Prompt 43: Shoes
Flying around the world had kind of become his job these days, after writing a book about his experience of war, PTSD and discharge depression, coupled with the treatments he'd found most effective in recovering from the latter and a bit of snark about how the government was pumping funds into the wrong areas, John had been cajoled by his agent to go around the world on a book tour, giving speeches and meeting people who could relate to his story with a struggle of their own, and even some that couldn't but enjoyed his work. He'd learned quickly the best way to travel in an airport, and that was why when his flight was delayed John was the only person not fighting for plug sockets or having homicidal thoughts about the crying baby there invariably would be. He'd up and moved gates within moments of the announcement, lashed his agent a quick text to let them know he'd not be in London until quite a bit later than originally planned, and settled into an empty gate in all the comfort he could manage with his phone and laptop charging away in the oasis of quiet.
"I'm ever so grateful dear so of course you could stay here but I don't think Florida is for you. I know the flying business isn't exactly your favourite, and that we couldn't get a pair of seats isn't great either but we'll get home before you know it!" Mrs Hudson smiled and patted the pale hand in front of her as its owner groaned into the couch. Packing furiously as she swept through one of many apartments her late husband had owned in the states, she folded neatly everything she had brought, and everything her consulting detective had brought too. He needed feeding up when they got home, and a proper cup of tea.. With what they had here it was no wonder the American's had tossed it all into the bay. Strange folk the American's, even after all this time she still couldn't stick their accents, but for a chance to get home sooner she'd gladly sit with one on the plane. Sherlock however, well it would be an experience for whomever sat with him.
"And who knows" she chirped as she pulled the zip closed on the last bag. "Maybe it'll be a handsome fellow who'll snap you up!" Sherlock raised his head from the cushions just to give a withering glare and Mrs Hudson chuckled. An experience to say the least.
Sherlock did not like flying. At all. That's not to say he didn't appreciate the complexity of the invention of a contraption that allowed humans to cover great distances through the air, he just didn't enjoy the reality of hurtling through the sky in a metal deathtrap with two or three likely incompetent people piloting it. He avoided it at all costs, but this case had been an important one for a good friend, an only friend, and how could he refuse to help her when she needed him? The 14 hour journey to Florida had been awful, but tempered somewhat by Mrs Hudson's calming presence at his side. The return journey however, was going to be an unmitigated disaster, as evidenced by the two hour delay and the fact that a hoard of friendly American tourists kept giving his whiskey the side eye even though he'd produced an id for the bartender that proved he was 24 and old enough to drink if he so chose. They also assumed that Mrs Hudson was his mother, a story she wasn't denying and he wasn't bothered to get involved with.
"I'm going to get some peace and quiet, can I get you anything?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, gratified by the falter each intruder on their contented silence experienced at his words.
"Now Sherlock, be nice. I'll be here if you want me." Mrs Hudson smiled at him as he rose and stalked off, reengaging the gang of tourists in conversation with ease.
The airport was busy, families carting sleeping children towards a universal studios shuttle bus and business people barking orders down phones, all fighting back yawns as the clock rolled on towards midnight. The hustle and bustle was familiar yet grating, and some actual quiet would be a joy if he could find it. Sherlock weaved his way through crowds of people until they began to thin out and eventually he was left standing in front of a gate with just one. The man was seated strategically, in front of the plugs but with his face towards the entrance, allowing him to see anyone who might happen past when they were still metres away. Military it was then, Sherlock smiled to himself as his picture of this man began to fall into place. It was interrupted by a subtly sarcastic British accent coming from the man himself.
"Are you going to sit down or are you just practising for your next stint in the Louvre?" He asked, smirking from behind his laptop screen.
"Because you can actually sit down, I won't try and stop you." Sherlock caught his eye and nodded, plopping himself down and sprawling out across a row of chairs. The man simply threw him a half smile and went back to his laptop, somehow knowing that silence would be appreciated. Sherlock observed him slyly around steepled fingers and watched as he typed and ran hands through his hair, licking his lips every few seconds without even noticing and occasionally fiddling with his shirt buttons. Eventually Sherlock looked away and closed his eyes, content to rest a bit, archive this success in his mind palace, and mentally prepare for the hell ahead. Time passed and before Sherlock knew it the stranger was rising, gathering his things and moving swiftly towards the exit. Just before he crossed out of sight, the blonde man turned back to him with a grin and a slight wave.
