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The Prey	By : amandalee Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3756 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The authors do not claim ownership to Sherlock or any of its characters, and we make no money from writing this.

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Chapter 2

Mary’s excitement had been reserved for much of the time leading up to the day of departure, but two days beforehand, she was downright giddy.

“You’re rather enthusiastic all of a sudden,” John remarked playfully during their taxi ride to the airport.

“I can barely wait to be on the plane,” she replied with a wide grin. “we’ll finally be able to spend an entire week together.”

Admittedly her smile was infectious, and John found himself smiling as well. How could Sherlock possibly compare Mary to some repulsive, unwashed native of marginalized mountain society? If anyone were to resemble such a person, it would be Sherlock himself.
Mary blinked at the sudden series of laughs which escaped John, and she nudged him, puzzled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I think I’m very glad that it’ll be just the two of us.”

An eyebrow tilted on Mary’s fair face. “As opposed to the two of us… and your partner?”

“Exactly.”

“In that case, I’m equally glad. I truly don’t know how you can handle him. He seems like he can barely handle himself.”

Glancing out the window, John could see the airport coming into view, and he smirked. “Some days I worry he’ll require nappies, just for the attention.”

Mary chuckled. “Are you serious?”

“No, I don’t suppose so. He’s a little too egomaniacal to subject himself to that.”

The airport was getting close enough now that Mary could see it as well from her side of the taxi. She clasped at the arm strap of her carry-on bag in anticipation.

“Well, soon I won’t have to worry about him at all,” John concluded. “It’ll be just you and me.”

Something about the situation worried John. Sherlock had been much too gracious about letting him go, even going as far as to embrace him and wish him a "great time abroad" before he stepped into the taxi that was to take him away from 221B Baker Street for an entire week.

It was far from typical behaviour from Sherlock. The detective was not known to give up that easily, and John feared that he would come up with some way to ruin their vacation yet.

***

The transatlantic flight passed with surprising speed, which could at least in part be attributed to John's eagerness to leave England behind. He had not been abroad since returning from Afghanistan, and that certainly had been anything but a vacation. Still he woke up certain nights, gasping and covered in cold sweat with the sound of gunfire roaring in his ears and the hot, desert sun baking him mercilessly.

John blinked a few times, adamant not to let his persistent PTSD accompany him to America. Sherlock knew about it, of course - it was hard to keep anything secret from the pompous git - but he had not yet told Mary about his recurring nightmares, and John feared that she might break it up with him if she learned about his complete medical history. Life with an ex-soldier was never easy.

John suddenly remembered his question to his friend, Mike Stamford, just before he'd first been introduced to Sherlock. Who'd want me for a flatmate? Would anyone want him for a boyfriend, either?

John and Mary passed through security without trouble and the flight departed on time. Their seats were coach class, and they thus had little space to move, but they still managed to sleep for some of the six hours of their first flight. They had to switch planes once they reached the United States, but their journey still went smoothly. Even so, John could not help a constant glancing behind him. He had to have been doing this every time they turned a corner. His behavior did not take very long to get noticed by Mary.

“Paranoid?” she asked, tugging on the arm locked in hers.

“Possibly,” he replied. “I just keep expecting to turn around and see him.”

“He’s not here,” she reassured him, not having to ask who the ‘him’ was. “The only way he’s here is in your head, and he probably wanted it that way.”

John smiled. “You’re right. It probably explains why he was so angelic when we left.”

“I wouldn’t say angelic,” Mary added slyly as they entered the domestic flights terminal at the JFK airport, to wait for their second and final flight. “He stared me down through the taxi window like an owl before we drove off.”

“He probably thought you looked delicious,” John said, though he knew the play on words sounded stupid.

“You’re so corny,” Mary said, though she laughed at his silly behavior all the same. It was good to hear him in a silly mood for once, and she hoped to see more of this mood during their holiday.

They had a two-hour wait for their connecting flight at the JFK airport, and they spent most of the time playing Wordfeud on their respective smartphones. John ached to buy a bag of crisps or onion rings - just something to munch on to keep himself occupied - but then he remembered Sherlock's painful barbs about his expanding waistline and decided against it. Being short truly had its disadvantages. Every pound he put on was blaringly obvious, and for some reason it all congregated around his middle.

John had been to America before, but that was years and years ago, before he enrolled in the army. And he had never visited New York City. Regretfully he realized that the closest he would come to seeing it was from the airport, as a trip to the Big Apple was simply not cut out for his current finances. He had unceremoniously refused any funds offered to him by Sherlock, as he did not want to depend on his flatmate for a living, especially not where Mary was concerned.

He could not get far with his army pension, and he'd gotten less hours than usual at the surgery lately. And London was an expensive city to live in, even for someone with a medical degree. Detecting did not pay well. Most of the time, people were actually bloody ungrateful toward you.

"Oh look! I won against Charlotte!" Mary proudly presented her screen to him, so that he could see that she indeed won the round against her adversary. He had no idea who Charlotte was, but then again, he did not know much about Mary's social life.

The notion made him think of Sherlock’s remarks made about her, though it was a common remark he made about girlfriends the doctor had: you know nothing about her. This was an exaggeration – he did not need to hack into personal files in order to initiate a relationship, after all. This was indeed what John told his partner.

