Day Four:

Eight more days. A little over one week. That was all that John Watson had left to find his best friend before he lost his life to a raging psychopathic killer. And oddly enough, he didn't care.

As he sat in the car with Thomas on the way to the airport, sipping his morning cuppa in a to-go mug, he simply sighed and let the feeling of completely apathy wash over him. He wanted to find Sherlock more than anything, yes, but for some odd reason, he didn't care that his life was at stake. As they reached the airport, Thomas dropped John off a safe distance away from security cameras. John walked for the next mile and a half to reach the building itself. His bad leg was cramping up, but he ignored it as he entered the line for the flight check-in. Without hassle, he made his way onto the plane for the three hour flight. He sat down in his empty seat and pulled out his phone. There were no new messages from anyone other than Mycroft, asking where he was. John deleted the message with the thought of, You are not my mother, and began to scroll through older texts. A woman about Sherlock's age sat next to him.

"Hello," she said, cheerfully. Her accent was thoroughly American. John glanced up from his phone and looked at her. She had long, curled, blonde hair. She was wearing a thin camisole undershirt with a plaid t-shirt over it. Her shorts were a little too short to be modest. Her hair was mussed around the sides, implying that she hugged or snogged someone before getting on the plane. Her ring finger was bare, but she had a travel-label on her bag identifying her as a 'Missus.'

"Your boyfriend, was it?" John asked curiously.

"Excuse me?" the woman asked, obviously startled. She defensively moved to cover her left hand. John supressed a smile. He had been right.

"Well, you just looked happy. I was wondering if you had been talking to your boyfriend before you boarded." The woman hesitated before nodded.

"Uh… Yeah…" With that, she awkwardly pulled out her phone and scrolled through her texts. The majority of them were from a man named Paul. Obviously not her husband from the way the texts were worded. John raised an eyebrow at a racier one before returning his attention back to his phone. It was vibrating. He had a new message.

Where are you? -MH

With an agitated sigh, John deleted it. The woman looked over and raised a delicately shaped eyebrow. "Family?" she asked sympathetically.

"No," John replied shortly. "My friend's brother." Not caring to give anymore explanation, he looked out the window at another plane being loaded.

"So… Are you from England or something?"

"London."

"Oh. Cool. I used to live there. And I had a friend who went to school there for a while…" After a long pause, she shrugged. "So, I guess you don't talk much…" For some reason, this struck John as odd. He had always been a talker. He was even told, both during his time in the military, and by Sherlock, that he talked in his sleep when he was still at 221B with the man. "You notice a lot, too." She gave a nervous chuckle, a dead-give away of her previously attempted deflection. John frowned further. He didn't notice a lot. That was Sherlock's job. He was just supposed to stand beside the man and praise him. He may have picked up a few tricks, but he definitely was not a consulting detective by any means.

"I'm not…" John tried to find what he wanted to say. He wasn't observant. He wasn't quiet. And he definitely wasn't Sherlock.

"It's okay!" she insisted, pulling out a book from her large bag. "I'll stop now."

There would have been a time, three years previous, where John would have tried to reassure her that she was fine, that he loved to talk. Afterwards, he might have even gotten her number and seen if she was free eventually. But those three years had changed him. And she was no longer interesting. The pilot came over the intercom, giving information about the flight as flight attendants demonstrated what to do in case of emergency.

"If you are physically unable to open the latches on one of the emergency exits…." John looked up to see that the flight attendant was looked directly at him and the cane that was under his feet on the floor.

"It's not…. I am not disabled!" John argued to her. As the flight attendant went back to pantomime panic-positions, the woman sitting next to him turned to him with a sorrowful expression.

"A veteran?" John sighed and shook his head. "Pakistan or Iraq?" Those words startled John.

"Afghanistan," he corrected softly, waiting for the demonstration to be over.

"Oh. Sorry." She turned back to her book as the safety explanation was over. The women sat back down, and the plane began to move out of its loading position. "I don't think I introduced myself, did I? I'm Mary. Mary Morstan." John held out a hand for her to shake.

