Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Carl Powers

Clara sipped her tea as she watched Sherlock looking endlessly at the pair of shoes from her flat. She sat in his chair quite comfortable with one leg crossed over the other. Sherlock shot her glances now and then when she thought she wasn't looking. He always did so with a strange mix of curiosity and dare he think it - peace. She was such a distraction. Always questioning, teasing, flirting - Clara Oswald never stopped.

Even though their bantering seemed strangely familiar though often got out of hand, Sherlock also felt like he didn't know her at all. Sure he could tell from a dusting of flour on her sleeve that she had tried cooking one her famous soufflés again, and also she was still a tiny bit angry at him from her involuntary frown when she caught him looking at her. But what was she thinking? If only he could see inside her head. No other human being had captivated his attention for so long. John was a possibility but Sherlock knew everything about his flatmate. Right down to his preferred brand of shampoo. Clara however... 'Stumped are you?' She asked brightly raising her eyebrows from the seat in his chair. Why did she always sit there? It was as if she had claimed the spot.

'Of course not' Sherlock answered in a clipped tone. He turned back to his microscope and adjusted the lens.

'So Carl Powers.' She hummed looking at the ceiling. 'Where the young amateur detective, Sherlock Holmes, started.'

Sherlock didn't react to her taunting. Amateur? He had never been amateur! 'How's the cat?' He asked blandly instead of taking the bait.

'Alive.' She replied.

'Shame.' He breathed quietly, too soft for Clara to hear.

Just then John came up the stairs brandishing his phone. 'Your brother is texting me now.' He said while frowning. 'How does he know my number?'

'Must be a root canal.' Sherlock decided thoughtfully.

'He did say national importance you know,' The doctor continued while putting his phone away. He gave Clara a small smile which she returned. Sherlock picked up a few photo graphs to do with the case and sighed heavily. He ignored his flatmate and tried to concentrate. There were only five hours left before the bomb exploded anyway. 'You can't just ignore it.' John said when he didn't get a reaction.

'I'm not. Putting my best man onto it right now,' Sherlock answered with a fake smile.

'Right,' His flatmate said nodding satisfactorily. 'Who's that?'

Sherlock didn't immediately reply. He shared an amused glance with Clara before saying 'I'm sure you'll figure it out, doctor.'

John breathed some very colourful swear words before shrugging his coat on and walking back down the stairs. Mutterings of something that sounded a lot like 'lazy' and 'arse' followed John's footsteps.

.

Later that night when Clara was nearly asleep in Sherlock's chair, Mrs Hudson brought in a tray of nibbles for them all. She placed them on the table and looks sweetly at Clara while she nodded off, still holding an empty teacup. 'Poison!' Sherlock suddenly exclaimed looking up from his microscope.

'Sorry what?' The landlady asked worriedly glancing at Clara. Surely the younger woman was just nodding off...

Sherlock suddenly slammed his hands down on the table making the lady jump. 'Clostridium Boltunium!' He shouted. Mrs Hudson flitted out of the kitchen in distress. It was best not to get ones self involved when Sherlock was like this. John looked at him blankly and Clara just rested her head in a more comfortable position. 'It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!' The detective clarified. 'Carl Powers!'

'Wait you're saying he was murdered?' John asked finally understanding. He yawned mid sentence as Mycroft had been especially boring at the Diogenes club.

Sherlock jumped up and held up the shoelaces from the trainers. 'The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce poison into his medication. Two hours later in London, the poison takes effect and he drowns in the swimming pool as his muscles paralyse.'

John held up a finger as his eyebrows knitted together. 'How - how come the autopsy didn't pick this up?'

Sherlock continued to walk around and waving his hands manically as he answered. 'It's virtually undetectable and no one would have been looking for it.' He strode over to his laptop and typing feverishly. With a flick of his wrist he pressed enter and turned around.

'The killer kept the shoes all these years,' John said wistfully.

'Yes. Meaning...'

'He's our bomber,' John finished.

The pink phone which had been sitting next to the microscope suddenly rang loudly. Sherlock whizzed around and picked the device up in one fluid motion. After listening for a moment the detective asked loudly 'where are you? Tell us where you are!'

He clicked the phone off after that and rung Lestrade on his personal phone. Sherlock repeated an address and exchanged a few words. He clicked the phone off and continued to pace round the flat. 'You're strutting.' Clara stated tiredly.

'What?'

'You're strutting. Round the room.'

'I do not strut' Sherlock sniffed now much more conscious of his walk. He sat down in the couch and looked morbidly at the mantelpiece.

'Don't worry Sherlock' John sighed while picking up a discarded newspaper. 'I won't tell Clara about your late night cat walk sessions.'

Clara laughed loudly with twinkling eyes and a cheeky grin. The statement pulled him out of his thoughts with and abrupt jolt. 'My what?' The detective uttered, glaring at his friend.

'My lips are sealed' John said and mimed zipping up his mouth.

Sherlock looked at Clara in puzzlement. She mouthed the word 'joke'.