Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Space Shenanigans

The blasted TARDIS was out to get her. Clara had been to the main consul what felt like a billion times. Firstly, the doors were gone. No blue double doors with small silver handles. Instead there was an immovable slab of concrete blocking the exit. Clara banged on it with her small fists. She even kicked it with her boot. Secondly, whenever she left the room, no matter which way she went through the corridors or ducked through a mess of sliding doors, she always ended up at the main consul. Clara swore the gleeful green light in the centre glass tube was laughing at her.

Her hand stung with the burn the silver orb had given her. She had to blow on it regularly. Even though her anger for the TARDIS burbled in her stomach, a wash of fear wavered over her. There was something in the TARDIS. She had heard books drop to the floor in the great library. Clara didn't know what it was, but she was certain it wasn't very nice. Possibly wanting to eat her. Or worse. And The Doctor was nowhere to be seen.

Nor Sherlock.

Clara hoped he wasn't dead. She couldn't believe The Doctor had to come at that moment. Her life was full of insufferable aliens and melodramatic detectives. Clara kicked the consul. Why did those lives have to mix? Plus, if Sherlock and The Doctor were alive...she wasn't there to keep the peace. Goodness, the would be fighting like animals! What would Sherlock think of The Doctor? Clara knew The Doctor was kind and brave and loyal. She doubted that Sherlock would look past The Doctor's crankiness to see that. Clara knew The Doctor would be too jealous to see past Sherlock's showy-offness. Ugh, so technical.

Something clanged in a corridor. Clara whipped around but didn't see anything. Was it the monster? Clara plucked up the courage and headed towards the stairs, tentatively taking a step. A door whirred open. Clara screamed. The creature was ghastly, some sort of mottled, preserved flesh covered it, and it's head...Clara had no words to describe it. A heavy orb, twitching, tilting to and fro. Clara raced up back to the consul, keeping it on the other side.

It took a step to the left, so Clara took one to the left. Clara shuffled to the right and so did it. She cocked her head, her sweaty palms gripping the consul. The monster mirrored her movements. "Who are you?" Clara choked out. The creature charged.

Clara yelped and found herself with her back pressing into the slab of concrete where the blasted doors were meant to be. Steam rose from the monster's hand as it crept menacingly towards her. Clara couldn't help it - she started screaming bloody murder.

Suddenly, a hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her free, Clara shrieked and pulled away. She spun around, puffing. "It's all right. Clara, I'm so, so sorry. Please, please forgive me..." It was The Doctor. Clara looked him up and down. Yes - suspenders, bowtie, bad hair; definitely The Doctor. Clara punched him in the shoulder with an indignant grumble.

"Ow!" He yelped and rubbed the sore spot. "Okay, so we're not doing hugging, I get that now. Oh but you hug wonder boy..." The Doctor finished with a growl.

Clara did, briefly. Sherlock, blimey, hugged her back. "You all right?" She mumbled. He looked terrible - his blue dressing gown was in tatters! Mrs Hudson would be mortified.

"Only if you hit him again," Sherlock breathed. Clara winked.

She whirled back to The Doctor. "What do you keep in here?! Why have you got zombie creatures? Good guys do not have zombie creatures. Rule one." She smacked him on the other shoulder. "Basic storytelling."

"Not in front of the guests!" The Doctor snapped.

Clara gave the two strange men a small wave. They were in dilapidated greenish grey uniforms and bulbous backpacks. And they didn't wave back. "Who are they?"