Just something that I wrote in class last year. We were given a prompt: 'Joan has to pick John up from the airport. She is reluctant to do so.' As soon as I heard 'John' and 'Joan' this popped into my head so I ran with it. It's not perfect and I'm not sure if it's accurate re: international flights, but it will do for now. It seems to be liked on AO3, so I thought I'd put it here too.

This may be continued at some point, but that's not likely to be soon.

Receiving messages from Sherlock via post-it note was a regular occurrence, but this was the first time Joan had woken up with one such post-it note stuck to her face.

Need you to go to airport at 11am to pick up this man from flight from Heathrow, it said.

Paper clipped to the post-it note was a photo of a moderately attractive man with close-cropped blond hair. Joan passed a hand over her face and got up, pausing only to throw on her dressing gown before heading downstairs to the media room, where she knew she would find her housemate.

"So what is it this time? Are there corrupt customs officials letting in thousands of dollars' worth of drugs? Are there espionage agents making drop-offs in duty free? Something else that you need to me to uncover?"

"Not at all," Sherlock replied. "I just need you to pick up a friend and bring him back here."


"Because it must be done."

"And you can't do it because...?"

"I'm busy." Sherlock gestured to the many TV screens. "There's lots going on in the world, Watson, and I must not miss any of it."

Joan rolled her eyes. "Of course. So who is he? Someone you knew when you were working in London?"

"Not exactly," Sherlock said, taking his attention off the screens for the first time. He got up and turned to face her. "Are you familiar with the concept of alternate universes?"

"Sure. It's the idea that there might be an infinite amount of universes all existing on parallel planes, where life is almost the same except with tiny difference; like maybe someone who usually got a vanilla milkshake decided to get a chocolate one instead and it changed the course of their whole life."

"Precisely, Watson. And if there are an infinite amount of parallel worlds, then there are an infinite amount of parallel people. An infinite amount of Mes. Or Yous."

"For everyone's sake, I hope that's wrong and there's only one of you." Joan quipped. "So what has that got to do with anything? Does this man need your help writing a science fiction novel based on that concept or something?"

"No. I have reason to believe that a gateway between one such parallel world has opened, and that the plane that man is on has come from his London but will be landing in our New York. Do you follow?"


"Never mind, I wasn't expecting you to. Just go and pick him up and bring him back here so we can start to figure out how to get him home and close the breach."

"Are you high?"

"I assure you that I am not."

"I want you to take a urine test when I get back."

"Yes, Watson, anything you want. Just go and pick him up. You don't want to be late."

Joan raised her eyebrows and didn't move.

Sherlock looked at her for a second, and then sighed. "Please."

Joan looked at him for a moment more, and then rolled her eyes and went to get dressed.

He's actually crazy, Joan thought as she sat in the International arrivals gate to wait for the mysterious man's plane to land. He has actually lost his mind.

There was absolutely nothing to suggest that there was anything out of the ordinary about this flight. It was on all the screens, and the attendant behind the desk had assured her that the flight number Sherlock had given her was indeed correct. A flight from Heathrow airport had taken off yesterday and was due to land at this gate at 11am.

Joan took out the photo and memorised the face. A few moments later a 747 touched down and taxied into the bay. Joan stood and waited as the passengers slowly made their way off the plane, and took a step forward when she recognised the face from the photo. The man seemed to recognise her too, and made a beeline for her. He was shorter than her, and was dressed in neat, functional clothing. Even to her fledgling detective skills, everything about his appearance and bearing screamed ex-military.

"Hello," the man said when he got close enough for conversation. "Are you Joan?"

She nodded. "Yes, I am."

The man grinned in relief and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Dr John Watson."

Joan's eyes widened. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."