Clara has mind wiped the Doctor, and now she is working with Ash (aka Ashildr) at their American diner in London. When she gets framed for a horrible crime, Sherlock and John come to the scene. Will Clara be able to prove her innocence?
Oslock/Wholo...
Clara fills the two teacups under the faucet while she checks her messages. No new texts there, so she looks back on Sherlock and her's conversation. He had just started texting her yesterday, and Clara had never given him her number. She wasn't that surprised when she got the text, however, and she immediately profiled him as 'Sherlock Holmes.'
Bring tea when you come over. -SH
was his first text. So she had, and that is what she was making now, for her and Sherlock. Sherlock is sitting in his chair, with his hands up in a praying position, not minding Clara, with two patches on his arm, just for the sake of it. He has no cases to solve.
No cases, that is, except for the case of the Impossible Girl.
Sherlock's POV
boredboredboredbored BORED.
For once, I don't know what to do. I have no cases to solve, except for one. And for that one, I only need information, which Clara won't give me! God, Sherlock, you're thinking irrationally now. But boredom will make one do irrational things...
I just need a way to get information from her. Knowing Clara, I would say that the easiest way would be to just ask her, but I've already tried that multiple times. She always denies that she did it, and I want to believe her. I bet half of me already does. But it's not like we have any other suspects or leads. I just need to figure this one out!
Clara's POV
'Here ya' go,' I tell Sherlock as I set his cup of tea on the arm of his chair, and sit down in the chair parallel from him. Sipping my tea, I sit there, trying to figure out what he's thinking. His forehead is perspiring and his jaw is tense. He tugs at his black curls, completely ignoring the tea I gave him. My presence seems to be disturbing him, so I try to help out by offering, 'I can leave, if you want.'
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He doesn't respond. So instead I get up, grabbing his cup, and make my way back over to the sink. Thankfully, he and John have kept their flat relatively neat after my cleaning.
Somehow, I get this idea that the patches on his arm are affecting his thinking. One would imagine that, because of the 200 something years I've been around, I would already know most everything. But no, which is why I am led to have the urge to look up the science of those patches. Now that I think about it, Sherlock probably has a book titled 'the Science of Drugs' somewhere on that shelf of his, and those patches are obviously a drug. There would probably be a chapter in that book on those patches. I lay the cups at the bottom of the sink, to be washed later, and head over to Sherlock's bookshelf.
From where I am standing now, I am able to see Sherlock out of the left corner of my eye, if I look close. I start to rummage through his shelves and see Sherlock's eyes open from the corner of my eye. I ignore him and continue looking, focusing completely on the task at hand. The Science of Energy, The Science of Finance, and The Science of Pain go by.
I have just found the Science of Seduction when I feel arms grab me around the waist from behind. I have been so concentrated on finding the Science of Drugs that I didn't hear Sherlock sneak up from behind. Questions race through my mind.
'Sh-Sherlock,' I stutter, gulping. Here was genius, sentiment-less Sherlock Holmes wrapped around my waist. What on Earth is a girl to do? 'D-do you happen to have a book on th-the Science of Drugs?' Because you've obviously had too much of them, I add mentally.
'I believe I do, somewhere in there,' he replies.
'Okay...' As calm as I can, I slide the books back into their spots on the shelves. I feel his head in the crook of my neck as I do this.
Once I finish shelving all the books, Sherlock spins me around to face him. My mind is racing in so much confusion. What the hell is Sherlock doing?! Sherlock has never done this before! The way he is acting, all flirty and seducing like, is not the way he acts. All these facts leave me in a pool of utter, helpless confusion.
He backs me up against the shelf and leans in. I try to squirm out of his hold but he is a good few inches taller than me. I am positive he can hear my heavy breathing and see my pupils dilate.
'You have... no pulse?' he glances at me with surprise and curiosity.
'Great deduction, Sherlock,' I say, my voice rough. I'm glad I am able to muster some cleverness right now. He smiles, his lips brushing my cheek. 'Sherlock? I--' my voice is a low whisper, then I realise what's coming. 'Sherlock!' I squeal.
Then I feel it, warm on my lips.
He's kissing me sincerely, with his eyes closed. And I would love to say I return the kiss... but I don't. My eyes are wide open, and while I slightly melt into his grip, I am more confused than ever. My mind is racing with so much puzzlement I can't think clearly. The only word that stands out from all the questions in my mind is:
Run.
Like I have said so many times before, only this time I am telling myself.
Finally, Sherlock breaks the kiss and his lips start to trail down my neck. But before he can do anything more, I push him off of me. He stumbles back. Before he can regain his balance, I am out of the flat and down the street, running.
~~~~~
I did it! I had to rewrite this chapter twice; I'm rubbish at writing romance. Although I have to admit, it's still a little cringy. :/