"See you around" he quipped and strode on, pulling his suitcase behind him and disappearing into the throng. A tinny voice called his flight number over the tannoy and Sherlock was up in a moment, speeding back to the right gate and making it just in time to catch Mrs Hudson's disapproving glance as she boarded, one of the last to do so because she had waited for him. Walking up the metal steps into the plane, Sherlock had the sudden realisation that he was not nearly drunk enough to endure this flight, not drunk at all actually. And now he'd have to sit next to some buffoon for 14 hours as well. Just perfect.
A preppy air steward with a poor dye job and too much lipstick greeted him with a strained politeness ( probably because he had very nearly held the whole flight up again) and lead him down the aisle to his seat, where he braced himself for the worst. Instead he was greeted by blonde hair and a wry grin.
"Well. Fancy that. Nice to see you again so soon. Thank you ma'am I'll take him off your hands if you'd like, I'm sure you're very busy." The undercurrent of flirtation was not lost on the stewardess as she blushed and fluttered her lashes a good bit before leaving them be. Sherlock was struck by how very unlikely this situation was, and he stood staring vaguely into nothing before the man spoke again.
"Do you just hate sitting down or am I the problem?" He asked cheekily, watching the splash of red cross Sherlock's face as he realised that he was being stared at by the entire plane and hastily moved to sit down, tucking his shirt awkwardly into his trousers and unbuttoning his jacket swiftly as he did..
"Don't worry love" the stranger proclaimed loudly "I'm sure they disinfect the upholstery all the time." Sherlock looked questioningly at him, opened his mouth to rebuke him but was stopped in his tracks by the kind smile and whispered
"Sorry, you looked like the staring was bothering you so I figured, better off making them believe you're a snobby toff than that right?" he chuckled as he looked around Sherlock's body" They properly think I'm your dad! Oh, and its John by the way, John Watson." In his peripheral vision Sherlock could see there were no eyes on him at all now, in fact people were actively diverting their gazes and that was quite nice. Sherlock Holmes had no problem with an audience. Loved them in fact, but only when he was being brilliant, not when he was doing something that they would try and use against him, ie being afraid of flying.
"Sherlock Holmes." He replied and John smiled softly at him, the brilliance of it highlighting the first strands of silver in his hair and the warm depth of the blue in his eyes as they crinkled up at the corners.
"Sherlock Holmes, now that's a name I wouldn't soon forget. What brought you to Florida so Sherlock? A girl?" John inquired quietly as the safety instructions began.
Sherlock thought about it for a second; technically yes but really no. "Not my area." He answered twitching softly in his seat as the statistical probability of the plane plunging to the ground came unbidden to his mind while watching the thirty year old single man demonstrate how to incorrectly use the life jackets provided.
If anything, John seemed pleased with his aloof response, grinning brighter and licking his lips 1.23 more times a minute. "So if it wasn't a girl, and I doubt it was the holidaying,you must be here on business." Mildly pleased that this one wasn't a total dolt Sherlock decided to tell him exactly why he was here, and let John take it how he would.
"There was a man, Hudson was his name, who ran quite a successful crime syndicate until he decided to brutally murder two rival criminals and get implicated in the crime." Sherlock went on to explain a bit more in depth and John leaned closer to hear what exactly Mr Hudson had done, interjecting every few minutes to ask medical questions or just clarify the story, staring enthralled the entire time. " The police wouldn't have found the evidence to get him sentenced as he should have been, I could. It was a favour for the woman seated in 4a that I ensured his death. I'm not generally in the business of favours especially ones that involve-" but all of a sudden they were taxiing down the runway and Sherlock's teeth clenched while he grabbed the armrest for dear life as the plane went vertical.
"Ah." John exclaimed softly "ones that involve flying. I see." Sherlock only inclined his head in reply and was shocked to discover that John's hands were around his: the first trapped between the armrest and his death grip, the second soothing over the knuckles of that hand in a gesture that few had ever bestowed upon him, an effort at care and comfort that he had not received in a long time. It was quite nice actually. Altitude reached, the terrifying vertical ascent levelled off and Sherlock, vaguely embarrassed, gingerly released the hand that he'd been crushing.
