JULY

The screeching of tires and the stench of burning rubber filled the air. Mycroft wearily raised his head from filling out paperwork and looked out into the hangar just as two cars burst inside; a blue 4-door on the bumper of a black BMW.

In a haze of smoke, the cars squealed to a stop and the drivers got out. Sherlock, in his uniform without a single hair out of place, smiled arrogantly and made a show of locking the doors, the lights flashing and the beeps echoing in the tall space.

'You cheating bastard!' John cursed and slammed his door shut. 'No shortcuts, that was the deal. And you took the alleyway on Beacon!'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'The same shortcut you took last week, John. Fair is only fair.'

John, unable to offer a reply, simply huffed and lumbered away.

oOo

Sherlock hurried across the tarmac to where Mary Morstan was ushering the passengers onto the plane. Obviously as a favour for her boyfriend, MARTA's First Officer and their very own John Hamish Watson. There would be no other reason for her to be here on what is usually her day off from her regular work as a Flight Medic. Sherlock shoved his way in front of the queue and stormed up the steps. Mary rolled her eyes as he passed her and shot her a wink and a smile.

'Took you long enough,' John quipped as the door to the cockpit opened. He looked back over his shoulder and smirked. 'Diffusing again?'

Sherlock shut the door behind him and dropped into his seat, shooting his First Officer a haughty glare. His uniform was pressed neatly and tailored perfectly to his lean figure. A Captain's hat was perched atop his (diffused) curls and he was ready to get going. They'd been given a long weekend and he had been driving his landlady up the walls with cabin fever.

'Status?' He barked.

'Flight plan logged, passengers boarding, and coffee brewing,' John reported.

'If you call that swill you brew 'coffee' one more time, I'll drown you in it,' Sherlock snapped wittily.

John rolled his eyes. 'Ha ha.'

They continued their pre-flight routine in companionable silence until John looked out onto the tarmac.

'Who's that with Mycroft?'

Sherlock paused in the process of checking the radio calls and followed John's gaze to the two figures walking toward them on the tarmac.

A petite woman was hurrying along to keep up with Mycroft's fast, long stride, a hand clapped to the top of her head to keep her hat on in the wind.

'No idea,' Sherlock muttered. But he had a sinking feeling in his gut his brother's threat to hire someone to 'keep him in line' was no longer idle.

His instinct proved correct when Mycroft brought her into the cockpit to introduce her. Sherlock didn't look up from his flightplan, but saw John turn around from the corner of his eye.

'Molly Hooper, MARTA's Captain and First Officer, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Molly has graciously accepted the flight attendant position.'

John stood, his head just brushing the sloped roof, and shook her hand with a genial smile. 'Pleasure to have you on board.'

'Thank you. I'm excited to be here.'

Her voice was bubbly and overly confident, definitely nervous, but trying not to show it.

The atmosphere suddenly felt expectant and Sherlock felt all three pairs of eyes fall on him. He lifted his head and slowly turned his head. Compared to the towering, currently hunched, Mycroft, Molly Hooper was tiny. Her petite frame was still another four inches below the sloped roof. Her features were rather elfin; she had a pert nose and thin lips, brown eyes, and a bright smile.

A cherry-printed scarf was tied neatly around her neck and matched the blouse peeking out from beneath a navy blazer. Sensible loafers donned her feet and she wore a smart, sensible pencil skirt. Her brown hair was plaited and hung down her back, not a hair out of place, and a hat sat neatly atop her head.

All in all, she was not the type of flight attendant Sherlock had expected Mycroft to bring aboard. She was nothing at all like their previous attendant, Irene. Flashy, seductive, in a pencil skirt with a slit that threatened to undo the whole thing, and with an annoying habit of handing out her number to every married man to enter the cabin.

They had all breathed a sigh of relief when she quit unexpectedly on a stop-over in Karachi, disappearing seemingly from the rest of the world. The only issue was, they were now down a flight attendant, which left Mycroft to play the dual role of C.E.O. and drink server.

Something the elder Holmes did not take to kindly.

And neither did their passengers.

Realising he had been staring for quite some time, Sherlock turned back around and resumed his pre-flight check, tossing out what could be taken as a hello in the form of a grunt.

But a pair of molten chocolate eyes stayed with him all the way through take off.