This is just a cute little story that popped into my head.
Please enjoy and review, favorite, eat a mango if you like. I really don't care as long as you enjoy doing it. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, sadly._.
A plane rose to a higher altitude in the sunny morning, going over the peach colored clouds. The large commercial jet had just taken off from the London International Airport, only five minutes had passed, when the complaints started.
"I cannot believe I let you talk me into this," the man in the black, long-sleeved shirt said bitterly to his companion in the plaid button up. The shorter man sent a glare to the blacked haired man currently looking out the portal as he spoke to him.
"I didn't make you do anything," John stated throwing his arms up then letting them fall back down. "I told you I was going to visit my pen pal in Boston. You're the one who decided that you wanted to tag along."
Sherlock whipped his head around to face John, the look of annoyance crowding his face.
"Oh, please John. You gave me no option. It was either come with you or listen to the constant prattle Mycroft brings," he stated, emphasizing each syllable as much as he could. He turned his attention back to looking at the plane's left wing. "You know he will bother me until I take that silly missing secret evidence case of his. Without you there he won't rest."
After a few seconds of silence, Sherlock turned around to see John intently glaring at him.
"What?" Sherlock asked, genuinely confused.
"Why can't you just admit that you can't stand being alone?" John asked annoyed.
"Please, John," Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes, turning back to the window.
"Sherlock," John growled back.
"John," Sherlock stated emotionlessly.
"Do you even have an ounce of human emotion in you?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Those just get in the way, and you know it John," Sherlock said dismissively.
John looked like he was about to argue, but Sherlock took his seatbelt off and stood up.
"Where are you going?" John asked confusedly.
"The lavatory," Sherlock stated blankly.
"The seatbelt sign is on," John pointed up to the little icon.
"I know," Sherlock said moving past John and the empty aisle seat next to him.
"Sir!" the stewardess came rushing over waving her hands. When she reached him she pointed to the overhead where the small blinking image was. "You have to sit back down, the seatbelt sign is on."
His response was to bend over crossing his arms over his stomach and start groaning.
"Y-yes, v-very well, my mistake," he moaned out looking up at her, pain filling his facial features. He glanced over at John to see a flash of concern across his face. He began to inch his way back towards his seat, but stopped when the young brunette spoke again.
"Oh, um, you know what, the captain was about to put it on anyway. Why don't you just go ahead," she said, already retreating to her post in the front of the plane.
"T-thank you," Sherlock said. As soon as she looked away, he straighten out his spine and sent a winning grin towards John, who only shook his head in disappointment, his lips curling into a frown.
Sherlock proceeded to walk to the back lavatory, close the door, and lean against the sink counter in the 3 foot by 3 foot bit of room he had to move around in the cramped space. He turned on the faucet, and took the water in cupped hands.
After splashing the cool liquid on his face, drying off with a paper towel and a few deep breathes he slowly opened the door to reveal a heavy set man in a gray suit outside the door. The captain must have turned off the seatbelt sign.
Sherlock maneuvered himself around the large man and began to walk back to his seat when he stopped suddenly in the aisle. He slowly looked to his right, only five rows from where John and he were sitting to find the reason of his halt.
Sitting in the big blue cushions of the airline seats were two little twin girls, no more than five or six. Both were wearing the same pink shirt, blue jeans and white sneakers. Both had their hair tied up in pigtails with purple hair ties. And both were quietly crying, barely letting a sound escape their lips.
But Sherlock had heard it, one, barely audible one escaped the one closest to the window, and he hated that sound.
The distraught whimper of a child.
It wasn't a cry of they lost their favorite toy or the ice cream parlor was out of chocolate.
No, it was sadness in its purest. These children were sobbing, but why?
He took a step and sat down in the empty aisle seat of the row. Glancing back towards his own row, he was hoping John wouldn't look back. Last thing he needed was John saying 'Well what do you know, you do have a heart.' Ordinary people were so annoying at times. He looked down at the little girls who were hugging each other in the window and middle seats. Both of them had their eyes closed, salty, hot tears escaping from the corners of their eyes.
"Hello?" Sherlock began. The children jumped up, letting go of each other in the process, and swiftly turned their watery eyes to the newcomer. Sherlock, unfazed by their reaction continued without an expression on his face, "Is everything alright?"
For a moment the two just gaped at him, but just as he was about to stand up they broke into a harmonious silent sobbing once more. This time puzzlement overtook Sherlock's face. He glanced back to his row, only seeing the top of John's head over the back of the seat; he tried again to gain their attention.
"Um, is something wrong?" he asked craning his neck to look the girl in the middle in the eyes.
She nodded as she continued to cry. When he looked at her sister, she nodded as well, both of their mouths opening and closing like frowning fish. Sherlock nodded his head and continued.
"What's wrong?" he asked a bit bluntly.
A small gasp escaped the girl's by the portal mouth, but her sister actually spoke.
"O-our M-mummy," she barely got out. Sherlock nodded his head in understanding.
"Is she dead?" he asked with a tilt of his head. Both of their eyes widened at that.
