"Businessman. Boring. Vacation. Didn't research properly going to have an awful time. Why are you just standing there, looking like idiots? Next?" Sherlock swiped boarding passes beneath the scanner. An old woman came up with far too many bags.
"Can you read?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Letters? Words? Measurements? Or is it a counting problem? All the flights on this airline specify one carry-on and one personal item per traveler. No split personalities do not count as separate people, thank you very much."
"Better let me handle this one Sherlock." John pushed Sherlock to the side and began taking passes. Sherlock tried to stick his hands in his suit pocket and found none.
"Pockets, John, why haven't they given us pockets?"
"Have a good flight. Yes, the bathrooms are around the corner." When the travelers were all on the plane Sherlock sighed.
"That was tedious."
"Wait until we get on the plane."
"Why are we doing this again? I don't want to go to Paris, I've never wanted to go to Paris, Paris is dull." Sherlock frowned. "Oh. Money I forgot. You like to eat."
"So do you." They boarded the plane. It was time for the safety demonstration. It was Sherlock's turn to narrate. John was pantomiming in the aisle.
"Yes, so don't be an idiot, wear your seatbelt." John pointed from side to side. "In the event of a plane crash we do like to be able to identify the bodies. And in the unlikely event of a dramatic pressure change in the cabin, there will be oxygen masks for the survivors." John put his hand over his mouth and tightened imaginary straps. "There are eight exits, I forget where exactly, oh maybe that's what the huge red lights that say 'Exit' are for. In the unlikely event of you being a skittish person and planning on surviving a traumatic plane crash, please don't sit in the exit seats. We'd hate to kill anyone lucky enough to be alive." John used two fingers to point to the doors, grinning to compensate for Sherlock's commentary. "This is a new model from Boeing, so while we don't have that many recorded crashes, we don't have very many recorded successes either." John shrugged with a chuckle. The passengers did not look reassured.
"Dear God." He said through clenched teeth. A baby began to cry.
"Please turn off all electronic devices and small children. And don't smoke. If I have to suffer, you should too." A click. There was silence aboard the plane. The baby had heard the message. John nodded and saluted the crowd.
"Okay, next time that's my job too."
"You're leaving me very few jobs to do."
"I don't know, you can pass out crackers or something." Sherlock shrugged. John shook his head.
Half an hour later, the plane barely lifted into the air, Sherlock was moaning.
"I'm bored, John. This is so boring. How do people sit here for hours?"
"Relax, Sherlock, it's only a couple hours to London. Think of how long I had to fly to Afghanistan."
"You were trained for that. Besides, your mind is so placid a year could pass before you realized the emptiness." Sherlock sunk his head in his hands, nearly crying.
"Here, pass out some crackers." John handed him a large plastic bin. Sherlock seized it. He stood up, and began making his way down the rows. John stared after him, surprised. He was doing an excellent job.
"You want water? Thank you so much, finally an individual, a break in the monotony. And you, you want vodka? Excellent, just brilliant." Sherlock nearly skipped to the drink cart. He poured a glass of water and took out a small vial of vodka. He handed it to the passengers with a smile. In ten minutes, he was sitting next to John again, mission complete. After two minutes,
"God, John, this is so boring. How do you expect me to survive this ordeal?"
"You could, er, clean up trash or something."
"What a novel idea." Sherlock seized a plastic bag and began skipping up and down the rows. Unfortunately, cleaning up was much faster than passing out, so within five minutes of that, he was crying again.
"John, what am I going to do, this is so unbelievably dull." He snapped his head up and turned to John. "I just took their trash."
"Yes." John nodded.
"So that means they don't have any crackers left, because I just took their trash."
"Yes, I suppose. Where are you going with this?"
"Isn't it obvious? They need more." Sherlock jumped up and grabbed the bin.
"But Sherlock, they're only supposed to get one round on such short flights."
"You're a miser, John." Sherlock began distributing crackers again. John shook his head. After the third time, Sherlock, bored of passing out crackers began to pass out vodka and whiskey. "Much funnier," was his comment. When the plane landed, half the passengers threw up. The airline manager came aboard to see what all the fuss was about, and once he discovered the depleted alcohol and cracker stores, fired both John and Sherlock. They paid for their ride home with their salary from the ride there.
"On the whole a pointless exercise John, I don't know why you insisted upon it."