Chapter Text
John knew he should be more excited than he was to be getting away from London but instead he felt bitter. His sister Harry had just finalized her divorce 3 months before and here she was jumping into another marriage. They’d had a tremendous row over how fast she was moving. Harry, in her typical drunken state, had retaliated by saying that at least she was moving on. He’d done nothing but molder in a bedsit while feeling sorry for himself. By the end of the argument, John had been no longer invited to the wedding and he had felt nothing but relief.
Of course, after his sister sobered up, she’d apologized and begged him to still attend. They were holding the wedding in Portland, Oregon in the US since that’s where Julia was originally from. Although she lived in London, her family all lived on the west coast of America. The benefit meant that the majority of the Watson clan would not be attending; John had been the only exception. With well-practiced remorse and guilt, Harry got John to agree. He had still been reluctant so she used her trump cards: he was her closest living relative, she’d given him a relatively new phone and that she’d promised to use miles to get him a business class seat.
He felt cheap for selling out to her so easily, but in the end, she was still his sister and it had been an ongoing dream to fly in something other than economy. He was flying business elite from London to Minneapolis, and after a two hour layover, first class to Portland.
Having never been in the VIP lounge before, he was amazed by the offerings. The free food, the free drinks, leather chairs and, believe it or not, showers. His bitterness started to fade with his first pint.
He was comfortably seated in one of the deep arm chairs when a man walked by him. No, not just a man. An impossibly gorgeous man. But it wasn’t just his looks that drew John. The man exuded charisma in the way he walked and moved. He’d never felt this level of immediate lust for anyone before. It felt like stepping into the middle of an electrical storm. His fingers tingled with the desire to touch. He wanted to run his hands along that lithe body. He wanted to tangle his fingers in those lush curls.
The man continued past him, speaking sternly into his phone. Even the voice. God. John wanted.
He made an instinctive move to get up and follow the man. To do what, he didn’t know. All he did know was that he couldn’t let this man walk away from him. His leg banged into his cane bringing him back to reality. He collapsed back into his chair with a sigh. He looked down at his own clothes. Worn denims, faded shirt, comfortable jumper, the cane. He wasn’t a soldier or a doctor anymore. He was a broken man searching for a new purpose. The stranger was nice to look at, but John knew realistically that it would never go beyond that. People like that man did not go for people like him. Maybe once, but no longer.
A voice announced over a speaker that his flight would be boarding soon. He began gathering his things, pushing away hopes for things he couldn’t have.
**********
Sherlock loathed flying. It wasn’t a fear of flight; no, he understood the mechanics and knew it was safe. It was the enforced inactivity that rankled him. He could, and often did, stay in one position for hours as he contemplated a case or rearranged his mind palace, but those times were by choice. He would soon be confined for nine torturous hours. He was tempted to throw a tantrum a 3 year old would envy, but it would most likely get him thrown off the plane. And he couldn’t afford that right now.
He normally didn’t take cases that required extensive travel, but since he was being evicted from his flat, the fee he was charging for this case would help secure a new living situation. An old client had a flat in a prime location. This would allow him to place a deposit and first month’s rent while he looked for a flat mate. He loathed asking Mycroft for money more than he did flying, so hence, accepting the case.
Besides maybe a change of scenery would be good. Cases had been sparse and he’d been on the outs with Scotland Yard. It was always those times that old needs resurfaced. It would be so easy. A quick high. Anything to break up the tedium of endless days.
He never took drugs when there was a case. They were reserved for the in-between times when life became monotonous. It would be easy to succumb. But he knew his meddling brother would find out. Then he’d be banned from cases at Scotland Yard. Lestrade’s team would mercilessly mock him. He could practically taste their malicious glee in seeing him fall. He couldn’t bear their condescension so when a case in Minneapolis in the US presented itself, he took it.
He hoped it would be interesting rather than mundane, but he suspected it would be the latter. They usually were. However, the fee was large and it got him out of town for a bit and that’s all he wanted for now.
