Doctor on Board Epilogue/15
Title: Doctor on Board Epilogue/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
Epilogue
John excused himself from Molly, who was busy cooing over the labrador puppy to wind around the other guests as they were chatting. A few of them were neighbors, some were ground staff from the airport and there were also John's assistant medics from the base. He set down his drink on the coffee table next to two copies of Aviation News and a copy of the latest British Medical Journal and answered the door.
"Douglas, Carolyn, Arthur! Come on in!" John said, beckoning the rest of MJN into the house warming party.
"Carolyn, a Merlot?" John asked, taking her coat. Carl from the airport brought over a glass for Carolyn. "Lads, I'll grab you a pineapple juice and apple juice from the kitchen, make yourself at home."
On the way to the kitchen John checked on Martin across the room to see Sherlock gripping his thumb, magnifying lens out and studying it intently, Greg beside them giggling. He raised an eyebrow at Martin, who shrugged, happy to let Sherlock do what ever he wanted, bolstered no doubt by Sherlock's greeting of 'Well, of course you're an airline Captain, look at your thumb!'
Drinks in hand, John made his way back to Douglas first, who'd found himself stood alone as Carolyn and Mrs. Hudson chatted and Arthur made a bee-line for the puppy.
He'd just reached him when Anthea approached holding a full champagne glass.
"Anything I can do, John?"
"Just enjoy yourself on a night off without having to organise anything! Here, let me introduce you to Douglas," John said beckoning Anthea over to Douglas and handing him his juice.
"Hello, Douglas," Anthea purred, holding out her hand demurely.
"Hello, Mrs Richardson," Douglas said smoothly, kissing the hand gallantly. John's eyebrows rose to his hairline.
"My name isn't Mrs Richardson," Anthea pointed out with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow of her own.
"Not yet, I grant you..." Douglas countered with a confident grin.
Anthea smiled and stepped a little closer to the First Officer.
"Right... Introductions done," John said awkwardly, looking between them; neither paid any attention to him. "I'll leave you to it, then."
Still holding the pineapple juice, he headed over to Arthur who was fussing over the golden lab pup along with Molly.
"Thanks Doc! This is Molly! She's BRILLIANT! She's a Doctor and clever and likes dogs, which is good because I've got a dog," Arthur gushed, obviously not comprehending that if Molly wasn't in Martin's circle of friends, that meant John already knew her.
John looked at Molly who, instead of looking mortified, looked positively glowing under the uncensored praise.
He left them and the pup, who was clearly also basking in Arthur's attention, when Molly mentioned she had a cat and Arthur exclaimed, "Cats are brilliant! Skip adopted a stray kitten from the back of the scrap sheds today."
"Martin, Love?" John said, getting Martin's attention. He'd borrowed Sherlock's magnifying lens and was inspecting his own hand. "Arthur just mentioned a kitten. Something about you adopting one?"
"More of a juvenile, clearly, and part Abyssinian from the look of the cat hair on his ankles," Sherlock interjected, glancing down at Martin's feet.
"Ah, yes, need to talk to you about that, John," Martin said guiltily.
"You can't bring it home, love, we've just got a puppy!" John said, knowing he'd lose the argument before opening his mouth. Even their eight week old Labrador had nothing on Martin when it came to puppy-eyes.
"Too late, John, it's in your bedroom," Sherlock added, unhelpfully.
"Bedroom?" John exclaimed, staring at Martin, hoping to see denial. He only saw guilt.
"Boeing won't damage anything, she's litter trained!" Martin defended.
"Boeing?" Greg, asked. "Isn't your dog called 'Lockheed'?"
"Locky," Martin corrected.
John sighed. "Nothing else! Not even a goldfish, you'd only call it Airbus!"
"I think we should get a cat, Gregory," Sherlock said, inspecting the rim of the discarded wineglass he'd just found.
"Terrifying thought," John said. "How are you settling into Baker street, Greg?"
"Not too bad. I came home yesterday to find every single glass and mug in the house filled with dentures and various household cleaning chemicals, but on the plus side, I have come across fourteen of my lost Met identity cards," he responded and took another sip of his beer.
