Chapter 1
The Costa del Sol. The lower coast line of a country full of passion, food and colours. The buildings dotted high on the mountain pass, scatter among twisted lanes and narrow roads, hiding the work of men behind layers of colourful paints. All complimenting the lush green of the trees and the strong vibrant blue of the sea which can be constantly in view. The majority of its settlers speaking with two tongues, one of their own lands and the other of an island a plane journey away. The raging waters of the coast line crashed in with gallops of elegant white horses. The brisk wind stealing the heat of the day, adding a bearable element to the Spanish climate for two out of place souls.
John Watson, stood, straight backed, while he listened to the Spanish police officer talk at speed to Sherlock Holmes, who was listening with a tilted ear, as if in a small attempt to soften the man's harsh accent. John was stifling. He contemplated wiping his brow before the droplets of salty liquid ran down, dangerously close to his eye, however thought against it as he did not want to bring any attention to his suffering. The heat in Afghanistan had never bothered him; he never even noticed it, unless he got sun burnt. He was always distracted.
Now however there was very little to distract him. Even though the Coastline was stunningly breathe taking, the smell of sweet nuts and clean water rising from the fountain they were stood near, nothing was enough to break his mind away from the sweltering heat. John tried to place himself closer to the fountain in hope that some of the cooling spray created by the vertical blast of water, might grace his skin however when the police officer and the man in black stopped a few meters before John's desired destination, he felt obliged to stop with them. His eyes wondered from the dancing water, down to his inappropriate clothing. Still dressed in his shirt, jacket, jeans and shoes he regretted every dressing decision he had made that morning. In England, it was 2 degrees and raining. John thought he would be sensible and wear a t-shirt under his shirt and thicker socks whereas his friend went for his usual formal yet expected look. If he had known they were flying to Spain his choices would have been a lot more comfortable and appropriate for a 29 degree climate, but Sherlock being Sherlock didn't give him the slightest hint and allowed him to pack and change with garments suitable for temperatures far lower.
He took his gaze from the ground in an effort to look more focused. Turning his pupils on his dark haired companion, he saw the small rises and falls of his head, as Sherlock nodded lightly in acknowledgement to the foreign tongued man. He looked surprisingly cool, still sporting his heavy weight coat and scarf, whereas John was sure he had turned a bright shade of pink.
"Gracias, señor"
John hadn't been aware that Sherlock was bilingual and was nonetheless impressed when he had ordered them lunch on the first day and even asked the waitress a few questions about the kind of customers they attract. John sat slightly gob smacked and Sherlock grinned slightly, as he found pleasure in the expression on John's face, just like every other time John wasn't prepared for his intellect, which was often.
"So...?"
"So, what?"
"What did he say?"
"Weren't you listening John?"
John saw Sherlock smile behind his teeth as he turned the corner of the street past the orange tree square, filled to the brim with tables and buzzing with talk and rushing waiters; swiftly followed by an unamused John.
"Haha, very funny. I'm not all of a sudden going to understand the Spanish language."
"It's not that hard, even a man with your intelligence could pick it up with, pffff a month or so."
"Haha very funny. Now are you going to tell me what that man was talking to you about?"
"Nothing that we don't know already"
"Then why did you let him go on for so long?"
"Just getting confirmation"
With that Sherlock darted his eyes to the top window of a terracotta painted building, the white curtains that billowed out from the grey carvings of the door frame caught John's eye. Only at the call of his name did John realise that Sherlock was already at the stairs of the building and making his ascent. Sherlock's legs made light work of the 4 flights of stairs; each stair well had half a wall which had the rusty hooks of draping washing lines that travelled the distance to the opposite yellow building. As John approached the building at a fast jog he saw the dragging of Sherlock's coat as he span round the corner to climb the third set of stairs. The blonde haired doctor took in a deep breath, he knew stairs and running weren't a good mixture with how dehydrated he was, the little water he had left in his system needed to stay there if he wasn't going to pass out from the heat. But he knew, better than anyone else, that to keep up with Sherlock Holmes, you needed to do the foot work as well as the constant mental battling. John heaved himself up to the third floor steps before leaning on the half wall and filling his sore lungs with the humid air before returning to the climb and his train of thought that had occurred to him before Sherlock indicated the building and slipped off but was stopped by the sounds of Sherlock shouting something.
