Thicker than Water 7/?

[prettybirdy979]

Title: Thicker than Water,
Fandom: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock
Gene: Crossover, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Kid-fic, Fluff
Character/s: Martin, Sherlock, Carolyn, Douglas, Arthur, John, Lestrade, Donovan
Rating: PG-13 
Summary: Sherlock's favourite brother hasn't always been there, but he's been there when it counts. For that matter, so has Sherlock.
Warnings: Mentions of Drug abuse in earlier chapters...
Notes: For a prompt on the kinkmeme. 

I know I said nothing until Wednesday. That was before I was woken up at this ungodly hour by the bloody wind and therefore now have many more hours before I lose my internet than I thought I would. So you get another chapter! =)

Thanks to elvendork_lee for betaing!


 

 

“Guess what, my happy little pilots!” Carolyn burst into the flight deck where Martin was revising safety procedures. Douglas was flinging birds on his phone.

“Arthur managed to cook something edible?” Douglas deadpanned.

“Goodness, no. I doubt that will ever happen, and if it does…well I believe it may be time to start attending church. No, my happy little pilots, we have a booking!”

“I highly doubt anything that follows those words could possibly make me any happier than I am now. Which isn’t very happy, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I did. I ignored it.”

Martin spoke up to cut short the snark session between Carolyn and Douglas. “Where are we going, and when?”

“Two days from now we are flying to Berlin, to pick up a Mr Cookson. We are then going to fly him to London, where we will spend anything up to two days, before flying him back to Berlin.”

Both pilots sighed.

“In two days?” Martin double checked. At Carolyn’s nod, he pulled out his phone.

********

In London for two days, in two days’ time. Is it possible for me to crash at your place? Just for the nights, I have to be at the airport…if it’s not okay that’

It’s fine. Learn the character limit of texts for next time Martin. SH

Oh. Thank you. MC

You are always welcome. SH

********

“Where are you going, Martin? Carolyn is currently negotiating our ride to the hotel over there, which is in the opposite direction to where you are currently going.” Douglas really had either the worst timing, or the best; Martin wasn’t sure. Whatever timing he had, it had just ruined Martin’s attempt to sneak away from the group and ring them later so they knew he was okay.

“I know that Douglas.” He sighed.

“If Sir knows that, why is Sir going in the wrong direction?” By now, Arthur had reached them and Carolyn was on her way over. Martin was going to have to tell everyone.

“I’m not. I have my own place to stay while we’re in London.”

“Really Martin? And when were you planning on telling me this?” Carolyn asked, having reached them. Arthur was beside her, his usual look of confusion on his face.

“Umm… I was planning on telling you… when we landed but then you walked off, and I figured I could just call you later and tell you I’m…not dead.” He finished lamely at Carolyn’s stormy look. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m telling you now. I have a place to stay and you can have the money from my hotel room.” He turned to go.

“Where?” Douglas drawled.

Martin turned back. “What?”

“Where is Sir planning on staying? I do believe it would be easier to get a hold of Sir, if we knew were you are staying.”

“My brother’s place in Central London.” A confused Martin answered without thinking. He flinched at as Arthur spoke.

“But Skip…you said your brother lived in Bristol. Remember, that time when we diverted there.”

Ignoring Carolyn’s muttered “Which of the many times?” Martin replied. “I did.”

“Then…did he move?”

Martin closed his eyes. “No, Simon did not move.”

“See, now I’m lost Skip. How can your brother live in two places?” While Arthur did indeed look lost; Douglas looked suspicious.

“He doesn’t. Simon lives in Bristol, Sherlock lives in Central London.”

Douglas snorted. “Sherlock?! What kind of name is that?”

Martin froze. “A very good one.” He said coldly. “Goodbye Carolyn, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without another word, he walked off, leaving a confused and slightly guilty crew behind him.

“Somehow, I think I may have gone too far.”

********

Sherlock wasn’t home when Martin reached 221B Baker Street, but the landlady had been told to expect him and was quite happy to let him in. Mrs Hudson was a lovely woman, who offered him tea and biscuits while carefully observing him, most likely noting every similarity between the two brothers. Martin was used to it from people who knew Sherlock and so ignored it. He took a seat on the sofa against one wall, and stared at the skull. Wonder what its name is…

The tea was quite nice though. After a half hour, he convinced Mrs Hudson to leave him alone, that he would be fine by himself and no I don’t need another biscuit, I’ve already had a dozen.

The sound of voices on the stairs woke him. Must have dozed off…

“I don’t know where he is Inspector! Don’t you think I’m worried too!” an unfamiliar voice yelled just before the door flew open. Martin barely had time to get to his feet before three people entered the flat. In front was a short blonde man, who Martin recognised from his brother’s stories as John Watson; followed by a grey haired man who had to be Lestrade and a dark woman who Martin was pretty sure had to be the infamous Donovan.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade cried. “We’ve been looking for you all over.” Both he and Donovan looked mad. Only John looked confused.

Martin stuttered. “I’m…I’m not Sherlock Inspector.”

“Practicing your acting abilities, are you Freak?” Donovan asked. “I would like to know how you make yourself shorter-“

Martin snapped. “I don’t make myself shorter, I am shorter than Sherlock. And I would appreciate you not calling my brother a ‘freak’. Just because he’s ten times as smart as you-“

“Martin!” Sherlock’s voice interrupted Martin’s rant to the dumbfounded cops. He was coming up the stairs and had a stripe of blood across his face. It didn’t stop him pushing past the police to hug Martin briefly, before moving into the flat. The wide eyes of Lestrade and Donovan grew even larger. Even John looked a bit wrong footed.

“Sherlock, you’re hurt!”

Sherlock waved a careless hand at Martin as he began to look through his piles of paper. “It’s nothing. If Lestrade can act intelligently for once I may be able to catch a serial killer.” He pulled out something from a box and pocketed it. He then examined Martin briefly and threw the skull at him, with a discreet nod at the police officers. Martin only just caught it but recognised it as the replacement for Planey. Sherlock always knew when he was upset.

“Sherlock, are you going to introduce us before you show off, or do I have to wait until after?” John asked, moving to stand beside Martin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but did as requested. “Martin, this is John Watson my flatmate. John this is Ma- Captain Martin Crieff, my brother.” Martin smiled at the use of his title and shook hands with John.

“I’m very ha- pleased to meet you John. It’s nice to have a face to go with Sherlock’s stories.”

John looked vaguely flattered. “Stories? Sherlock tells stories about me?”

“In a hundred and sixty characters. I, ah, look forward to the day Sherlock learns to call.”

Martin didn’t duck the pillow thrown at him. He collapsed back onto the sofa with an “uff” and a smile.

“How can you be brothers? You don’t share a last-“

“Oh Donovan. Are you competing with Anderson for title of dumbest police officer of the year?! Martin and I are half- brothers through our father.” Sherlock looked disgruntled. “He was raised by his mother’s husband and so has his name. Obvious.” He crossed the room to Lestrade and handed him a piece of paper.

“What’s this Sherlock?”

“A plan for you so you can catch your killer.” He walked into the kitchen and began banging cupboard doors.

“Wait, aren’t you coming with us?”

Sherlock poked his head back out. “My brother is only in town two days. I’m hardly going to waste them catching your serial killer for you.”

Dumbfounded Lestrade dragged the confused Donovan out. John sat in his armchair, giving Martin a searching look.

“Chinese?” Sherlock asked.

“Thai, if you have it.”

 

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