𝘗𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 | 𝘖𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 3 ✔︎

Chapter XIII - A Strange Noise

 Sherlock's POV
3 weeks after Clara's death

"Christ, Sherlock!" John slams the newspaper down onto the coffee table. "You see that?" he asks, pointing to the paper. "Plenty of fresh, puzzling cases for you to solve, and you're here, sitting on your arse, while the rest of the world is wondering 'what happened to Sherlock Holmes?'" John's hands rub his face. "The world needs you, Sherlock,"

He's cracked. After nearly a month of my 'sulking' (as he calls it) he'd finally snapped. "It hasn't even been a month, John." I respond, voice low. "You expect me to get over her in a month?"

He shakes his head, his voice cracking. "I don't know, Sherlock." he sighs, and his shoulders slump. "I don't bloody know." Going over to the rack, he takes his coat. "I'm going over to Molly's. She's got Rosie for today. Just please..." John's at the door, hand on the doorknob. "Do something. Anything." And he leaves.

John thinks I've blamed myself. Maybe he's right. Maybe I have. All I know is that I didn't see her the night she--

I can't even say it. They found her body at the Diner, a gunshot in her head and a gun in her hand. And no matter how much I tried to prove otherwise, it was a suicide. Even I couldn't deny that. 

I don't know what made her do it. I keep wondering if there was something I could've done to prevent it. Of course, it was possible that someone made her do it. Just like Moriarty had made me jump off of St. Bart's. I'd called up Clara's old "boyfriend" and Jim's brother, Riley, as a suspect, but he had no idea of Clara's condition and everything pointed to his innocence.

But after all, no matter how many suspects I accused or alternate storylines I came up with, she was still dead. Nothing could change that.

Rubbing my face furiously to ward off tears, I hear a strange noise. "What is Mrs Hudson doing down there?" I grumble. It sounds like she's torturing a broken down piano.

Deciding to ignore it, I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of my chair. The noise stops.

"Sherlock?"

I hear Clara's voice. What is this? Was I having hallucinations now, like John after Mary's death? I know she isn't really there, so I don't bother opening my eyes.

"Clara?" I respond. I hear nothing in return. If this really is an illusion, I think, then the only way for it to leave is to tell her something that maybe I wanted to tell her, but didn't get to. "Clara, I love you,"

"I love you too Sherlock. I'm so sorry," Arms too real wrap around me. My eyes shoot open and she's there, really there, hugging me. And I hug her back.

"Clara? How are you here?" I ask, astonished. "You're... dead."

Pulling away, she smiles at me. That beautiful smile that I had missed so much. "No, Sherlock. I'm not."

"Why?" I look at her, confused. 

"An old... friend of mine, who also happened to be Moriarty, forced me to commit suicide. If I didn't, she would've killed you, Mrs H, everyone I love. And I was about to do it, but... the Doctor found me just in time, and we faked my death."

That's when I notice the big, blue police box behind her. "What is that doing here? How did it get in?"

She turns to it. "That's the Doctor's TARDIS. Would you like a peek inside?" she asks me. I don't answer, but she leads me inside anyway.

Upon stepping in, I notice two things. One, there is an elderly man inside, and two, the size. 

"How... is this..." I sputter, then take a step outside again. From the outside, the box looks about nine feet tall, maybe four feet wide. Stepping back in, however, the inside is nearly endless. the giant room has doors leading to different rooms or hallways--probably going on forever. "The interior is larger in size than the exterior..." I state, voice fading. Then, I realize, I shouldn't be that surprised. Clara mentioned it was a TARDIS and I'd seen the interior of Clara's Diner. It must be the same... Timelord, wasn't it? Timelord science.