Anderson ↠ BBC Sherlock

act one; two

Watching Scotland Yard scramble for something, anything, that would lead them to James was quite possibly the most amusing thing Clara had ever witnessed.

An hour had passed since Lestrade's declaration, and with every passing minute the detectives seemed to grow more and more desperate. Lestrade seemed to be on the verge of screaming, Philip looked like he was going to cry, a curly haired brunette that Clara had never seen before was growing angrier by the second, and Holmes and Watson— well, they were somewhere else.

Philip hadn't wanted her to return with them, but after a brief rant about how she had more brains than the entirety of Scotland Yard put together, Lestrade told her she could come. Considering the fact that just minutes before he was aiming a gun at her chest, she was rather surprised, but Clara had a feeling the only reason he agreed was so she'd shut up. Despite claiming that that she would be beneficial on their hunt for James, Clara didn't actually do anything to help. Instead, she went ahead and told James what was happening.

THEY'RE ALL IDIOTS, she typed, NOT EVEN CLOSE TO FINDING YOU.

Clara didn't think that he would reply, not when there was a risk of someone noticing that his contact was My King. It could mean nothing — lots of people had weird contact names for their friends — but the crown emoji that followed it looked a little too similar to the Crown Jewels, and when paired with the content of the texts... it was enough to make even Philip suspect something. Still, the words WHERE ARE YOU? appeared on her screen only seconds thereafter.

Clara frowned. She had thought it was rather obvious that she was at Scotland Yard, especially considering her previous texts from the crime scene. It could be that he just wanted her to confirm what he already knew, but— no, it had to be that.

SCOTLAND YARD, WATCHING THEM FAIL, she replied. Clara looked up from her phone, glancing around at the surrounding detectives. Lestrade was shouting something about divisions into his phone, and Philip— oh. The brunette whose name she still hadn't found out and him were glancing around, trying to look normal, before they darted inside a file room.

Clara wondered if they were going to actually shag in the police station.

HOW'D SHERLOCK REACT TO FINDING OUT IT WAS ME? her phone asked. In response, she simply sighed. Of course he wanted to know about Holmes. It was all he ever seemed to talk about anymore; Holmes this, Holmes that, Holmes everything, and it was getting on her nerves. Sure, it didn't help that she had something of a crush on the criminal, but Clara didn't really get what he saw in Holmes. He was tall, sure, and smart, but that was about it. He would be a terrible boyfriend, although Watson might disagree.

Clara sighed, again, and typed back, SAID SOMETHING ABOUT HOW THE BODY WAS HIS WELCOME HOME PRESENT AND HE HAD 'ONLY WAITED A YEAR'.

She'd been half tempted to lie.

AND THEN? he sent back.

It shouldn't be affecting Clara as much as it was. Holmes, to her, was irrelevant; another brilliant mind wasted on an asshole. But to James— well, to James he was everything. THEN HE SAID I WASN'T DANGEROUS AND WE BICKERED AND EVENTUALLY I QUOTED YOU AT HIM. CAN I GO BACK TO WATCHING SCOTLAND YARD FAIL?

NO. WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY "QUOTED YOU AT HIM"?

Maybe he was losing his touch.

It was a ridiculous thought, though, and Clara should know better than to even think such a thing. James just wanted as many details as he could get. It made sense.

She texted him back, I TOOK THINGS YOU SAID AND THREW THEM BACK AT HIM. HE DIDN'T NOTICE UNTIL WATSON POINTED IT OUT. GENIUS ISN'T MUCH OF A GENIUS ANYMORE. Clara wished, desperately, that that could be enough to make him get bored with the detective, even though she knew it wouldn't work. It would take a lot more than not observing the smallest of details to get James to stop obsessing over the youngest member of the Holmes family.