Greg had to tell Mycroft to get off the couch after they'd been lying there for far too long. He still had a suitcase to pack and didn't even know where he was going. The enjoyment of having Mycroft laying boneless on top of him after his orgasm had filled Greg with an indescribable feeling of wanting, maybe even needing, more. He didn't even care about whether or not he climaxed. That was strange because he couldn't remember ever not caring if he came or not. He felt very selfless and satisfied at the same time, which was definitely a contradiction in terminus.

Greg stepped on to the private airplane and was once again amazed at the attention to detail. The inside of the airplane looked like they always did in the movies he'd seen. Leather finish, tables to work at and a very good looking stewardess in a tight red flight attendant uniform. Greg was gob smacked and apparently he showed it. Mycroft came in right after Greg and pushed his body into Greg's.

'Amazing isn't it?'

'Are you rich?'

'Let's just say I've got enough to get by.'

'If this,' Greg indicated the airplane, 'is getting by, then I'm a vagrant.'

Mycroft smiled as he walked past Greg touching his lovers bottom and sat in a chair. 'Come on let's sit down so we can get out of here.'

'Are you finally going to tell me where we're going?' Greg asked as he sat down in the chair opposite Mycroft. The stewardess came to check if they were strapped in properly, closed the door and disappeared into the back of the airplane. The engine started roaring and they began to move towards the runway.

'Now what would be the fun in telling you where we're going?'

Greg thought about it for a moment and although he was very curious he also liked to be surprised. So he let it go, he'd find out eventually anyway.

They'd been in the air for little more than an hour and the stewardess had served them Champaign right after their three star meal on a real plate with a real fork and knife. This was very different than traveling coach, he could get used to this very easily.

Mycroft told the stewardess she was excused for the rest of the trip.

'Very well, sir. Should you require my services earlier you can ring the bell. I will be back to pick up your plates right before we land.'

'Thank you,' Greg said, not sure if it was the protocol to thank the flight attendant.

'Very kind of you, sir.' She nodded and left through the backdoor of the cabin.

Both men finished their meal, set aside their plates and sipped their Champaign. Greg got a bit giddy from the bubbles, not being used to them. Mycroft smiled at him and looked Greg over.

'We were in a bit of a hurry leaving your apartment and we may have forgotten something along the way.'

Greg knew exactly what he was talking about but pretended that he had no clue, shrugging his shoulders and raising his eyebrows, but his dark eyes gave him away and he knew it. Mycroft drank the last of his Champaign, unbuckled his seat belt and got up from his chair, suddenly wobbling slightly, rolling his eyes and blinking very fast. Trying to hold on tightly to the table surface.

'Something wrong?' Greg asked looking worried.

Mycroft looked around profusely. Greg got out of his chair just in time to catch Mycroft so he could lay him on the floor of the airplane.

'Mycroft! Mycroft! Are you ok? Mycroft!' Greg slapped him across the cheek to try and bring him round again.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes, he didn't seem to be able to focus. Mumbling something Greg couldn't understand.

'Stewardess!' Damn why hadn't he asked her name. 'Stewardess!'

'Stay awake Mycroft! It's going to be fine, stay with me. Shit! Stewardess!' Greg started to feel a bit dizzy himself, but the adrenaline kept him going. Mycroft closed his eyes and the stewardess was still no ware to be seen. He wanted to shout for her again when he heard a male voice behind him.

'Hullo Detective Inspector Lestrade.'

Greg fought the dizziness and turned his head around. There was a man standing in the isle. Short build, nice suit and tie. He couldn't focus on the face. Too many details he couldn't discern, his eyes already rolling in their sockets.

'You should have been lying next to your boyfriend by now. You must have some natural tolerance to the sleep drug I gave you.'

'Who are you? What do you want?' Greg sounded drunk and he tried very hard to hold on to his withering consciousness.

'Tut tut. Your boyfriend didn't tell you I captured him?' The man tilted his head to the right very slowly. 'Doesn't he confide in you? Don't you know where the bruises come from. You must have noticed, wondered? Never mind, he escaped me once but not again. Can't get proper help these days. But not to worry, they all paid for their mistake. Now I'm here to make sure Mycroft doesn't interfere with my plans.'

Greg tried to hold on to one of the chairs, but his legs were already giving out his knees on the floor next to Mycroft.

'Mor...iart...y?' he managed to get out before he could hold on to the table no longer and slipped to the floor.

'Bored now,' was the last thing Greg heard before he completely lost consciousness.

-xXx-

Greg woke up first. He felt groggy, as if he'd woken up after a heavy night of drinking. He was sat in his chair again, seat belt done up. He felt the wind run through the airplane. His vision blurred, but he tried to focus. Out the window he could see the plane was low to the ground and passing over small islands with palm trees. He undid his seat belt and looked towards the door of the cockpit, it was open and he couldn't see anyone flying the plane. He tried franticly to wake Mycroft up. After a couple of seconds he started to move his head and tried to open his eyes.

