Fandom: Cabin Pressure & Sherlock
Characters: Martin Crieff, Sherlock Holmes
Warnings: Implies drug use?? IDK
Summary: Being acquainted with Sherlock Holmes was a synonym for unusual. And years later, Martin and Sherlock meet up in the most unusual way. In a murder scene.
It was various years later, just after Martin had passed the test. After seven tries, he had to pass it at some point. But it was a bit saddening when he finally did pass it, considering the fact that his family was anything but proud of him and he was up to his neck in debts from all the extra years in aviation school. All he had was his late dad’s van, and a business that he didn’t even like, but brought food to his plate…barely, but still. He didn’t have anyone to celebrate the happy fact that he was finally a certified pilot and that he had finally realized his childhood dream. At the cost of living on pasta and toast, but he thought it was worth it if he could get a job. But who was going to accept someone who had to retake their test seven times. But he was hopeful that someone could take him.
His university life wasn’t much different from before. While in university he wasn’t so much as the blank for insults, he was easily tricked by the older students into doing things that he either didn’t remember doing or he was too ashamed to even mention. To be honest, after that incident in fourth grade with Sherlock, Martin’s social circle had gone back to zero for the most part, but kept correspondence with his only friend. While Sherlock would barely tell anything about his daily life. But it was fun, going to the mail and finding that letter written in that unmistakable sloppy handwriting on the envelope. Sherlock always seemed to be a step ahead of the Martin though, and with good reason. By the time Martin had finished high-school, the other was already midway through university, doing a major in chemistry. It also wasn’t odd to see Sherlock’s name on the newspaper a few weeks after an unexplainable case pops up. Compared to himself, Sherlock had already made a name in the world….while he was just a man with a faraway dream. But he was going to do it. He was going to achieve that dream.
And yet, on the day of his 21st birthday, he received a letter that didn’t bring him anything but an empty pit in his stomach.
- I want to tell you that I have to wish you a happy birthday to you. I will take time to go and buy you something. My brother Mycroft will too. I am making some plans to visit Mummy. If you want to, I will go and plan to take myself there. Couch is fine for me, that I would kindly want you to know. How has your mother’s current rehabilitation been?
P.S. There is a secret if you count up to your favorite number.
Martin looked at the letter in confusion. By the way it ended, the message didn’t contain anything good, but the problem was that he didn’t know how to decipher it. Sure, he always knew that Sherlock liked to write in coded messages (making it near impossible to read more often than once), but they never ended in ‘Sorry’. And for the self-proclaimed sociopath, that seemed completely un-Sherlock, unless it was something bad or it wasn’t him. But either way, Martin took the challenge.
It didn’t take long, considering that Sherlock had given him a good clue; his favorite number, the lucky number seven. Of course, when it ‘didn’t take long’, it meant that it only took a couple of days instead of the usual week he would take to decipher a message from Sherlock. And what he read was something he didn’t like.
- “I have to go. Mycroft plans to take me to rehabilitation.”
‘Rehabilitation?!’ Martin thought, starting to panic. He never thought that Sherlock, who he had known as the smartest person he had ever met, would do something as idiotic as falling into drugs. No. It was impossible. And plus there were other types of rehabilitation. He might be in an accident, which was just as worrying, but not as much because it meant that things would be fine. But why would he send a coded message? And why would he say sorry? Those two questions bothered him up to the point that his try at imagining Sherlock just being treated for an injury was futile. It was hard to believe that his best and only friend had fallen into such a thing. That night he didn’t sleep, trying to write a letter that he would never send.
He felt useless. Why didn’t he see it sooner? But then he realized that there was little chance that he could have seen anything, considering that they only talked through mail. “But if I had done drugs, Sherlock would have probably noticed, wouldn’t have he?” Martin slowly realized to himself in the middle of the night. He knew that Sherlock would have probably noticed because of some change in the handwriting or some odd smell from the envelope. And yet Martin never even bothered to ask. He thought that Sherlock was fine and was having a nice life. And yet all of this happened. Putting his face in hands, Martin couldn’t help but feel like a terrible friend.
Years passed and Martin didn’t get another letter from Sherlock. He never bothered to ask either, considering many factors such as Sherlock possibly moving, his letters falling into the hands of what Sherlock says is the most meddling brother in the world, and the fact that Sherlock was probably too angry to talk to him. They were all fine though. He was used to people not talking to him, and he was sure that in a while the fact that he had probably lost his only friend. He had other things to do anyways, and he had to focus on studying.
And yet things in his family weren’t going so great. By the third time he had failed his exams, his family had given him two options. Either he stays in the family and studies to become an electrician, and he’d get his tuition paid along with a nice house to live in, or he would choose to continue studying to become a pilot, and have to be forced to live on his own. In the end, Martin chose to pursue his dream…at the cost of losing the respect of his family. Months later, he heard about his father’s death a week after the funeral, and that he had been left the van. He was basically lingering on the edge of bankruptcy, so he started his own moving service to earn money. He moved into a cheap apartment, one that he could actually pay with his salary while still being able to pay for aviation school. He barely ate anything more than pasta, and would stay awake for various nights, studying the book back and forth and forth and back. But luck seemed to shine down on him, giving him the chance to actually pass the test and get a job as a pilot. A terrible job, but it was still a job. But he had lost most of his family’s respect, and that made him feel terrible. He had always loved his parents, but he couldn’t do what they wanted. He had to fly from the nest at some point. What he didn’t expect was the fact that his flight from the nest was almost as effective as a bird flying with a broken wing.
And maybe about a year later, a bit after his thirtieth birthday, he got his new job as captain. But with the unlucky shot that he would not get paid. At all. But he had to keep on living, because living was what people did, and Martin couldn’t accomplish his dream as well if he was living on the street. He grudgingly took the van and started to work part time as a moving service, earning enough money just to pay the rent and buy some food.
Even so, each day he would check the mail, in hopes that when he pulled out what was inside (which consisted mostly of advertisements to things he could barely afford) he would find that sloppy handwriting which was oh so characteristic of Sherlock Holmes. But each day he was disappointed when he checked the mail. Maybe Sherlock had forgotten about him. He wasn’t the type to make friends, not at all. Maybe Martin had just been a stepping stone for Sherlock, and now he had outlived his usefulness.
He remembers the most recent flight he did with MJN air. St. Petersburg, which had ended in the almost theft of Gertie, no thanks to Carolyn’s ex-husband. But he was proud of himself, not only because he had landed a plane successfully on one engine, but also because they worked like a team. For the first time, he felt like he was part of a, usually dysfunctional but highly effective, team. He remembers coming home that night with the biggest smile on his face because of those two facts. But luck didn’t shine down on him for too long, and as he checked his voice mail, he found out that somehow, his sister’s fiancé was found dead by drowning in the pond by their house. His initial excitement drained away as he sat down on the sofa. ‘Her fiancé? Dead?’ Martin thought, in a daze. Sure he didn’t talk with Caitlin much, but it still made him feel bad for his younger sibling. A few minutes later, Martin was on the phone, consoling his little sister until the early hours of the morning.
Sure enough, the next day, he didn’t find it odd to find a section on the newspaper dedicated to a ‘Mysterious drowning in a house in London’. But what did find odd was the envelope in his mailbox. He had almost forgotten what his handwriting looked like, but when he realized who it was, a grin spread across his face. He was back! But when he opened the letter, all he could do was raise an eyebrow in confusion.
- Are you coming?
Martin didn’t understand what he meant by that. Sherlock didn’t leave any other address to meet. The red-headed adult checked the paper once, twice, and even three times, before doing the same to the envelope before giving up. He was going to be late to his sister’s house anyways.