Elephant's Memory (Sherlock BBC)

8: Angels

"What do you mean you can't do anything?"

"If I do, the world will know about it, Sherlock. This kind of thing can be traced back to me, and I don't like that. I don't even like her."

"You may not, but I do, Mycroft. She needs those children."

"They're dropping like flies, Sherlock. If I do help them get back to Clara, it'll look like there's been a cover-up. The fact that she lost custody will be headline news on Monday. I'll see what I can do about monitoring the foster families and supervised visits. She's also suspected of two counts of first degree murder, torture, and desecration of human remains."

"You know she didn't do that."

"Of course I know that. I've known her longer than you have, she's not capable of it."

"Do you think our consulting criminal friend has something to do with this?"

"I'll put it this way: The government doesn't just take children away from women like her, Sherlock. Surely you knew that his interference in this was a possibility."

"We discussed it. If she can't get them back without getting a magistrate involved, then she won't fight for custody."

"Which must have been precisely what Jim wanted." Sherlock sighed.

"Fine. I'll just have to go with plan B."

"Which is?"

"I'm going shopping." And then Sherlock hung up the phone. Clara was still in bed, asleep from last night's bender. He sighed in relief that she was still sleeping, since it was the longest she had slept in a week. His head snapped back up as he heard feet on the stairs. John wasn't scheduled to be home until Monday morning, and it was Sunday. He hurried out of the bedroom, gun in hand, and found John home early from his trip to Wales.

"You're finally back." Sherlock said, setting the gun on the coffee table once he realised that it was just his flat mate.

"I was only gone a day. Sarah had to rush home, something about family troubles. What happened here? It looks like a hurricane tore through." Sherlock humphed; he didn't really care. He had gone to bed with Clara last night to watch her and to keep her turned on her side so that she didn't choke on her own vomit. The room was still in shambles from where she had destroyed it in a fit of drunken angst. He heard a small sound behind him, and saw that Clara had woken up and climbed out of bed. She was completely sober now, and her eyes were red. He sat her down on the couch with a look of cool regret. She looked up at him.

"How bad was it last night?"

"Bad enough. I found you half-naked dancing on a table with a bottle of brandy." John looked at them like Clara had grown three extra heads.

"Oh god..." She let her head fall into her hands. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Your rent for this month is on me."

"You already paid it." Johns head snapped around to look at Sherlock so fast that she was surprised that he didn't get whiplash.

"She what?"

"That feels like so long ago." She replied, ignoring John and putting her hand to her aching head. "Next month, then. I'll talk to Mrs. Hudson."

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

"I can't forget it, Sherlock, It just gets really blurry and I don't know exactly what's happening in them." She replied. "I remember the song "Pocket Full of Sunshine", a tearing sensation, and your voice talking about how Mycroft could be able to-" She sat up straight. "Can Mycroft-"