'Wake up Mycroft, I don't think anyone is flying the plane!'

Mycroft woke with a shudder and stood up on his feet in a split second moving towards the cockpit. He took the pilot seat, quickly looking over the controls and the meters before looking outside if, probably seeing if there was any place to land.

'Don't tell me you know how to fly a plane?'

'I've had some lessons. Sit down and strap in.'

'I've never flown a plane,' Greg answered.

'This is a good a time to learn as any, now sit down and strap in. I need your help. We need to land it together, we're almost out of fuel.'

Greg sat down and strapped in. Mycroft tried the radio, but all the cords were either cut or missing. Greg swallowed hard when he looked out the window and saw the sea passing fast beneath them. Mycroft looked around outside. Greg could guess what he was looking for but most of the islands were covered with trees.

'There!' Mycroft exclaimed. He pointed to the large island just to the left of them. 'The beach should just be wide enough for us to land on.'

Greg looked scared and even in this frantic time he noticed Mycroft looking calm. This must be the reason he was good at what he does. Never wavering in the face of almost certain death. It calmed Greg down a bit so he could take orders from Mycroft.

'It'll be ok. We're going to be fine,' Mycroft assured him and Greg believed him. 'Just do what I tell you and we'll be fine. We may have just enough kerosene to make the turn and land downwind. Be ready to pull the steering wheel when I tell you, don't touch anything else.'

Mycroft pushed some switches and levers and took the steering column into his hands. He looked intently from his meters to out the window at the beach slash landing strip. Mycroft made a sharp turn and Greg could feel it in his stomach. The beach came closer and closer, Mycroft pushed some levers and the flaps went down.

'Don't you need to put out the landing gear?'

'If I do that the plane will dig into the sand and turn over. We need to land her on her belly.'

Greg swallowed again.

'Grab the column, but don't pull yet. I'll tell you when.'

'Ok.' Greg put his sweaty hands on the column and sighed deeply. He looked at the man next to him, feeling sure he was going to save the both of them. When he looked in front he could see them approaching the beach fast. The airplane aligned with the beach perfectly. They were almost down in the sand.

'PULL!' Mycroft screamed.

Everything seemed a blur from that moment on. Greg pulled with all his strength and he could feel the airplane slowing down somewhat as the engines roared violently, but it felt like it wasn't enough to stop before the tree line. He could hear Mycroft shouting to pull more. Then they hit the beach at speed, the airplane shook violently and Greg heard horrible sounds of tearing metal and the airplane skidded over the beach feeling every bump. The trees on the other side of the beach seemed to move towards them at incredible speed. Greg screamed and tried pulling the column towards him even more, but they didn't stop in time. The last thing Greg remembered was a jumble of crashing noises like windows shattering and trees snapping, as they entered the tree line.

When he woke up he felt groggy. He touched his face and it felt painful, pulling some small glass shards from it. Suddenly his mind went towards Mycroft. Was he still alive? He tried to undo his straps and only succeeded after a couple of tries. He checked if he could move his legs before trying to get up. The cockpit was a mess. Glass and bits of airplane lying everywhere. One tree trunk sticking trough the window and Mycroft's head resting against it. Had the tree hit him? Was he still alive? Greg stopped for a moment, hoping, praying, his lover was alive. Then he heard a gurgled breath coming from Mycroft. He went to his side and carefully tried to push the trunk out of the way but it was too heavy, trying not to hurt Mycroft further. Some of the smaller trunks had clearly hit him hard, there were red streaks across his face and his clothing was torn from the branches that had cut through them. He couldn't see any blood, which Greg decided was good news.

'Mycroft, are you ok?'

Greg saw one of Mycroft's eyelids open slightly before they closed again.

'You'll be fine, I'll take care of you.' Suddenly Greg remembered the stewardess. He looked towards the back of the airplane but didn't see anyone though he did try calling out to her. He checked Mycroft for injuries but could find no broken bones in his limbs. He knew he probably shouldn't move Mycroft but the gurgling sounds became worse and he was worried he might choke. So he carefully put Mycroft's head straight so he could breath properly and went to check if the stewardess was in the back, but she wasn't. He found no trace of her. The body of the plane was still in one piece but it looked like a rugby team had held a match inside, everything was broken and almost all the cabinet doors were open and their contents splayed all over the floor, seats and table.

He went back to Mycroft. He seemed weaker. Greg decided it would be better if he laid him down on the floor.

'You're going to be ok Mycroft,' he whispered in his ear. Greg started clearing enough debris of the floor so he could put Mycroft down on it. After he'd done he searched for something soft to lay him on and he found it in the stewardess cabin. He arranged the blankets and went back over to Mycroft who still slumped in his chair. Greg undid his seat belt, pushed his upper body forward so he could put his arms around him from his back, the movement made Mycroft growl.

