Rooftop Reminiscences

1

Martin stared down at the bustle of life in London.

This was how he was spending the last hour of his twelve hours of rest between flights, the last hour that they were spending in London. Sitting on the edge of a roof. Watching the bustling life of the average Londoner.

Contemplating life.

He had always liked to be in high places. He'd climbed a lot of trees when he had been young. When he had wanted to be an aeroplane and all that. Not that his like of heights had changed when he decided to be a pilot instead. He still liked being above the world, able to look down at it all.

To look down at his problems was definitely nice.

His financial problems.

His social problems.

Dealing with Douglas's taunting.

Handling the kids with their raucous parties in the shared house.

Pasta not tasting like pasta anymore, because had eaten so much of it.

His van having an odd ticking noise now and again.

When one was above the world, looking down at all of its people, and their lives and their jobs, things didn't look, or feel, so bad.

There was, of course, the inevitable crash landing when he touched ground, though. All of his problems were tangible again, looming over him, ready to destroy him...

There was one thing that could stop all of it.

He could just stand up, on the ledge, on this rooftop, just shift his weight and fly.

Because falling was just like flying, wasn't it?

He closed his eyes briefly.

When he reopened them, he stood up.

There was an oddly cheerful chiming noise just then. He flinched from the sudden noise invading his quiet so far above the world before he realized it was his phone. He fished it out of his pocket, checking the I.D. Douglas.

He accepted the call, pressing it to his ear.

"Martin, where are you? You know as well as I that we have to fly to Rome and we can't very well do that until you join us."

Martin pressed the phone closer, squeezing his eyes shut. Willing someone to just realize what it was he was dealing with. Just one person, even if it was Douglas-

"Martin?"

Douglas's voice had changed, taken on a half-annoyed, half-curious tone. Martin didn't reopen his eyes. They stung. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't open his eyes.

"Martin, I know you're there. I hear the city. Stop ignoring me and tell me you're on your way so Carolyn will stop prancing about, complaining."

Tears slipped down his cheeks. Shit- he said he wouldn't cry...!

The main concern was wiping away his tears. He forgot he was holding his cheap, pay-by-the-minute mobile. It crashed onto the ledge, bouncing haphazardly onto the building's rooftop. Maybe not so haphazardly- the flip-top mobile completely snapped in two from the impact. The top part went one way, the bottom, the other. Martin stared at it for a moment.

His tears started falling unconsciously. The entire world blurred before he blinked the fuzziness away; tears cascaded down his cheeks relentlessly. He bit his lip- hard, hard enough to taste blood- before sinking back into a sitting position on the ledge.

He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. In the near-silence of the world so far above his and everyone else's problems, Martin buried his face against his knees and wept.

Martin!whump. Sherlock references. Multi-chapter.

What else does one Cabin Pressure Martin-lover need?

Unsure what this will evolve into.

Reviews are welcome and wanted and appreciated! Thank you!