Plane rides had always been a problem for Sherlock. Far too long in a confined space with nothing at all to do. So boring. Well, it could have been worse. At least he wasn't bored and filthy – Irene had insisted on Sherlock taking a shower before he'd left, and had even bought him a jumper and some new trousers, so compared to the state he'd been in for the past couple years, he felt rather presentable. He hadn't shaved yet, though. He was still afraid of being recognized. Luckily, recognition hadn't been much of a problem stateside – 'Sherlock Holmes' was more of a vaguely familiar news story there than a public icon – but if he was flying back to London, someone would be sure to notice him if he looked like himself. And being noticed was the last thing he needed. Well, no. Being noticed would be the thing which leads to the last thing he needed. The last thing he needed was actually having Mycroft meet him at the airport. Sherlock had missed many things during his time abroad, but his brother was not one of them.
And now he had a solid 6 hours to contemplate what exactly was awaiting him when he landed. If only he had something to do. But he didn't. So Sherlock steepled his fingers beneath his chin and closed his eyes and—
"Would you like anything to drink, sir?"
Sherlock cracked open his eyes to see a kind-faced young woman peering down at him sweetly. Sherlock sighed. "Coffee. Black. Two sugars." Clearly he wasn't going to be getting any sleep so he might as well indulge.
"Here you go," said the stewardess as she handed him a small Styrofoam cup of what promised to be very disappointing coffee. "And can I get you anything else?"
"As it happens, yes. I'm rather bored."
The stewardess gestured to the tiny television hanging from the ceiling, which was currently playing what appeared to be a children's cartoon. "Perhaps you'd like to watch the movie, sir?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'd prefer an activity which was actually capable of stimulating my mind."
The stewardess looked a bit taken aback. "Oh, well…I could see if we have any puzzle books."
"Thank you," Sherlock drawled. The stewardess turned to walk back to the galley, but before she'd gone far, Sherlock called, "Miss?"
The stewardess stopped abruptly. "Yes?"
"If at all possible, something other than Sudoku."
The stewardess blinked hard. "I'll see what I can find, sir."
Sherlock nodded at her but even as he did he knew it was a futile request. Airplanes only ever had bloody Sudoku. And if that wasn't the simplest and most boring puzzle imaginable, Sherlock didn't want to know what was.
The flight passed slowly, but, as all things do, it eventually came to an end. After another hour or so in Customs, he marched into the Heathrow arrivals gate, scanning for his ride into the city. He turned in a slow circle, looking at all the drivers' carefully lettered signs. Just before he'd made a full circuit, he was nearly bowled over by a projectile. A small, mousy, flowery-scented projectile. Who was squeezing him a bit too tightly.
"Molly, you're hurting me," Sherlock murmured.
Molly immediately stepped back, embarrassed. "I'm sorry!" she shrieked. "I just – I mean – I'm just so glad that you're back, Sherl—Oh! I mean, er, Mr. Smith." She clasped her hands together so hard her knuckles turned white, as if she were physically restraining herself from hugging him again.
Sherlock allowed himself a small smile. He'd become rather attached to Molly in the past couple years. It had all been thanks to her, of course, that Sherlock had survived the fall off Bart's, and she remained the only person in London who knew the truth about Sherlock. She had been his only correspondent for the past two years; she'd been emailing him the news periodically, as per his request, and had been surprisingly professional about the whole thing, given that she fancied him. It was Molly who had convinced Sherlock to come back, who had finally given him cause to return to the city which had scorned him. Molly had been a good friend to him.
Sherlock placed a hand on Molly's shoulder and she inhaled sharply. "I've missed you too, Molly."
Molly's mouth fell open before forming a face-splitting grin. "Really?"
"Of course."
Molly stepped forward and gave Sherlock one more tight squeeze before turning on her heel and marching out of the airport. "C'mon! Car's this way!"
Sherlock sneezed.
"Oh, bollocks, are you allergic to cats?" Molly asked. "Sorry, it's just I haven't had time to clean the car yet and I had to take Toby to the vet a few days ago and he's been shedding like mad."
Sherlock plucked a long hair from his jumper with two long fingers. "Toby's your American Shorthair?" he asked.
Molly turned her head and gaped. A moment later, there was a chorus of angry car horns and Molly slammed on the brakes, screeching to a halt at a red light. She peered into the rearview mirror and said, "Sorry!"
"Why are you apologizing? They can't hear you."
Molly sighed and met Sherlock's eyes. "I think I feel better if I tell myself I tried to apologize, even if they couldn't hear me. I dunno. It's just something I do."
"It's odd," muttered Sherlock. "What on earth distracted you, in any case?"
Molly shook her head embarrassedly. "I'm just not used to your deductions anymore. You took me by surprise, that's all."
Sherlock cocked his head at an angle and squinted at Molly, who blushed furiously. Sherlock took a deep breath and pursed his lips as if her were tasting something sour. "Sorry," he said, and then wrinkled his nose. "No, I don't like that, I don't like that at all."
The light turned green and Molly eased the car into motion.
Molly turned the key and the car's sputtering engine fell silent. They both quickly exited the car and Molly went to the boot and began pulling out groceries. "I wasn't sure whether or not you'd be hungry, so I ran out for some food. I hope you like spaghetti, because that's about all I know how to make." Molly chuckled. "Spaghetti and cat food."
After a moment, Sherlock replied, "That won't be necessary."
"Not hungry then? Alright. Well I've set up the couch for you, found a spare duvet and everything. Hope that'll be alright. I'm sure you're exhausted after the flight. Maybe you'll just want to wash up a bit and then go to bed? That's always how I am after I've been to visit my gran. And that's not even after a plane ride; that's just after taking the train from Aberdeen. You've never met my gran, have you? I think you'd like her. She's great at Scrabble, might even be a decent match for you. How about that, Sherlock? Fancy a game or something before bed?" Molly waited for a reply but received none. "Sherlock, really, I know you're not the biggest conversationalist but it'd be great if you could at least answer a question if I ask one." Still nothing.
"Sherlock?" Molly asked tentatively, finally getting a bit concerned. She turned slowly, afraid of what she'd see. When she'd finally made a full 180 degree turn, she dropped her groceries. Sherlock was gone. Simply gone. Molly scanned the street, looking for anywhere he could have gone, or anyone who could have taken him, but saw only one thing: a sleek black sedan with tinted windows, parked right across the street.
That could only mean one thing. "Damn," Molly spat, kicking the wheel of her car, starting when the alarm sounded. She quickly extracted the key from her pocket and switched off the alarm, feeling like a bloody idiot. She looked at the boxes of dry noodles scattered all over the ground and sighed. "Damn," she whispered as she bent to pick them up.
Author's Note: To the people who have been reading my fic, a tremendous 'Thank you' is in order. This is the part of the fic where I start groveling for reviews. But seriously - when you guys tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, etc. it helps me a lot, and I really want to continue writing this fic in a way that's enjoyable for everyone. So PLEASE REVIEW!