I don't own anything. John Finnermore owns Cabin Pressure and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm . Richard Curtis owns " Four weddings and a funeral ". I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
This story is going to be an homage to one of my favourite movie , " Four weddings and a funeral "- if you're not familiar with it , I strongly suggest you to watch it, because it's really funny and hilarious . As the title says , there are going to be four weddings and a funeral , and this is going to be a Martin x Molly story , obviously , with other pairings from both " Cabin Pressure " and BBC "Sherlock".
The title is from a Crowded House's song, "Better be home soon"- God bless Neil Finn for writing it .
I wish to dedicate this story to Zora Arian , for her kind words and her support .
"Somewhere deep inside
Something's got a hold on you
And it's pushing me aside
See it stretch on forever
I know I'm right
For the first time in my life
That's why I tell you
You'd better be home soon "
Better be home soon - Crowded House
If Martin Crieff should use one word to describe himself, and his life, the last one in his mind would be "lucky". During his five years at MJN he had constantly lost every bet his first officer Douglas Richardson had lured him in; during the same five years the owner of said airline, Caroline Shappey, had never paid him, and Martin had been forced to work as a "man with a van" to sustain himself. He had a sort of crappish relationship with his siblings, no friends (if you excluded Douglas, Arthur and Caroline Shappey), and no girlfriend.
Inexplicably at some point in his life, Karma started to work in his favour.
First of all, Martin met a princess. A real princess, Theresa von Liechtenstein, who was incredibly attracted to him, and happy to spend time with a poor pilot like Martin; just after that, he managed to have an interview at Swissair, and he unexpectedly convinced the Ceo of the airline to hire him as a first officer. All at once, Martin had a well paid job, a beautiful girlfriend, and the world seemed to love him, for the first time in his life.
That's when Martin started to become suspicious. If there were a thing, just one thing, that life had taught him, it was that in his case, happiness seemed to have an extinction date, and that after a disaster, another would come soon, destroying everything, like a little breath could end a house of cards.
It all started with Theresa. At first everything seemed perfect: they were young, and in love. Theresa dragged him all around the world to meet other "royal people", and she didn't complain when he decided to visit every aerospace museum in Switzerland, Germany and France. After six months of dating, however, Martin noticed that she was not the woman he had fallen in love. Theresa was jealous of his cabin crew, because the flight attendants for Swissair were young and mostly blond women ,and not an old woman and her cheerful son; she was manipulative, and arrogant to his colleagues; she was more alike her mother, the Queen, that she could ever believe to be.
Theresa's family was another big problem. Her sisters didn't fancy him, because he was nothing more than a commoner, her brother was a spoiled brat, and the Queen was the living proof of what Theresa would be in the future. After other six months, Martin finally found the courage and broke it off. Theresa didn't take it well: she accused him to be a cheater, and said that he couldn't hope to find someone else who would bear his oddities and irresoluteness.
Just a week after the break-up, Swissair politely informed Martin that due to the company's restructuring process, his services were no longer requested: in one word, fired. So now he was alone, and jobless, in a foreign country.
Martin reluctantly decided to leave Zürich (in the year he had spent there, he had learned to appreciate the pristine and calm city), and he returned home, to Wokingham, to visit his mother and try to figure out what he could do with his life.
His brother and his sister weren't very happy to meet him again: as he learned the first day back home, during his permanence in Switzerland their mother had confessed that Martin was the offspring of her brief affair with an upper class gentleman, named Segin Holmes. The name was strangely familiar to him: he recalled that just before his departure to Zürich a man named Sherlock Holmes, a supposed "consulting detective", had killed himself falling from a hospital roof in London, because he was nothing more than a fraud.
To recap: Martin Crieff was alone, with no job, and the man he had called "dad" for 34 years was not his real father. And, cherry on the top of the cake, his half-brother was a dead criminal. To be sincere, he could understand Sherlock 's decision: in the last days he had been so depressed that he had contemplated suicide,too. Fortunately, Martin had recalled what he had read some time before: "suicide is just a permanent solution to a temporary problem", and he had dismissed the idea.
But just as before luck had suddenly disappeared from his life, taking away from him all the good things he had achieved, the wheel of fortune stopped on Martin's slot again.
Two weeks after the "revelation" about his true parentage, a dark-haired, attractive young woman, with a Blackberry glued to her hands, politely "invited" Martin to go for a ride in a black expensive car he had already noticed parked outside his mother's house. In the car a posh, late forty-something gentleman was waiting for him. He told him that his name was Mycroft Holmes, and he was his older half-brother. Mycroft worked for the government, but he remained extremely vague when Martin asked about his position; he was only there because he had known about Martin existence since his birth, and now he wanted to make amends for the past.