"John Watson." She smiled brightly.

"You know, I used to spend my summers in London. My dad lived there." John gave a disinterested nod in her general direction.

The three hour flight could only be described as tedious. John tried as hard as he could to humour the genuinely nice woman, but after hour two, he simply pulled out one of the magazines in the pocket on the chair in front of him and began to read through it. When they reached the airport at Costa Rica, John smiled. Not only was he free from further obligatory social interaction with the woman, but he was close to finding Sherlock.

"Would you like me to help with your bags?" Mary asked politely with a glance to John's cane.

"I don't have any bags." John manoeuvred out into the aisle. He slowly made his way off the plane through the crowds of people. As he walked into the airport, he was assaulted by all the sights and smells of a foreign place. Several people pushed past him as he limped to the exit. He didn't know where exactly to go. He had about week to go through crowds. He glanced out a window to see that the sun was starting to climb into the sky. At that, he paused. Did this mean that he had more time to find Sherlock since he had changed time-zones so drastically? He talked to the woman at the rental car desk and got a small, cheap piece of junk. It took him a while to find it after taking the bus to the rental car facility, but when he did, he smiled at the irony. It was a basic, black car. And it looked like a considerably more run-down version of what Mycroft often rode in.

"Hey!" Mary called, running over to John with an impish grin. "Turns out that my credit card's invalid, so… I don't have a car. Would you mind if I hitched a ride with you? I'll pay once I meet up with my husband… or find an ATM." John looked to the car and then to the woman. "Please?" For a moment, John smiled to her warmly and motioned to the other side.

"Sure," he said in a manner he would have years ago. Mary's eyes lit up and she hugged John. After kissing his cheek, she jumped into the passenger's seat, throwing her bags behind her. John took a moment to consider what needed to be done. His first priority was finding Sherlock, but he also had to take care of Mary. John got in and started the car, taking a moment to note that he would technically be driving on the wrong side of the road.

"Do you, uh, want me to drive? I mean, with your leg and all." Even though she offered in an entirely kind way, John felt as though it was an insult aimed at him and his 'disability.'

"I can drive," he responded shortly, backing out carefully. Mary nodded and began to look at the scenery.

"So what are you here for?" she asked amiably.

"To find a friend. He's missing." John pulled out onto the road leading from the facility, unsure of where he was driving to.

"I'm sorry!" Mary quickly backtracked. "I didn't mean to bring it up if…" John cut her off to prevent her giving him any more pity.

"And why are you here?"

"Oh! My husband's on a work trip here and I came to visit him. His name's John, too. Isn't that funny?" She laughed softly. "He works as a journalist, so he travels a lot," she continued to elaborate. John was planning on tuning her out, when he thought of an idea.

"I may need your husband's help." John said abruptly. "I know that my friend is somewhere in Costa Rica, but I don't know where. Do you think he could help me narrow down the location?

"I… don't know. Maybe? I would love to help you!" John took his eyes off of the road for a minute to smile brightly at her.

"Thank you, Mary."

For the next hour, he drove around, trying to find a place to stop and figure everything out in. He finally found a small, Americanised coffee shop. He stopped, bought Mary some ridiculously expensive drink, and sat down to talk with her. He determined that, first of all, she was definitely having an affair. Second, he found that her husband was not far away, maybe an hour's drive. Also, Mary seemed to be more than happy to simply spend time with John, and not go back to her husband any time soon.

After receiving instructions to the hotel that Mr Morstan was staying at, John herded her out of the coffee shop and back into the car. He dropped her off at the hotel and booked himself a room there, since Mary insisted. She even called her husband and had him pay for it. She hugged John once again and thanked him profusely.

It wasn't until three hours later that the next text from Moriarty came.

Seven more days. And you will still be on London time. -JM

AN: Sorry about the huge delay, marching band is starting up and it will only get worse from here. Thanks for reading!