Doctor on board 4/15
Title: Doctor on Board 4/15
Author: tiwtin
Pairing: John Watson/ Martin Crieff
Fandom: Cabin Pressure x Sherlock
Rating: 13?
Beta: Lady_t_220 Thank you!
Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it.
Summary: Written in response this prompt for a Martin/John fic but more so in response to a stunning fill by theimprobable1 which can be found here, which tore out my heart. I started writing a happy-ending John/Martin before she continue on her fic and made it all better for Martin with an OMC (which I adored), but I still needed a happy ending for our Doctor and Pilot.
Warning - Cheese and tooth-aching fluff
Chapter 4 - The long sleep
Ten minutes after Martin had closed his eyes, John was broken from his reverie by a quiet tap on the door. It hadn't woken Martin, so John lifted himself gently from the bed to answer it. He strolled back into the bedroom a moment or two later with their overnight bags and the requested packet of medical supplies.
He gently laid the bags onto the plush carpet and rustled quietly through the paper pharmacy bag. He pushed aside the traditional thermometer in favour of the adhesive temperature strip, and pulled it out. He crept back to the bed, assuming Martin had the same light sleep that plagued his flat-mate, but Martin showed no signs of waking as John gently pressed the strip to his forehead.
After another few minutes of gazing down at Martin (much longer than necessary for the strip to register an accurate temperature), John was happy to see Martin's temperature was only slightly above the norm. He was tempted to wake him for some extra fluid, but resisted when he realised his motivation was more about wanting to talk to the young pilot rather than fluid levels. Instead he mixed a hydration solution and left it beside the sleeping man.
Half an hour after Martin had gone to sleep, John decided it best to take the chaise longue, especially after his train of thought started to become less 'doctorly' by the moment. He changed into boxers and t-shirt before settling down and watching Martin sleep as he drifted off himself.
About four hours after Martin had gone to sleep, John rolled off the chaise longue in his sleep, waking abruptly, and rubbed at his shoulder despite landing painfully on his hip.
About four hours and four minutes after Martin had gone to sleep, John slipped under the covers of the bed Martin slept in.
About six hours after he had gone to sleep, Martin awoke, thirsty, and to find the room dimly lit with a small bedside lamp. He'd downed the glass of mixture John had obviously made for him, glad this one at least had an orangey taste, before realising said doctor lay behind him, snoring gently.
After a moment's hesitation, Martin replaced the glass and snugged back down into bed, edging closer to the warm body beside his. With a half concocted plan to blame his actions on fever, he slowly and carefully pressed his lips against the doctors, and was almost disappointed when the other man didn't wake. He sighed and snuggled closer to John regardless.
Seven hours after Martin had initially gone to sleep, John awoke to find neatly cut auburn hair tickling the underside of his chin. Letting his carer-side have president, he checked Martin's temperature and noted the empty glass, only a slight twinge of guilt pricking his conscience when he coaxed Martin's arm over his chest and turned the half-cuddle into an embrace. He re-closed his eyes and enjoyed the closeness until he fell back asleep.
About eight hours after Martin originally went to sleep, he awoke slowly to mottled-blue eyes looking down at him. It was... nice. He was warm, sleepy, comfortable, and curled deliciously around a good looking, wonderful smelling man, who he seems to recall was a doctor... Or a spy... Or a Doctor-Spy... Obviously a dream.
And as Martin's dreams were generally pretty lame (he'd once had a dream where he discussed the importance of logging flight plans with a naked Daniel Craig, but nothing more), he decided to take advantage of his creative nocturnal mind and tilted his head up, gently kissing the parted, inviting lips.
The fact that his dream-man made a slight 'meep' noise rather than the erotic groan he would have preferred, only put him off slightly as he indulged himself with a run of his tongue over warm lips. It was, however, strong hands against his chest that made him realise that all wasn't quite as dreamy as he'd suspected.
"Not that it wasn't nice, but not ethically sound from my perspective. The General Medical Council has rules about kissing sick people... Even attractive, half naked, sick pilots who happen to be in my bed."
If he'd been feeling himself, Martin thought after the event, he was pretty sure he'd have been red and stuttering with mortification by that time. As it was, he was tired, dazed and aroused, but had caught the 'attractive' descriptive and instead was ridiculously pleased.
"James Bond never had that problem," Martin said with a cheeky smile. Martin's smile broadened as John made a slight groan as if to resist, but allowing Martin one last gentle press of lips against his. At that point, Martin realised he was pushing his, admittedly appalling, luck and pulled back and slid from under the covers. He gave the doctor a smile, and if he tensed what little muscle he had and held in his stomach as he walked to the bathroom, who was to blame him?