'Sorry Mycroft, but I have to put you on the floor.' He grabbed him under the arms and heaved him out of the seat. The mass of the lifeless body weighed heavy in Greg's arms but he managed to pull him free of the chair and on to the floor where he'd sprawled the blankets. It took him a moment to recover from the work. Greg started checking Mycroft's body for injuries, opening up his jacket, shirt and undid his pants. He couldn't tell which of the bruises on his stomach were fresh, but at least there were no puncture marks. His legs seemed fine also. The head was a whole different matter. There was a big bump on the side of his head and now that he could take a good look at them the red streaks were deep and starting to turn a dark shade of purple. Greg opened Mycroft's eyelids one by one. Thanking his bosses for making him take the mandatory first aid classes, always finding them tedious and knowing that in London help was never far away. He knew it would be a bad sign if one of the pupils was bigger than the other. Luckily they weren't and Greg concluded it would most likely be a concussion of some sort. Mycroft's body started to convulse suddenly. Greg saw some vomit come from Mycroft's mouth and quickly laid him on his side until the vomit started to seep out. Mycroft didn't seem to be breathing.

'Breathe Mycroft,' Greg pleaded. 'Breathe.' He tapped Mycroft's back with his hand and put his fingers in his mouth getting all the vomit out. Suddenly he heard and saw Mycroft fighting to get air into his lungs and coughing. After a couple of gasps his breathing calmed again and he decided to keep Mycroft on his side, just in case it happened again. He cleaned the vomit with some rag he found on the floor and after making sure Mycroft was safe he decided to have a look outside.

If he hadn't been in so much trouble he may have loved this view. The pristine white beach ran up the coast about fifty meters, the tree line started right after. He could hear birds and the fresh smell of nature rose up in his nostrils. The door to the airplane was close enough to the ground that Greg could get in and out easily. He looked around carefully to make sure there wasn't anything he needed to worry about before he jumped on to the sand. The sun was low on the horizon. Greg started looking if he could see any signs of civilization. He hadn't spotted anything from the air before they landed and Greg thought it very unlikely he'd find anyone down here, but he looked anyway.

He had no idea where they were, this didn't look anything like Europe. All around him were tropical plants and palm trees usually associated life below the equator. How far had Moriarty brought them? And where was Moriarty? Had he jumped out? Was that how he'd gotten out? Did he get picked up. Maybe there was a boat nearby. Greg passed the tail of the plane and stood on the beach looking out over the ocean. There was nothing there. He didn't even hear birds or other wildlife. Though he thought they must have gone away when the airplane crashed.

Greg had camped before, but that had never really prepared him for this. His military training had, but that was a long time ago. He hoped he'd remember some of the things he'd learned all those years ago. He recalled his sergeant screaming at his team that there would come a day when he'd need the knowledge he was teaching them. Now Greg wished he'd paid more attention during those lessons. Water, food and shelter. His sergeant, for the life of him he couldn't remember his name, had repeated over and over. Greg walked back into the airplane to see what food and water was left. At least they could shelter in the body of the airplane thinking there was no need to worry about the kerosene because they'd been all out when they landed.

He went to look in on Mycroft , who still seemed to be sleeping. Greg checked his pulse which seemed to be a bit fast. The bump on his head was still visible and darkening further with blood clothing just under the skin. There was nothing he could do for him now but make him comfortable and hope he'd be ok. At least the man had been in good shape before this happened.
Greg looked at his friend lying there and for the first time today he felt emotions boil up inside him. What if Mycroft died? For the first time in his life he found someone that made him truly happy and now he might lose him again. What if..?

Stop it Greg, no point in negative thinking. That's what the sarge used to say. Why can't I remember his name?

Greg went back into the pantry and looked for anything eatable and drinkable. He found a couple of bottles of wine, Champaign and stronger spirits. He put all the food and drink in one place thinking of the drugs he'd taken unwittingly Greg thought it would most likely have been the Champaign because they'd taken that last. He stopped looking when it became too dark to see clearly, the sun had gone down and he brought some plastic bottles of spring water with him to the makeshift bed. It wouldn't last them long, but it was something. He scooted closer to Mycroft and put his head up a little to pour some water into his mouth. The wounded man made gurgling noises, seemed to be choking and spit the water back out. Greg didn't give up putting small amounts of water in his mouth..

'You need to drink Mycroft. Please drink it, it'll make you feel better.'

As if Mycroft had heard him, he swallowed a little bit of water. Greg let his head down gently to rest on the makeshift pillow he'd put under his head.

'Now rest Mycroft, you need to sleep. Don't worry I'm right here.'

Greg didn't know if there were any wild animals on the island, so he barricaded the lower half of the door just in case there were. Greg felt tired and the aches and pains from the crash we're now weighing heavily on him. He laid himself to rest next to Mycroft, checked his pulse and after ensuring he was ok he fell asleep next to him.