Sherlock/Cabin Pressure Crossover - Luton, or the Curious Case of the NotSherlock Part 4

[r_scribbles]

I continue to zip through writing this. Much heavier on the Cabin Pressure side of the crossover in this chapter. Phone Tea, the Condom Santa & the tale of Arthur, Bunty & The Richard Gere Bit!



Part 3

Four

-x-

True to her word, Molly texted the next day. Text conversations turned into email conversations, which turned into arranging private chatroom sessions when they were both free, which turned into phone conversations when “free” was pushing it a bit. Martin’s pay-as-you-go charges became one more in a long line of costs that he couldn’t afford, not least because he found himself contacting her every time he found himself sitting around waiting for Carolyn, Arthur or Douglas. Which was to say, rather a lot.

He tucked the phone between chin and shoulder as he queued to pay for a cup of tea, and waited for her to answer.

‘Martin!’ said a cheerful voice on the other end of the line after four rings. ‘Hang on, let me just go on break.’

‘You sure that’s all right?’ He always asked this. ‘I can call back…’

‘The gentleman I’m with’s not exactly going anywhere,’ Molly replied. ‘Unless there’s a Zombie Plague outbreak while I’m on the phone, and if there is, then at least you’ll be the first to know about it.’

‘I’d be able to fly us all to safety,’ he said, paying the cashier.

‘Would anywhere be safe from the Zombie Apocalypse?’ Molly asked.

‘Galapagos Islands,’ Martin assured her. ‘We’d live off turtle meat and train penguins to be our servants.’

There was the sound of a boiling kettle from the other end of the line. ‘Well, if you put it that way, the end of civilisation sounds quite fun, doesn’t it?’ She paused for a moment. ‘So, what are you doing?’

‘The usual. Waiting. Having a cup of tea.’

‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘Starbucks, is it?’

‘McDonald’s.’

‘Careful – I burnt the roof of my mouth with a Mucky D tea, once.’

‘Yes, I’m waiting for it to cool. You?’

‘Twinings.’

‘Very posh. Earl Grey?’

‘Afternoon tea.’

‘Molly, you reckless maniac, it’s still only a quarter past ten in the morning, BST.’

‘I know. I’m a rebel. You got fresh milk?’

Martin opened one of the tiny little cartons. ‘UHT.’

‘Poor baby. Still – I bet you’ve got proper sugar.’

‘Yep.’ He ripped open a little sugar sachet. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Canderel. I’m all out and Tony’s Diabetic’

‘Yuck.’ Martin pocketed three more sugar sachets. ‘I’ll bring you sugar when I see you.’

‘I’d like that.’

He stirred his tea with a wooden stick.

‘A really good stir,' murmured Molly on the other end, the clink of her spoon just about audible.

He laughed a little. ‘Are… are we having Phone Tea?’

‘I think we are.’ Molly paused. ‘Mmm. Hot and milky.’

‘Full of real sugar,’ replied Martin.

‘In an enormous cup,’ added Molly, making Martin very glad that he hadn’t been trying to drink at the time.

Martin laughed, but Molly cut him off with a sudden, urgent ‘Oh’.

‘What?’

‘I’ve got to… it’s Him.’

And then came the other voice on Molly’s end of the line. A man’s voice – deep and rich and clipped and utterly confident.

‘Molly,’ said the voice, ‘have you got a mo?’

Martin terminated the call swiftly, as if the voice was causing his phone to set on fire, then stared at the handset at arm’s length for a moment.

The voice.

It was his voice.

Only not. It was his voice with a Private education. His voice with a complete and utter certainty in itself that surpassed even that of Douglas Richardson. His voice removed from all that was Martin Crieff, given a Swedish massage and dipped in melted dark chocolate.

He blinked. How was it possible that his voice even sounded like that – that self sure, that commanding? As if “have you got a mo” was a purely rhetorical question and the person being addressed was going to give their time and attention, because their time and attention belonged to him? But it had to be. He knew what his voice sounded like well enough, and that was what he had heard.

He could do with finding that voice for himself.

‘Arthur,’ he muttered to himself, trying to recreate the way the Other-Voice had sounded. ‘Have you got a mo? It’s about the puddings. I don’t want spotted dick, Douglas can have second choice for a change.’

