Sherlock sits on the couch, his hands together and his lips pressed to his index fingers. The light from the small Christmas tree casts a pale glow on his face, illuminating his pale eyes. He's thinking, as always. But then something interrupts him. A noise. He hears the noise before he sees the familiar blue box. He bolts up and runs to the window, throwing it open and sticking his head out into the freezing December air. And there it is. The blue box. The box that's bigger on the inside than the outside. The box that the Doctor lives in.
Sherlock quickly makes his way downstairs. He was still in his clothes, despite it being 2:15am. He was working on a case, so sleeping was unimportant to him at the moment. Clara was upstairs, sound asleep with the baby sound asleep beside her. Sherlock is careful not to wake them. When he gets outside, he sees the Doctor leaning against the Tardis, a smile on his face.
"Hello, consulting detective." the Doctor chirps.
"Hello, Doctor. It's been a long time," Sherlock responds, allowing himself to smile at the odd man.
"It has. I just came back to see how you are. How you both are." he says, the smile faltering ever so slightly. Sherlock mimics the action, not meaning to of course. The Doctor was referring to Clara too. Sherlock knew the Doctor would always have a place in his hearts for Clara and when she left, it had hurt him. . Sherlock suspects he secretly hoped she would stay with him forever. She is, after all, his impossible girl. But then she met Sherlock.
Sherlock had never really been... Taken away with anyone before. Irene Adler had intrigued him, but this girl was unlike anyone he had ever met...
Sherlock sits in the flat, John's laptop open in front of him. He couldn't be bothered to get his own, despite that it was only twelve steps away. No need to waste the energy when he had a perfectly good one sitting in front of him. He scrolls through the web, trying to find something to distract his buzzing mind. But he doesn't need to. He hears a noise, an ever so familiar noise. The Tardis. He jumps up and runs to the window, and there he sees it. He bounds out of the flat and out into the street and the moment he gets there, the door swings open and the Doctor pops out, a grin plastered on his face.
"Sherlock!" he chirps. Sherlock grins in response and is caught off guard when the Doctor throws himself in Sherlock's arms. Sherlock has never really been one for hugs... Or any physical contact of any sorts. He awkwardly pats the Doctor on the back and the Doctor finally unravels himself from the tall man.
"Sorry... Just missed you! How long has it been since I saw you last?" the Doctor asks.
"Three years," Sherlock responds without needing time to think. The Doctor frowns.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
"It's alright, Doctor." Sherlock says, smiling in hopes the Doctor will do the same. Sherlock truly doesn't mind. He knows how the Doctor is, he'll disappear for a while but he'll always return to you. Always.
Sherlock first met the Doctor when he was only eight years old. The Tardis had come to the Holmes estate, by mistake. Sherlock had been out playing in the garden, pretending to be a pirate, when the Tardis appeared. The Doctor came barreling out, expecting it to be England in the 18th century. The Tardis had been acting up that day, so that explains the error. But then he met Sherlock. It took quite some convincing to make him believe that the Doctor was actually a nine hundred year old-time traveller, even at a young age Sherlock was a brilliant boy, who never believed in things he deemed "irrational". But then the Doctor showed him the inside of the Tardis... And he was somewhat convinced then. Afterward, he and the Doctor had spent the afternoon playing pirates and have been friends ever since.
"Clara! Come out and meet Sherlock!" the Doctor calls out. Moments later, a small brunette woman comes running out. She skids to a stop in front of Sherlock, nearly crashing into him. Her hair swings around her face, shiny and smooth. Her hazel eyes pop against her olive skin. She's wearing a green dress. And... She's beautiful. Sherlock doesn't usually notices such things and he's rather ashamed that he even focused on it.
"Hi! Sorry 'bout that. My name's Clara." she notes and reaches her hand out to shake his.
"Sherlock Holmes," he says and takes hers. Her hand is so small in his, he notices that. And he likes how her hand feels in his-
Wait... What? Why the hell did he just think that?
But he also notices how they hold hands longer than needed. And that he doesn't mind.