Martin was grinning madly to himself as he entered the bathroom, and as soon as the bathroom door closed shook a little congratulatory fist for himself. Damn it, he could be cool, and suave when he wanted to be, despite what Douglas said!
He spun towards the sink and grinned up into the mirror, and it only took a moment for the smile to drop completely off his face.
How the hell had that temperature strip got there?
~oOo~
By the time he had come out of the bathroom, having spent a good twenty minutes dabbing cold water onto the red, rectangular patch that was left on his forehead from where he'd ripped the temperature strip away, John was throwing a shirt over his naked torso.
"Sorry I hogged the bathroom," Martin spluttered, catching a brief glimpse of a large scar on John's shoulder before it was covered by cotton.
"That's okay, there's a second one through there," John said, pointing towards the door towards what looked to be a large and very posh looking living area. It was only then Martin noticed the damp hair.
"Are you going out?" Martin asked, feeling a little stupid stood there in only his underpants.
"Yes, sorry... The rendezvous point has been changed at the last minute, so I've got a bit of driving to do... I should still make the plane back though."
"Is it dangerous?" Martin asked frowning and wrapping his arms around his middle.
"Probably not, last minute changes tend to stop things from getting dangerous, not the other way around. Mycroft's constant paranoia helps in that respect," John said picking up his wallet and sliding it into his back pocket. He paused, and then came over to Martin, tilting his head slightly. "How do you feel? You look a hundred percent better."
"Better... Yes, much better-" Martin was instantly distracted as John licked his lips. John did that a lot he realised; the thought flustered him.
"I've ordered you some breakfast in the room, and some lunch too... I want to make sure you eat but I've picked some really bland options. There's some more of those sachets of hydrating powder on the bedside cabinet, keep taking them, but just try to get some rest. I've organized a late check-out for you and a car will take you to the airport when you're ready, and the bill's going straight to Mycroft so order whatever else you want but nothing alcoholic or spicy... Oh, God, listen to me, I'm mother-henning you," John babbled, suddenly looking a little embarrassed.
Martin laughed. "Don't you mean 'Doctoring'?"
"No, no... This is definitely mother-henning. Now I'm going to get out of here before I start plumping pillows for you," John said, grinning and grabbing his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. "Look after yourself and take it easy," John couldn't help but add as he left.
"Good luck with the Bond stuff," Martin threw back as the door clicked shut.
He grinned and flopped down onto the big comfortable bed. He really quite liked mother-henning.
Chapter 5 - The yellow button
Author: tiwtin
Pairing: John Watson/ Martin Crieff
Fandom: Cabin Pressure x Sherlock
Rating: 13?
Beta: Lady_t_220 Thank you!
Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it.
Summary: Written in response this prompt for a Martin/John fic but more so in response to a stunning fill by theimprobable1 which can be found here, which tore out my heart. I started writing a happy-ending John/Martin before she continue on her fic and made it all better for Martin with an OMC (which I adored), but I still needed a happy ending for our Doctor and Pilot.
Warning - Cheese and tooth-aching fluff
Chapter 4 - The long sleep
Ten minutes after Martin had closed his eyes, John was broken from his reverie by a quiet tap on the door. It hadn't woken Martin, so John lifted himself gently from the bed to answer it. He strolled back into the bedroom a moment or two later with their overnight bags and the requested packet of medical supplies.
He gently laid the bags onto the plush carpet and rustled quietly through the paper pharmacy bag. He pushed aside the traditional thermometer in favour of the adhesive temperature strip, and pulled it out. He crept back to the bed, assuming Martin had the same light sleep that plagued his flat-mate, but Martin showed no signs of waking as John gently pressed the strip to his forehead.
After another few minutes of gazing down at Martin (much longer than necessary for the strip to register an accurate temperature), John was happy to see Martin's temperature was only slightly above the norm. He was tempted to wake him for some extra fluid, but resisted when he realised his motivation was more about wanting to talk to the young pilot rather than fluid levels. Instead he mixed a hydration solution and left it beside the sleeping man.
Half an hour after Martin had gone to sleep, John decided it best to take the chaise longue, especially after his train of thought started to become less 'doctorly' by the moment. He changed into boxers and t-shirt before settling down and watching Martin sleep as he drifted off himself.
About four hours after Martin had gone to sleep, John rolled off the chaise longue in his sleep, waking abruptly, and rubbed at his shoulder despite landing painfully on his hip.
About four hours and four minutes after Martin had gone to sleep, John slipped under the covers of the bed Martin slept in.
About six hours after he had gone to sleep, Martin awoke, thirsty, and to find the room dimly lit with a small bedside lamp. He'd downed the glass of mixture John had obviously made for him, glad this one at least had an orangey taste, before realising said doctor lay behind him, snoring gently.
