Doctor on Board 15/15
Title: Doctor on Board 15/15
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 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 15 - Love and Egg Mayonnaise
"Ah, thank God your here," Douglas said after opening the portacabin door to find John the following day. He looked back at their captain who'd been deathly quiet and down all morning. "He's got a face like a wet weekend today. He's even managing to depress Arthur."
John frowned and looked across at Martin.
"Want to get some lunch in the terminal? A pre-packed egg sandwich and a packet of crisps isn't the best offer, I know, but I need to be somewhere at two, and I need to talk to you," John asked.
"I suppose," Martin said sullenly, grabbing his jacket and stepping out of the portacabin under Douglas' now worried gaze.
"You needn't have come all this way. You could have done it over the phone," Martin said quietly as John set a plastic tray in front of them. It was filled with sandwiches, crisps and coffee from the tiny terminal lounge.
"Done what? And what's wrong, Love? "
"I guessed what you were going to say yesterday at the restaurant before... Oh, is your flatmate okay, by the way?" Martin asked, still not able to call the man by his name.
"Oh, Sherlock is fine. By the time I got to the hospital Lestrade was in fits of laughter because Sherlock hadn't taken kindly to the radiographer commenting on Sherlock having a 'thick head'. Anyway, if you've guessed what I was going to say, what do you think?" John said, looking serious again. "You don't look too happy about the idea."
"Of course I'm not!" Martin spat, hoping a little anger would hold back the tears. It didn't work to well and he felt his eyes well up with moisture so he looked down at the table instead.
John sat back, lunch forgotten, looking surprised by Martin's snapped response.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise you weren't ready for that yet. I... I just thought we'd become quite serious and it seemed an obvious next step. We can take our time, carry on as things are if you-"
"What?" Martin interrupted, head snapping back up.
"If you're not okay with me moving to Fitton, we can stay as we are... If you still want to, that is," John said, looking anxious.
"Moving to Fitton? You mean you weren't breaking up with me?" Martin asked, feeling his heart thud in his chest.
"Break up? Where did you get that idea? No - I approached Mycroft a few days ago to see if there were any jobs that would suit me around here. That's why he suddenly found you interesting enough to kidnap. Mycroft offered me a job yesterday - teaching field medicine for, shall we say, 'undercover government employees'. I've got a meeting at two at the military base near here to discuss it, but I wanted to make sure I was welcome first."
"You want to leave London to live and work in Fitton?" Martin asked, incredulously.
"No, you daft bugger. I want to leave London to live with you!" John said with an exasperated smile.
The ground staff at Fitton airport were used to a lot of odd behavior, especially from the crew of MJN, but a weeping airline captain hugging another man over a squashed sandwich and spilled coffee did raise an eyebrow or two.
"I take it that's a 'yes' then," John said, smiling as a few minutes later he tried to wipe egg-mayonnaise from his sniffling boyfriend's lapel.
~oOo~
There were still a few bumps in the following weeks. John's job had started immediately and he'd temporarily moved into the attic with Martin, partly because he wanted to be with Martin, partly because it made sense to be near work and partly because he and Mrs Hudson has been quite sucessfull in their match-making and 221B was crowded with three.
Thankfully, due to his time in the forces (and Sherlock's habit of destroying his possessions) he didn't have much to move, but it was still a squeeze.
Because of this, the hunt for their new home had started immediately. The problem was John didn't like the small, dingy flats Martin kept pointing out and Martin didn't seem keen on anything John wanted to go and see, despite the lovely range of cottages he'd found.
What was more puzzling to John was how, after going glassy-eyed over a Cotswold stone cottage, or picture of a big open fireplace, Martin would dismiss it out of hand. Even more peculiar was the way he'd book mark all the links John sent him, and keep the printouts of houses John had showed him.
"Here, what about this one," John said, sitting on Martin's small bed and handing him another printout. Another cottage, this time in a lovely little village with a gastro-pub and beautiful countryside. "It would be great place for walking that dog you want, and look at that fireplace and those oak beams. Just picture it, you and me, curled up on the sofa watching the fire, dog sleeping on the rug..."
Martin had tipped his head to one side and was again looking adoringly at the pictures.
"Nice garden, too. Summer barbecues-" John added.
Martin snapped out of the day-dream. "Too many wooden beams, they can get woodworm," Martin said, setting the paper down beside him, John noticed, rather than handing it back.