John grinned and slipped his arm around Martin's waist who was looking a little mortified at the idea of dentures.
"I must update my blog, John. I've discovered a further level of granularity in categorising pilots," Sherlock said, looking through the crowd of their gathered friends.
"Oh, yes?" John asked warily. Martin's confidence was improving, but Sherlock could reduce the most self-assured man to a lip-trembling sniffle with a few choice words.
"That man over there with the gray hair, the one intent on having sexual relations with my brother's PA - he's a First Officer. Take note of the slight abrasion on the knuckle of the index finger due to controls which only exist on the co-pilots side. Whereas Martin here is clearly the pilot in command due to the indented crease between the thumb and forefinger," snatching back both his magnifying lens and Martin's arm for John to inspect said crease.
Martin leant forward instead, peering again at his hand, still wondering how that managed to tell this man what two pound fifty pence of extra haberdashery gold braiding, extra stripes or 'Hello, I'm the Captain' couldn't tell anyone else.
Whether Sherlock had deduced Martin's weakness and was being kind, or he found Martin acceptable enough not to heap scorn upon and was simply being truthful, John didn't know, but he suspected Greg's influence on him. Mrs Hudson had already commented on Greg's ability to 'keep him in check'.
Mrs Hudson suspected Greg's 'respectable air of authority'; John suspected handcuffs.
A disturbance erupted suddenly and a stripey young cat bolted through the living room and crowd of people, causing a hyped-up puppy to give chase.
"Sorry," came a call from the back of the house. "Thought that was the loo, and the cat got out."
Martin thrust his drink into John's hands and joined the chase, leaving John with Greg and Sherlock.
"I'm surprised, Sherlock. You seem to approve? You seemed to dislike everyone else I've dated," John asked while Martin was out of earshot.
"Well, he seems slightly less stupid than the majority, and he's undoubtedly classically handsome," Sherlock replied with a sniff. At that point Martin returned with a cat clutched to his shirt and a puppy at his feet.
"Of course Captain Crieff has reduced your own intelligence significantly," Sherlock continued.
"What? Me?" Martin asked, surprise, confusion and a cat-scratch marring his face.
"Before you moved out, John, you mixed us up numerous times: You called me 'Martin' no less than twenty-five times, you made my tea weak with no sugar eight times, and twice brought Pizza Express dough-balls back from Tesco despite me never mentioning a preference for them."
"Didn't stop you scoffing them though, did it?" John exclaimed. "Those actually weren't for you!"
Martin grinned beside him, knowing exactly who they'd actually been for.
"That doesn't explain the sad decrease in intelligence in general," Sherlock argued.
"He never called me Sherlock, though, and always made my tea, when it was his turn, just as I liked it," Martin interjected, still a little confused.
"Perhaps, Sherlock," Greg pointed out, "That's because it was Martin on John's mind, and not his stroppy flat-mate."
Sherlock pouted.
Greg and Sherlock were the last to leave, John suspecting Greg was hoping to tire Sherlock out for a quiet drive home.
The rest had left at a respectable time, apart from Anthea and Douglas who'd snuck away, together, quite early.
Molly had accepted an invitation to stay in Carolyn's guest room after Arthur had introduced her to his mother and Carolyn had quite clearly been determined to encourage relations between Arthur and a competent professional girl who didn't rely on daddy for funds and snort louder than the ponies she rode.
Yawning, Martin let his head slump on John's shoulder as they bid their friends goodbye from their doorstep.
"And Greg, check under the floorboard on the sixth step for patches, jars of dead things and other contraband," John called as they approached the gate.
"Cheers, mate," Greg said, as Sherlock wandered off into the garden.
"This garden would be good for bees John!" Sherlock announced, making Martin suspect he'd had a bit too much Shiraz.
"Oh, come on, Sherlock!" Greg moaned, grabbing his boyfriend around the waist and pushing him down the garden path like he was being taken into custody.
Martin slid his arms around John as he watched them get into the car and drive away with one last wave from Lestrade.
John planted a kiss into his sleepy boyfriend's hair, closed the door to their home and took Martin to bed.