"Obviously, you are intended to inherit a part of the Holmes' fortune, Daddy remembered you in his last will, Mr Crieff..." Mycroft said, and Martin remained silent. The gentleman in front of him - his brother - was very elegant; power and money emanated from him. " Our family lawyer will contact you soon, and then you will come in possession of what it's rightfully yours" . Mycroft spoke without looking at him in the eyes, like Martin wasn't there. At the same time in Martin's mind hundreds of questions collided: "Why telling him now ? Why not before ? How was his -their -father ? How much money did he inherit ? What about their other brother, Sherlock ?". He opened his mouth,but Mycroft had already opened the car door. Martin nodded and uttered a "Bye", and then he heard Mycroft murmuring " You..you really looks like him".
"Like who ?" Martin inquired, but Mycroft remained silent, and dismissed him. " Goodbye, Mr Crieff".
Two weeks later , 500.000 pounds appeared in Martin's bank account - he received an alarmed phone call from the bank , and after a while he managed to convince them that he was not a drug dealer, or that he had married an old spinster and then killed her to have her money . Martin decided to do what he had always dreamed : he bought a nice flat in Fitton, furnished it, and called Caroline Shappey. Strangely, she told him that she was going to call him soon, partly because she had genuinely missed Martin, partly because having Douglas and Herc working together was becoming a nightmare, and partly because, and it was really bizarre, in the last two weeks MJN had gained an exceptional number of new - and rich - clients. Now Caroline could afford to pay Martin, and he could be a professional captain, for the first time in his life. Herc was more than happy to retire, at last , and Martin Crieff returned to GERT-I's flydeck, feeling like he was at home, finally. During the year he had spent being a first officer for Swissair, he had sometimes felt lost :everyone was even more professional than him ; there were no first officers who smuggled everything, from orchids to fish pies; no strange stewards who repeated "brilliant " every five seconds and had strange fixations with yellow cars and polar bears, no bossy owner who had tricked him into giving him the captain position without paying him. In one word, flying with Swissair was boring.
One month after his return at MJN Air, Mycroft " summoned" Martin again . This time they were in a very posh club in center London, and Martin was even more frightened than the first time he had met Mycroft .
" I reckon the first time I met you, Mr Crieef, I didn't behave properly . I assume you have come in possession of your part of inheritance " Mycroft stated.
" Y-yes , yes I have. The lawyer was very efficient " Martin stuttered .
" Mr Lawson is a dear old friend , and a very adept lawyer, indeed ; but I haven't called you to share our impressions on him . I suppose you have questions , Mr Crieff-"
" Martin . You can call me Martin , Mr Holmes...since we are half-brothers... an-and if you like it, of course " Martin dared to interrupt the older man, and stammered again, still red in the face, as it always happened when he was distressed.
" Martin " Mycroft allowed , " you are free to ask me whatever you want "
Martin remained silent , deciding which question ask first . " Tell me about Sherlock , please ".
And Mycroft told him about Sherlock . He started from his childhood, telling about his dream to become a pirate , and then went ahead , describing Sherlock's struggle with drugs, how he became clean and started to work as a consulting detective . Mycroft stopped briefly before talking about the last part of Sherlock's life .
" Please, do me a favor, Mr Crieff-Martin : don't believe what the journalist have written about him. Sherlock was many things, but not a fraud. He was a very intelligent, and brilliant young man...I was very proud of him, and I didn't tell him..." Mycroft grasped one of Martin's hand, and squeezed it slightly . " You remind me of him...you're so much like him..."
Martin blushed even more . " We-well , aside the fact that I'm a ginger, shorter than him, and much less clever..."
Mycroft smirked " You know, when he was a new-born , he had ginger hair, too - they darkened when he was four or five years old...But enough with the sad stories : tell me about you, Captain "
A month after his first meeting with Mycroft , Martin decided to do something reckless : he went to Baker Street to meet John Watson , "Sherlock's only friend ", as Mycroft told him . He could remember very vividly Mycroft trying to dissuade him. " Doctor Watson may react rather peculiarly , Martin . Sherlock's suicide left him in despair : given your resemblance to Sherlock , I suggest you to approach him carefully ".
That's why Martin went without advance warning to 221 B Baker Street , and then went straight to the hospital, because John Watson punched him square in the face.
After a morning full of explanations, phone calls to Mycroft and several apologies from John , Martin started to ask questions to the former army doctor . John told him everything about Sherlock : their cases , his strange habits, his suicide . The experience was cathartic to John , and quickly Martin and John became friends . They went to the pub, and soon John introduced him to DI Greg Lestrade and Mrs Hudson ( who promptly fainted the first time she saw him ) .
Martin Crifef life was very satisfying at that moment : he was back home, with his dream job ( finally a piad job ), a new family, and new friends . Everything was fine . And then Sherlock Holmes decided to come back from the dead , and make his life a living hell .
Hope everyone is in character, and that you liked this prologue - next chapter, the first wedding, and Martin finally meets a certain pathologist ! Let me know your opinions, and thanks for reading !