Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Molly

"And how is my favourite detective going?" Clara said cheerily into her phone, despite the heated conversation she had just escaped. Clara's smile vanished as Lestrade spoke quickly into her ear. "Kidnapping?!" She exclaimed, her feet speeding up as she trotted down the street. She stuck her hand out, hailing a cab. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be right there."

Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the United States of America had two children, Max and Claudette, enrolled at a posh boarding school, St Aldate's, in Surrey. It had been the last day of school, but Bruhl was still in Washington, so the two kids and some others remained. They had just vanished overnight. The ambassador had asked for Sherlock...the Reichenbach Hero. Clara's heels crunched across the gravel. The school was definitely grand: trimmed hedges, immaculate lawns and wrought iron gates. "Clara, hi," Lestrade said, hands on hips and looking grave. He frowned. "Where's Sherlock?"

Clara's chin jutted back defensively. "Why should I know?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "Whatever, I'll go get him. You two and your bloody rows..." he trailed off, muttering angrily. He sped away in one of the unmarked police cars.

Clara shook her head and walked up to Donovan, who looked surlier than usual. "They haven't been seen since last night," she said stiffly. Donovan nodded at a whimpering woman leaning on the hood of the police car. "That's the Housemother, Miss Mackenzie."
Clara swallowed uneasily. "This is awful."

"Yeah well, shit happens." Donovan crossed her arms, "So...Lestrade said you're the unofficial social worker."
"Not a social worker, just a comforting presence really," Clara corrected. She had a teaching qualification but definitely not any actual social worker training.

"Well, I think your comforting presence is needed," Donovan said sharply.

Clara's smile didn't meet her eyes as she gave Donovan one last glance. She walked over to the House Mistress carefully, nodding at the police officer who was cradling a box of tissues for the older lady. "Go easy," the constable murmured as Clara went past. "Miss Mackenzie," Clara greeted, a small smile on her face. "I'm Clara, Clara Oswald."

"Hello," Miss Mackenzie warbled, blowing her nose. Her great blue eyes were overflowing with tears that tracked down her wrinkled face. "Are you a detective?"
"No, I'm not in the police." She tentatively placed her hand on Miss Mackenzie's trembling ones. "Now, is there anything you'd like to tell me before a detective comes over?" Miss Mackenzie shook her head, reaching for another tissue. "How about a nice cuppa then, eh?"

The young constable volunteered to trek to the staff room.

"Your husband's a detective - I saw him in the paper," Miss Mackenzie said, her chin wobbling. "Is he coming to arrest me?"

"No, no, no, of course not," Clara replied, her mind still wrapping around the statement. "You're not in any trouble at all; this is not your fault."

"Miss Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night!"

Clara looked up, aghast, as Sherlock started shouting at the poor House Mistress. He'd suddenly appeared, face taut with anger. "What are you: an idiot, a drunk or a criminal?"

"Sherlock," Clara warned, her voice rising.

He ignored her and ripped the shock blanket from Miss Mackenzie's shoulders. "Now quickly, tell me!"

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No-one – not even me – went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

Sherlock's face softened and his hands rested gently on her shoulders. "I do, I just wanted you to speak quickly." He straightened and started to head to the school. "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now."