The End.
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
Epilogue
John excused himself from Molly, who was busy cooing over the labrador puppy to wind around the other guests as they were chatting. A few of them were neighbors, some were ground staff from the airport and there were also John's assistant medics from the base. He set down his drink on the coffee table next to two copies of Aviation News and a copy of the latest British Medical Journal and answered the door.
"Douglas, Carolyn, Arthur! Come on in!" John said, beckoning the rest of MJN into the house warming party.
"Carolyn, a Merlot?" John asked, taking her coat. Carl from the airport brought over a glass for Carolyn. "Lads, I'll grab you a pineapple juice and apple juice from the kitchen, make yourself at home."
On the way to the kitchen John checked on Martin across the room to see Sherlock gripping his thumb, magnifying lens out and studying it intently, Greg beside them giggling. He raised an eyebrow at Martin, who shrugged, happy to let Sherlock do what ever he wanted, bolstered no doubt by Sherlock's greeting of 'Well, of course you're an airline Captain, look at your thumb!'
Drinks in hand, John made his way back to Douglas first, who'd found himself stood alone as Carolyn and Mrs. Hudson chatted and Arthur made a bee-line for the puppy.
He'd just reached him when Anthea approached holding a full champagne glass.
"Anything I can do, John?"
"Just enjoy yourself on a night off without having to organise anything! Here, let me introduce you to Douglas," John said beckoning Anthea over to Douglas and handing him his juice.
"Hello, Douglas," Anthea purred, holding out her hand demurely.
"Hello, Mrs Richardson," Douglas said smoothly, kissing the hand gallantly. John's eyebrows rose to his hairline.
"My name isn't Mrs Richardson," Anthea pointed out with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow of her own.
"Not yet, I grant you..." Douglas countered with a confident grin.
Anthea smiled and stepped a little closer to the First Officer.
"Right... Introductions done," John said awkwardly, looking between them; neither paid any attention to him. "I'll leave you to it, then."
Still holding the pineapple juice, he headed over to Arthur who was fussing over the golden lab pup along with Molly.
"Thanks Doc! This is Molly! She's BRILLIANT! She's a Doctor and clever and likes dogs, which is good because I've got a dog," Arthur gushed, obviously not comprehending that if Molly wasn't in Martin's circle of friends, that meant John already knew her.
John looked at Molly who, instead of looking mortified, looked positively glowing under the uncensored praise.
He left them and the pup, who was clearly also basking in Arthur's attention, when Molly mentioned she had a cat and Arthur exclaimed, "Cats are brilliant! Skip adopted a stray kitten from the back of the scrap sheds today."
"Martin, Love?" John said, getting Martin's attention. He'd borrowed Sherlock's magnifying lens and was inspecting his own hand. "Arthur just mentioned a kitten. Something about you adopting one?"
"More of a juvenile, clearly, and part Abyssinian from the look of the cat hair on his ankles," Sherlock interjected, glancing down at Martin's feet.
"Ah, yes, need to talk to you about that, John," Martin said guiltily.
"You can't bring it home, love, we've just got a puppy!" John said, knowing he'd lose the argument before opening his mouth. Even their eight week old Labrador had nothing on Martin when it came to puppy-eyes.
"Too late, John, it's in your bedroom," Sherlock added, unhelpfully.
"Bedroom?" John exclaimed, staring at Martin, hoping to see denial. He only saw guilt.
"Boeing won't damage anything, she's litter trained!" Martin defended.
"Boeing?" Greg, asked. "Isn't your dog called 'Lockheed'?"
"Locky," Martin corrected.
John sighed. "Nothing else! Not even a goldfish, you'd only call it Airbus!"
"I think we should get a cat, Gregory," Sherlock said, inspecting the rim of the discarded wineglass he'd just found.
"Terrifying thought," John said. "How are you settling into Baker street, Greg?"
"Not too bad. I came home yesterday to find every single glass and mug in the house filled with dentures and various household cleaning chemicals, but on the plus side, I have come across fourteen of my lost Met identity cards," he responded and took another sip of his beer.
