John walked through the aisle, looking for his favourite brand of jam, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a text from Sherlock.

Come home. Now.
-SH

He rolled his eyes and put the phone back in his pocket—it was probably just an over-reaction to something trivial, like rearranging the order of fingers in the fridge by mistake, or he had discovered the 244th type of tobacco ash and needed someone to show off to, or, heaven forbid, he was just bored. Whatever it was, it could surely wait till Jon had finished his grocery shopping. He continued walking along the aisle, when his phone buzzed again.

I am not being 'dramatic'. It is urgent. Be home in ten minutes.
-SH

John ignored his orders, and was about to stuff his phone back into his pocket, when, to his great annoyance, his phone buzzed for the third time.

For goodness sake John, do you have trouble comprehending simple statements? You must come home. Now.
-SH

John knee there was no point in trying to argue with him. His jaw clenched, and his face hard as stone, he sent a reply.

I am on my way.
-JW

He shoved his phone back into his coat and stormed out of the store, leaving his jam, and his hopes of a quiet evening, inside it.

"What was so important, Sherlock?" said John irritably, entering the apartment.
"Ah, yes-You have to book a plane." Said Sherlock nonchalantly, reading sheet music with his violin in hand.
"I'm sorry-what?" asked John, getting more annoyed by the minute.
Now it was Sherlock's turn to roll his eyes.
"I do hope you remember that we are supposed to be in France on the first of January for a case? That series of murders in Paris? Bodies found in museums? Monsieur Roux, the sullen French policeman? Ring any bells?"

John resisted the urge to yell at him. "Of course I remember, we planned on leaving on the 31st" he replied in a strained voice, his fists clenched. "I also remember you telling me that Mycroft would arrange for us to fly there."
Sherlock snorted with derision "Mycroft is an old fool who is incapable of listening to reason or doing even the simplest of tasks properly." He said sourly
John rubbed his face as he realised what might have happened.
"Oh gods Sherlock-what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything!" said Sherlock defensively
'It was him! My dear brother is under the impression that I am a crime solving puppet who exists only to cater to his whims and fancies. He wished my help with something that is apparently of 'national importance' saying that I am obliged to help him considering the enormous amounts of aid he gives me. I of course, declined, and told him that the only aid I receive from him is in the form of entertainment for he has several ridiculous characteristics that I can mock when I am bored. He, for some reason, didn't take that very well and said that of it were not for him, we would live a very hard life indeed, to which I replied saying that I am not a child who needs his older brother to look after him. At this point he threw one of his childish tantrums and swore that he will not help me with anything henceforth."
John stared at him in disbelief.
"I don't believe this"
"I know," said Sherlock "Mycroft is such a child. I don't understand why he feels the need to over-react so dramatically to everything "
"Oh well thank god you're above all that!" yelled John, his voice dripping with sarcasm
Sherlock put down his violin to look at John, his eyes widening by the tiniest of fractions
"John," he said warily "I am sensing that you are upset with me, however I see no reason as to why-"
He was cut off mid-sentence by a now furious John, who shouted " Of course I'm angry with You!You expect me to book a flight for New Year's Eve two days before the 31st, and also deal with god-knows-what other hassles now that Mycroft has decided not to help us, all just because you and your brother choose to act like insolent, bratty children who throw hissy fits when they don't get what they want!" he finished, clutching the back of the armchair and positively fuming with anger.
Sherlock looked slightly bewildered by John's outburst, but it was only a momentary display of emotion, as he then picked up his violin and his face returned to its usual state of non-expression.

"It is my brother who throws 'hissy fits'. If you wish to be mad at someone, kindly do so at him. As for the flight-Yes I do expect you to book one for the 31st-how else will we get to Paris?"
"Oh I don't know, let me see" replied John, crossing his arms and contorting his face in mock concentration "Maybe you could just apologize to him!?"
Sherlock looked like John had just asked him to eat a bowl of fish fingers and custard (or something equally unpleasant and bizarre).
"I will do no such thing" he said coldly
"Why am I not surprised" muttered John under his breath
"you can try negotiating with him if you wish" continued Sherlock "but I doubt you'll get any form of reason or logic through that thick skull of his"
For the first time that night, John agreed with him. The Holmes brothers were both insolent, melodramatic, and stubborn as mules-neither of them was going to give in. He would be forced to make all the arrangements himself.

"Fuchsia" said Douglas "It sounds like the name of a Disney princess"

Martin laughed "Princess Fuchsia from Far Far Away-you're quite right! It does!" he said
Douglas chuckled. "Okay, now your turn" he said, motioning Martin to speak
'hmm..." he said thoughtfully "blood orange."
"Ahhh"replied Douglas "good one" He was about take his chance, when Arthur entered the flight deck

"Hello chaps!" he said cheerily.
"Hello Arthur" said Douglas "That's a very nice Palatinate blue tie you're wearing"
Arthur looked down at his tie, confused. "Err sorry-what about my tie?"
"It's palatinate," replied Douglas. Seeing the still-puzzled look on Arthur's face, he added "I'm talking about the colour, see, me and Martin have got a little game going on. It's called 'Who can name the most pretentious-sounding colours' "
'Ah-brilliant!" said Arthur brightly
'Of course it is," said Douglas "Now, I believe you came in here with a purpose, Arthur?"
'Oh yes-I just wanted to tell you that Mum is on her way here and she has that scarily happy look on her face-the one you told me to warn you about. So that's what I'm doing-warning you!" He finished, smiling at them, pleased that he had followed Douglas' instructions correctly. The two pilots, on the other hand, had looks of horror upon their faces.
"Oh dear," said Douglas "Brace yourself Martin, the grim reaper approaches"
And at that very moment, Carolyn entered the room, smiling brightly.
"Talk of the Devil" muttered Martin under his breath
"And she shall appear before you in an onyx black suit, with equally dark news" finished Douglas.
"Oh now now" said Carolyn, her cheery demeanour unfazed by their cynicism. "I have good news! Really!"
"Oh how wonderful. Pray tell us what joyful tidings you bring" said Martin sarcastically
"We have a booking for New Year's!"
"No." said Douglas and Martin in unison.
"But you haven't even heard the whole thing! Just listen-"
"No Carolyn! I don't care if the Duke of York is our client-you cannot make us work on New Year's Eve!" said Douglas firmly.
"Douglas is right!" added Martin "You already made us fly on Christmas eve-this is too much"
"What if I were to tell you that you would get paid?" asked Carolyn coolly.
"What?" asked Martin, his voice equal parts confusion and disbelief.
"Our clients are paying us quite a large sum for New Year's Eve. Such a large sum, in fact, that there will be enough to cover our expenses and a little bit left over which I have generously decided to give to you as your first, and probably last, salary."
Martin was stunned. "So you mean to say I'll actually get paid to fly?"

"For just this once, do you agree? "
"Yes," said Marin "Yes of course!"
Good! That's settled then!" she said, and turned around to leave, when Douglas stopped her
"Hang on a minute!" he said "What about those of us who already get paid to do our jobs? What is our incentive for spending New Year's Eve in a tin box in the sky?"
"You will be paid extra-a New Year's Eve bonus, if you will" said Carolyn bitterly-she hated the term 'bonus', and she hated it even more when it was directed at Douglas Richardson.
"Ah," said Douglas "Well, in that case believe the tin box is ideal for a New Year's party."