“Why not?” Sherlock had sneered.

“How are you faring?” Mary asked, shaking John from his thoughts. He gave a mock pout and showed her his screen.

“Oh, poor thing,” she gave him a peck on the nose for his less than stellar score. “Looks like ‘Shocker Ellshom’ is giving you quite a fight.”

“What a stupid sounding username…” he muttered as he continued playing. Granted, he was finding it difficult to concentrate against his challenger. Perhaps it was from his squirrely sense of his surroundings from his time in the armed forces. Perhaps it was from living with someone as observant and vigilant as Sherlock. Either way, John was persistently distracted by others around him. He could have sworn he heard familiar voices. Or he was going insane… what inconvenient timing.

He was being silly. This was some subconscious attempt to bring work with him, to worry about someone showing up to bring him back for a case or other emergency, away from his well-earned vacation. He needed to ignore it and pay attention to what he had with him at present. He needed to focus on the lovely woman at his side, smiling at him.

Another part of him, however small, could not help but worry, however. Without John to keep an eye on him, who knew what kind of stupidity Sherlock might get himself tangled up in? It was a well-known fact that Sherlock completely lacked anything that could be referred to as a common sense. If something happened to him...

Oh stop it! John berated himself. Sherlock managed to survive thirty years without you to watch over him. Surely he'll get through another week.

He could only hope that Sherlock's addiction-driven personality would not turn to drugs during his absence.

With an annoyed sigh, John clicked the current game away. He was hopelessly out-maneuvered by his opponent, and their flight would soon be departing anyway. He might as well fold.

Almost immediately after he had ended the game of Wordfeud, his phone beeped, announcing the arrival of a text message. John dutifully checked it, not prepared to dismiss it as unimportant, and what he read almost made him drop his phone out of pure shock.

//It's not like you to give up that easily. -SH//

John’s eyes bulged at the message. He turned his head as though in a near panic, and finally saw a figure sitting nearby, reading a paper. Scuffed-booted legs crossed, the individual wore a gratingly familiar ratty overcoat and held a newspaper which obscured his face. The paper flipped over, and as expected, Sherlock sat with his phone activated.

He had only been sitting ten feet away.

Though the airport was loud and busy, a male voice shouting “OH BLOODY HELL,” rang out amidst the crowd, turning numerous heads. Sherlock calmly strode over to the couple as though he had not heard John’s outburst.

“What are you doing here?!” the doctor hissed out, standing up to face him.

“Surprising you. And it took damn forever. I couldn’t standing anymore waiting.” He turned his head to regard Mary, smiling politely. “Hello, Mary.”

The young woman did not respond, only glaring. Sherlock only sniffed at her in exchange. What John saw in her, he had no idea.

“You’re not the only one who noticed, by the way. Although it took you much longer…”

Sherlock held up his own phone, displaying a brief exchange between himself and another caller.

//Where are you?//

//Where else?//

John lifted an eyebrow, knowing who the correspondent was. “Has Mycroft sent anyone to retrieve you?”

Sherlock smirked. “Please. I wouldn’t have made it out of the country if that were the case. Besides, why would he send someone when he knew I was with you?”

A familiar wrinkle formed at the center of John’s brow, an expression Mary had now become familiar with. It seemed to appear most often whenever Sherlock was involved.

"Sherlock," John began, fighting to keep his calm, to not start shouting in the middle of a crowded airport terminal... "One week. That is all I asked for. One week..."

"A very badly chosen time to go on a vacation," Sherlock quickly interjected. "Considering we've got a new case!"

He thrust his phone in under John's nose, proudly presenting whatever that was on the screen. At this distance, John could not read it.

"I did not fly over here to work on a case," he snapped, shoving Sherlock's hand and the phone away. "And since when are you talking cases in America?"

"I had to do something, wouldn't you say? Besides, this seems rather interesting. I need you to work with me on this."

The consulting detective quickly rattled on to describe the outline of said new case, which apparently centered around some unexplained disappearances from a small West Virginian tourist resort. Sherlock did not specify why he claimed to find such an obviously mundane case of missing persons interesting, but John suspected that he had other reasons for taking it.

"I took the liberty of making reservations for us at the resort. I can promise you that the standard is higher than anything you could afford on your own."

"Sherlock, are you out of your mind? I'm here with Mary!"

Unsurprisingly to John, Sherlock behaved as though he had heard nothing. Perhaps he truly had not.

“Now there is a matter of taste with this resort, but I’m sure that if you could deal with me, a little lack of clothing shouldn’t be that difficult to adjust to.”

“I wish you would please just listen. Mary and I – not Mary, YOU, and I, understand – had plans, and we had an agreement, that YOU were staying here, and…” The strength in John’s voice faded as he took a moment to think over his partner’s words. He glanced at Mary, who looked as though she had heard it quite clearly as well.

“Lack of…” he echoed. “Did you…” He rubbed at his face for a moment, as though letting the actual words sink into his skin. “It’s a nudist resort.”

Sherlock only smiled.

