Chapter Four

It was huge. The size of this monster of an aircraft was almost the same size as the terminal the stood next to. And there was something great about it. Maybe it was the various western heads of state on board. Maybe it was just the plane itself. But it seemed to radiate power in its presence and it didn't flow and streamline with the air. It seemed to push it out of the way with brute force.
All five of them including Holmes and Moriarty stood in a stunned silence, amazed by the display they had just witnessed in front of their eyes. Hoynes had dropped the dossier, Sherlock's pale hands were scrabbling at his folder for dear life and Watson was sitting on the ground as white as a sheet.
But it was the Prime Minister who broke the silence.
"Now I don't see why we can't have one of those…"
Typical politician, Holmes thought, never happy with what they have themselves and always envious of what someone else has, regardless of the price. This snapped Holmes out of his trance like state, and he was on the balls of his feet.
"Come on, come on we haven't got all day, we have a summit to attend gentlemen!"
Whilst Hoynes returned to his senses and Watson regained his balance, Moriarty was already striding to his car.
"Where do you think you're going?" Holmes asked.
"Well the plane is going to stop at the Presidential Hangar, which is a quarter of a mile… that way, not over here at a passenger gate"
"We had better get over there quickly, Prime Minister" Hoynes interjected
As the Moriarty drove off and the Prime Minister and the Ambassador returned to the convoy, John turned to Holmes.
"Now how do we get there Sherlock, we haven't got a car, and I can assure you we are not asking the Prime Minister for a lift"
Holmes had already set his eyes on something. And it was the perfect incognito transport. And John soon saw what he was looking at.
"Please don't say you mean, that thing…"
"Yes John, I mean full well that thing"

5 minutes later
From the suitcase compartment of the luggage buggy there was a large amount of complaining
coming from John.
"Sherlock! I even wish we had asked Moriarty for a lift now! I can't even feel my backside!"

Holmes was sat in the front of the buggy, driving, if you could even call it that, and he was oblivious to John's rage, possibly due to the fact that the 6 metal trolleys attached to it were causing such a ruckus he could not hear the engine, let alone Watson.
"Nearly there now, John!"
"What was that!"
Still no reply came from Holmes
"I said, WHAT WAS - ARRGH!"
"John we're here!"
Sherlock stopped the buggy and got out. Still not a word from John. Then it hit him that he may have stopped a little quickly for John's liking. He sighed and walked round to the cart that John had been sitting in and pulled back the green tarpaulin.
"Oh dear" Holmes muttered
John was still conscious, thankfully, however his predicament was not too great, as he was vomiting into some poor woman's suitcase.
"Come on we don't have all day, get out of there and get moving, any compliments for the chauffeur John?" Holmes smirked
Watson was not in the slightest amused by Holmes inability to drive, and in his minorly concussed mind, decided it would be a good idea to take a swing at Holmes.
"Calm down, Calm down, my driving can't be too bad, it's just a little rusty around the edges…" Holmes muttered.
"You reckon so, eh?" John asked quizzically, straightening himself out.
"That, Sherlock is not 'rusty around the edges', that's, 'I've never driven one of these before, let's give it a spin'"
"Trust you to be so cynical John" Sherlock muttered, picking up his files and backpacks from the passenger seat.
The two of them began to stride across the taxiway, the slightest tinge of heat creeping into the air.
They could see the others waiting by Air Force One.
Holmes stopped dead in his tracks.
There were four people standing in the group, so someone else was tagging along because no-one had disembarked from the aircraft.
John had now noticed this aswell, but the realisation of who it was struck Sherlock first, and it struck him like a brick to the face.
His reaction could only be compared to that of a boiling kettle, as his fists clenched and unclenched, and he lowered his head as he turned bright red with fury.
Standing next to Moriarty and the Prime Minister was the man he wanted to have a stern word with.
Mycroft.