He exhaled in a long, controlled puff, then drew breath and tried again. ‘Douglas. Have you got a mo? The way you spoke to me in front of those passengers was unacceptable.’

He broke off, took another breath and steeled himself, fixing his eye on his reflection in the dark, polished tiles on the wall. ‘Carolyn. Have you got a mo? It’s about my pay. I would like… no, I demand…

‘It’s the second sign of madness,’ came a very familiar voice from behind him, making him jump & turn around.

Douglas slid himself into the seat next to Martin.

‘Douglas! How long have you…?’

‘Talking to yourself’s the first sign,’ added Douglas. ‘Making up a voice to do it in’s the second.’

Martin cleared his throat. ‘I wasn’t making up a voice. This is my voice. I was simply…’

‘Oh, come now, Martin. That was not your voice. That was more the sort of voice one would get if your voice and my voice decided to settle down and have a baby voice together. And then sent that voice off to Eton until its testicles dropped.’

‘Yes, all right,’ Martin snapped. ‘It was just a… a little experiment, that’s all.’

‘You’re not seriously going to ask… no, demand Carolyn to pay you, are you?’

‘I might,’ Martin replied, quietly. ‘After all, I think I deserve it, don’t you?’

Douglas sat back. ‘Well, well. I had a feeling this might happen.’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t I tell you getting a little girlfriend would be just the confidence booster you’d need?’

‘No you didn’t!’

‘Didn’t I? Well, I certainly implied it.’

‘Anyway, that’s not it. It was a trip to the pub in Luton, and a few conversations after that. She isn’t my girlfriend.’

‘Have you asked her?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, that terrible genetic defect, which I’ve yet to discover the true horrific detail of, rears its ugly head once more.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Three weeks of cooing down the phone to one another, and you haven’t even asked her, yet.’ Douglas paused. ‘It’s webbed feet, isn’t it? Or a third eye where her bellybutton should be.’

‘No!’

‘So, you’ve seen her bellybutton.’

‘No. No, I haven’t. We haven’t seen one another since Luton.’

‘Oh, what a shame,’ sighed Douglas, smugly. ‘Where is it she lives again – Central London?’

‘Tooting,’ Martin told him.

‘Yes, then what a pity that we haven’t ended up in London City Airport for a while, and wouldn’t it be marvellous if Santa came early and brought you news that that is precisely where the tour company have requested we fly their group. Today.’

‘What?’

‘Some peaceful demonstrations in Barcelona have, alas, turned rather less than peaceful, so Etajima Travel have decided to alter their European tour timetable ever so slightly.’ Douglas handed him the schedule. ‘Ho, ho, ho. A very Merry Christmas-in-July to you, Martin. And while Santa does usually favour the nice, this particular St Nick will be sorely disappointed in you if you don’t take that as an opportunity to be at least a little bit naughty.’

‘Douglas,’ hissed Martin. ‘That’s completely inappropriate.’

‘Of course,’ replied Douglas. ‘You should tell me off for speaking that way about your girlfriend. Only, of course, she isn’t your girlfriend, is she?’

Martin was just about to answer him when his phone started ringing. It was Molly, again.

‘Ask her,’ Douglas told him.

Martin frowned from the phone to Douglas. ‘How do you do that?’

Douglas just got up and ambled off, singing to himself. ‘You’d better watch out, you’d better not cry, you’d better not shout, I’m telling you why…’

Martin answered Molly’s call.

‘Sorry about that,’ flustered Molly on the other end.

‘That’s all right.’ Martin paused. ‘Is everything OK?’

‘He’s working a case,’ Molly explained, ‘and Tony never lets him use the equipment. I’d refuse myself, only…’ She sighed, a little. ‘He’s after a trafficking ring. People are suffering. He might not care about that much, but I do.’

‘Go out with me,’ he blurted.

She giggled. ‘I already went out with you.’

‘Properly, I mean. I’m in London tonight.’

Molly made a happy little squeak. ‘You are?’

‘I thought we could have dinner out and go to the cinema. Or something. Maybe.’

