A/N: Yay! Another story about them getting together. The idea came to me when I was talking with OldPingHai about her lovely story "Milking It". I love first meeting AU's and a fake relationship is always fun. This time I decided to turn the tables and have John be the instigator. And thus you get this.

Thanks to OldPingHai for the beta. She is awesome.

Having a two-day layover in Paris was supposed to have been fun. But instead John had spent it chasing down his luggage. He barely caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower as he was running around trying find out where the airline had waylaid his bags. They had been found this morning, so he only had enough time to grab a cup of over-priced coffee in a café, and the coffee tasted like shit.

Now he was waiting to go through security to get to his flight home to London. As he neared the front of the line, he could hear two agents arguing with someone.

"I told you before, the French government has granted me permission to take the remains aboard and back to England," the young man growled.

"Well," the first agent huffed. "It's not on our list and that means you can't bring it on the airplane."

"Aeroplane," the man corrected. But when the agents glared at him he threw his arms in the air. "This is Mycroft, isn't it? Doesn't want dead things in his precious new Jag."

John eyed them a moment and then with a cock of his head he made his decision. He shouldered his bag and barreled through the crowd to where they were arguing.

He slipped his arm around the young man's waist. "There you are, darling. Sorry it took me so long. You know the army, pissing bureaucrats," he directed the last comment at the two agents.

"Is there something the matter, gentlemen?" he asked, drawing the young man closer to him. John looked up at him and flashed his most dazzling smile. "I asked my boyfriend to grab these for me, you see. The airline lost my luggage and I didn't want that to happen to these as well," he said to the agent.

The second agent rolled his eyes. "Be that as that may, sir. It is not our list so we can't let it through."

"Not even for me?" John asked sweetly.

"I'm sorry," the first agent said.

John sighed. He dug into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out his mobile phone. With his arm still around the young man, he went through his contacts and then dialed the number he needed.

"Hey, Murphy. It's Watson, John Watson. Could you do me a favor? There's a case of whiskey for you if you do. Thanks. Now would you please work your magic and find out what is holding up a set of human remains at security? From Paris to London. Ah ha. Figured it might be something like that. Would be so kind as to give authorization? Thanks, Wendell, I owe you one. Yes, even on top of the case of whiskey." He hung up and turned to the agents. "Give it five minutes and we'll have all this cleared up."

He turned back to the young man, "So, William–"

"You know I prefer 'Sherlock'," the young man cut him off, blush dusting his pale cheeks.

John kissed his cheek. "I know, but 'William' makes you blush so prettily."

Sherlock's blush deepened.

"Alright, you win. Sherlock, did you get that two-headed fetus I asked you for?"

The two agents blanched, but Sherlock untangled himself from John's embrace and dug around the duffle on the tray. With a small cry of success, he held up his prize to John. And sure enough, floating in embalming fluid in a large jar, was a two-headed fetus. The soldier took the jar from him carefully, turning it to the light.

"Oh, Sherlock. It's marvelous. I can't wait to test it to find out if it was a Siamese twin or if it was an actual mutation."

Sherlock blushed again as John kissed him on the lips. He handed the jar back to the young man, and he put it away as the computer made a dinging noise. The agents waved them through quickly. John put his arm around Sherlock's waist again as they made their way to the terminal.

As soon as they were out of sight of security, Sherlock wiggled out John's grasp, glowering at the soldier.

"You can drop the act now. I'm grateful, but I can't imagine you'd want to keep up the pretense of being the boyfriend to a freak like me."

John cocked his head to the side. "Is this about the fetus? I didn't think you'd actually have one. I just picked the most bizarre thing I could think of to gross out the agents. I was even more pleased that you did have one, by the way. I have always wanted to see one. I think it's fascinating."

Sherlock blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah," John said with a smile.

"How did you know my name?" Sherlock asked, his eyes roaming over John's frame.

"Wendell Murphy, my contact at customs. He said that a Mycroft Holmes had put a lock on a William S. S. Holmes from bringing anything into England even remotely resembling the dead."

He muttered "I knew it," before looking up at John. "Well, then you have me at a disadvantage, Dr Watson. I don't know your first name."

John blinked. "It's John. But how did you know about the last name, or hell, even that I was a doctor?"

"The interest in the fetus and the little cuts on your fingers said doctor, particularly that of a surgeon. As for 'Watson'…" he pointed to John's duffle. There in bold letters was the name WATSON. John looked at it and then broke into a laugh.

He got up on tiptoes and kissed Sherlock again. "That was– brilliant," John breathed.

Sherlock ducked his head. "That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'."

John laughed and then Sherlock started laughing with him. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

"You know, if you keep doing things like that, I'm going to start thinking you mean it," Sherlock's voice rumbled at the touch.

"What makes you think I don't?" John asked and then drew Sherlock down for another kiss.

Sherlock came up breathless. "Freak? Remember?"

John shook his head. "You are far too interesting to let go. Plus, there's the fact that you are gorgeous."

Sherlock's cheeks darkened. "You can't mean that."

"Which bit? You being interesting or that you're gorgeous?"

"Either, whichever."

John laughed and pulled him in for another kiss. "I meant both, and I'm starting to get addicted to those lips, too."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed him back. "You aren't the only one."

They moved to sit down and John pulled out the fetus again. "Is London your final destination?" he asked as he held the jar up to the light.

"Yes, and yourself?" Sherlock replied.

"Yeah. Which means I can help with this beauty…" he looked over at Sherlock suddenly sheepish. "That is if – uh if you'd be interested…" He rubbed the back his neck.

