A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first fanfiction in the Sherlock fandom and I am very excited to get started.

This fanfiction is for my friend's birthday. Happy birthday Hatakefire! Live long and prosper.

Warning: This is mainly a humor fic that shows the bonding between our favorite consulting detective and his blogger. The chapters will be relatively short. I estimate there to be three to four chapters, so if short and sweet isn't your thing, this fic isn't for you.

Also, I know nothing about airplanes or flights as I have never been on an airplane before, so if I get something wrong I apologize.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

Thank you for reading and if you have any suggestions, just leave me a review.

Chapter 1

John couldn't believe this was actually happening, that Sherlock was actually about to do this. Two days ago, if someone had told him Sherlock would do this, he would have thought them crazy. But it was actually happening. It had all started the morning Mycroft came to visit.

Two days earlier...

Sherlock glanced from the plane ticket in his hand back to his brother. "What is this, Mycroft?" he snarled.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, swinging his umbrella unconsciously in one hand. "Surely you can make a deduction, Sherlock."

John stepped beside his flatmate, looking down at the ticket. "We weren't planning on a vacation anytime soon, are we Sherlock?" John asked. "Florida? Why would we want to go to America?"

"Case," Sherlock said bluntly, his fist closing around the small piece of paper in his hands. "Get on with it."

Mycroft nodded, pulling out another ticket and handing it to John. "Children have been disappearing in a Floridian theme park," he said.

"Boring!" Sherlock snapped immediately, rolling over on the couch to face the wall.

"I have been contacted by a colleague requesting your assistance and I can not refuse," he snapped. There was no response from the man on the couch, making Mycroft sigh with exasperation. "I'll buy you a new set of microscopes."

Sherlock rolled back over, a ghost of a smile on his face and one eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"The German kind with the plan objective lenses?"

"Yes."

"What about a new set of scalpels?"

"Fine!" Mycroft snapped, turning to John. "The flight leaves at noon tomorrow... My colleague will meet you at the Floridian airport once you arrive in America. Good day." And with that, he left the room.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Twenty three years old. Unhappily married. Two children, ages three and seven... Going to visit her great aunt who lives in France..."

"Sherlock!" John snapped, dragging his suitcase behind him. "Please stop deducing everyone who passes by!"

"But I am bored!" he snapped. "What else am I supposed to do, John?"

John chose not to answer, instead focusing his attention on dragging all of the luggage that Sherlock had refused to carry.

After they checked their bags in, they reached security. John put their carry-ons onto the conveyor belt and then began to take off his shoes, gesturing at Sherlock to do the same. Sherlock glared at John vehemently. "I am not taking off my shoes, John!"

"Just do it, Sherlock," John growled, placing his shoes and coat by their bags. "And the coat will have to go to."

Sherlock tugged his coat off with a snarl and then pulled off his shoes. They stepped through the metal detector without incident, John letting out a sigh of relief. He stood by the end of the conveyor belt as the bags passed under the detector, an alarm going off.

"Sir, we are going to have to check your bags. Please step to the side," the security officer said, his face like stone. John nodded, pulling Sherlock by the hand to the side.

The guard pulled the bags off the conveyor belt, beginning to rummage through them haphazardly. John held his breath as the guard paused, pulling out a case and opening it. Six shining scalpels lay in the case, sharp and threatening. The guard turned to look at John, his stone face threatening.

"Sir, please put your hands behind your back," the guard said, pulling out handcuffs with a small flourish. John glared at the consulting detective as he felt the cold metal clamp around his wrists.

"Sherlock! Why the hell did you bring your knives?" John snapped.

"Because I need them!" Sherlock snapped back.

"Oh my god, Sherlock. It's a bloody airport!"

"So does that mean I shouldn't have brought the gun too?"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A couple hours and a phone call to Mycroft later, Sherlock and John were sitting in the waiting area. "I can't believe this," John muttered.

"Yes, I really thought they would at least let me bring my scalpels with me this time!" Sherlock commented, his tone sounding genuinely confused.

John looked incredulously at his flat mate. "You are so lucky we had Mycroft to get us out of this," he commented, before turning back to his laptop.

"I wouldn't call that luck," Sherlock muttered and then stood as their group moved to board the plane. John followed, a feeling of dread washing over him. This was going to be a very interesting plane ride.

TBC