trillsabells | Crack!fic: Inflight Entertainment

Title: In-flight Entertainment
Beta:

jupiter_ash
Characters: Sherlock, John, Lestrade.
Category: Crack of the purest kind.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Sherlock characters not mine (*sigh*). Also not mine is the evil name game which is the creation of John Finnemore and is from the episode 'Limerick' of the radio series Cabin Pressure

Over here there was a request for a fic where John and Lestrade are playing Mornington Crescent, much to Sherlock's annoyance. Now someone else immediatly nabbed that one but it reminded me of the little games the characters play in Cabin Pressure (which, coincidently, stars Benedict Cumberbatch). So... well... this happened.

Special thanks go to

jupiter_ash who betaed this is record time
Special apologies go to my Counselling Studies class as I kinda wrote this while there. Sorry.

In-flight Entertainment

“Davina McCall.”

Sherlock started in alarm. With two words John had managed to violently derail his train of thought. He had been concentrating on the case. The plane around him had been lost to the world of facts and crime scenes dancing around in his head. He’d been re-examining virtual clues and possible motives. He’d been planning what he, John and Lestrade were going to do once they reached the Channel Islands, plotting strategies and running through possible scenarios.

It was a short flight and he’d been deep in thought ever since he‘d sat down. He’d been vaguely aware of John, who was in the seat next to him, and Lestrade, who was on the other side of John across the aisle, having a conversation as they sat down but they had gone quiet just after take off. John’s words had broken the reverie.

Sherlock couldn’t help thinking they were very strange words to break the silence with. Strangely though, based on the expression on Lestrade’s face, the police officer was taking them very seriously.

“Alright you can have that one,” Lestrade said.

John grinned broadly then leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. Lestrade’s eyes drifted upwards looking similarly resolute.

“It’s a game,” Sherlock concluded aloud.

John turned to smile at him. “Yes, it’s a game. And…?”

Were they in some way testing his deductive abilities, Sherlock pondered.

“Davina McCall is a ‘celebrity’. It’s a game involving celebrity names.”

“Did we say they had to be celebrities?” Lestrade asked.

“Well, it has to be someone we both know,” said John. “Otherwise you could just claim you went to school with someone called Nasty McSinister.”

“No,” said Lestrade derisively. “That’s a ridiculous name. Barely evil at all.”

John laughed and Sherlock sighed.

“OK. A name game. Explain.”

“John and I were talking about Moriarty,” said Lestrade, leaning towards them over his arm rest.

“And Lestrade was saying that the name Moriarty was such a giveaway,” said John. “Because it just sounds evil.”

“Evil?” said Sherlock, frowning.

“Yeah,” said Lestrade. “But John said that meant nothing because there are plenty of people in the world who aren’t evil but have evil sounding names. So I challenged him to name some.”

“And I bet I could name more than him before the end of the flight.”

Sherlock glanced between the two of them, turning over the ridiculous notion in his head.

“Evil sounding names?” he repeated slowly.

“Like Davina McCall,” said John firmly

“Agatha Christie,” said Lestrade tentatively.

John grinned again. “Russell Crowe.”

“Ooh, good one.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “The concept of evil is a moral judgement invented by humans and is extremely subjective from person to person. I fail to see how that can be applied to names.”

Lestrade snorted. “Well, I guess, as extremely subjective persons we have to make the moral judgement based on the name.”

“Or you could do the evil voice,” John said to Lestrade over his shoulder.

Lestrade laughed. “Or there’s the evil voice.”

Sherlock gave this due consideration. “The evil voice.”

Suddenly John threw back his head and cackled madly and loudly so he attracted the attention of the entire plane including two worried looking stewardesses.

“Fear me!” he cried in a high pitched croaky tone of voice. “All ye who dare to cross Russell Crowe.”

“Russell Crowe,” Lestrade echoed in the same convoluted tones.

Sherlock blinked at them while keeping his face carefully blank. “That does sound rather evil,” he said flatly.

John and Lestrade grinned at each other.

“Who is winning this game then?” Sherlock asked.

“John is,” said Lestrade. “He’s got Davina McCall and Russell Crowe and I’ve only got Agatha Christie. Ooh, and Evelyn Waugh.”

“Not bad,” said John with an approving nod.

“Hmm,” said Lestrade looking away with an expression of deep concentration on his face. “Tied now.”

Sherlock turned to John and saw that he was staring at the back of the chair in front of him, apparently absorbed in thinking of another name for their silly game. Sherlock frowned to himself. It was a silly game. What strange things normal people do to keep their tiny minds occupied. Evil names indeed. What a ridiculous concept. But he couldn’t help the growing sensation of frustration that crept over him as he began to realise he couldn’t think of any.

