Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

I Need a Case!

Just like defeating, or at least decreasing the threat of Moriarty, Baker Street was exhausted. John had his job which kept him out of the house and since Sherlock was in a state of mourning for the Irene case, they just ambled between 221A and 221B like forgotten waifs. Clara was lolling in Sherlock's armchair one morning, sipping tea lazily, when John had an epiphany.

"Clara?" His voice held a question.

"Mmm."

"Can I mention you on my blog?" He cleared his throat, turning the laptop round. "You see, I think I'm dropping in followers. It might spice things up a bit?"

Clara gaped. Her eyes flicked from him to the screen and back again."I thought you'd already mentioned me?"

"Hardly - Mycroft wanted me to keep you out of it, but if you'll let me..."

"Sherlock!" Cara suddenly screeched. The door had banged open and Sherlock stood sentinel-like in the doorway, splattered from head to toe in blood and holding a harpoon. He looked murderous and...slightly ridiculous. All this while Clara and thought he was still asleep in his bedroom.

"Well that was tedious," Sherlock muttered, clearly vexed.

John's hands had stilled an inch above the keyboard. "You went on the tube like that?"

"None of the cabs would take me."

"I'm not surprised," Clara scoffed, as Sherlock marched into his bedroom. "Don't put blood on the carpet!" She called out, half heartedly. They heard the shower creak and the pipes rattle as Sherlock cleaned himself up. When he finished, John brought up the issue of the blog again.

"I think I should put Clara on the blog," John said as Sherlock shook his wet curls. "Wouldn't do any harm plus I reckon the readers will like it - someone to connect with, you know?"

"A workaholic who looks after a crime-solving sociopath for a living?" Sherlock flicked his eyebrows, "Great idea."

"Do you really need to," Clara sighed. "It's not like I'm directly involved in the crime solving bit. I just tag along."

"Clara, you are an integral part of closing cases," Sherlock abruptly said. "Put her in the blog."

Clara's mouth fell open. "Was that a compliment?" She shut her jaw with a snap, realising she probably looked like a cod fish. Sherlock just shrugged and paced to and fro while clutching the harpoon with white knuckles. "Must be Christmas," Clara decided.

"Don't be stupid, that was last month," Sherlock grumbled. He hated Christmas. Mrs Hudson had tried to make him wear antlers.

Clara rolled her eyes. He didn't mean it but she could tell something was stressing him. He'd have out with it in a second or two. John moped off downstairs, muttering about biscuits. "I need some," Sherlock spat, his hands shaking and toes jittering. His eyes held crazed intensity "Clara - get me some."

"No," she told him, calmly. She crossed her arms. "Cold turkey, remember? We agreed, no matter what." Sherlock lent the harpoon against the table. His face twisted in disgust. God, he was desperate. "Anyway, you paid everyone off in a two mile radius. No one is going to sell you any."

"What a stupid idea - whose idea was that?"

Clara rolled her eyes. "Mrs Hudson's, of course."

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yelled at the closed door. His teeth were bared angrily.

"You're doing really well, Sherlock," Clara insisted. He hadn't had a cigarette in a two weeks. Even though it made him moody, insufferable and frantic - John and Clara applauded his efforts. It was the best he'd done, ever.