"Woodworm?" John exclaimed. "Right, what's going on? This is a beautiful part of the country and I'm showing you one great house after another and you look like you fall in love with every single one, but then comes the excuses - 'Thatched cottages are a fire risk', 'Garden too big to maintain', 'Too close to the Post Office'- really Martin? The Post Office? And now 'A potential danger of woodworm'?"
"But the flats I keep finding are so much better value!" Martin complained.
"Yes, if you want to live on a council estate, in a grotty part of Fitton, Martin! What's actually going on?" John asked, frustrated.
"I can't contribute to something like that, John!" Martin admitted, his voice rising as he pointed at the brochure of the cottage. "You know my income from the removals is low, and erratic at best. I love the houses you keep picking; they're all lovely, warm, grade two listed idylls that belong on the front of a christmas card. I want to have a home with you, but how could it be home if I can't contribute to it? It would be your home that I happen to live in. You and Sherlock must bring in a lot of money between you and-"
"Oh, you daft gangly idiot," John said turning to grasp Martin's waist and pull his Captain to him. "Come here and look at me, but more importantly, listen," John said, cupping Martin's jaw.
"Firstly, it's OUR house, OUR money, regardless of how much we each pay. We won't be two people in one house, we'll be a couple, we'll be one, and that works differently. OUR income from my job will be more than enough for the mortgage we need. And as for your ideas of mine and Sherlock's luxurious existence, there was my patchy locum pay and I think Sherlock has some sort of dwindling trust fund or something. Sherlock doesn't usually get paid for being a consulting detective, he does it because he loves it and is committed to it, and that's something I find both enviable and admirable: to have a job that you love so much that you don't need paying in order to do it, and still do it well. Anything sounding familiar here?"
"You don't think I'm an idiot being in an unpaid job?" Martin asked, comforted by John's touch.
"Is it that for you? Just a job?" John asked.
"God, no! I love flying - Oh..."
John smiled. "Do you want to pull those property advert clippings from under the bottom of the bookshelf, and we'll look through them again?"
"How did you know?" Martin asked, feeling a little silly about hoarding them.
"Ah... I not only see, but I observe!" John said, tapping his nose with a smile. "I knew you were sneaking those rejected brochures, I just didn't realise why until now. Go on, get them."
"I liked that one," Martin said pointing, after retrieving the papers and curling back up onto the bed and into John's arms.
Epilogue
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 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 15 - Love and Egg Mayonnaise
"Ah, thank God your here," Douglas said after opening the portacabin door to find John the following day. He looked back at their captain who'd been deathly quiet and down all morning. "He's got a face like a wet weekend today. He's even managing to depress Arthur."
John frowned and looked across at Martin.
"Want to get some lunch in the terminal? A pre-packed egg sandwich and a packet of crisps isn't the best offer, I know, but I need to be somewhere at two, and I need to talk to you," John asked.
"I suppose," Martin said sullenly, grabbing his jacket and stepping out of the portacabin under Douglas' now worried gaze.
"You needn't have come all this way. You could have done it over the phone," Martin said quietly as John set a plastic tray in front of them. It was filled with sandwiches, crisps and coffee from the tiny terminal lounge.
"Done what? And what's wrong, Love? "
"I guessed what you were going to say yesterday at the restaurant before... Oh, is your flatmate okay, by the way?" Martin asked, still not able to call the man by his name.
"Oh, Sherlock is fine. By the time I got to the hospital Lestrade was in fits of laughter because Sherlock hadn't taken kindly to the radiographer commenting on Sherlock having a 'thick head'. Anyway, if you've guessed what I was going to say, what do you think?" John said, looking serious again. "You don't look too happy about the idea."
"Of course I'm not!" Martin spat, hoping a little anger would hold back the tears. It didn't work to well and he felt his eyes well up with moisture so he looked down at the table instead.
John sat back, lunch forgotten, looking surprised by Martin's snapped response.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realise you weren't ready for that yet. I... I just thought we'd become quite serious and it seemed an obvious next step. We can take our time, carry on as things are if you-"
"What?" Martin interrupted, head snapping back up.
"If you're not okay with me moving to Fitton, we can stay as we are... If you still want to, that is," John said, looking anxious.
"Moving to Fitton? You mean you weren't breaking up with me?" Martin asked, feeling his heart thud in his chest.
"Break up? Where did you get that idea? No - I approached Mycroft a few days ago to see if there were any jobs that would suit me around here. That's why he suddenly found you interesting enough to kidnap. Mycroft offered me a job yesterday - teaching field medicine for, shall we say, 'undercover government employees'. I've got a meeting at two at the military base near here to discuss it, but I wanted to make sure I was welcome first."