His phone went off. He ignored it.

“You shouldn’t really have that on,” said John frowning then reaching into his pocket to pull out the phone.

“Text message from your brother.” John said mildly before pressing a button then gaping. “How the h- oh never mind.”

John leaned over to tap Lestrade on the arm then showed him the screen. Lestrade read it aloud.

“Calista Flockhart. Very good.”

Sherlock snatched his phone back. “Mycroft is playing? This is ridiculous.”

“You’re only saying that because he’s got one and you haven’t,” said John with a wicked grin.

“I am not. Besides, Calista Flockhart? That’s hardly evil is it?”

“It is a bit.” Lestrade raised his voice back into evil tones again. “Tremble, puny mortals, for I’m she who is known as Calista Flockhart.”

“No, no, no,” said Sherlock. “Calista is from the Latin for beautiful and Flockhart. Well a flock of hearts sounds like the exact kind of idiotic romantic sentiment people seem so fond of on valentines day.”

Sherlock’s phone beeped again. John grabbed it out of his hands before he could delete the message.

“Calista suggesting callouses and blisters,” John read aloud. “Flock suggesting flog, pluck and pick. Calista Flockhart, the calloused and blistered one who comes to flog and pluck your heart. He’s got a point, Sherlock.”

“He does not.” Sherlock huffed. “And besides if any name is evil then Mycroft Holmes is.”

John appeared to consider this “Hmm. I’ll give you the Mycroft but Holmes… well it’s… homely isn’t it? Not really evil.”

“Besides Sherlock sounds much more evil than Mycroft,” Lestrade said

“It does not,” said Sherlock irritably. “Sherlock Holmes is a heroic name.”

“I thought you said there’s no such thing as heroes.” John was definitely teasing now

“There isn’t.” Sherlock said sullenly. “But if a name can be evil then my name can be heroic.” He decided that if silly voices were evidence in this game then he could have a go at that as well. “Sherlock Holmes,” he said deeply and dramatically as possible. “Here to save the day!”

“You will rue the day you dared to cross, Sherlock Holmes.” Lestrade cackled, hunched over and crooked his fingers as if that added greater weight to his argument.

“Ha!” John clearly thought it did. “You got that right.”

“If you’re having Mycroft I’m having Sherlock,” said Lestrade plainly

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed. “I won’t have Mycroft. After all, you did say the person couldn’t actually be evil.”

John laughed again. Sherlock’s mind raced, desperately trying to come up with a name, any name, as long as it sounded vaguely evil. He was aware of Lestrade and John staring at him, their gazes mocking, their smiles wolfish.

When his phone went again he couldn’t suppress a desperate cry of, “No!”

John read the message aloud with a wicked grin. “Mycroft again. Heston Blumenthal.”

“He’s good at this,” said Lestrade. “So that’s two to everyone and none to Sherlock. And I think we’re coming in to land now-”

“Kristina Rihanoff,” said Sherlock so quickly it came out more like ‘Kina Ran off.’

“What?”

“Kristina Rihanoff.”

“Who’s that?” Lestrade asked.

“The one off Strictly?” John said at the same time.

Lestrade frowned at John. “You watch Strictly Come Dancing?”

John blushed but ignored him. “She’s Russian. All Russian names sound evil. That’s practically cheating.”

“But is it cheating?” Sherlock asked focusing on John with an accusing and slightly desperate gaze. “Does it count? Can I have it?”

John leaned away from him. “Yeah I guess.”

“Good. Martina Hingis.”

John and Lestrade exchanged glances, looking overly concerned about the anguish in Sherlock’s voice.

“Yeah,” they both said slowly.

Sherlock’s racked his brain urgently, bringing up every name he had ever stored away in his harddrive and examining it for its evil possibilities. John and Lestrade apparently saw the dangerously focused expression on his face and started to grin again. The plane tilted as it made its final approach

“Marcus Shakesheff.”

Lestrade frowned. “Never heard of him.”

“Kathy Nettleship.”

John shook his head. “You just made that up.”

“Loo Brealey.”

“Oh, that’s hardly evil.”

“Benedict Cumberbatch.”

“Nearly on the runway, Sherlock. Gotta do better than that.”

“Rupert Graves.”

“Close, so very close.”

“MARK GATISS!”

“Ding ding ding!” John called victoriously while Lestrade punched the air and the plane made contact with the ground. “We have a winner! And the prize goes to… Sherlock Holmes!”

Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He beamed with pleasure.