in large lettering on its side. "I hope to God that we're the only ones on this flight."
"I talked to Carolyn, and she said that we probably would be."
"Who?"
"The owner of... oh, never mind."
"Okay, we'll do this one more time," Martin says. "Rock, paper, scissors!" He covers Douglas's rock with his paper. Douglas groans.
"Best out of three!"
"No... and I'm the captain, anyway! I should do the Cabin Address!" With that, he hits the Cabin Address button, and he can't help but smile at the bing-bong sound it makes.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Martin says with his I'm-acting-like-a-professional voice. "This is Captain Martin Crieff speaking. We'll be flying to Germany, as you already know, and at an altitude of thirty thousand feet. Our steward, Arthur, will give you your safety instructions, and we hope you enjoy your flight. Thank you for flying MJN air!"
When Martin shuts off the Cabin Address, he turns around to see Douglas giving him a smug look.
"You weren't even silly in that one. You just have to impress them, don't you?"
"Oh, shut it."
"You didn't get to see them, did you." Martin shrugs.
"No... But I know who they are."
Douglas chuckles.
The anxiety that Martin felt earlier starts to wear away a little, and soon, it is replaced with a burning mix of curiosity and excitement. He can't believe he's in the same plane as Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson! He wonders if they're exactly as they are described in Doctor Watson's blog, and what they're like in person. He wonders what Mr. Holmes could figure out about him, just from one look.
"Wait. You got to see them?" Martin asks.
"Didn't meet them formally," Douglas replies. "But yes. Got a fleeting glimpse of them, I suppose."
"Can I go out and..."
"Say hi? Get Sherlock to figure you out?"
"Maybe..."
"Considering you're flying the plane, I would like to go out on a limb and say no."
Martin gives an irritated huff.
"So, why is the plane named Gertie?" John asks. Arthur pauses for a moment before answering.
"Well, um, I guess it's because of the big G-E-R-T-I written on her side. I'm not sure why it's written there. Maybe it's so Skip won't forget what her name is."
John gives a slow nod. Sherlock tosses his coat into the seat ahead of him, and stretches out his long legs. "It's an acronym, obviously," Sherlock starts. "Golf, Echo, Romeo, Tango, India..."
"Whoa!" Arthur exclaims. "How did you know all that?!"
"I do know the phonetic alphabet," Sherlock answers with a quirk of his brow.
"That's brilliant!"
John clears his throat.
"So, Arthur," he says. "What exactly do you do for a living?"
"Oh, me? Hah. I'm the steward on this plane. I-"
"You also live with your mother," Sherlock interrupts. John flashes him a warning look, which Sherlock seems to ignore. "Your shirt. It's been recently pressed. It's wrinkle-free. Seeing as you're a single man, not quite thirty, and to put it delicately, an idiot, you wouldn't have ironed it yourself. For some reason, not many men like to iron their own laundry. Now, I can assume that a man with traits like yours probably doesn't live alone. You wouldn't have a girlfriend. You could be living with an aunt or a sister, but your mother's more likely. I could go on, but I don't really feel like it now."
Arthur blinks a couple of times, but no words come out of his mouth. He turns away from Sherlock and John. "Brilliant," he says quietly. "I'll um, be in the flight deck. If you need me again."
"I spy with my little eye, something that starts with a C."
"Cloud," Martin answers blandly.
Douglas grunts. "Well, it's not like I've got much choice in what I can spy! Would you rather play The Travelling Lemon? Or do you want to act like a professional again?"
"Maybe I would like to play. Have we got a lemon?"
"No."
That's the end of any form of conversation for the next few minutes, until the door of the flight deck opens, and Arthur steps in quietly.
"Should we be alarmed?" Douglas asks. "You're not being...yourself."
"Mmmm," Arthur replies. "I've met Mr. Holmes."
Martin's eyes widen. "You met Sherlock Holmes? What's he like? Is he like he's described in the blog? What did he say about you?"
"Well," Arthur starts. "For one thing, he's brilliant. He figured out that I live with Mum just from looking at my shirt! He wasn't too nice about it, though. But Doctor Watson seems quite friendly."
"But you met Sherlock Holmes!" Martin glances at Douglas expectantly. Douglas rolls his eyes.
"Fine. That lemon that Carolyn couldn't find last time we played the game might still be somewhere in the cabin. Go pretend to look for it."
Martin tries to hide the huge smile stretching across his face. He dons his cap and enters the cabin as suave as he can. He walks along the aisle, scanning for a lemon that may or may not be (but most likely not) hidden in one of the seats. He approaches Sherlock and John, and sits down across the aisle. John gives him a warm smile. Sherlock doesn't look up from his notebook.
"Pleased to meet you two," Martin says, extending a hand. He and John shake. "I'm Martin, your captain."
"John Watson," John replies. He points a thumb at Sherlock. "and this is my friend, Sherlock. I assume you've read the blog?" At this, Sherlock glances up at Martin. He furrows his thick eyebrows, and then raises one slowly. John looks over at Sherlock quizzically, and then back at Martin.
"You two look an awful lot alike," John notes with a smirk. "Maybe you're related."
"I'm not related to anyone with the last name Crieff, as far as I know," Sherlock replies. "And I know a lot of things."
"That's about as modest as he gets," John says to Martin with a shrug of his shoulders.
"Martin," Sherlock starts. "You're the pilot, obviously. Any good?"
"Very good. I thought the takeoff went rather well."
"Hmm, so you say, anyway."
"What do you mean?" Sherlock sighs.
"You'd have a better chance of landing a job in a more reputable airline if you'd stop trying so hard to impress your passengers here. And I don't mean just John and I. It's not likely that you have an inferiority complex, but you do try to... how shall I put it? Build yourself up. Yes. The bars on your sleeves, the cap, the way you're sitting up straight, even though it's almost unnatural posture for you. You want to seem professional, and you want to be taken seriously. But you're clearly trying too hard to make that impression. The average passengers might be impressed, but the ones who aren't stupid can see right through this. However, you do have potential. You just need to relax a bit."
For a moment, Martin forgets how to speak. He's not sure if Sherlock has just insulted him, or if he should take the man's words as a compliment. He looks at John, who is staring at Sherlock with obvious amusement. Sherlock picks up his notebook and starts thumbing through the pages again, as if nothing had happened.
"Right, um," Martin stammers awkwardly. "Might as well go back to the flight deck. Afterall, that is my job..."
When he returns, he chases Arthur out of his captain's seat and settles himself down.
"So?" Douglas asks. "How did it go?"
"Yeah! Did he insult you too, Skip?" Arthur pipes in.
"Uh, no, not really," Martin replies. "It's weird, though. Mr. Holmes and I look a bit alike. I think it's the nose. I'm pretty sure we've just got the same nose." He hopes that Arthur and Douglas don't realize that he's not going to tell them what Sherlock had actually said.
"So, he didn't call you an idiot?" Arthur sounds a bit disappointed.
"No, he didn't."
"Then what did he say, Skip?"
"Not much. He was busy looking through his notebook."
Eventually, Arthur returns to the galley, and the rest of the flight to Germany goes by quickly. Martin stares out into the vast sky ahead of the plane, smiling inwardly as Sherlock's words repeat themselves inside his head. He can't help but feel the slightest bit inspired.