Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Alien Encounter

Clara lolled in an armchair, stroking Oscar idly. His spine hummed with delight as she dragged a few fingers across his back. Sherlock was framed in the window, his blue dressing gown shifting with each mournful stroke of his violin bow. He occasionally paused to pencil in a notation on his sheet music. Mrs Hudson came in breezily, complementing Sherlock before drifting out again. Sherlock didn't even reply.

John drifted in and out worriedly. He pretended to look in the fridge and opened the cutlery draw a few times. "You composing?" he finally uttered.

"Helps me to think," Sherlock said shortly.

"What are you thinking about?" John prodded, stepping into the living room.

Sherlock suddenly spun around, his dressing gown wafting in the motion like a ship's sail. Sherlock pointed at John's laptop. "The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five," he rapidly fired.

"Yeah, it's faulty. Can't seem to fix it. Internet these days," he said and laughed. Except he started chuckling instantly after he said it making it awkward and forced.

"Faulty - or you've been hacked and it's a message." He flicked out Irene's phone, typing the number in. "The internet traps humans like flies; screaming for attention."

"Isn't that basically twitter?" Clara quipped.

"Just faulty," Sherlock muttered, his face shedding of emotion again. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. He picked up the violin again, stretching out the sad tune.

"Right. Well I'm going out for a bit." John picked up his coat, slinging it over his back. Sherlock didn't respond.

Clara turned in her seat. No! She mouthed, looking at him desperately. John pointed at her sharply and then at Sherlock. I am not able to help those who can't be helped! She started gesturing extravagantly. After a battle of silence, John stalked out, leaving Clara defeated.

Clara sucked on the inside of her cheek. She wasn't sure what to do. Oscar bounced off her lap, skipping down the stairs to go and annoy Mrs Hudson. Clara smoothed her dress and went over to the glittering Christmas tree. She picked up a forgotten parcel. She trotted over to Sherlock. He didn't cease his music. "This is a small gift, celebrating our truce," she interrupted.

"I don't do presents," Sherlock muttered, putting his bow down. Clara raised an eyebrow. He snatched the yellow tissue paper clad package anyway. He ripped open a section and unsheathed the present. "A coat..." He sniffed it, felt it and frowned at it. "Exactly the same?"

"Identical to your favourite," Clara said smugly.

Sherlock stared at her. "Smart." It was identical to the one hanging on the hook near the door, right down to the red stitched button hole. Except...he fingered the inside pocket. From Soufflé Girl was stitched into the silken fabric.

"I know," she replied archly. "Now Cheekbones, let's go out for a bit...the park or-"

"Wait!" Sherlock exclaimed. He slapped a hand to his forehead. "I missed something - I saw it and I missed it." His hands drew together in thought. He raced over to the papers pinned to the wall. His fingers fluttered over them. "When we first spoke - OH! Oh, Clara." He sprinted to her, panting. "When we first met you didn't comprehend Skype," he said. "You called John once because you didn't know what Wi-Fi was."

"Er, thanks," Clara muttered reproachfully.

"Clara you just made a joke about twitter."

Clara felt realisation settle deep in her gut. "Sherlock, I don't understand. I know about twitter and computers."

"Clara when we first met the camera on your laptop wasn't working. Why didn't you fix it."

Clara took a step back, her tiny heeled boots clicked on the floorboards. "I don't know." Sherlock dashed back over to his mind map of papers he ripped one or two or three off, stuffing them into his dressing gown pockets. "Sherlock, you're scaring me."

"Just tell me then!" He uttered, stopping still. "Tell me who you are, who you really are," he cried, pulling at his hair.

"Stop it," Clara said. Her voice hitched. "I don't get it, I'm just Clara."

"You can't be!" His face turned into a rollercoaster of emotion, like he let down the flood gates of something terrible he had stored for a long, long time. "You are impossible!"

Suddenly, a wheezing, groaning noise filled the room. "No, no, no, no, no," Clara growled. "Not now."

Pages swirled around them, the curtains wafted to the side. Clara's hair was caught in a whirlwind of space itself. The mantelpiece disappeared, followed by the armchairs and the floor itself. The familiar floor of the TARDIS was underneath her feet and she was very, very scared. Because Sherlock was standing next to the consul, white with terror.

Clara sprinted over to him, grabbing his hands in her own. "Clara, Clara," he said breathlessly.

"I know, Sherlock - I can explain," she whispered, keeping hold of his unbelieving stare. "Just focus on me, just on me..."

"Clara!" Another voice shouted in excitement.

"Not now, Doctor," she seethed.

Sherlock whipped around. His eyes caught on the blinking lights of the consul, they dragged across the glowing green orb in the middle but finally they latched onto the skinny man looking gloomily at Clara. "You," Sherlock breathed.

"You!" the Doctor exclaimed.

They didn't have time to focus on each other. The lights flashed out, blackness flooded the room. Red pulsating lights followed menacingly. The Doctor raced to the consul, pulling the hand held screen towards him. "Doctor?" Clara questioned.

He bent over the consul, flicking a few switches. "All electrical impulses are jammed. I can't get the shields back up." He pushed a lever with a grunt. "She's completely vulnerable." The lever shifted, making sparks fly.

The TARDIS lurched to the side. Clara, Sherlock and the Doctor were thrown off their feet. Clara landed next to Sherlock, still holding on to his hands. "Clara, I don't understand," he whispered.

"Just don't die on me," she replied and scrambled up, pulling him with her.

"Magnetic hobble-field, We're flying right into it. Clara, stay by me!" The Doctor gripped the consul. Clara held onto the side, making sure Sherlock had a firm hand hold.

"Don't die," Clara repeated.

Sherlock was swallowed up by her brown eyes. "Don't die," he replied. His focus was back. Clara grinned. Sherlock finally started breathing normally.

"Doctor!" Clara yelled, still looking at Sherlock. "Please tell me there's a button you can press to fix this."

"Oh, yes. Big friendly button," he snapped.

"You're lying."

"Yep."

"To stop freaking me out?"

"Is it working?"

Clara saw a silver orb roll across the floor. She picked it up. It singed her palm. Gasping, she dropped it instantly. Another explosion shook the shell of the TARDIS. They were thrown across the room again, Clara didn't feel her body hit the ground.