Chapter 1

Rivers, lakes and seas always seemed to appear in rather providential places, especially when you're falling from a considerable height, as The Hummingbird was realising, floating along the Leeds Liverpool Canal.

It was a rather warm day and, even though she was glad of the cool water, she was really trying to climb out because her best coat was getting wet and she had a sonic screwdriver in her pocket that probably didn't function well when damp.

She dragged herself onto land and took her coat off to wring it out and empty her pockets. Picking up the little black box she'd been storing in her left pocket, she smiled, but then the smile faded to a slight air of sadness. It was the sad smile, as The Doctor would call it: sad but happy at the same time, like she was malfunctioning.

Looking about around her, Clara saw that she was in the middle of a field… in the middle of nowhere.

Which was good, as she had her wings uncovered and now there was nobody around to see her. So she opened the box, took out her new ring and slipped it onto her finger. It was a bit big for her spindly fingers, but it wasn't so outsized that it would fall off. She lay on her back and breathed in a lungful of fresh, country air, admiring the abnormally blue and cloudless sky.

She suspected she must have zoned out, as the next thing she heard was her phone ringing out the theme tune from BBC's Sherlock. Smiling – because she'd set that tone for somebody in particular – Clara picked up her phone and clicked the answer button before turning her microphone onto hands free and clearing her throat,

"Afternoon, Mr Holmes!" She grinned to herself.

"It's 11:58," Sherlock replied, blankly, "It's still morning."

"Whatever you say, Sherl – what can I do for you?"

"John has the flu," Sherlock answered, sounding slightly nervous, "And I was wondering if you'd give me a hand? You seem the only other person with any sense who I can contact…"

"Oh, gladly!" Clara chirped, "I'll be right up!" And she hung up before stretching and yawning,

"Just… five more minutes…"

"Afternoon, Mrs Hudson!" Clara called, closing the door to 221 Baker Street and checking that it was actually afternoon this time. She stood in the hallway with her hat drawn half way down her face and her scarf wrapped around her neck and over her shoulder.

Mrs Hudson didn't know whom the voice belonged to at first, so she ambled into the hall to see her,

"And you are..?" She enquired.

"Clara Oswald: one of Sherlock's friends," Clara replied.

"I didn't think Sherlock had friends…"

"Well, he does now, apparently… I know, it came as a shock to me, too."

"You know, there was somebody who came around here only a few months back. She dressed and spoke exactly like you, but she died, so-"

"No, I didn't!" Clara huffed, folding her arms.

Mrs Hudson looked taken aback and slightly bewildered,

"You mean to say you're..?"

"The Hummingbird? Yes, indeed."

"But you're-"

"Yes, I know: I faked my own death, blah blah blah- boring."

"But the… and the wings!"

"Genetic mutation… thingamajig…"

"But-"

"Never you mind…." Clara smirked, and she disappeared upstairs.

Sherlock was bored.

It was boring without John to chatter away with about whatever he fancied chattering on about, so when he heard the knock at the door, his face lit up.

"Come in!" He called, but still didn't take his eyes off the blackboard in front of him.

Clara entered the room and tipped her hat toward Sherlock, shutting the door behind her.

Sherlock knew it was her and he was impressed that she'd gotten here so fast, seeing as he'd only called her a few minutes ago. He didn't only need her for help: she intrigued him. He wondered how she got around and what her story was… he wanted to find out about her and the only way to do this would be to sit her down and ask about her.

"I think I may have just given Mrs Hudson a heart attack…" Clara sniggered, hanging her hat on the hat stand beside her.

"What've you done?" Sherlock sighed, smiling.

"Well, for one, I existed…"

"Ah, she'll get over it. I told her that you were still alive when I brought you and your friends here the day we met, remember? But she didn't believe me, of course."

Clara shrugged, leaning on the back of the sofa that Sherlock was sat, cross-legged, on,

"What do you need me for, anyway?" She asked.

"Backing. Mystery. Murder."

"How many deaths?"

"Three, so far."

"Anything in common?"

"Ohhh, yes," Sherlock grinned, standing up and swivelling round to face her, "It's all very fascinating."

Clara smirked back, excitedly. She had helped Sherlock and John on one of their cases before, of course, and they had both been very impressed, but she hoped for something a bit less simple this time.

"Oh, do tell!" She chirped.

"Well, for starters, they all had exactly the same scars and wounds and they could only say one thing if we discovered them before death: 'He knew'."

"He knew? What's that supposed to mean?"

Sherlock shrugged and was about to say something when John's voice shouted from his bedroom,

"Sherlock?" He called, "Who are you talking to?"

"Ah, you remember The Hummingbird, yes? She's come to help us – I mean, me – solve this little ambiguity."

"Oh! Clara!" John piped up, "Can I see her?"

Just as Sherlock was going to refuse, Clara enthusiastically called back 'Yes, of course: I'll be right there!'

"Don't… catch anything," Sherlock warned as Clara turned away.

"Nah, course not – I don't catch flu."