Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

The Doctor

Clara ran her hand along the shiny railings and tiptoed down the stairs. It was called Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. The blue phone box. The Tardis. Clara grinned. The spaceship whirred angrily as she reached the consul. "Still don't like me then?" Clara ran a finger along the sharp edge. She admired the transparent cylinder extending to the ceiling and the green lights that glowed inside it.

"Cocktails on the moon?" A voice echoed down below. "What about crumpets with a Skaldak?" Clara rounded on him, crouched beneath the consul. She grimaced. "Just kidding."

The Doctor, that was his name. Square chin, floppy brown hair and always dressed in a button down shirt with a bow tie and suspenders. An alien, with two hearts. Best of all, he was a Time Lord and this was his time travelling machine. "I'm thinking more of," Clara tapped the consul as she thought. "Somewhere round London, you know..."

"Has Uncle Mycroft got another job for you..." the Doctor trailed off, fiddling with wires. Orange sparks landed on his chest.

"Don't call him that," Clara swatted his shoulder cheerfully. "But yes, I do have to go."

"Anyway, when can I meet those men you run round circles for?"

Clara sighed. "It's not....practical..." The Doctor harrumphed. "I'm serious! You would, I dunno, scare them!"

"Then I'm definitely meeting them!" He scrambled up, all awkward and gangly. "Coffee on Thursday?"

Clara put her hands on her hips. "Sherlock doesn't like aliens," She reasoned.

"Sherlock? Isn't that a girl's name?" His face contorted reproachfully.

Clara sucked on the inside of her cheek. She titled her head. "Please?" He stared down at her with ancient brown eyes. "Do you want me to get cab?"

"Fine. But..." He tapped her on the nose. "This is a time machine, remember?"

Clara tried not to let her smile show. "Sorry, Chinny, my turn to rescue the humans."

The Doctor swung round and messed with the controls. The green light throbbed and bobbed up and down. The familiar groaning and wheezing of the Tardis filled her ears. "Hang on," she rounded on him. "How did you know where to go?"

The Doctor shrugged, flicking him suspenders casually. "Magic..?"

"Were you spying on them?" She crossed her arms.

The Doctor clapped his hands nervously. "Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about..." He fiddled with the consul unnecessarily.

Clara's mouth quirked mischievously. "Are you jealous?"

"No!" he snapped quickly, tugging nervously on his bowtie.

"Oh my god, you are jealous!" She laughed, skipping round the Tardis. "Don't want to share?" She asked him smugly.

"Go save your humans," he yabbered angrily.

Clara waved once before slipping out the doors of the Tardis. Clara found herself in an alleyway, soft drink cans were littering the ground and a gust of wind made her skirt waft to the side. Clara saw Sherlock and John facing each other in a narrow street opposite. Her heels click clacked on the bitumen as she trotted over. Sherlock pulled his scarf off. "Clara!" John said, surprised. "Where did you come from?"

"The moon," she replied.

Sherlock handed her his scarf. "Right, John, punch me in the face," he pointed at his pale cheekbones.

John and Clara shared a confused glance. "Punch you?" John asked.

"Yes, punch me, in the face." He gestured to his cheek again. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I always here 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext."

"I'll punch you," Clara offered, stepping forward. She hadn't the faintest idea how to cause actual harm to somebody, but, Sherlock was offering.

"Oh, for God's sakes," Sherlock lunged and smacked John right in front in the face with his closed fist. John reeled back, Clara stared at him, concerned. Sherlock shook out his hand and took a breath, bracing himself. John straightened and returned the hit with just as much force. Sherlock scraped his hands on the pavement, stopping his fall. Sherlock scrambled up and dabbing the cut on his cheek with his fingertips. "Thank-you. That was – that was..."

John punched his forcefully in the stomach, doubling the detective over. Clara squeaked in protest. John was on his back, trying to strangle Sherlock. "John!" she shrieked, more in surprise than any objection.

"Okay, I think we're done now John," Sherlock gasped. He tried to yank away John's hands.

"You want to remember, Sherlock," he spat savagely. "I was a soldier. I killed people."

"You were a doctor!" Sherlock replied.

"I had my bad days!"

Finally, John let him go. Both the boys were breathing heavily. "Are we done here?" Clara asked weakly.

Sherlock massaged his throat. He mumbled something in response. Clara tied his scarf round her own neck impatiently. Sherlock stood up straight. "Come on," he wheezed.

They walked past two streets and finally rounded on an avenue of white, pillared houses, finalising the plan. Lush hedges poked between wrought iron gates here and there. Sherlock bounded up the porch steps and pressed the intercom. Clara hadn't realised a thin strip of white card was resting on his collar. He was pretending to be a vicar. She tilted her head curiously as Sherlock went from confident detective to whimpering minister. He dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, silver tears lined his eyes and dribbled over his cheeks. It was that easy for him to turn into someone else. Clara hardly recognised him.

"Yes, hello, yes, I've um, I've just been attacked..." He looked worriedly off into the distance. "They took my wallet and my phone," Sherlock blubbered in a different, high pitched tone. A voice crackled out of the tiny speaker. "Yes, please, can I just, can I just stay here? Till they come?" The intercom buzzed and the door creaked open.

They trotted inside quickly and closed the door. "Clara, start crying," Sherlock muttered quietly.

"What?" She whispered but he had pinched her wrist, making tears spring to her eyes.

"Thank-you, thank-you," Sherlock sobbed pathetically as a red-haired woman strutted elegantly into view. "They took my wife's phone and bag," he mumbled.

Clara yanked a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. Sherlock was still squeezing her fingers roughly in his hand, all for effect. "We're so sorry about this," Clara snivelled. "It was such a dreadful fright." Now that tears were actually falling, Sherlock loosened his grip.

"I - I saw it all happen. It's okay I'm a doctor," John said, closing the door. "Now, do you have a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen," the woman answered with a smile. She gestured for Sherlock and Clara to enter an elegant sitting room. "Please."

"Oh, thank-you!" They sniffled as John followed the lady down the hall.

Clara stalked across the carpet and plonked herself down on the sofa. "What was all that about?" she hissed.

"You have gloves on, no handbag plus it was much more believable than another escort to the nearest house," Sherlock reasoned shortly.

Clara stared at her black knitted gloves. She hated to agree with him, though she was still mortified. "What now?"

"Stay in character."

Sherlock took off his coat and placed it over the white sofa. Footsteps click clacked on the floorboards in the hall. Sherlock and Clara started dabbing their eyes with their handkerchiefs. "Hello. Sorry to hear that you've been hurt. I don't think Kate caught your name," a posh, articulated voice said.

"I'm so sorry. I'm..." Sherlock's tremulous words stopped abruptly. Clara stared, shocked, surprised – completely frozen. A pale woman, with dark hair curled on top of her head, was stark naked, with the exception of high heeled shoes.