‘No,’ said Molly.

The old disappointment rose up yet again, and yet again he forced it down before it could turn into anything bitter or unbecoming.

‘No,’ continued Molly, ‘I’ve got two-dozen takeaway menus and The King’s Speech on rental at home. Why don’t you stay in with me?’

‘Um,’ said Martin. ‘That sounds… um.’

‘You could save yourself the bother of getting a hotel room,’ she added. ‘If that was what you wanted.’

‘Yes! Sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted that. Yes. That would be very. And economical, too, Carolyn will be delighted. But. Mainly the staying in. I’m a very big supporter of Staying-In City. Just so that you know.’

‘Me too. I finish at 6. Did you want me to meet you at the airport?’

‘No, I should be out of the airport by 5. I’ll come to you.’

‘This is so exciting! You’ll have to forgive me, my flat’s a mess, and I usually am too, by the end of work, and…’

‘Are you my girlfriend?’ he interrupted.

‘Would you like that?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘As long as you’re my boyfriend, then. Fair’s fair.’

‘Yes, please.’

‘So polite.’ He could hear the smile in her voice. ‘I hope you remember your Ps & Qs later tonight.’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Please.’

‘Bye, then. See you this evening.’

‘Yes, please. I mean. See you later, bye, see you, bye.’

He ended the call, grinning.

‘Well?’ Douglas was right at his shoulder, again. ‘Either you just tried to eat a coat hanger, or that was a very promising call.’

‘I’m a boyfriend!’

‘Mazeltov! Martin Crieff – Gentleman, Scholar, Pilot, Captain and now, Boyfriend. Is there nothing he can’t do?’

‘I’m seeing her tonight.’

‘As is a Boyfriend’s wont.’

‘I’m staying over!’

Douglas quirked an eyebrow. ‘I suspected as much. Check your jacket pocket.’

Martin did so. Around half a dozen light, foil wrapped objects crinkled under his fingertips.

‘Stocking fillers,’ Douglas explained. ‘Two ribbed, two featherlight, two strawberry flavoured.’

‘What the…?’

‘Santa Claus,’ sang Douglas, ‘is coming to town.’

-x-

‘Good afternoon, everybody, First Officer Richardson here – your Co-Pilot for this flight from Venice to Old London Town. You’ll be delighted to hear that the weather in London is clear and a balmy 20 degrees centigrade – practically tropical for the British Summer – and that our pilot, Captain Crieff, will ensure that there are absolutely no delays or diversions to this flight as he’s staying at his girlfriend’s flat tonight, and he’s rather on a promise.’

‘Douglas!’

‘So if you’d all care to join me in a song of congratulation…’

‘Douglas!’

‘For he’s a jolly good fellow, for he’s a jolly good fellow…’

‘Douglas, I’m serious. Stop it.’

‘For he’s a jolly good fe-e-llow! He’s having sex tonight. He’s having sex tonight, he’s having sex tonight...’

‘Douglas, they’re clapping along back there. Stop it!’

‘And having sex in the morning, having sex in the morning, having sex in the mo-or-niiiiing! Which nobody can deny!’

‘Douglas. How. Dare. You.’ Martin managed to get his entire protestation out through gritted teeth. ‘This goes beyond unprofessionalism. I could probably charge you for personal harassment in the workplace.’

‘Oh, is it suddenly not the done thing to talk about how you have a girlfriend, who’s invited you to stay at her flat tonight?’ Douglas asked. ‘Care to hazard a guess as to how many subjects of conversation we’ve had so far since you got off the phone with her that you haven’t managed to steer towards the fact that you have a girlfriend and are staying over with her?’

‘All right, so I’m a bit excited, but…’

‘I’ll give you a hint,’ Douglas continued. ‘It’s an amount that sounds exactly the same as a word for a woman with a Wimple.’

‘Fine,’ replied Martin. ‘It’s not as if I wasn’t expecting the odd barb in my direction, but to make fun of me… of her… so all the passengers can hear…’

‘All of the elderly Japanese passengers,’ Douglas reminded him, ‘on a whistle-stop tour of Europe.’

‘So?’

‘None of who speak a word of English,’ Douglas reminded him further.

