His Doctor~

Chapter 20

To celebrate 50,000+ words and reaching twenty chapters, I have made this installment of His Doctor 5,000 words! :D

Thank you all for supporting me and this story! Please enjoy and review!

Sherlock held back a smile as he stared down at the plastic container on his lap. It was still warm, heating up his legs through the bag it rested on. The cold air, even within the car, mixed with the warmth of home-cooked meal gave him a feeling of... reassurance... Jo-Ann was waiting for him at home, worried about him. He felt his heart clench a bit as he looked forward to that sight.

Sherlock quietly ate the small portion of chicken pasta and green beans Jo-Ann prepared for him. It was delicious, as expected. Jo-Ann wasn't known for cooking, but something about the way she made coffee or how she fussed over him gave the feeling that she would be talented. He swallowed the last bite, and packed up the plastic container. Trying to regain seriousness, Sherlock pushed the thought of Jo-Ann to the back of his mind as he spoke to the driver.

"There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet. The British and American Governments know about it, but rather than expose the source of their information, they're going to let it happen." Sherlock pulled out the plane ticket for flight 007, "The plane will blow up... Coventry all over again." The driver and man in the passenger seat didn't say a word. They only stared blankly ahead as Sherlock was reminded of the horrid ways of the world... and how incredibly boring they were. "The wheel turns... Nothing is ever new."

The car pulled into Heathrow Airport, driving along hangers that contained the glorious passenger jets people all around the world used on a daily basis. One of which, would never be in use again. Cruising past runways, the car drove around to the front of a parked plane, flight 007. The car came to a stop, letting Sherlock immediately exit the vehicle. There were several men standing nearby, all dressed in suits with their hands behind their back. Sherlock walked to the steps aligned with the entrance to the plane, but noticed the American agent standing by the bottom of the staircase... The one who "fell out of a window".

"Well... you're looking all better." Sherlock said calmly, stopping in front of the man. "How are you feeling?" while it seemed like a normal conversation, both men were glaring at each other, a battle of superiority.

"Like putting a bullet through your brain... sir." The man said with discomfort following the word "sir". Sherlock chuckled, and began climbing the staircase.

"Get in line with everyone else I've met." The detective thought. The man continued as Sherlock was halfway up the steps.

"They'd pin a medal on me if I did... Sir."

Sherlock froze mid stride, placing his hands in his pocket. He took a deep breath, and proceeded to walk. It would take more than words from an American to make him loose his temper. Sherlock's slender fingers pulled back the curtain that separated the passengers from the doorway. But upon entry, he couldn't help noticing the environment.

It was cold... Damn cold.

Sherlock could see his own breaths hover in front of him as he examined the area. No lights were turned on, letting the darkness take over. Surprisingly, passengers were already seated... but every single one was sleeping. Sherlock furrowed his brow as his bent down to look at a few people, but no one moved. He did a confused turn around, looking for anyone who may enter the plane. Taking a second glance at a woman seated directly to his right, he turned on the overhead light.

She was pale, and appeared to be sleeping... but not breathing.

Sherlock's eyes went wide with realization as he slowly leaned back up. They were all dead... a bunch of corpses dressed up and strapped into place. The detective took another look around, and judging by their appearance and the chilling temperature... they have been dead for some time.