Sherlock was on the phone trying to convince Lestrade that he was on the wrong track with his current investigation. The inspector was being obstinate, but Sherlock knew that as soon as a complex case came along, Lestrade would be begging at his door. As he was talking, he scanned the crowd. Most of them were dull people with dull reasons for traveling. So utterly predictable.
He heard a commotion behind him. A man with a cane had lost his balance and was struggling to stay upright. A bag sat at his feet. Dropped obviously. The cane was a recent addition as he wasn’t comfortable with it and he didn’t know how to maneuver with the cane and his bags. The man’s mouth was tight and his face was a dull shade of red. Sherlock had not been the only one to notice. Others glanced at the man with the cane and then quickly away in embarrassment. He, however, he continued to watch as the man slowly steadied himself.
Sherlock cocked his head as he considered the man before him. There was something that intrigued him. Perhaps it was the stoic resignation on his face or the way he straightened himself with military precision. Yes, he must have been in the armed forces. He was in his mid-30s, so too young to retire. The cane told him he must have been invalided home. Wounded in action then.
That should have been the end, but there was something else that continued to draw Sherlock’s attention. He abruptly hung up on Lestrade so he could concentrate. The man’s face was a map of lines: laugh lines around his eyes, commas bracketing his mouth from smiling and frowning, slashes along his forehead that spoke of tension. Bags under his eyes indicated sleepless nights. His face was a contradiction. There was laughter and pain. It was a face that looked lived in.
Sherlock desperately wanted to know more. Why had each line been formed? What caused him to laugh, to cry, to frown? There were more questions than answers when he looked at this man. He was a puzzle that Sherlock badly wanted to solve.
The man must have felt him staring. Their eyes met. The other man’s widened in surprise before skittering away. He got himself sorted and quickly made his way towards the exit. Sherlock entertained the idea of following him. He had to know more. Unfortunately he was also in dire financial straits so he couldn’t push off the Minneapolis trip. Damn.
What if the man was relocating out of the UK? What if he never returned? He wished he’d thought to take a photo of the man. He could have hacked into the government’s facial recognition program. However, he did know his approximate age so he could access the military database to see if he could find him. How many people could have been invalided home in the last six months? No matter how he loathed the idea, he had to let the man go for now. His flight was being called. He vowed to himself that he would find him again.
Even though he hated being confined, Sherlock also liked boarding first so he could watch the other passengers embark. Quick deductions told him if they were threats or idiots. So far only idiots.
Until he saw the man with the cane from the lounge.
Sherlock didn’t believe in luck or fate but he had no other explanation for why the only person who had interested him in a long time was here on the same flight. He closed his eyes then opened them to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. No, he was still there. He felt elated like he did when a complex case came together or an experiment proved successful. It was all the holidays combined into one glorious day.
The man hobbled slightly as he carried his hold all while adjusting to the narrowness of the aisle. The flight attendant quickly jumped in and took his bag from him. He gave that tight smile again. Clearly he resented the idea that he needed help. Sherlock was entranced.
The man was settling into 5C which was two rows ahead of Sherlock. That would not do at all. There was no way Sherlock was going to waste this opportunity. The seat to the man’s left was occupied by an older woman. It was clear they didn’t know each other. He could work with that.
He grabbed a pen and paper and quickly scribbled a note. He flagged down the attendant to give it to the woman in 5B.
He watched as the woman unfolded the note. She looked back towards Sherlock and he raised his eyebrows at her. She looked down at the note again.
100 quid if you will change seats with me.
She shrugged her shoulders and nodded. He let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
He silently cursed the woman as she slowly gathered her belongings. Sherlock wanted to yell at her to hurry. Only the fear of being tossed off the plane held his tongue. He was not losing this chance. She finally moved out of the seat and Sherlock quickly gathered his bag and moved to the now vacated 5B.
As he settled, the man looked at him, startled, a silent ‘oh’ on his lips. There was a flush high on his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Wasn’t someone else sitting there?”
Sherlock gave him what he hoped was winning smile. “She needed to change. I was willing.” He reached out a hand. “Sherlock Holmes.” The man took it.
“John Watson.”