Chapter 1: Ties that Bind...and Gag
"Douglas, have you seen our passenger?" Captain Martin Crieff jerks his thumb in the direction of the cabin behind them then rests his hands back on the steering yoke. He has just returned to the flight deck after a quick break to satisfy Mother Nature. "The poor fellow looks as if he's been roughed up pretty badly." At least the landing would be a smooth one today, as they are scheduled to land in London just after seven o'clock; usually airport traffic above and below is lighter earlier in the morning. An easy landing always gives the nervous captain a bit of a boost in the self-esteem department. Douglas particularly likes it when Martin is happy; of course, he would never admit that out loud.
"According to Carolyn, that poor fellow, as you put it, is one Doctor John Watson, formerly of Her Majesty's Army. I am especially sure that you of all people, Martin, have heard of him." First Officer Douglas Richardson responds with a slight smirk. In his mind he silently counts down: five, four, three, two and…
"Oh!" Martin shouts, the sound of his voice bouncing as eagerly against the inside of the flight deck as it does Douglas' skull in a perfect imitation of their favorite airdot steward.
"Well, it only took you four seconds that time." Douglas lays one finger alongside his nose; his brown eyes glimmer with mischief. He tilts his head and raises one eyebrow in Martin's direction.
Martin just sits still so he can be stunned for a moment. He takes his time reviewing each and every single word that Douglas has said to him in the past three minutes. "How did you know?"
Douglas knows full well that Martin is not exactly asking the question he believes he is. With a weary sigh, he answers the captain. "Martin, I do occasionally read a newspaper; there is also this new thing out there called, oh, I don't know, The Internet." He turns his head towards the captain as he speaks drolly, gleefully taking in the dumbfounded look on Martin's face that is made even more cartoonish by the faint wash of pink under the younger man's freckles.
Douglas laughs then, a hearty belly-laugh that threatens to shake GERTI apart at the seams or at least just shake their seats.
"Douglas, come on. It really isn't that funny." Martin frowns and makes like he is staring straight ahead so hard his eyes are going to cross; of course the fact that it is one in the morning, trying in vain to act like as if he is concentrating with all his might on properly guiding the aircraft through the dark sky ends up just making him look goofier than usual.
Richardson snorts and stands up. "Can you handle it all for a few moments? I need to use the little officer's loo." They both know he is lying, but long association with one another keeps Martin from calling him out on it. He takes two steps towards the cabin then turns back. "Actually, intense scrutiny of your instruments would have been more effective, captain." Douglas' parting shot makes Martin snort.
"Yeah, sure." Martin mumbles towards the windshield. After Douglas is gone, he flicks on the auto pilot then whips off his hat and runs his hands through his ginger curls (it helps him think) he wonders how in the world he is going to have this incredibly uncomfortable conversation with someone he has known for going on three years (and managed to keep this particular fact about himself secret); because how can it be otherwise when a pretty-much world-renown Lazarus-like consulting detective is one's older half brother?
0o0
Douglas checks the end of the aisle to see that their steward, Arthur, is still curled up in one of the rear seats only sounds are the rumble of GERTI's engines and Arthur's light snores. He gives himself a second to wonder how a man that is 6'5" tall, and by no means lanky in build, can scrunch himself up to fit so comfortably in such a small space that he is sleeping like the dead. But then again, this is the man who prefers to sleep on the floor when the three of them are forced to share a tiny hotel room. He shrugs and turns towards their passenger.
"Doctor Watson? Or do you prefer 'Captain?'" Douglas asks as he approaches the blond man who is slumped down into the leather bomber jacket he is wearing with his arms wrapped around a very old and very olive drab canvas bag. John's eyes are closed and he cracks one of them, well, really the only one he can because the other one is so badly blackened that it is swollen shut. Dried blood is smeared across his cheek and his hair is matted and dirty. Even as he is a complete picture of exhaustion and misery, he still manages a weak smile in the first officer's direction.
