Cabin pressure oneshots.
Ages ago it seems, two boys were out playing in the garden of their parent's estate. They were brothers well, half-brother actually. They shared the same biological father who had remarried just one year after his second child was born. The boys were two years apart at ages six and eight. Their names; Martin (the younger) and Sherlock. One day they decided the house provided less entertainment then a schoolhouse and went outside. They lay facing the sky, bored with summer already.
"What do you want to be when you grow up Martin?" Sherlock asked. Martin pondered the question for a moment then replied, his small voice teeming with enthusiasm.
"I want to be an aeroplane!" Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"You can't BE an aeroplane, that's impossible." Martin's face deflated.
"Oh...well I guess a..a.."
"How about a pilot?" suggested Sherlock. Martin's brows furrowed.
"What do they do?"
Unlike with everyone else, Sherlock never shot down his little brother for missing the obvious.
"They fly the plane."
"Oh! Well that's much better." Martin smiled, satisfied with his new found career choice. "What about you?"
"That's simple," said Sherlock. "A pirate."
Martin's eyes widened with shock and respect.
"Really? A real life pirate like the ones on the telly?"
Sherlock jumped to his feet, found the nearest ample stick and began waving it around as if he was some crazed fencer.
"Everyone will tremble in fear as the Navy's ships are plundered by the dreaded pirate Captain Sherlock Holmes!"
"But" started Martin, "that's not you na-"
"Oh please. Sherlock Crieff? That's not a captain's name!" He tossed his weapon into the bush and resigned. "I found the name in one of my chemistry books. It's more... mysterious." Martin sighed.
"We'll be the best." Sherlock raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Sorry?"
"We will be the best captains Britain has ever seen."
"That we will." Sherlock got up and held a hand out to Martin. "C'mon Skip. I think I hear mother."