"Ah... sorry about that." He said as John methodically stretched his hand and cracked his knuckles back into position.
"No bother, you're not the first person to use my hand as a stress ball, I remember once while I was training to become a doctor I came across this heavily pregnant woman in the car park of a tesco and she was in labour in the front seat of her car, husband was in the shop grabbing dinner, and I had to just deliver it myself because there was no way she'd wait for an ambulance to arrive. So he comes out of the shop to find another man with his face under his wife's skirt and his hand in hers while she groans and I swear I've not seen anyone run that fast since my rugby days. Ended up with a broken finger from her, near heart attack from her bloke and down a jacket to their baby boy, Jonah." John chuckled at the memory and Sherlock relaxed back into his seat, beginning the story of how he'd solved his first case and revelling in John's laughter and obvious enjoyment of the story, of his story.
"Wait wait" John laughed around his fork "you puked in his shoes, showed him his wife was cheating on him and he hired you?! That's a man I'd like to meet!" Sherlock had long since stopped being surprised at the man's ability to make him smile and genuinely enjoy himself. Over three quarters of their flight had passed in the to and fro exchange of stories that ranged in topic from war to birthday fiascos, murder cases to childhood fears, words and laughter flowing between them as naturally as if they had known each other for years rather than a few hours. Even the in flight meal (terrible) hadn't put a damper on their moods, instead sending John on a tangent about his own cooking ability and what he was going to make when he got back to his apartment and causing Sherlock to regale him with the story of his first meeting Lestrade. Neither had slept a wink, and the necessary exchange of numbers had taken place so they could text while the other passengers slept, so the captain's voice telling them all the they'd be landing in a few minutes was an unwelcome intrusion on what had been almost a full day of being absorbed by just one person. Spell broken, Sherlock realised that seeing this man again was unlikely given his age being quite vastly greater than his own and the employment they both kept, a fact that he was surprised to say was making his stomach feel as though it was dropping through his intestines. That, and the fact that the descent had begun and John's calloused hand had taken his, seeping warmth into his skin, highlighting how different they were in its ruddy tan against his pale glow. Mrs Hudson had been a bit more accurate with her predictions for this flight than he'd like to admit.
The mass exodus from the plane began in earnest and Sherlock stayed seated with John in silence. What was there to say? They had to get up eventually and as the last to disembark the runway was essentially deserted when they stood there, luggage at their feet, staring at each other for what could have been an age. In the end it was Sherlock who held out his hand for a goodbye handshake and he was suitably surprised when John took his hand and held, frowning at the ground and clearing his throat gruffly.
"If... if you ever feel like talking to an old man for a while, well, you know where to find me Sherlock Holmes." John smiled weakly and Sherlock nodded with the best approximation of a smile he could manage pasted on his face. John nodded and spun around to walk inside, pulling his suitcase behind him before stopping short and striding back apace to stand right in Sherlock's space, so close he could count the number of hairs on his head , and with a reverence a cloudy day in London could never have warranted, slid one hand into the curls at the back of Sherlock's head and guided their mouths together so gently that if Sherlock hadn't been able to feel the lips warm and steady against his own he'd not have noticed.
"I have to go but if this, if I'm something you might be interested in, I put my address in your phone and I'm there all week after today. Come see me." John breathed against his lips and then stepped back as a darkly coloured car pulled onto the runway, waving gently and then racing off with a phone against his ear. Sherlock for his part stood shocked on the tarmac, fingers tracing the imprint of John's lips on his.
"What did we just witness?" Mycroft asked his assistant from the passenger seat as she typed a brief message to the prime minister. She couldn't help but grin at the discomfort in his voice. "I believe it was your brother's first kiss sir. Should I beep the horn or would you like a minute to stem your gagging?" They were there for a few minutes more before she was allowed to alert Sherlock to their presence, and the entire drive back to his apartment was a test of her professional ability to hold back laughter at the blatant disgust on Mycroft's face and the pure shock on Sherlock's. Maybe later she'd tell the boss that the man who'd seduced his brother was the same man who'd wrote the book on his bedside locker. Maybe.