Sherlock had always been hesitant to venture beyond the confines of his usual abode, engrossed in the intricate tapestry of his cases and the melody of his violin. You're aware of that since you've been together three years ago, you had nudged him towards exploring new horizons, from museums to cinemas. Yet, this day, you orchestrated a surprise trip to a beachside hotel, a departure from his routine, a gift.

Seated beside you on the plane, Sherlock's inquisitive nature prodded at the reasoning behind this unexpected excursion. "Why?" he queried for what seemed like the umpteenth time, failing to grasp the essence of this getaway. Despite his intellect, his perceptiveness seemed to falter in matters beyond deductive reasoning. "We could've simply went to a hotel in London. The owner owns me a favor."

Upon arrival at the hotel room, Sherlock's blue eyes swept over the details, noting the subtle imperfections that eluded the casual observer. Smoke stains, oil residue in the sink, an inactive clock, and the misaligned curtain. Without even looking at the beautiful sight outside. As he turned to you with a quizzical gaze, still clutching his suitcase and yours, the pressing question lingered on his lips. "Why?" he prompted once more as you closed the door behind you.