John did not know what to say. And by the time he did, he did not get the chance to speak. An employee announced on an intercom that their flight was now boarding. John sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock removed his ticket and boarding pass, and John wishes he could have slapped that smug grin from his partner’s face.

“Shall we take off?” Sherlock asked.

John glanced at Mary, who looked like she had just drunk something and realized it was urine. The doctor was very close to deciding against the entire trip, just to spite Sherlock.

"We're not staying at the nudist resort!" John hissed at Sherlock as they were briskly walking toward the gates.

"Why not? I can promise you that the facilities are much more modern and better maintained than your choice for a resort. Seriously, John; 'Slumberland Motel'? If you were trying to impress your lady friend, you would have failed miserably. Did you really believe that Mary would fancy the sound of cockroaches scurrying about in the dark when she tries to sleep?"

"They offered free breakfast!" the doctor muttered stubbornly, although he was starting to suspect that his choice of lodging had indeed been really poor.

Sherlock made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I took the liberty to cancel your booking. Fortunately I got to it in time. You will not be charged."

This time John did not argue. Every penny he could save up would be welcome.

"Who is paying for your little trip then? Mycroft?" he asked. He knew very well that due to his impulsive and often rash nature, Sherlock did not have access to any large amounts of money at a time. Mycroft had long since managed his younger brother's finances.

"No."

"What then?" John demanded. "How are you going to pay for this?"

Sherlock was now doing his best to avoid his partner's stare. "I... sold some... stuff."

Eyes wide, John stared in disbelief. “What ‘stuff’?” His voice was low, but still audible amidst the commotion of the airport.

“Before I answer,” Sherlock said, “do not shout again, because we all know how jumpy airport security is…”

John pursed his lips. “What stuff?”

“Something that I might very well have brought with me,” Sherlock replied, “had I been absolutely positive I could get past security dogs with it.”

“John,” Mary interrupted. “We’d better go.” She pointed at the gate, where the line was beginning to thin. Sighing, John removed his own passport, ticket and boarding pass.

“For a moment, I was worried that you sold something of mine.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Why? You have nothing worth selling.”

John pretended he had not heard his partner’s answer. With their carry-on luggage and boarding papers, they proceeded towards the plane.

“Where did you get your own passport?” John asked as they searched for their seats.

Sherlock’s seat was nearby, though thankfully to the couple, not within five feet of them. Thus, he parted, but not before giving his reply.“You know I have my ways.”

John turned back to Mary, who looked confused, and ready to ask for elaboration, but John lifted a hand to cut her question short.

“Asking will only stroke his ego, so it’s best not to bother. Want me to put away your bag?”

Mary handed him her case in approval, but John's attempt at valiance ended in humiliation as he soon realized that he was too short to properly reach the overhead compartment where carry-on luggage was stored during a flight. Being forced to stand on his tiptoes, the doctor had to more or less throw the bag in, which earned him a few disproving glares from the passengers around him.

John also swore he could hear a very distinct, deep voice laughing, but once he glanced in Sherlock's direction, the detective was visibly busy stuffing his own luggage away.

The flight over to the BWI airport strangely enough felt longer than the transatlantic one, even though it lasted less than an hour. John was not in the mood to speak, and neither was Mary. Perhaps she regretted even going on this trip with him. As things were turning out, she had good reason to.

A throbbing headache had already started beneath John's temples, and the descent of the plane made it much worse. He wondered if he could blame that on Sherlock too.

When the plane finally did land, the group still had an issue of finding their latest destination. Originally John and Mary were going to take the Amtrak to a reputable camping ground, but thanks to Sherlock’s intervening, they would have to find a different route.

“Well, the train doesn’t go into this town where the resort is,” John said, searching the Amtrak site on his phone.

“Of course it doesn’t,” Sherlock said nonchalantly. “It’s a small town of little over 500 people.”

“You’re the one who said that it was bad idea to even go into West Virginia,” John said, brow knit. “And now you have us headed to a town that likely has no electricity. Or more than five teeth, collectively.”

“That’s a rather ignorant statement to be making about the place, John!” Sherlock made a theatrically insulted expression. “After all, not all of the Appalachian mountain range is like an excerpt from a shoddy horror film.”

John’s free hand clenched into a fist for a brief moment, letting go. He looked at Mary.

“Can the train send us somewhere close where we can take a taxi?” she suggested.

John gave the idea some brief consideration, but he then shook his head.

“A taxi might not take us out to the town… also, what if we needed to get out in a hurry?”

“Expecting us to be attacked whilst we’re there, John?” Sherlock said. “So judgmental.”

“In case an emergency of some sort happens,” the doctor hissed through his teeth. He was beginning to think punching Sherlock would be worth the possible subsequent arrest by police for assault. Instead, he turned back to Mary. “Perhaps it’s better if we rent a car.”

"Do we have a map?" Mary asked hesitantly. "What if we get lost trying to find our way? I hear that area can be difficult to navigate."

Sherlock gave her a supercilious smile. "We won't need a map, when we've got something much better," he said.

"What on earth do you mean?"

The detective rolled his eyes as though he was talking to a simpleton. He pointed at his own head. "This."

TBC...
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The Prey