Now that everything was stabilized the food and drink tray began making it's way down the aisle. Starting in first class, naturally, it reached John in just a few minutes. With a long day full of busy people Captain Watson decided he could use a drink. As the attendant paused beside him John smiled into the man's face remembering his unusual name. "I'll have a scotch whiskey blend along with a grilled salmon sandwich, if you don't mind."

"My pleasure, John." The dark haired man smiled slightly as he finished up with the drink. He set the cup down on the tray and locked eyes with the soldier, "is there anything else I can get you?"

John looked into his eyes and his words stuck to his tongue. There was something so intense and mysterious about this flight attendant that his mouth struggled to catch up.

"Mmmm... No. Nothing else."

Sherlock pushed the cart and bit further and asked the next gentleman what he might enjoy.

John still felt strange. Something about that man focusing all of his attention onto you was unnerving. His eyes were bright and full of color, but they looked past John's face and into his head. At least that's what it felt like.

A few short minutes later another attendant came over to deliver the sandwich. What Watson really wanted wanted to eat was a warm order of fish and chips from back home in London, but the sandwich would have to sufice for now.

He sipped at the drink until the edges of his mind were fuzzy enough to dismiss the piercing eyes. Sherlock was actually quite attractive. His dark curls falling just slightly into his pale angular face. He was tall; taller than John at least. He seemed bored with the passengers in general, but quite amicable when speaking with John, and so the soldier decided that he was a good guy. This man Sherlock was nice, and so was sitting in first class, and maybe life back in London wouldn't be as rough as last time. John had generally optimistic thoughts as he finished his drink. Now feeling a little better about leaving Afghanistan and the warmth of alcohol in him he stretched out and took a nap.


About an hour later John woke up to some slight turbulence. An attendant, not Sherlock this time, was hurrying up and down the aisle reassuring everyone that it was fine and reminding them to keep seat belts on until it passed. The crowd seemed a bit tense, but at least they had quieted down some. John took the opportunity to pull out the skymall catalog and skim over the outrageous junk.

About halfway through, just after flipping past the glow in the dark toilet seats. John realized that he'd never paid for the drink Sherlock served him. As the reassuring attendant walked back up to the front of the cabin John grabbed her wrist and asked if she would send William back. The woman looked confused but agreed to pass the message on. Sherlock had been nothing but nice to the soldier and now John looked like a real asshole.

A few minutes later Sherlock emerged looking slightly annoyed. "What can I help you with, John?" He asked politely, but rushed and with teeth gritted.

"Sherlock, I never paid for the sandwich earlier and..."

The attendant's gaze softened and he interrupted the doctor, "I've taken care of it, no worries. Now is there anything else, because I was just in the middle of something."

"I'm all set here - thanks for that Sherlock. I owe you one." And just like that the attendant was gone again.

There was a good half hour lull in the plane. Most were sleeping or reading, but John stayed up puzzled over Sherlock's business. Captain Watson became restless. He read through each magazine available - including the safety pamphlet - and now there was nothing to distract his mind from the rushed young man and the possibilities for his hurry. Maybe the turbulence was a sign of a larger mechanical problem and they would all plummet to their deaths, maybe Sherlock and the female attendant were having a moment, maybe there was an outbreak in London and they wouldn't ever get back; there were too many maybe's up in the air for John's taste. A small part of him wanted to push the assistance button just to see what was going on up there, but he knew that would be childish. It was probably nothing, John new, the an uneasy feeling was dragging through his gut.

So he rose to use the lavatory located just next door to the cockpit to indulge in some snooping. Sherlock was just leaving the pilot's as John entered the tiniest toilet ever. In his passing gaze however he saw the flash of a gun from under the attendants jacket. As the doctor relieved himself all he could think about was this mysterious, and now dangerous man.