Ginger with a Chance of Freckles - Interlude
Title: Clear with a Chance of Boomerangs
Author: Wellingtonboots
Summary: The crew of MJN air are tasked with flying a mysterious package to Australia. When they actually land they discover that the real job is staying alive. Featuring: koalas with STDs, cannibalistic kangaroos ,a vegetarian crocodile and a mysterious civil servant with an umbrella.
Companion piece to Ginger with a Chance of freckles but can be read stand-alone. Events take place just before the start of Chapter 2 in Ginger with a Chance of Freckles.
Rating: PG-13
Word: 1500+
Genre: Sherlock/Cabin Pressure Crossover, Humour/Adventure
Pairings: None
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Anthea, Martin Crieff, Douglas Richardson, Arthur Shappey, Carolyn Knapp-Shappey
Author's Notes: Whilst writing Ginger with a Chance of Freckles many people have asked me to include more Cabin Pressure characters so I decided to write a short multi-chapter story centred around Captain Martin Crieff (who is Sherlock and Mycroft's younger brother) and the rest of MJN air.
“Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check.”
“Cross check complete,” replied Arthur’s inappropriately cheerful voice through GERTI’s comm panel.
“Well at least someone is enjoying five am on a Monday,” drawled Douglas in between stifling a yawn and gulping down Martin’s coffee.
“Seriously, Douglas, that cup of coffee was for me, you can’t just drink my coffee without asking,” protested Martin as GERTI ascended through the thick cloud layer into the bright morning sunshine.
“Very well. Martin, can I drink your coffee...please?” Douglas intoned slowly and deliberately, as if he was annunciating to a group of foreign tourists.
“No you can’t!” snapped Martin, already weary of the ongoing battle despite having only been in the cockpit for less than half an hour.
“Oh dear, it appears I can and I already have,” Douglas said smugly as he drained the last of Martin’s coffee with a particularly satisfied smile. Martin, who didn’t really want to let go of the controls whilst the plane was still ascending, could only glare furiously out of the cockpit window at the fluffy white clouds floating over the English Channel. Douglas, meanwhile, propped his feet up on the control panel and leaned back, looking more superior than a cat that had just learnt to use a tin opener.
“It’s going to be a long flight to Australia, Martin, you really shouldn’t stretch those face muscles too much right now - just think of all the things you will need to glare disapprovingly at once we get underway.”
“I’m not gambling, betting or entering any sort of game with you Douglas,” said Martin stiffly.
“Don’t want a repeat of Paris?” asked Douglas lightly, “It wasn’t all that bad. You did at least get the pearl cuff link, even though Carolyn made you cough up a hundred pounds.”
“I haven’t been able to sell it,” grumbled Martin as he continued to check their altitude fastidiously, “I mean who wants one cufflink - a pair yes, but what am I supposed to do with just one?”
“Honestly, Martin, surely you've heard of the pawn shop.”
“Yes- but why would I go there? I don’t want the cufflink back.”
“You do realise that you are under no obligation to actually buy back what you pawn?” asked Douglas in a patronising tone.
“Yes - yes of course I know,” muttered Martin, but Douglas wasn’t fooled by his poor attempts to cover up his mistake.
“Really, Martin - sometimes I think you grew up on Mars - or Eton - but the point is you’re surprisingly ignorant of just about everything besides how to use outdated aristocratic cutlery.”
“A fish knife isn’t outdated. And besides, Mummy always said they are very middle class.”
If Douglas had still been drinking Martin’s coffee he would have sprayed it all over GERTI’s controls. Given how temperamental the plane could be when it was completely dry, Douglas’ speedy drinking skills saved them all from certain death or at least an emergency landing.
“Did you say - Mummy?” demanded Douglas incredulously. Martin flushed an alarming shade of red and quickly turned back to stare out of the cockpit window in deep concentration.
“Mummy!” repeated Douglas, who was starting to latch onto this slip of the tongue with the tenacity of a bulldog.
“We’re approaching French airspace,” declared Martin hastily, “I need the weather report from Charles de Gaulle,”
“Mummy,” declared Douglas sounding as if he was about to burst into peals of laughter.
“Douglas, concentrate!” demanded Martin tersely. “Yes so I call my mother 'mummy' - what’s so wrong with that?”
“What’s so wrong?” asked Douglas, managing to contain his amusement long enough to continue ridiculing Martin, “Why don't we ask Arthur? I’m sure even he of little brain would be able to enlighten you.”
Speaking of the devil, or in this case just Arthur Shappey, the doors to the flight deck opened and Arthur came spilling in with the cheese tray.
“Right chaps - Mum’s taken the Camembert again but she left the round squishy things and those giant bits of Dairylea-"
“It’s called Edam,” said Martin, “It's from Holland.”
“Nope, I’m pretty sure Dairylea is English - it’s got a laughing cow on the front too.”
“Arthur, my dear chap,” drawled Douglas, “What exactly do you call Carolyn?”