John opens his mouth to speak and only manages a rough squeak. He clears his throat. "Good morning?" He queries in a barely-above-a-whisper tone.
"Indeed it is, just past one in the morning, to be precise." Douglas settles down in the seat next to John, immediately taking a liking to this person he has read about. He considers offering a hand to shake, but the way John is curled around the bag, it is probably not a good idea to force him to break his personal bubble, which truly does appear to be all that is holding him up at the moment.
John contemplates the tall, stout man who sits down at his side. About forty five years old, steel grey hair, broad shoulders, and brown eyes that are looking at him as if the other man really wants to ask a question John knows instinctively that he is going to hate. "Just get on with it." He croaks. He has really never gotten used to the part of his life that gets swept up in every part of the perfect storm that is the brothers Holmes.
Douglas clears his throat. "Well, you see, I, uh…" He frowns at himself. Douglas Richardson is never at a loss for words. This is ridiculous; he is not some thirteen-year-old girl! He closes his eyes for a second then nods. "Doctor Watson, let me start by saying it is an honor to meet you."
John's good eye widens in shock. Yeah, that is not what he was expecting. He silently nods back.
"Then I would love to tell you that your blog has been just as entertaining the past few months as it was before that stunt that he pulled. I've especially enjoyed the way you described the old woman in the feathery hat whose prize goat was kidnapped…" Douglas trails off and snaps his mouth shut when he notices the searing energy emanating from the deep blue eyes of Doctor Watson. He decides he is never mentioning this to Martin. Ever. Chomping down on one's foot is not made any easier by sharing the information; not in the least.
John's hoarse voice manages to be both icy and warm at the same time. "I appreciate that, I really do." There is something more simmering under the surface, however. He swallows and it is only then that Douglas notices the deep bruising between John's neck and his collar bones. Good God, what has happened to this man? And where is the object of said blog?
John has closed his eye and is resting his head against the back of the seat. Douglas decides that it is probably best to leave the good doctor to his rest. He gently pats John's shoulder; even so he does not miss it when the other man winces from even the lightest pressure. "We will talk later." John nods at his slowly retreating form, grateful to be left alone for a little while.
"Martin, why didn't you ever tell me about this part of your extended family?" Richardson asks as he picks up the headset, sitting it cock-eyed across his head so that one ear is uncovered. He scans the instruments closely; nothing unusual, then he stares out the windshield for a bit and decides that darkness upon more darkness is pretty boring. Of course, there are things to do in the dark that aren't so dull... Martin's deep sigh pulls his attention back to the captain.
"It is a really really long story, Douglas, and it will probably bore you to death."
Douglas looks down at his watch. "We have about five and one half hours, captain, so start talking."
Martin shakily sighs again, resigned to his fate. Well, it's better than a word game he can't win, anyway. "Douglas, let me tell you, firstly, that the reason I never told you about Holmes and Watson is simply because I couldn't."
"Oh don't be so dramatic, sir." Douglas smirks.
"No, really, Douglas, you don't understand. There was a gag order several years ago…"
Douglas is completely blown away by the story. So much so, in fact, that he says absolutely nothing for the next two hours until Martin's story is paused when Arthur arrives with hot coffees for them, the younger man's brown hair a disheveled mess from sleeping against a passenger seat.
"No way, Skip! You are related to Sherlock Holmes?" Arthur's exuberance threatens to wake up the dead people at the cemetery they are flying over, though none of them are aware of that fact.
Douglas knows that it is not still possible for John to be asleep in the cabin after that loud outburst, so he sits back to watch and wait for the inevitable. According to Martin, there is a great possibility that John knows about as much about Sherlock's half-brother as Martin knows about John.
Exactly squat.
Douglas smiles at a frowning Martin and practically fan-girling Arthur over the rim of his coffee that is surprisingly both hot and tasty today. At least the next few hours are shaping up to be anything but dull.