After a moment's hesitation, Martin replaced the glass and snugged back down into bed, edging closer to the warm body beside his. With a half concocted plan to blame his actions on fever, he slowly and carefully pressed his lips against the doctors, and was almost disappointed when the other man didn't wake. He sighed and snuggled closer to John regardless.
Seven hours after Martin had initially gone to sleep, John awoke to find neatly cut auburn hair tickling the underside of his chin. Letting his carer-side have president, he checked Martin's temperature and noted the empty glass, only a slight twinge of guilt pricking his conscience when he coaxed Martin's arm over his chest and turned the half-cuddle into an embrace. He re-closed his eyes and enjoyed the closeness until he fell back asleep.
About eight hours after Martin originally went to sleep, he awoke slowly to mottled-blue eyes looking down at him. It was... nice. He was warm, sleepy, comfortable, and curled deliciously around a good looking, wonderful smelling man, who he seems to recall was a doctor... Or a spy... Or a Doctor-Spy... Obviously a dream.
And as Martin's dreams were generally pretty lame (he'd once had a dream where he discussed the importance of logging flight plans with a naked Daniel Craig, but nothing more), he decided to take advantage of his creative nocturnal mind and tilted his head up, gently kissing the parted, inviting lips.
The fact that his dream-man made a slight 'meep' noise rather than the erotic groan he would have preferred, only put him off slightly as he indulged himself with a run of his tongue over warm lips. It was, however, strong hands against his chest that made him realise that all wasn't quite as dreamy as he'd suspected.
"Not that it wasn't nice, but not ethically sound from my perspective. The General Medical Council has rules about kissing sick people... Even attractive, half naked, sick pilots who happen to be in my bed."
If he'd been feeling himself, Martin thought after the event, he was pretty sure he'd have been red and stuttering with mortification by that time. As it was, he was tired, dazed and aroused, but had caught the 'attractive' descriptive and instead was ridiculously pleased.
"James Bond never had that problem," Martin said with a cheeky smile. Martin's smile broadened as John made a slight groan as if to resist, but allowing Martin one last gentle press of lips against his. At that point, Martin realised he was pushing his, admittedly appalling, luck and pulled back and slid from under the covers. He gave the doctor a smile, and if he tensed what little muscle he had and held in his stomach as he walked to the bathroom, who was to blame him?
Martin was grinning madly to himself as he entered the bathroom, and as soon as the bathroom door closed shook a little congratulatory fist for himself. Damn it, he could be cool, and suave when he wanted to be, despite what Douglas said!
He spun towards the sink and grinned up into the mirror, and it only took a moment for the smile to drop completely off his face.
How the hell had that temperature strip got there?
~oOo~
By the time he had come out of the bathroom, having spent a good twenty minutes dabbing cold water onto the red, rectangular patch that was left on his forehead from where he'd ripped the temperature strip away, John was throwing a shirt over his naked torso.
"Sorry I hogged the bathroom," Martin spluttered, catching a brief glimpse of a large scar on John's shoulder before it was covered by cotton.
"That's okay, there's a second one through there," John said, pointing towards the door towards what looked to be a large and very posh looking living area. It was only then Martin noticed the damp hair.
"Are you going out?" Martin asked, feeling a little stupid stood there in only his underpants.
"Yes, sorry... The rendezvous point has been changed at the last minute, so I've got a bit of driving to do... I should still make the plane back though."
"Is it dangerous?" Martin asked frowning and wrapping his arms around his middle.
"Probably not, last minute changes tend to stop things from getting dangerous, not the other way around. Mycroft's constant paranoia helps in that respect," John said picking up his wallet and sliding it into his back pocket. He paused, and then came over to Martin, tilting his head slightly. "How do you feel? You look a hundred percent better."
"Better... Yes, much better-" Martin was instantly distracted as John licked his lips. John did that a lot he realised; the thought flustered him.
"I've ordered you some breakfast in the room, and some lunch too... I want to make sure you eat but I've picked some really bland options. There's some more of those sachets of hydrating powder on the bedside cabinet, keep taking them, but just try to get some rest. I've organized a late check-out for you and a car will take you to the airport when you're ready, and the bill's going straight to Mycroft so order whatever else you want but nothing alcoholic or spicy... Oh, God, listen to me, I'm mother-henning you," John babbled, suddenly looking a little embarrassed.
Martin laughed. "Don't you mean 'Doctoring'?"
"No, no... This is definitely mother-henning. Now I'm going to get out of here before I start plumping pillows for you," John said, grinning and grabbing his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. "Look after yourself and take it easy," John couldn't help but add as he left.
"Good luck with the Bond stuff," Martin threw back as the door clicked shut.
He grinned and flopped down onto the big comfortable bed. He really quite liked mother-henning.
Chapter 5 - The yellow button