Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

No Exceptions

"...the others kill them before they can get it," John finished, gazing out the window.

Sherlock tapped on the laptop, bringing up the wifi networks surrounding them. There were a multitude, all in foreign languages. "All of the attention is focussed on me. There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now."

Sherlock's mind drifted, back to the Doctor when he had first met Clara when she couldn't work out the wifi. Clara once had not known how to use a USB but now she could probably hack into Mycroft's laptop remotely. Sherlock shook his head, he shouldn't think about Clara. Not now when...when things were difficult.

"You're thinking about her," John said. He hadn't even diverted his gaze from the street outside. Sherlock stiffened, pretending to type on the laptop. "You can't just ignore her and hope she disappears, Sherlock," John insisted, crossing his arms. The vein twitched in his temple. This was serious then. "She's right in the thick of this - whether you like it or not."

Sherlock avoided John's stare and walked towards the hall. "We need to ask about the dusting. MRS HUDSON!" He shouted with an added edge of bitterness.

.

"Lestrade," Clara demanded, her tone bewildered. "Lestrade," she repeated with double the force.

"What do you want me to do, Clara?" He asked, kicking the tire of his car. His voice echoing around the parking lot. "I'm up to here in shit right now," he continued, holding his hand up to his neck, "And this is the last straw."

"You can't honestly believe-"

"Yes! I do," Lestrade interjected. "Yes, no, I don't know - but you have to admit that it is plausible."

"Sherlock wouldn't-"

Lestrade rubbed his face, closing his eyes for a brief second. "I've known Sherlock for years and Donovan was, is right - one day we will be standing around a body and he will have put it there."

Clara took a step back. What was happening? Why was everyone turning on Sherlock? Why was everyone turning on her? "This is just Donovan and Anderson getting inside your head!" She snapped.

"This is above my head now," he countered, shrugging and finally opening the door, "I'm just following orders." He got in the driver's seat and Clara reluctantly slid into the passenger side.

They drove to 221B in silence, Clara drowning in her thoughts. They were going to arrest Sherlock. They were going to arrest the one man who actually had a chance against Moriarty. They were sealing their own deaths. Clara felt, above all, alone. Mycroft, the Doctor, Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Donovan...they all disagreed with her. She had no one to turn to, not even her precious Cheekbones. Clara got out, slamming the door and glaring at the flashing lights on the police cars. They really did think he was a kidnapper. Lestrade and Donovan both beat her up the stairs.

"Don't barge in like that!" Mrs Hudson scolded, her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her. Clara offered her a brief apologetic smile before rushing after the detectives.

"Have you got a warrant?" John demanded. Clara had never seen him so angry. It made her chest warm with pride.

Clara walked over to Sherlock. He was putting on his coat and scarf calmly. "Sherlock..." she started, not sure what to say. "You can't just let them-"

"Yes, Clara. I can," he replied, voice smooth as silk. "It's okay," he added, though Clara barely heard it over her own heartbeat.

An armed officer clicked a pair of handcuffs around his left wrist. "Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade declared, "I am arresting you on the suspicion of abduction and kidnapping." The cuff closed around his other wrist, pinning his arms behind his back.

"He's not resisting," John blurted. He looked at Clara, at anyone, desperately. "Clara?" But she was as helpless as him.

"It's alright, John," Sherlock murmured.

"No, it's not alright - this is ridiculous!"

Lestrade motioned for the officer to march Sherlock down the stairs. Mrs Hudson was sniffling by the door. John took a step towards Lestrade, brows lowered, "You know you don't have to do-"

"Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too," Lestrade snarled, before stomping down the stairs. Clara rubbed Mrs Hudson's arm before following. She was not going to let Sherlock or Lestrade out of her sight.

The night air and damp pavement welcomed them outside and Clara immediately beelined for Lestrade. "It's Sherlock, Greg - you cannot be serious," she hissed, her breath creating a warm cloud in the chilly air.

"I can't just click my heels three times and spin in a circle and wish for this to go away - all the evidence points to him. My career is practically ruined, so go and badger somebody else!"

Clara gritted her teeth and stormed away, heading back to her door. She would ring Mycroft, yes, that was a good plan. She stopped in her tracks when the pudgy Chief wandered out of 221B with a bloody handkerchief pressed to his nose. A second later John was escorted over to Sherlock and they were handcuffed together. "John?!" She exclaimed. She would not be able to bail them both out! "Christ," she muttered to herself. This was the worst night of her life. Clara shook her head and searched her pockets for her phone.

Suddenly, the police car radios erupted in a high pitched squeal of feedback, as well as the earpieces the uniformed police officers had. Their legs crumpled as the pain seemed to take over their entire bodies. Sherlock reached over, yanking John's hand with him and snatched a pistol from the nearest officer. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, waving the firearm, "will you all please get on your knees."

"For fuck's sake," Greg barked. He stumbled to the ground when Sherlock let off two shots into the air.

"Now would be good!" He lowered it, pointing at the barrel at the officers.

"Do as he says!" Lestrade growled, finally relenting. The men and women started to back away and kneel, albeit slowly.

The gun finally turned onto her. Clara arched a brow. Really Cheekbones? This was going to go down well later. His eyes narrowed and glinted with amusement. It wasn't every day you got to threaten someone with a gun. No exceptions. Clara drew in a breath, biting her cheek. She eventually kneeled, her stockings becoming damp.

"Just-just so you're aware, the gun is his idea. I'm just a...you know..." John struggled for words, his hand dangling uselessly underneath the pistol.

"My hostage," Sherlock finished, loudly. He proceeded to place the barrel flush to John's head. They backed around the corner and that was the last Clara saw of them.