Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Cheekbones

This story is also on Fanfiction. Penname: ItsAKiliThing

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Thank-you to Ariane DeVere at livejournal for the transcript of the episodes.

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I created the cover image using pictures online and collage apps.

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I do not own the Sherlock or Doctor Who universes or characters.

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"The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." - Sherlock Holmes

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Clara Oswald was young, hardworking and going absolutely nowhere. She had left the kind hearted family she had babysat for and moved straight to London on a whim. She was dreaming of a fairy tale life. She would get an amazing job at a wonderful school and marry a man or a woman who she would love for the rest of her life.

Of course, nothing of the sort happened. Clara set her two suitcases down on the gritty floor and grimaced at her new flat. It was practically a basement. There was hardly any natural light casted over the small kitchenette or the tinsy living room. Mrs Hudson, the nice old land lady was absolutely delighted that Clara had moved in. She was practically hovering two inches above the ground as she led Clara through the flat. "I can't thank you enough for moving in here Miss Oswald, no one else would take it." Mrs Hudson sighed fiddling with her flowery apron.

"Once I get it all fixed up and a few er, womanly touches, it should be good as new!" Clara tried to smile happily, but the enormity of the job was slowly sinking into her head. "Oh and call me Clara, I can't stand it when I'm reminded of my unmarried status," She chuckled, trying to humour the old woman.

Mrs Hudson squeezed Clara's arm. "Oh, you're a funny one Clara! God knows we need a bit of laughter here on Baker Street," She gushed, frowning at the ground. "There's a single man upstairs but..." She trailed off, making a face. "He's a bit strange. He means well, I think – but don't be surprised if some god awful noise wakes you up in the middle of the night. He's always doing experiments."

Clara nodded slightly. She was a tad confused by Mrs Hudson's gossip. Mrs Hudson left her in the dingy flat, muttering about groceries. Clara let herself sigh loudly before getting on with it. Today, she would find out if manual labour and her would ever get on. She picked up a pair of old runners that were sitting oddly in the middle of the carpet and shoved them into the bin. She tore down the dusty curtains, sparking a coughing fit out of her. She threw the mouldy food out of the fridge and wiped down all the surfaces she could get her hands on. Finally, Clara smacked on a pair of rubber gloves and decided to brave the bathroom.

She actually felt pretty proud of herself after a few hours of hard work. The furniture truck came and some nice lads helped her move her bed in. 221C was looking ship shape as Clara smoothed her hand over her little desk and flattened a colourful rug across the floor. She snatched her laptop from on top of her suitcase and curled up on her bad amongst the purple and blue pillows. She scrolled through online newspapers lazily, searching for anything that vaguely resembled teacher, nanny or tutor positions. There was absolutely nothing that Clara could apply for. She laid back closing her eyes and cursing her brain for putting this fantasy into her head. Of course London wasn't magical! What a silly idea, to think moving to the city would do her any good.

Clara absentmindedly clicked onto Skype. She tried calling her father, but he didn't answer. He was always a weeper - cried at everything. He even shed a few tears when her pet goldfish was found belly up at the top of the bowl. Clara figured he was probably in a bit of denial at her moving, but they both knew it was time. Clara logged off, but she must have clicked the wrong button because her screen lit up with the outline of a man.