"Oh. Of course. I would be interested in your opinion as a medical professional," Sherlock assured him. John smiled and pulled Sherlock down for another kiss.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of that," John admitted. He put the fetus away reluctantly when he saw it was nearly time to board.

"I guess I'll see you when we land. I doubt we'll be sitting anywhere near each other," John said as he indicated Sherlock's fancy clothes.

Sherlock's eyes crinkled with mirth, and then he pulled out his mobile phone and tapped away at the text messaging system before putting it away.

Five minutes later a woman from the airline came up to them nervously wringing her hands.

"Is one of you Capt. John H. Watson?" she asked glancing between the two men.

John raised his hand, "That'd be me."

She relaxed a little. "Oh, good. The airline would like to upgrade you to first class as appreciation for your service in the military."

John blinked. "Oh. Wow. Thanks. That is very kind of the airline."

The woman twittered for a couple more minutes before Sherlock sent her scurrying.

John looked at his new friend skeptically. "You did that, didn't you?" he accused.

Sherlock grinned. "Consider us even," he said with a wink. John threw his head back and laughed.

"How did you manage that, though? I mean, really, Sherlock. That was pretty incredible. She was so nervous."

"There's a reason I fly this airline in particular. I helped the owner find his sister's rapist and made sure the man never saw the light of day again."

"Wow," John breathed. "Are you a cop or something?"

Sherlock puffed out his chest in pride. "I'm a consulting detective."

John blinked. "A what now?"

"A consulting detective. I invented the job. When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they call me."

"You just keep getting more and more captivating, don't you?"

Sherlock blushed.

Shortly after that, they boarded the plane. John found out that everything was complimentary when he tried to pay for his drinks. He looked over at Sherlock, who wore the biggest grin. John shook his head.

They talked the whole hour they were in the air. John learned more about the consulting business and Sherlock learned about John's army days.

When the plane touched down, they split up at the baggage claim, having already loaded each other's numbers in their phones.

John went to go find his sister. She was standing by the doors to pick-up, biting her nails. John groaned, he knew that look all too well. She was jonesing for her next drink. At least at the moment she was sober, John thought.

He walked up to her and she held out a set of keys. "I brought your car as requested."

John took them from her and then gave her a hug. "Thanks, Harry."

She pushed him back at arms length, looking him up and down. "You look far too cheerful for a man who has spent the last couple of days in airport hell."

John blushed and Harry raised her eyebrow. "Found a nice girl on the flight over, huh?"

John ducked his head. Both of her eyebrows shot up. "Or boy?"

John couldn't help it; he raised his head and grinned.

"Dear, god. You are quite the Casanova. Is he hot?" Harry asked.

"Oh yeah," John replied.

"Better you than me," Harry groused. "Look, I've got to go. I'll catch up with you later." She thrust something in his hand. "I know you already have a phone, but that thing is at least three years out date. My number is already programmed in there," she nodded to phone in his hand. "Call me some time."

She squeezed his arm and dashed off. John turned over the phone and there on the back was the inscription:

To: Harry

Love Clara xxx

John closed his eyes. He had heard rumors Harry and Clara's relationship was on the rocks, but this cinched it. They were getting a divorce. Poor Clara. He really, really liked her.

He walked out the doors to see his new friend arguing with two men. Again. The first man, who had grey hair and a matching suit covered by a weather-beaten trench coat, had his arms folded as he leaned against the car. The second one was taller than both the grey-haired man and Sherlock. He had thinning dark red hair and a three-piece suit that probably cost more than John's yearly salary.

It was this one who was gesturing wildly at Sherlock. "I'm not putting those disgusting things in my car, Sherlock."

John looked at the car and saw that it was an Aston-Martin DH10. The new Bond car that hadn't been released to the public yet.

"That isn't even the Jag you said it was going to be," Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

"I don't even know how you managed to get them on the plane," the other man continued, ignoring Sherlock's comment.

Sherlock scoffed. "It's not as though you couldn't find out if you wanted to, Mycroft."

The man leaning against the car chuckled. "You know he's got a point."

"Thank you, Lestrade," Sherlock said at the same time Mycroft bellowed, "Shut up, Gregory!"

Greg held up his hands in surrender. He really needed to learn not to get involved in a Holmes brothers argument.

Mycroft turned back to Sherlock. "I absolutely forbid you even coming near my car with those revolting articles."

"Well, I'm not leaving them on the pavement," Sherlock huffed.

John stepped forward, swinging his keys. "I think I can help with that." He placed his hand on Sherlock's back. "Need a ride, love?"

The detective looked down at the army doctor and smiled.

Mycroft's eye brows rose to new heights. "This is how you got them through customs?"

"Apparently, his connections are better than yours," Sherlock smirked.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Not better, Sherlock. Different. The military is usually outside the purview of the government when it concerns such things."

John grinned at the elder Holmes.

Greg looked back and forth between John and Sherlock and flashed John a grin of his own. "Good on you, mate."

"Gregory…" Mycroft admonished.

"Give it up, Mycroft. They are clearly both mad. You can't reason with mad men."

"True enough," Mycroft said with a sigh. He turned to Sherlock. "Are you sure this what you want?"

Sherlock looked him right in the eye. "Yes."

"Very well. Come along, Gregory. I don't think we'll need to take Sherlock home after all."

Greg grinned and got into the passenger side of the Aston-Martin as Mycroft slipped in behind the wheel.

The two remaining men watched them drive off. John turned to Sherlock.

"So where to?" he asked swinging his keys.

"221B Baker Street."