London to Edinburgh I

"Yes!" Exclaimed the consulting detective, jumping over the coffee table, clutching the letter tightly.

"Another case?" called John from the kitchen.

"Oh no John, this isn't just another case." Sherlock grinned, waving the letter in his flatmates face. "This is an exceptional case."

Deciding to indulge his curiosity, John abandoned his attempt to make tea and turned to face the taller man who was now re-reading his letter. "And what makes this case so much more interesting than the others?"

"It's in Scotland. Edinburgh to be precise."

John shifted his weight and tried to look uninterested. "Oh. Has someone been murdered?"

Sherlock took no notice of this as he was now twirling around the kitchen explaining that the crown from Edinburgh castle had been stolen then replaced a few days later then stolen again. John listened patiently, all the while hoping Sherlock would not pay any attention to him. If Sherlock laid his eyes on him he would calculate everything in a nanosecond.

"… and they, naturally, need me to decipher what is going on. Fancy taking a trip to your homeland doctor?" Sherlock finished.

Damn. "How. . . never mind. As long as we don't stop for tea at my parent's house then I think I'll survive." John joked, trying to change the subject.

"Now John," said Sherlock, stepping closer to the doctor who was pointedly not looking at him, "don't tell me that you're embarrassed by your Scottish heritage."

"What? No! I mean, of course not." John fumbled, ignoring Sherlock's smirk. "I just hate the stereotype. When people find out that I'm Scottish they assume that I must love haggis, can play the bagpipes, hate the English, and wear a kilt to every possible formal event."

"I don't assume that." Sherlock said, taking another step closer. "Although, I would like to see you in a kilt. You do have the legs for it." Sherlock's voice had dipped into a low purr and John's cheeks had flushed pink.

"So, um… how are we getting up there?" said John, willing his face to return to normal.

"I can't stand busses, trains are just as monotonous and, according to British Airways, I am grounded."

"Grounded? Do I want to know what you did to piss them off?"

"No. It's a bit not good."

"Ok." John said, dropping the subject lest Sherlock elaborated. "Again, how are we getting from London to Edinburgh?"

"Well John, I can see only one option."

"Yes, but taxi's cost a fortune and I'm not made of money Sherlock."

"No, not a taxi. We could drive."

"Yes, of course. Only two things wrong with that Sherlock. One: we don't own a car and Two: You can't drive."

"One: we don't need a car and Two: I won't be the one driving."

Ok, now John was completely lost. He stood and watched as Sherlock started to text rapidly on his blackberry (since when did it have pink casing?) and flop down onto the sofa.

"Lestrade should be here in about fifteen minutes." He stated without preamble.

Again, the doctor was confused. "Sherlock, can you tell me what--"

"No time." Sherlock yelled, jumping off the couch and scrambling into his bombsite of a bedroom. "Pack a bag John," he called through, "it gets cold that far north."

15 minutes later…

"Sherlock! What happened?" Yelled Lestrade as he bounded up the stairs after unceremoniously slamming the front door behind him.

"Ah, Lestrade, bang on time." Said Sherlock, rising from his armchair and sweeping past the D.I. with John in tow. "Well, no time like the present, let's be off."

"Hey, wait, hang on a second!" Lestrade called after them. "What was that text about a life or death situation then?"

John turned on the detective, eyebrow raised, waiting for answers. "Well if I invited you round for a cup of tea you were hardly going to turn up now were you? Now if you don't mind, we need to ask a favour of you." Said Sherlock ignoring John.

"A favour?" echoed Lestrade.

"Yes. Think of it as repayment for all the times John and I have assisted you."

"Well, what do you want?"

"Your car."

"What?!"

"We're just going to Edinburgh, it's not like I'm going to strip it for parts."

"Just going to Edinburgh?"

"Yes. Is there an echo in here?"

"Sherlock, you are not driving my car!"

"I would never dream of such a thing. You're driving it."

"Me?!"

"Well, now that that is sorted out…" Sherlock trailed off as he started to descend the stairs until John grabbed his sleeve.

"Sherlock we are not bullying Greg into driving us to Scotland, no matter how much he owes you."

"Why not?" Contrary to what everyone else would say, Sherlock was not pouting. He pulled free of John's grasp and continued down the stairs. Lestrade was the one who stopped him in his tracks for the second time. It was getting irritating.

"You can't use my car." Lestrade all but yelled at Sherlock, somehow managing to stand in front of the man.

"I repeat, why not."

"Well… because it's in service." Lestrade said with little conviction. Sherlock took a step forward causing Lestrade to take a step back and almost tumbling down the last few steps.

"Must be fine if you drove it all the way here from the Yard."

"Um, it's low on petrol?"

"We can re-fill it." Sherlock took another step forward.

"Low tyre pressure?" Lestrade's back was now up against the front door.