‘Oh,’ said Martin.

‘Who almost certainly believe we’ve just all sang to wish you a Happy Birthday,’ Douglas concluded.

‘Ah,’ said Martin.

The cockpit door opened, and Arthur powered through. ‘Coffee! Lovely singing there, Douglas.’ He set down the cups. ‘Happy Sexday, Skip.’

‘Yes, thank you, Arthur.’

‘Are you going to do the Richard Gere thing?’ Arthur chirped.

‘He’s meeting her at her work,’ Douglas said. ‘Of course he’s doing the Richard Gere thing.’ Douglas searched Martin’s blank expression. He’d better do the Richard Gere thing.’

‘Oh, Skip.’ Arthur looked mortified. ‘You can’t meet her at work and not do the Richard Gere thing. I’m not certain, but I think that’s actually against the law. Or it should be.’

‘What “Richard Gere thing”?’ Martin asked, feeling his face whiten.

‘Not that Richard Gere thing,’ Douglas clarified. ‘You know – the bit out of An Officer And A Gentleman.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you?’ Arthur asked, incredulously.

‘Actually,’ Douglas sighed, ‘that does go towards explaining rather a lot. The bit, Martin, is the bit where, if utilised properly, men such as you and I instantly have a distinct romantic advantage over the vast majority of our gender. It is the bit where you stride, resplendent in your uniform, into your object of affection’s place of work, scoop her up into your arms in front of her bitterly jealous colleagues, deliver her a passionate kiss and then carry her away.’

‘And then she puts your hat on her head,’ added Arthur. ‘That’s how you know it’s worked.’

‘Yes,’ said Douglas. ‘The hat on her head shows that you’ve just made several of her adolescent dreams come true… and that she’s just a short drive home away from reciprocating in kind.’

‘But what if she doesn’t put my hat on her head?’ Martin asked.

‘She will put your hat on her head,’ Douglas explained, ‘because the Richard Gere thing always, always works.’

‘That’s true,’ Arthur added. ‘It even worked for me with Bunty from Pony Club… up to a point.’

‘Even you’ve done it?’ asked Martin.

Arthur nodded, merrily.

‘What, in your Steward’s uniform?’

‘And my hat!’

‘The hat that you made yourself?’

‘Yep.’

‘Bunty was the bigger lass,’ said Douglas, ‘wasn’t she?’

‘Yes,’ replied Arthur, ‘but she dressed it very well. I didn’t realise she was anywhere near 18 stone ‘til I tried to pick her up. And that’s how I got that hernia.’

‘Love hurts, I suppose.’

‘Yes, that’s what I said to Bunty when we were at the hospital waiting to get her ankle set after I dropped her.’ Arthur blinked. ‘Oh, speaking of angry women, Miss Yakamoto would like a word with you.’

‘Miss Yakamoto?’ asked Douglas.

‘Yes. Miss Yakamoto. You know - the tour guide.’

Martin slid Douglas an angry glare. ‘The tour guide.’

‘Oh,’ said Douglas.

‘The tour guide who speaks English perfectly well.’

‘Ah,’ said Douglas. ‘Whoops.’

-x-

He strode along the corridors of St Bartholemew’s, and turned right.

He had made up his mind. He was going to do it. He was going to walk right in to the morgue and do the Richard Gere thing.

He took another right, flushing a little. He knew people were staring. Well, good. Good. They were supposed to stare.

What if she didn’t like it? She was a Doctor, she was serious about her work. What if she was in the middle of an autopsy and in scooping her up into an embrace he managed to scoop half of some poor dead person’s entrails up with her?

He turned right.

No. No – in for a penny, in for a pound. He was here, he was in uniform and he was going to do this. If only he could find the wretched mortuary, first.

He turned right, and found himself back where he’d started.

He sighed, looking around. He was going to need a map to find the map to this place.

There was a little stairway leading off to his left. He decided to try the next floor down, but when he got to the bottom of them, found nothing but a fire exit.

From right behind him came a voice that softly said ‘Excuse me, Sir.’

He managed to half-turn in the direction of the voice before he felt something hard and blunt come into contact with his skull.

Then, there was nothing.

Part 5