"Usted está siendo lento John, mantenerse al día!"
John heard Sherlock's voice echo down the stair well and he could feel himself growing in frustration and let out his reply a little louder than even he was expecting.
"Don't you dare Sherlock, I'm losing my patience!"
"John, if I must translate. You are being slow John, keep up!"
"God help me, I am being punished."
Sherlock looked around his surroundings, analysing every item, its placement, origin and sentimental value to the owner. The lamp by the door, grey switch and key bowl resting on a wicker stool, the occupant worked late nights, a bad paying job considering she was using a stool as a table. Oh yes and the tenant was a she, items all had a feminine essence around them, apart from the four hanging pictures around the room, all hand painted and signed by a local artist, Sherlock deduced from the name and the images of the paintings. He stepped lightly across the brown the tiled floor, treading on the colourful woven mats into a room filled with a brown leather sofa, covered in blankets, a small television resting on yet another stool, a small dark wood coffee table, piled with Spanish literature, remotes and three stained mugs. She had no time to keep up appearances in her home, a caffeine addict who sleeps on the sofa. The apartment was simple, simple and dull. Nothing of any interest laid on the small work surfaces of the kitchenette, which was situated in the space behind the sofa and the only other room left in the house was the bathroom. Sherlock had already racked through every cupboard of the kitchen and was checking the occupants tooth brush as he heard John's footsteps stop at the door. Sherlock felt he could not miss this opportunity to rile up his loyal companion. He twisted round from the orange basin to the door way and leaned his back against the frame.
John had balanced himself precariously; his knees were bending slightly, his right hand pressing into the corresponding knee holding up his heavy upper half, whilst the other hand gripped the door frame of the front. His head was dropped and he could feel all the blood in his body rushing to his brain in an attempt to cool it down, giving him a thick and weighty headache. He could feel Sherlock's humoured presence, less than two meters away and took three long and slow breaths before lifting his pink face towards the pale smirking man.
"Do not, say a word Sherlock. Or I, will kill you"
"I was not going to say anything John but now you mention it, you look like you could use a bit of a sit down"
Sherlock's mouth grew an inch wider across his face as he turned his back on John to finish his deductions in the bathroom. John felt the overwhelming urge to punch the man in the face, he would have given him some form of physical abuse but he knew the moment he would lift his arm, gravity would send it falling to the ground and him along with it. He made his way over to the sofa, taking in the colours and objects that surrounded his and fell heavily onto the sofa, causing it to creak loudly.
"I'm never going to forgive you for this Sherlock"
"And just like all the other things you have never forgiven me for John, I accept them and live on."
"Can you cut the smart ass act for two minutes and tell me why you didn't inform me that we were taking a 2 and half hour flight to bloody Spain?"
"I didn't have time"
"Time? What, Sherlock! You had plenty of opportunities to say three little words!"
"What?"
Sherlock snapped his head round the door frame, he knew what John was going to say but enjoyed the darker shade of pink the man had now turned, he wondered how red John could go but thought her looked bright enough already.
"No! God no, not those three little words Sherlock! Just something like PACK FOR SPAIN would have made this trip a whole lot easier."
"John, if you think I would be affected by you suggesting that I might tell you, that I love you, then you really don't know me at all. Besides, I wasn't really sure of our destination until I got to the airport"
"I know you plenty and I know that's what you were suggesting that was what I was implying! And can you please explain yourself about the airport, I'm not in the mood for the back and forth quiz of 'Let's see if John can guess it' so please just continue"
"Hmm. At the airport, I needed to see the timetables, the layout on the board, the positioning; I needed to see what she would have seen when she got on the plane to Spain. I wasn't going to bother coming out here otherwise, it had the air of being a 3 on the scale, but now it's been bumped up to a six"
"Brilliant, glad you're so happy"
"Cheer up John, I'm buying you dinner"
Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a purple debit card, John knew straight away that it wasn't Sherlock's and it wasn't his. Then it hit him.
"How on earth did you get that from your brother without him noticing?"
"How do I do anything John, with precise timing and very little chance of failure."
"Oh shut up, let's just find somewhere to eat."
Hello Fanfictioners. This is my first Sherlock/Johnlockish story, I haven't written anything like this before and this took a good two weeks for me to write and be happy with it so im sorry if the chapters aren't regular but please Review and Enjoy! - LeahMB95