Watson had never seen Sherlock so agitated before.
Usually before a case he would run about, grinning like a little boy at Christmastime, impatient yet joyous to finally have something to do with his ever vigilant brain. He would hug Mrs. Hudson, hurriedly yank on his long black coat and run out the door to hail a cab, calling for Watson as he scurried out. But now that all was said and done, now that their plane had taken off... Sherlock was acting downright restless.
He would madly drum his fingers against the scratched and worn arm rest, his eyes darting from passenger to passenger as if dissecting them with is eyes. He would quietly mutter his findings under his breath from time to time, his eyes fixed on the person he was analyzing.
"46 years old, business man, widower..." he would murmur, his eyes fervent, "... sleeping with his secretary, four small children... boring, boring!" He occasionally would slide a hand into his pocket absently to check his phone, only to be reminded he couldn't use it. Watson half expected Sherlock to pull a gun and start shooting holes in the plane. Knowing Sherlock, Watson knew he could have easily snuck such a simple little thing past security at the London airport. Regardless, Sherlock's peevish behavior was unsettling to say the least.
Was Sherlock really so desperate to solve this case?
...Or was it something else?
Could Sherlock feel it, too? The tension? Could he... feel it growing? Watson shuddered at the thought, shifting uncomfortably in his lumpy, cramped seat.
Watson knew there was something very wrong, from the very moment he had boarded the plane. The air inside felt heavy and taut with fear, fear that was neither Sherlock's nor his own. The air tasted metallic and sharp, as lightning were about to strike. But, the rest of the travelers seemed content, so Watson had initially written it off as nothing but jitters.
Now he was beginning to regret his indifference. The tension grew more unbearable with every passing moment. Even the shadow, which had never left his side since Baskerville, had utterly vanished, as if it were afraid of what lay ahead.
No... whatever this was, Sherlock had yet to pick up on it. Besides, it was probably just stress. Watson slowly slumped down into his seat, sighing, closing his eyes. But any attempt at rest was quite suddenly interrupted.
Twilight, you really ought to calm down.
Watson jumped, sending the beverage belonging to the stranger seated on his left flying into the aisle. The man paid no mind, seeing as he was sleeping, but a spilled drink was the least of Watson's worries. The voice... was it from inside his... head? No, of course not! After all he h-
I know, Spike. But what if things go wrong? What if the case never gets solved? A clear, bright, feminine voice spoke clearly in Watson's brain, echoing and vibrating through his skull, effectively interrupting his thoughts. His heart pounded fiercely as he pressed his fingers against his temples, gritting his teeth. How the hell was this happening? He couldn't be hearing voices, he was a mentally sound and well adjusted person. Had could he have suddenly lost his mind within the past three hours?
John, stop. Think. He thought forcefully.
This is not happening. This is clearly a hallucination, induced by stress. These are not real voices.
It'll be fine! Now please stop worrying, your nervous twitching is rocking the chariot. The younger voice spoke again, one that was boyish and clearly annoyed.
Watson took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the voices best he could. He sat up slowly, setting his jaw. Get a hold of yourself, John. The stress is getting the best of you, that's all, he thought to himself intently. He clasped his trembling hands together, carefully controlling his breathing.
Alright Spike, no need to get your scales in a twist.
And that's when Sherlock suddenly jerked out of his seat, just as the feminine voice spoke once again. His eyes were intense and dark as he turned to Watson. Watson knew that look. That was the look Sherlock got whenever something interesting happened, the look he got when he wanted to prove that something was relevant or strange. If it had made him nervous before, the look terrified Watson now.
"Was someone talking?" Sherlock asked intently, gripping the armrest tightly. His dark eyes glittered like a hawk's as he moved a bit closer to Watson, examining everything from his heart rate to his expression. Whatever he had heard, it must have been incredibly strange to get him so agitated.
Could he... have heard the voices as well?
When Watson failed to answer right away, Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. "Watson, I need you to answer me right now. Was there someone talking here in the plane?"
"Um, I-I don't think so." muttered Watson, his eyes carefully avoiding Sherlock's.
"If you're going to lie to me, Watson, don't make it so painfully obvious. You heard her, didn't you? Inside your head..."
Watson turned as white as a sheet, then turned his gaze to the seat in front of him, refusing to look anywhere else. His knuckles turned white as he clasped his hands together even more tightly, his face as taut as a drum.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Watson whispered, barely able to force the lie past his lips. Sherlock, meanwhile, was in heaven.
