Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Boom! Crash!

"Run you clever boy..." - Oswin Oswald

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Clara's morning was going great really. A long bath followed by a hearty breakfast was definitely a good start. Well, till someone started shooting in the upstairs flat. With her hands flattened over her ears, Clara rushed up the stairs in her black boots and tights somehow knowing that this was her newly found neighbour, Sherlock Holmes. 'What the hell are you doing?' She heard John Watson yell from above.

'Bored,' replied Holmes and continued to fire bullets at a yellow smiley face painted on the wall.

John squinted at him. 'What?'

'Bored, bored, bored!' The man yelled firing behind him and round his back. The poor wallpaper was definitely taking a hammering. Clara kept to the wall as Sherlock in his pajamas and blue dressing gown twisted to and fro.

'So you took it out on the wall?' Clara exclaimed looking at the wall, man and gun, blinking in disbelief.

'Oh hello Clara,' Sherlock greeted blandly though his eyes twinkled at her. John grabbed the gun from his hand as the detective glared at the yellow face. 'Don't know what's up with the criminal classes,' he sniffed, 'lucky I'm not one of them.'

'So you took it out on the wall,' Clara repeated taking a seat in Sherlock's leather chair as the man ran a long finger over the painted smile.

'Oh the wall had it coming,' he muttered then suddenly flopped onto the leather couch underneath his target practice. He gave her a funny look as she made herself at home in his chair. The woman raised an eyebrow as he frowned at her, almost daring him to question it.

John glanced between the two of them before shrugging off his coat. It seemed like they knew each other already. John supposed they did as they were talking before they really knew each other. Strange though, Sherlock hadn't taken down his map about her though it had been moved to a spot above the mantelpiece. 'What about the Russian case?'

'Open and shut domestic murder, not worth my time,' Holmes stated staring up at the ceiling.

'Shame,' sighed Clara picking up a discarded magazine. 'Mrs Hudson was raving about it all day.'

'I don't solve cases for Mrs Hudson,' he retorted watching John make dramatic hand gestures at the mess in the kitchen.

'Should put that on a t shirt,' she teased sparing Holmes a glance. His eyes matched her brown ones for a second before going back to inspecting the ceiling.

John headed towards the fridge asking about food before suddenly exclaiming 'Oh fu...' As he opened the doors. The doctor slammed them shut and slumped against them. John opened them again and stares at the severed head which gazed blankly into the room.

'Oh my god,' Clara whispered giving a frightened glance to Sherlock.

'Its a head,' John stated after closing the doors again. 'A bloody head!'

'Just tea for me, thanks,' Holmes asked softly ignoring the bewildered glances of his neighbour and flatmate. 'You don't mind do you?'

'You have a human head, in your fridge!' Clara gaped completely forgetting about the magazine in her hands.

Sherlock frowned and sat up a bit. 'Well where else was I going to put it?' He asked exasperated gesturing with his hand. 'I got it from St Barts, I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.' John buried his face in his hands as his friend waved a pale hand in the vague direction of a laptop. 'I see you've written up the taxi driver case.'