"The Aven."
"..Harry Otter."
"Nice one."
Douglas was about to reply when the radio crackled and a familiar voice came could be heard.
"Golf Tango India, report."
Martin clicked the radio on and answered, "Golf Tango India, reporting. Today is a good day to fly an aeroplane and not be bothered by strange men living in London." He clicked it off and the reply that was shot back was, "I need information on aeroplanes."
Martin's finger paused on the reply button. He grinned, turning a little pink.
"Finally," He sighed, and hit the button. "What information do you need exactly?"
"The oxygen masks, what makes them drop down?"
"They can be triggered automatically by a barometric pressure switch when the cabin altitude is fourteen thousand feet, or when the Pass Oxygen switch on the overhead panel is positioned to 'On'."
"And how long do they supply oxygen?"
"12 minutes. Anything else?"
"That's all," a note of glee could be heard in the man's answer, "I have a criminal to catch!"
"Good luck," Martin said.
"I don't need luck." The man's voice was cool but there was an underlying shimmer of happiness. Martin sighed and changed his answer. "D-don't die. See you at dinner tonight?"
"Someone will be at Fitton airfield when you get back." Martin could hear the swish of cloth and guessed he was putting his coat on.
"Alright. Bye then."
"See you tonight, Martin." A background shout could be heard and the man at the radio yelled back "John, grab your coat! Tea can wait, for god's sake!"
The communication ended there and Martin sat back in his chair, half-smiling.
"Who was that?"
Martin jumped in his seat, looking quickly to where the voice came from. Douglas had that languidly curious look on his face, one eyebrow raised.
"N-no one," Martin stuttered, blushing. He tugged at the cuff of his sleeve and Martin looked at him.
"Martin."
"A-a man I know, okay? Stop giving me that look, Douglas."
"Having dinner with a man you know, Martin? Well well."
"S-stop that!"
"I guess I underestimated your ability in finding someone."
"I..Nevermind." Martin looked straight ahead, resisting the urge to fidget with his hat. Douglas looked amused in the reflection.
"What's his name?" Martin blushed and mumbled something. "What was that?"
"S-sherlock."
"Odd name."
"Whatever." Martin turned away from Douglas, who's lip curled up in an amused smile. The tips of Martin's ear were so red they were almost inflamed. Douglas chuckled and went back to looking over the dashboard.
When they had gotten back to Fitton airfield and GERTI was hoovered, the car came. All of them had been exchanging goodbyes when a sleek black car rolled up behind Martin. He hadn't even noticed until he heard the window whirr down and he turned around. He started slightly at the sight of it then sighed. A woman with almost-black curls and a pretty face looked him up and down, while managing to look completely bored with it all.
"Martin Crieff?"
"Captain Martin Crieff, yes."
"Sherlock sent Mycroft to send me to pick you up."
"Ah, of course he did." He hesitated before getting into the car and asked, "How did you recognize me?" She smiled dryly.
"Sherlock said 'the ginger one'." Martin sighed again and Douglas drawled from behind him, "He's a real keeper, isn't he?" Martin flushed and grimaced. "Shut up, Douglas."
"Does sir want me to do something? I'm afraid I can't do that for sir."
"Simon says shut up." Martin snapped and Douglas shook his head but complied.
He slid into the back seat and they drove off.
John stood outside the door to 221b. Low voices could be heard from the other side of the door and the only logical conclusion was that a client was visiting. He sighed and swung the door open, shopping in one hand, to go save the poor soul. John dropped the shopping in surprise at what he saw. Instead of finding Sherlock berating an innocent, he found Sherlock talking with another man. He looked almost exactly like Sherlock, but it was easy to tell them apart because the stranger had curly orange hair and freckles scattered across his face, and he was smiling happily as he and Sherlock conversed.
The Tesco's bag slipped from John's grip and fell to the floor with a muted /thud/. Both of them looked up at the sound. Sherlock looked appraising, and the not-Sherlock looked confused.
"Martin, this is John Watson, my blogger and..friend. John, this is Martin Crieff, airline pilot for MJN air." Martin stood up, showing another difference between him and Sherlock; he was quite short. About the same height as John, if not a little shorter. Martin clumsly stepped over to shake John's hand.
"Captain Martin Crieff, actually. And it's more of an airdot, really."
"Air..dot?" John asked, still stunned Sherlock had been chatting with this man like he was an old friend. Martin dipped his head slightly, half-smiling.
"In the words of my employer, 'You are not an airline captain, Martin. You are not in an airline. You need more than one plane to make a line. If we are anything, we are an airdot.'" John breathed out a laugh and picked up the shopping again. He carried it to the kitchen and started unpacking things from it and putting them away. Martin noticed that most of the things in the bag were probably used by both of them, not just John. He called over to Sherlock, "You're not making him do your shopping, are you? Surely not."
"He does it of his own accord. I simply make requests. And don't call me Sherly."
"That's not very nice."
"I am not Arthur, Martin. I thought you would have realized that by now, but I guess the idiocy of the human race knows no bounds."
"I'm not Arthur either, but I still buy my own shopping." There was no reply from Sherlock, and John took a moment to wonder what they meant by 'Arthur'. A mutual aquaintance? Martin walked back over to his previous seat next to Sherlock and leaned down to grab a coat and a hat from where they had been laid against the back of the chair.
"I have to go. Carolyn will be wondering where I got off to now. We have to fly to Bristol."
"You just got here."
"And now I'm just leaving."
Martin leaned down and Sherlock titled his head up to share a chaste kiss. Martin pulled back and donned his hat, slipping on his jacket.
"See you again, Sherlock."
"Goodbye Martin."
Once Martin was gone, John looked over to where Sherlock was carefully picking up his violin and bow.
"It's all fine, you know."
"As you have reassured me before, John. And I don't see why it wouldn't be." John went back to putting things away and when John had his back to him, Sherlock gave the violin a small smile and whispered, "Captain Martin Crieff."