"Oh, this is perfect! I knew I was due for another assassination attempt. Oh, but this one is clever. Oh yes, using a hallucinogenic drug of some kind to weaken me. When was it administered, I wonder? I had nothing to eat or drink at the airport, gas can be ruled out, obviously. We're the only ones suffering from hallucinations. Furthermore..." Sherlock continued to chatter excitedly as Watson swooned in his seat, his face pale and clammy.
What the bloody hell was going on? How could they possibly have been drugged? And why was the, plane tipping? Oh, wait, he thought suddenly, that's not the plane...
His vision blurred and he doubled over, feeling nauseous.
"Watson?"
He made a sudden attempt to run to the lavatory, but instead tumbled across the man sleeping next to him and into the aisle. He tried desperately to call for help, but the words died in his throat as he collapsed. He tried to crawl his way forward, but his legs would not support him. His arms fell clumsily to the floor, refusing to do his bidding. He felt like a brittle, old marionette with the strings cut. The best he could do was make tiny whimpering sounds as he lay there, utterly useless.
Fear gripped him with an iron grasp as he tried to make sense of this. There was no way this could be happening, no way that these strange things could happen to him.
This wasn't about the voices anymore. Something was very, sincerely wrong. He would never get sick like this, over something that was purely stress based.
At least, he wouldn't under normal circumstances, which these clearly weren't.
"Watson, I think there is s..." Watson didn't catch the last part. Sherlock's voice sounded so tinny and far away, like he was talking through an old radio. After a few moments passed, Watson heard a muffled groan, followed by a dull thud. He felt something fall against his back, something rather light. Was that Sherlock? Or perhaps someone else, trying to help? He struggled to turn his head and see, but found it impossible to move even a centimeter.
His limbs felt heavy, limp and useless, his mouth felt as if it were full of cotton. Cold, numbness slowly spread through his fingers and toes, as if they were melting away. His mind began to grow cloudy as he watched the world fold in on itself, like some bizarre optical illusion. Oh, wait... that wasn't right...
Was this a hallucination? Or maybe all of this was a dream.
He chuckled quietly. Yes, he thought dizzily, A dream.
And now I'm waking up.
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He was falling now. Or was he? It was hard to tell, with all the white light filling his eyes, with the pins and needles prickling across his aching skin.
The last thing he saw before darkness took his mind was a blue scarf, dancing and twirling.
Sherlock's scarf.
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"Are we there yet?" groaned Spike as he sunk his teeth into a plump piece of Amethyst. Twilight rolled her eyes and decided not to dignify him with an answer, seeing as this was the thirty second time he had asked. Instead, she cast her gaze out across the landscape below. In the distance, the very tops of the tallest buildings in Manehatten were visible. Rolling hills and valleys of lush green stretched on for miles and miles around. Little farms could be seen occasionally, speckled throughout the countryside.
Perhaps the Apple family owned a farm somewhere around there.
The thought of Applejack and the rest of her friends made Twilight's heart ache. She felt like a terrible pony for not telling them the nature of her Manehatten visit and leaving them behind. She knew keeping them in the dark was for their own safety. She knew the princess had instructed her to take up this important task. But still... As she thought of their supporting, friendly faces, she felt a few small tears come leaking from the corners of her eyes. She missed them so much already...
WWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM
A massive thrumming noise cut through the silence, shaking Spike from his relaxed position on the floor and causing Twi's teeth to rattle like a wind up toy. The entire chariot shook with such force, both the young drake and the purple alicorn very nearly went careening to their deaths. Shaking her head to clear it, the young princess steadied herself and quickly looked about, searching for the source of their sudden and unusual turbulence. Left was clear. Right, also clear. Up...
"Oh, sweet Celestia..." Twilight whispered, her face slack with surprise.
She watched in fascination and shock as the clear, blue sky opened above her, cracking like a colossal egg. The crack literally split the sky in two, it was so immense. It rumbled like a mighty dragon's growl, it glowed with a brilliance she had never before encountered. It pulsed, leaking wisps of gold smoke. Magic, perhaps? She couldn't tell.
Her heart pounded with excitement as she called to Spike. "Spike, get get my notebook, quick! We have to record this, we don't know how long it will-" She stopped suddenly, squinting up at the crack.
That crack... it had just ejected from itself two tiny shapes. Ponies? Maybe... no... wait, yes! They were ponies! But, that was... utterly impossible. Twilight now had only one question at the front of her mind as she watched the ponies' limp bodies descend:
Holy Tartarus, they're not moving! They're going to die!