trashchildren | For Joan

Sherlock nods in acknowledgment. Joan gives Ted a slight smile before leaning into him again.

She takes a small bite of her sandwich.

Ted smiles back and gives Joan a slight squeeze. They have plenty of time to work through their sandwiches before it's finally time to board the plane.

He pulls out a book and stuffs his backpack under the seat and settles in for a long ride. By the time they finally make it to the Brownstone, it'll be well after bedtime, but maybe closer to local bedtime, so hopefully that works out.

Joan settles into her own seat to Ted's right and stares off, lost in her own thoughts.

Sherlock sits to Ted's left, and he's stiffer than usual. He's looking around, at the flight attendants, at the captain as he boards and is greeted by one of the attendants before going into the cockpit. His eyes dart around at the other passengers. He's extremely nervous.

Ted has expected Joan to be lost in thought, but as he looks over at Sherlock, the obvious nerves surprise him a little.

"You alright, Sherlock?" he asks softly.

Sherlock glances at Ted then looks away. He's silent for a long moment, tapping his index finger and thumb of his right hand together.

"I dislike flying," he says finally, his voice very quiet but tight.

Ted already gathered that much. It's not particularly subtle, even if Sherlock is often tense and overly observant.

He's about to ask why, but remembering back to the comment about emergency exits, he can probably guess.

"Cause of all the things that can go wrong?" he asks. And, probably, the lack of control, and inability to fix it if it does go wrong.

That is, of course, exactly it. Sherlock grimaces a little, hating for his vulnerabilities to be laid so bare. But this is Ted. He's come to trust the man, to care for him. He knows that trust and care is mutual. And one of the things he's learned from Watson is that vulnerability within trust and care is not only safe, it strengthens the bond.

"The captain," he says, quietly enough that only Ted can hear him. "He was listing to one side as he walked on the plane. A bad ankle? A drink too many at the airport bar? A cerebral ischemia that has yet to make itself known?" He nods toward a man two rows ahead of them. "That man has served time for a violent crime, and he has been eyeing the flight attendants. Does he want a drink" A date? Or is he deciding which attendant to take hostage?" He lifts a finger, listening to the idling engine. "There is a slight knocking in the left wing engine. It could be an irregularity that is only noticeable when the engine is idling, or it could be a missed fracture in the gusset that will cause a mid-flight disintegration."

To be fair, all the things that can go wrong is usually what people dislike about flying. They're just not always so aware of the specifics.

Ted might argue that there are hundreds if not thousands of flights that go off without a hitch every day. But with Sherlock's analysis, he sees that such a bland statement probably won't help.

It's not exactly news to Ted, but it does remind him that Sherlock sees too much for his own good. Even just listening to him causes Ted to have a gentle anxiety as well, but he brushes that aside.

"How many times have you flown? A handful? A few dozens?" he asks gently.

"Is this where you tell me I have yet to be in a plane crash so it is unlikely I shall be in one now?" Sherlock asks dryly. His tone has a characteristic sarcastic edge to it, perhaps a little sharper than it typically would be when he's speaking to Ted, thanks to the detective's anxiety.

"No - I mean, that's true, it is unlikely," Ted answers, but he hadn't intended to be quite so condescending. "I was just wondering how many much more worrying things you'd noticed before, and everything had worked out fine."

If you just base it on bland statistics, it probably doesn't help, given all the things Sherlock's noticing. But if you compare it to other times he's noticed worrying things, then maybe that helps a little bit.

Sherlock nods a little. "There have been times I've noticed worse things, it's true. The smell of oil or fuel or burning rubber, for instance."

That last had been on his flight to New York after Irene's "death." He had been certain the plane would crash. And he didn't care.

"There you go," Ted answers. "I don't usually like to dwell on all the things that can go wrong myself, but when I do, I try to think about what I would do if it happened, so at least I have a contingency plan. And, I think of, you know, worst possible thing that could happen, then best possible thing, and then what's actually likely to happen. Which in the case of flights is usually stiff legs and a few hours of boredom."

"Perhaps," Sherlock says, his tone still rough but his tension having eased just a little, his body just a tiny bit more relaxed.

"Wanna borrow a book?" Ted offers, leaning down to fish out his copy of The Dharma Bums and offering it to Sherlock. At least it might help with the boredom, and maybe stop him from noticing so many things. (Then again, perhaps being unaware of all the possibilities is even worse for him, who knows.)

Sherlock accepts the book, turning it over to read the description. It's not one he's read. The caliber of literature Ted prefers consistently impresses him.

"Yes, thank you," he says, opening the book.

Ted smiles at Sherlock accepting the book, then looks over at Joan to check on her. He reaches over to take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

His touch pulls Joan out of her reverie, and she turns toward him, taking his hand and squeezing back.

"Hey," she says softly, her expression tired and sad.

"Hey," he answers back, giving her a smile. "You alright with flying?" he asks. She doesn't seem nervous at least, just the same kind of sadness as before.

"I'm good," she answers softly, then leans forward a little to look at Sherlock. "Is he nervous?" She's familiar with how Sherlock can freak himself out, especially when he's already emotionally compromised.

Ted makes a slight face and wobbles his head a bit to mean something like 'a bit but not too much'. He'll have the distraction of a book. And then afterwards maybe they can discuss it.

"Wanna talk, or would you rather have some quiet time?" he asks her. He's been filling the silence for a lot of the day today, so he figures she might actually like a little bit of quiet at some point.

She sees the book and can't help a small smile. She loves how caring and attentive Ted is, even to Sherlock. Especially to Sherlock.

"We can talk," she answers. She wants to keep him company. And it would probably be good to have a little distraction.

"I've got a book too, if you get sick of me," he says with a playful smile. Obviously he means if she wants to just sit and think, or maybe nap a bit. "Or, I guess, if you would like to read too."

"I'll never be sick of you," she says softly, squeezing his hand. She knows what he means, but also knows he can at times couch painful truths in humor.

"You're going to love Sherlock's library."

There's a tiny part of him that doesn't quite believe her when she says that. Not because she doesn't think it's true now, but because things can change. Maybe it was already on his mind because just earlier today he had seen her stand where Michelle stood less than a year ago, when she told him that she was trying so hard to feel the way she used to feel, and she just couldn't...

"Oh yeah?" he answers, smiling. Not dwelling on those kinds of thoughts. "I look forward to seeing it. I don't get to read enough, honestly."

"I'm sure Sherlock will enjoy recommending things to you."

"I already have a few in mind," Sherlock says without looking up from his book.

Joan smiles faintly. "See?"

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