"You want to leave London to live and work in Fitton?" Martin asked, incredulously.
"No, you daft bugger. I want to leave London to live with you!" John said with an exasperated smile.
The ground staff at Fitton airport were used to a lot of odd behavior, especially from the crew of MJN, but a weeping airline captain hugging another man over a squashed sandwich and spilled coffee did raise an eyebrow or two.
"I take it that's a 'yes' then," John said, smiling as a few minutes later he tried to wipe egg-mayonnaise from his sniffling boyfriend's lapel.
~oOo~
There were still a few bumps in the following weeks. John's job had started immediately and he'd temporarily moved into the attic with Martin, partly because he wanted to be with Martin, partly because it made sense to be near work and partly because he and Mrs Hudson has been quite sucessfull in their match-making and 221B was crowded with three.
Thankfully, due to his time in the forces (and Sherlock's habit of destroying his possessions) he didn't have much to move, but it was still a squeeze.
Because of this, the hunt for their new home had started immediately. The problem was John didn't like the small, dingy flats Martin kept pointing out and Martin didn't seem keen on anything John wanted to go and see, despite the lovely range of cottages he'd found.
What was more puzzling to John was how, after going glassy-eyed over a Cotswold stone cottage, or picture of a big open fireplace, Martin would dismiss it out of hand. Even more peculiar was the way he'd book mark all the links John sent him, and keep the printouts of houses John had showed him.
"Here, what about this one," John said, sitting on Martin's small bed and handing him another printout. Another cottage, this time in a lovely little village with a gastro-pub and beautiful countryside. "It would be great place for walking that dog you want, and look at that fireplace and those oak beams. Just picture it, you and me, curled up on the sofa watching the fire, dog sleeping on the rug..."
Martin had tipped his head to one side and was again looking adoringly at the pictures.
"Nice garden, too. Summer barbecues-" John added.
Martin snapped out of the day-dream. "Too many wooden beams, they can get woodworm," Martin said, setting the paper down beside him, John noticed, rather than handing it back.
"Woodworm?" John exclaimed. "Right, what's going on? This is a beautiful part of the country and I'm showing you one great house after another and you look like you fall in love with every single one, but then comes the excuses - 'Thatched cottages are a fire risk', 'Garden too big to maintain', 'Too close to the Post Office'- really Martin? The Post Office? And now 'A potential danger of woodworm'?"
"But the flats I keep finding are so much better value!" Martin complained.
"Yes, if you want to live on a council estate, in a grotty part of Fitton, Martin! What's actually going on?" John asked, frustrated.
"I can't contribute to something like that, John!" Martin admitted, his voice rising as he pointed at the brochure of the cottage. "You know my income from the removals is low, and erratic at best. I love the houses you keep picking; they're all lovely, warm, grade two listed idylls that belong on the front of a christmas card. I want to have a home with you, but how could it be home if I can't contribute to it? It would be your home that I happen to live in. You and Sherlock must bring in a lot of money between you and-"
"Oh, you daft gangly idiot," John said turning to grasp Martin's waist and pull his Captain to him. "Come here and look at me, but more importantly, listen," John said, cupping Martin's jaw.
"Firstly, it's OUR house, OUR money, regardless of how much we each pay. We won't be two people in one house, we'll be a couple, we'll be one, and that works differently. OUR income from my job will be more than enough for the mortgage we need. And as for your ideas of mine and Sherlock's luxurious existence, there was my patchy locum pay and I think Sherlock has some sort of dwindling trust fund or something. Sherlock doesn't usually get paid for being a consulting detective, he does it because he loves it and is committed to it, and that's something I find both enviable and admirable: to have a job that you love so much that you don't need paying in order to do it, and still do it well. Anything sounding familiar here?"
"You don't think I'm an idiot being in an unpaid job?" Martin asked, comforted by John's touch.
"Is it that for you? Just a job?" John asked.
"God, no! I love flying - Oh..."
John smiled. "Do you want to pull those property advert clippings from under the bottom of the bookshelf, and we'll look through them again?"
"How did you know?" Martin asked, feeling a little silly about hoarding them.
"Ah... I not only see, but I observe!" John said, tapping his nose with a smile. "I knew you were sneaking those rejected brochures, I just didn't realise why until now. Go on, get them."
"I liked that one," Martin said pointing, after retrieving the papers and curling back up onto the bed and into John's arms.
Epilogue