John grinned and slipped his arm around Martin's waist who was looking a little mortified at the idea of dentures.
"I must update my blog, John. I've discovered a further level of granularity in categorising pilots," Sherlock said, looking through the crowd of their gathered friends.
"Oh, yes?" John asked warily. Martin's confidence was improving, but Sherlock could reduce the most self-assured man to a lip-trembling sniffle with a few choice words.
"That man over there with the gray hair, the one intent on having sexual relations with my brother's PA - he's a First Officer. Take note of the slight abrasion on the knuckle of the index finger due to controls which only exist on the co-pilots side. Whereas Martin here is clearly the pilot in command due to the indented crease between the thumb and forefinger," snatching back both his magnifying lens and Martin's arm for John to inspect said crease.
Martin leant forward instead, peering again at his hand, still wondering how that managed to tell this man what two pound fifty pence of extra haberdashery gold braiding, extra stripes or 'Hello, I'm the Captain' couldn't tell anyone else.
Whether Sherlock had deduced Martin's weakness and was being kind, or he found Martin acceptable enough not to heap scorn upon and was simply being truthful, John didn't know, but he suspected Greg's influence on him. Mrs Hudson had already commented on Greg's ability to 'keep him in check'.
Mrs Hudson suspected Greg's 'respectable air of authority'; John suspected handcuffs.
A disturbance erupted suddenly and a stripey young cat bolted through the living room and crowd of people, causing a hyped-up puppy to give chase.
"Sorry," came a call from the back of the house. "Thought that was the loo, and the cat got out."
Martin thrust his drink into John's hands and joined the chase, leaving John with Greg and Sherlock.
"I'm surprised, Sherlock. You seem to approve? You seemed to dislike everyone else I've dated," John asked while Martin was out of earshot.
"Well, he seems slightly less stupid than the majority, and he's undoubtedly classically handsome," Sherlock replied with a sniff. At that point Martin returned with a cat clutched to his shirt and a puppy at his feet.
"Of course Captain Crieff has reduced your own intelligence significantly," Sherlock continued.
"What? Me?" Martin asked, surprise, confusion and a cat-scratch marring his face.
"Before you moved out, John, you mixed us up numerous times: You called me 'Martin' no less than twenty-five times, you made my tea weak with no sugar eight times, and twice brought Pizza Express dough-balls back from Tesco despite me never mentioning a preference for them."
"Didn't stop you scoffing them though, did it?" John exclaimed. "Those actually weren't for you!"
Martin grinned beside him, knowing exactly who they'd actually been for.
"That doesn't explain the sad decrease in intelligence in general," Sherlock argued.
"He never called me Sherlock, though, and always made my tea, when it was his turn, just as I liked it," Martin interjected, still a little confused.
"Perhaps, Sherlock," Greg pointed out, "That's because it was Martin on John's mind, and not his stroppy flat-mate."
Sherlock pouted.
Greg and Sherlock were the last to leave, John suspecting Greg was hoping to tire Sherlock out for a quiet drive home.
The rest had left at a respectable time, apart from Anthea and Douglas who'd snuck away, together, quite early.
Molly had accepted an invitation to stay in Carolyn's guest room after Arthur had introduced her to his mother and Carolyn had quite clearly been determined to encourage relations between Arthur and a competent professional girl who didn't rely on daddy for funds and snort louder than the ponies she rode.
Yawning, Martin let his head slump on John's shoulder as they bid their friends goodbye from their doorstep.
"And Greg, check under the floorboard on the sixth step for patches, jars of dead things and other contraband," John called as they approached the gate.
"Cheers, mate," Greg said, as Sherlock wandered off into the garden.
"This garden would be good for bees John!" Sherlock announced, making Martin suspect he'd had a bit too much Shiraz.
"Oh, come on, Sherlock!" Greg moaned, grabbing his boyfriend around the waist and pushing him down the garden path like he was being taken into custody.
Martin slid his arms around John as he watched them get into the car and drive away with one last wave from Lestrade.
John planted a kiss into his sleepy boyfriend's hair, closed the door to their home and took Martin to bed.
The End.