“Douglas!” growled Martin who realised that the entire plane was about to hear of his indiscretion before they even managed to cross the English Channel.
“Oh - well I call her Mum, or Mrs Knapp-Shappey if there are customers around; it took me ages to "
“Do you know what Martin calls his mother?” asked Douglas with a wicked glint in his eye.
“Mummy?” said Arthur causally.
Douglas looked almost thrown for a moment before recovering his usual apathetic composure.
“Good guess, Arthur.”
“Oh it wasn’t a guess,” continued Arthur, “I heard him calling his brothers at Fitton. I think it’s really nice you still call her Mummy - I bet she’s this really lovely old lady who likes to knit jumpers and bake apple strudel.”
“Brothers? Plural?” asked Douglas, looking suddenly more intrigued than was particularly healthy. “I had no idea Cathleen was a man.”
“Who’s Cathleen?” asked Arthur cluelessly, “I thought your brothers were called Sherlock and Mycroft.”
“Really, Martin have you been telling porkies again?”
“Look - I - just look,” stuttered Martin unable to meet Douglas’ eye.
“I’m looking but I’d also like to hear something coherent once in a while.”
“I - I may not have been all that forthright about my life in the past,” said Martin quietly, “I didn’t want you to look down on me.”
“Oh heavens, because that wouldn’t happen otherwise,” replied Douglas injecting a liberal dose of sarcasm.
“I just wanted to start a new life without - you know...”
“I don’t know but I can guess - been in trouble with the law have we? Or was it an ex-girlfriend - wait what am I saying - you haven’t been within firing distance of an attractive woman since you reached puberty.”
“Douglas - that’s mean!” protested Arthur, “Martin wants to concentrate on his career first, right?”
“Er - yeah, thanks Arthur,” muttered Martin, looking slightly embarrassed. His career was a joke and given his current salary flying could only be classed, at best, as his hobby.
“Seriously, though, why the elaborate deception - well, it’s not elaborate - more clumsy and ignorant - but why the deception? I’m not quite a stickler for the law myself and heaven knows Carolyn doesn’t care enough to look you up in any databases.”
“I’m not a criminal,” hissed Martin, “I just have a difficult family background.”
“Oh, I see - notorious murderer dangling off your family tree?”
“No, it’s nothing of the sort,” declared Martin in frustration, “I just wanted to strike out on my own and do what I love, without any interference due to my family name.”
“Oh - oh - oh!” cried Arthur as a metaphorical light bulb blinked into existence over his head, “You’re related to someone famous!”
Douglas scrutinised Martin for a few moments and the young pilot turned away in discomfort.
“You’re not related to Captain Sullenburger, the pilot who crash landed on the Hudson River?” asked Douglas curiously.
“No, I’m may be half American but I definitely don’t have his bravado.”
Arthur, meanwhile, had gone oddly quiet and had an expression of pained concentration etched across his features.
“Oh dear, Arthur, don’t think too hard. It might fry whatever’s left of your brain cells.”
“Douglas, leave him alone and get me that weather report please, I don’t want to fly into another storm.”
“Aye, Captain Crieff - or should I say Captain X?”
“That’s not even funny."
Before Martin could finish analysing just how unamusing Douglas’s attempt at humour was, Arthur suddenly jerked out of his thought coma and promptly dropped the cheese tray, sending large chunks of budget cheese flying across the flight deck.
“Emergency!” screeched Martin as he grabbed the controls with one hand and attempted to wipe off four chunks of Stilton from the altimeters with the other.
“Control, we are being attacked by airborne dairy products. Requesting an emergency landing and please have some crackers standing by,” Douglas joked.
“It’s not funny!”
“I figured it out!” shouted Arthur, completely oblivious to the mayhem he had just caused.
“It wasn’t a hard joke to get, but you are most definitely improving,” commented Douglas lightly as he picked a piece of Brie off the autopilot switch and munched it merrily.
“No! I figured out who Martin is related to.”
“Really,” drawled Douglas as Martin hurriedly rounded up the last of the escaped cheeses, “Can I remind you that although Father Ted says Jesus is the answer to everything, it is unlikely to be the correct deduction in this case.”
“Yes I know, and I also know Father Ted is not a real priest,” stated Arthur, “But, more importantly I know who Martin is related to!”
“Okay, Arthur, just spill the beans,” said Martin, waiting to hear probably the most ridiculous deduction in the history of detection.
“Your real name is Holmes! Your brother is Sherlock Holmes the great detective!”
“Good try Arthur, I’ll give you that but do you really think Martin’s career as a pilot - a pilot - would really be affected by having an internet detective for a brother?” asked Douglas, but the sound of thirty small cheeses hitting the floor of the flight deck made him turn back to Martin. “Oh, ye gods above, Arthur got something right?”
“Yeah, he did,” muttered Martin weakly.
As this is the first chapter - I would really appreciated some feedback regarding what people liked and dislikes about the writing, plot, setup etc. Please take the time to write something - even if it's just to say you liked/hated it.