Clara was unlike any girl he'd ever met. She didn't react to him like everyone else did. She would snap at him, something no one ever did in fear of making him angry. And strangely, Sherlock found her intriguing.
o0o
Clara sneezes, causing Sherlock to glance up at her. She's curled up on his chair, her head in hands and her fingers pressed against her temples. She lets out a series of painful sounding coughs. Sherlock sighs and turns to her.
"You're sick," he tells her.
"No, m'not..." she mumbles and rubs her temples again. Sherlock stands and strides ove to her and presses his hand against her forehead, and the heat of her fever is immediately clear.
"Yes, you are. Now wait here," Sherlock tells her, silencing her protests. He goes and gets her a thick blanket, flicking on the kettle while he does it. He returns to Clara and wraps her in the blanket and she curls up and pulls the blanket up to her shoulders. The kettle begins whistling and Sherlock goes to the kitchen, making Clara a cup of tea. He is thankful neither John nor the Doctor are here to see him doing this. They would never let him live it down. Sherlock returns to Clara and hands her the steaming cup. She takes it and sips it, nodding her thanks. She puts the tea on the table and looks up at Sherlock, a pout on her small face.
"I'm still cold." she whines.
"Do you want another blanket?" he asks her.
"No. Can you just come here?" she asks. Sherlock rolls his eyes but eventually complies. Clara is practically on his lap when they finally re-position themselves. She rests her head on his chest and he wraps his arms around her, so she won't slip off him.
"You're bony." she mumbles, face still pressed into his chest.
"Do you want me to move?" he murmurs.
"Don't you dare." she snaps. Sherlock smirks and tightens his arms around her small form. He would never do this for anyone else, especially a sick person. But when it comes to Clara, he would do anything.
Sherlock fell in love with Clara. And when the Doctor decided it was time to leave... Clara couldn't. She didn't have it in her heart to leave the strange consulting detective. The Doctor understood, despite how much it hurt him to leave her. But he promised to visit...
That had been five years ago. Clara is twenty-nine now and Sherlock is thirty-five. They'd been married about two years ago, in a civil ceremony with only John, his wife Mary and Mrs. Hudson present. Clara didn't want a big ceremony, instead she insisted she and Sherlock went on vacation, well technically a honeymoon, to France. It was blissful and Sherlock savored the time when it was just he and Clara. His Clara.
"How is she?" the Doctor asks Sherlock, shaking him out of his thoughts.
"She's incredible, as always. We have a little girl now." Sherlock responds. The smile is one again plastered on the Doctor's face instantly.
"What is her name? What is she like?" he asks.
"Her name is Lelia-"
"After your mother," the Doctor interrupts, the smile still on his face.
"You remembered," Sherlock says softly.
"Of course I do!" the Doctor exclaims, almost appalled that Sherlock had doubted him.
"Do you want to see her?" Sherlock asks him. The Doctor grins and claps his hands together. "Yes of course! But it's late... I don't want to wake them up." he adds.
"Nonsense. Come inside and I'll go get her," Sherlock says and leads the Doctor into the flat. Once the Doctor is inside, admiring the small but twinkling Christmas tree, Sherlock disappears to get the baby. He goes into the bedroom he shares with Clara. He finds the two of them asleep on the bed, Lelia nestled against her abdomen. Sherlock carefully slips the sleeping infant into his arms, trying not to wake up Clara in the process. She stirs when the weight of the baby is gone from her side, but Sherlock murmurs for her to back to sleep and her eyes flutter shut once again. He makes his way back to the Doctor, who is perched on his chair. When he enters, the Doctor's eyes immediately fall on the small baby. He stands and walks over to them, looking at the baby with fascination and immediate adoration in his eyes.
"She's perfect," he whispers and smiles at the small baby. The child has Sherlock's beautiful eyes and his mop of black curls but she has Clara's delicate features. She's the perfect mix of the two of them. Sherlock holds the baby out to the Doctor and he doesn't hesitate in taking the tiny bundle in his arms.
"For the love of God, don't drop her." Sherlock says and the Doctor throws a small glare at him.
"Whatever happened to John?" the Doctor asks, though he's still completely engrossed with the child in his arms. At the mention of his old flatmate, Sherlock's eyes immediately flicker to the chair he used to sit in.