"Lestrade, if I didn't know any better, I would think that you didn't want me to see your car." Sherlock said in a mock tone of realisation. "Or, what lies therein?"

"You can't use my car because… because…"

"Because there's a Mycroft attached to it." Finished John. Both Lestrade and Sherlock looked up from their staring contest at John who was peering through the hall window that looked out onto the street. Defeated, Lestrade stepped away from the exit to let Sherlock pass.

Mycroft leaned against the silver car with an amused smile. Instead of his usual three-piece suit he was clad in a white shirt and dark jeans. The clothes were of a high quality (who would expect anything less from the man in question) but were such a strange addition to the man that he looked almost normal.

"Good morning brother. John." Mycroft nodded in way of greeting.

"Yes, yes," said Sherlock impatiently, "now that the pleasantries are over and done with, we need to commandeer this car, if you don't mind."

"Another captivating case of yours, is it?" Mycroft asked.

"Pretty much." John cut in before Sherlock started to dictate the entire case again. "Long story short, we need to get to Edinburgh."

"And assuming that the airlines haven't reinstated your flying privileges," Mycroft raised an eyebrow at Sherlock who just glared back, "that only leaves the option of hijacking Gregory's car."

"Well, we wouldn't call it hijacking as such." Said John. "More like repaying a debt owed." Mycroft looked at Lestrade who was looking anywhere but back at him.

"You offered them a lift to Scotland." Mycroft stated more than asked.

"Well… I do owe Sherlock a lot…"

"Not to mention that if you don't I will not assist you in any more of your cases." Sherlock chipped in.

Mycroft sighed. "Really brother, is there any need to be so dramatic?"

"Right, everyone in before I change my mind." Huffed Lestrade as he got behind the wheel.

"What? He's not coming with us!" Sherlock said pointing like a petulant child at Mycroft as he got into the passenger seat.

"He is your brother and my boyfriend. He's coming." Lestrade said with finality. Sherlock huffed and got into the back seat next to John.

Lestrade revved the engine into life and they set off on the long road to Edinburgh. All was quiet for a grand total of two minutes before Sherlock stated in is monotone baritone, "Bored."

"What?" Greg shot an incredulous look at Sherlock through the rear-view mirror.

"It's been no time at all Sherlock." Said John.

"But it is so tedious."

"Then entertain yourself brother."

"With what?"

"Why you are spoilt for choice. You have phone with which to do countless 'prank calls' as they put it, you could keep the peace by watching the scenery pass you by, or, you could loose yourself in the army doctor who is conveniently placed within arms reach." John's ears turned pink and Sherlock just shot daggers into the back of his brother's head.

"Hey, they'll be none of that, thank you very much. I don't want to see you two making out every time I check my mirrors."

"Well, put the radio on then. It's better than silence." Sherlock said, slouching in his seat. Greg did so but didn't pay close attention to what station it was tuned into. A high-pitched voice drifted out of the speakers and Greg and John visibly paled.

"Ohh wooaahhh…"

"Oh no." gasped John.

"Ohh wooaahhh…"

"Please, God, don't do this." Implored Greg.

"Ohh wooaahhh…"

"Change it, change it, change it!" cried John, but he was too late.

"You know you love me, you know you care, just shout whenever, and I'll be there…"

Both Sherlock and Mycroft were exchanging quizzical glances between the radio, John and Greg who was trying desperately and failing miserably to change the station on his broken radio. "Is it a boy or a girl singing this song?" asked Mycroft.

"… and I was like baby, baby, baby, ooh…"

"It is rather hard to tell." Said Sherlock. "It's quite catchy though." Mycroft hummed in acknowledgement but was frowning slightly as he was still trying to discern the gender of the voice.

"… baby, ooh, thought you'd always be mine, mi-"

"Finally!" cried John and Greg in unison.

"Hold the bus." Started Lestrade, turning slightly towards Sherlock. "Did you just say that a Bieber song was catchy?"

John turned to Sherlock, eyes wide. "You said what?"

"Hey, Mycroft thought it was alright too."

"Thank you for sharing brother." Mycroft drawled as Greg's scandalous expression was targeted on him. "And I did not actually say that I liked it, although I admit I didn't disagree either."

"Anyway, can we talk about something else before one of the Holmes' brothers contracts Bieber fever?" asked John

"Is it contagious?" Sherlock asked, worriedly. Mycroft rolled his eyes. Greg and John snickered.

"So, how long will it take to get to bonnie Scotland?" Sherlock asked after a brief moment of silence.

"At the speed we're going? About…" Greg glanced at his watch. "…seven hours give or take?"

"Seven hours!" Sherlock exclaimed. Silently he cursed all the airways in the British Isles. "How long has it been so far?"

"Well, we have made a dent of twelve minutes." Said Greg after consulting his watch again. Everyone groaned in despair.

Seven hours with a high-functioning sociopath in a confined space.

This is going to be a long trip!