Elephant's Memory (Sherlock BBC)

6: Mortal

...1

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive! Stayin' alive!"

Moriarty winced, and Clara groaned into Sherlock's side.

"D'ya mind if I get that?" Sherlock shrugged.

"No, no, please. You've got the rest of your life." He replied, holding Clara to him a bit tighter as she wobbled. Moriarty answered the phone.

"Hullo...? Yes, of course it is. What do you want?" He mouthed an apology to Sherlock, who shrugged again. He turned around for a moment, before spinning back around. "SAY THAT AGAIN!" Clara gasped into Sherlock's shirt, keeping her face buried in the fabric. "Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will ssssskin you." He drew out the S enough to make Clara squirm, his words forming a cold puddle in the base of her spine.

"He means it, y'know!" She muttered. Sherlock barked out a half-laugh.

"Eavesdropping is rude, Ms. Evangeline. I thought you learned that the first time." Moriarty said venomously, covering the mouthpiece of the phone, before going back to his conversation. "Wait." he lowered his phone again, bit his lip, and then spoke. "Sorry, wrong day to die." Sherlock didn't lower the gun, and spoke like absolutely nothing was wrong.

"Oh. Did you get a better offer?" Jim smirked.

"You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock." He glanced back at Clara. "You too, darling." he casually strolling out of the room, picking up the phone again. "So, if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich. If you don't, I'll make you into shoes." He snapped his fingers, and all of the lasers left their bodies.

"What happened there?" John asked, as he immediately went to support Clara's other side. Sherlock slipped on all of his discarded items, and went back to support Clara, who looked on the verge of fainting.

"Someone changed his mind." Sherlock replied. "The question is: who?"

~_~_~

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock shouted as he helped Clara limp into 221 Baker Street.

"How much longer, Sherlock?" She groaned, grasping at her stomach. Mrs. Hudson scurried out of her flat in her dressing gown and slippers and gasped at the sight of the woman stained with red.

"Oh my lord! What happened?"

"Oh, you know, kids and their motorised model aeroplanes." Clara said weakly, deciding that sarcasm was the best way to deflect the question. "Got me in the stomach."

"We need your dining room table and bathtub." Sherlock said. "And one of your "Herbal Soothers", I think."

"Nope." John said, rushing into the room with a bulk-sized first aid kit. "I'm going to stitch her up, and then I'm going to have to make a quick run to St. Barts. Tell Molly to have everything ready for me to pick up. Do you still have Clara's credit card? I'm going to need an IV drip, Clara's medical records, industrial - grade pain meds, and antibiotics. Not cheap. And Sherlock, you're not allowed to touch any of them."

"Oh, this sounds like a party, doesn't it? We should call an orchestra." Clara winced, a hand going to her stomach again. Pain seared through her; Sherlock caught her just before she fell to the ground.

"Mrs. Hudson, the dining room table, please!" She hurried to clean it off, wiping it down with an antiseptic wipe.

"I trust you about this, Sherlock, but why not take her to the hospital?"

"Press." Clara said, wincing. "It'll be all over the news. I really don't want to up my security."

"Oh, yes, of course. Come on, dear." Sherlock lifted her up and helped her lie back on the table.