"He's well. He's married now to a lovely woman named Mary. They're very happy." Sherlock tells him. The Doctor looks at him, but the smile on his face has vanished and he looks worried.
"What is it?" Sherlock asks him, slightly alarmed at his sudden change in demeanor.
"I was just thinking... We're very much the same." the Doctor says, quietly, as if he's talking to himself.
"How so?"
"I'm the very last of my kind. And you're the only consulting detective in the world. And because of this, we're often alone with no one quite understanding us." the Doctor responds, still in the soft tone.
"That's true. But I'm not alone now, thanks to you. And I really must thank you for that." Sherlock admits. He rarely says thank you, even to the Doctor.
"I should be off now. It's late and Clara hates it when you don't sleep," the Doctor says. It's true, Clara nags Sherlock to the point he wants to chop his ear off when he doesn't get enough sleep. "What day is it, Sherlock?" the Doctor adds.
"December 22nd. You know, it would be lovely if you would join us on Christmas. Clara would love to see you, she misses you," Sherlock tells him. What he said is also true, Clara misses the Doctor... A lot. She doesn't often tell Sherlock, but sometimes he'll catch her staring outside, in hopes of maybe seeing the blue box. She doesn't want to leave Sherlock, of course, but she would love to see her friend again. "Are you sure you don't want to see her? I can wake her?" Sherlock asks, but the Doctor simply shakes his head. He carefully hands Lelia back to Sherlock, and he cradles the baby against his chest. The Doctor smiles and begins to make his way out when Sherlock stops him. "No goodbye?" he calls out.
"You know how much I hate endings..." the Doctor responds. Sherlock sighs, but nods. He does know how much the Doctor hates saying goodbye. Because saying goodbye can mean forgetting.
"By the way, there's a lovely woman named Molly working at the St. Bart's hospital. I think she could use an adventure. And I think you could use a friend." Sherlock calls out. The Doctor smiles.
"We'll see. Take care of them... And yourself of course." he says. And then he's gone. Sherlock can't help but feel some remorse. The Doctor never stays for too long, he knew better than to expect that he would. Sherlock worries about the Doctor constantly. He's worried that one day the Doctor will come looking for the two of them but they'll be gone. Sherlock presses his lips to Lelia's forehead, his mind buzzing as he thinks of the strange time traveler. He's still debating telling Clara he visited and he knew she'll be mad that they didn't wake her. Maybe he'll just not tell her. He never keeps anything from her... But this case is an exception.
As if on cue, he hears her soft footsteps leaving the bedroom. He glances out the window and sees that the Tardis is still there. Sherlock knows exactly what the Doctor is doing. He's standing with his hand hovering over the controls... With that look on his face. The look that could break even the hardest of hearts. His eyes are half closed. His lips are set in a straight line... But turned down ever so slightly at the corners. He looks like he's lost something important, something so important. And he has. The Doctor has lost more than humans could ever hope to comprehend.
Oh, Doctor. I wish we could help you.
Clara has come up beside him. She's wearing a huge grey sweater that engulfs her and almost reaches her knees. Under that is black leggings, complete with thick wool socks. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She goes to the window to see what Sherlock's looking at. She emits a small gasp when she does. But then the Tardis disappears. She turns back to Sherlock and he can see tears welling in her hazel eyes.
"Is... Is he ok?" she whispers.
"As well as he can be. I invited him for Christmas." Sherlock replies, using his soft tone. Sherlock shifts Lelia, so he's holding her in one arm. He reaches out his free hand out and Clara slips hers in it. He leads her back to their room. He places Lelia in her crib, taking time to admire the little baby. How beautiful she will be. He makes sure she's warm in her blanket, before going to Clara who's curled up in the big bed. He slips in beside her and she turns back to him, resting her head on his chest. He runs his hand along her back, rubbing small circles as he does so.
"I love you," she whispers.
"I love you too, Clara Oswald. I always will." he whispers.
They both owe the Doctor so much. Without him, they would never have found each other. Sherlock Holmes would have never learned to love. Clara Oswald would have spent her life running. The Doctor saved them both, whether he knew he was doing so. But that is what the Doctor does, after all. He saves people. He's a guardian angel. He's their guardian angel.