"N-no," the girl by the window said, confusion covering her and her sister's faces. Their small eyebrows almost rose to their blonde hairlines as the sobbing ceased a little, leaving only the tears to run their course down their pink cheeks.
"She's in the toilet," the other twin said.
"Oh," Sherlock said raising his own eyebrows in a new understanding. After looking down at the floor for a few moments, he turned back to them. They were staring at him, the last of their tears running down the paths the previous ones had set up for them. "Then what is the matter?"
The two girls shared a look, before turning around towards him once more. The one in the middle spoke first.
"Our Mummy left us here," she explained. Sherlock was about to say that she would most defiantly return, but the other girl began talking.
"And we don't like to fly," she finished.
"Ah, I see," Sherlock stated. After a quick glance towards the unmoving figure of John, he looked them both in the eyes. They looked intently up at the stranger.
"Listen there is a one in 260,000 chance that the plane would crash and an even less chance that you would be seriously harmed if it did. They are built quite strong," he factually stated.
They only blankly stared up at him. He grabbed the hem of his shirt in both hands and looked back at John who still wasn't looking. It was obvious what he had said hadn't comforted the children in the slightest, but he didn't want to say what he was about to if John could overhear him. But John remained still, so he looked back at the girls who were still staring at him. With a sigh, he took another approach, letting his hands relax on the armrests.
"What are your names?" he asked first.
"Jen and Abby," the one in the middle pointed first to her twin then herself, her eyebrows still arched in puzzlement of what the man was saying.
"Well Jen and Abby, did you two know that planes were based off of dragons?" Sherlock asked raising his eyebrows to feign amazement. He looked in between the two of them, who only shook their head with their mouths gaped.
"Yep. You know how in the stories the dragons would fly high in the sky, swooshing down and befriending little princesses?" he continued when they nodded their head vigorously.
"Well, that's all a plane is, a giant metal dragon," Sherlock said without a hint of sarcasm in his voice, giving off that he actually believed what he was saying. "And have you ever heard of a dragon crashing?"
Once again they shook their heads, only this time their tears had dried up and the corners of their mouths began to turn upwards into tiny smiles.
"See, we are all just in a friendly dragon who's giving us a lift. Don't worry, he won't let you fall," Sherlock said with an uncharacteristic smile, his eyes wandering to John, but returned at the sound of Jen's voice.
"How do you know planes come from dragons?" Jen asked cocking her head, yet still keeping the identical smile of her sister.
"I didn't say they come from dragons," Sherlock corrected with a frown looking at the back of the chair in front of him.
Slowly he raised his gaze to meet the smiling little girls, and he let out a sigh of a tiny bit of annoyance.
"My older brother told me on my first plane flight when I was scared," he admitted mumbling out the words while looking down at the ground.
For some odd reason he felt a bit embarrassed about the situation. He had only been eight at the time, but it still wasn't one of his finer moments, sobbing while snot ran down his face, his mother's cheeks flushing bright red as soon as he had started screaming during takeoff. If Mycroft hadn't told him that absurd story about planes being dragons and his naïve child self hadn't believed it, he would have carried on like that for the entire trip.
Sherlock was brought out of his memories when he felt a small hand grasp his right wrist on the arm of the seat. Slowly he looked up, their large smiles as wide as they possibly could be.
"It's okay to be afraid when you're small," Abby said looking him in the eye, Jen peeking over her shoulder. "Then when you're big, you can be brave and help small people like us."
For a second he just stared at her, into those big blue, innocent eyes, and his mind went completely blank. There were no thoughts, no deductions, no ideas. There was nothing on his mind.
Then his lips curved into a rare, large smile as he patted the young girl on the hand.
"Pardon me," a woman's voice rang, drawing him from his moment with the child.
Sherlock and the girls looked up, smiles still on all of their faces.
"Mummy," the girls yelled out in unison. The dark haired mother in a red sundress was just staring straight faced at the strange man speaking to her children.
"I think that is my seat," she said calmly, pointing to the seat he was in.
"Right," he said standing up and fixing his shirt. "Sorry for intruding."
With that he stepped out into the aisle, allowing her to sit down. He turned towards John and was just about to take a step forward when one of the little voices rang out.
"What's your name, mister?" Jen asked, and all members of the family were staring up at the still unknown man, who looked down and grinned at the question.
"Sherlock Holmes," he said with a nod of his head.
"The detective?" the mother asked, eyes widening with recognition.
"The very one," he said, then swiftly turned on his heels and began walking back to John and his row, leaving the mother to no doubt scold her children for talking to strange men.
Right before he approached he forced the grin off his face, and then stepped across John, reclaiming his rightful portal seat. For a whole minute there was complete silence among the two, and then John had to ruin it.
"So," he began without looking up from the magazine he was reading.
"So," Sherlock answered without taking his gaze off the view of the open sky outside.
"Dragons?" John said, keeping a straight face without a hint of emotion.
"…Oh, shut up," Sherlock said exaggerating the 'oh'. John chuckled and Sherlock kept silent for the rest of the flight but a small smile did appear on his face once more as he sat there staring out the window at the 'dragon's wing'.