Hello fellow lovers of Wholock :3 So I have been shipping Clara and Sherlock like crazy lately so I needed to write a fanfic about them! I may continue this, so please leave a review if you like it!
Keep your eyes fixed on me," his voice is frantic now. His raised his hand, as if he's reaching for her. "Please, will you do this for me?"
"Sherlock, what are you doing!? Come down, now! Please!"
"This phone call – it's, er ... It's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"he says, his hand beginning to tremble as he holds the phone to his ear. She stares at him, a tear rolling down her cheek.
"No. Get down now! You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. Come down! Come back to me, please!" she sobs on the other end. Sherlock purses his lips together tightly and shakes his head before answering.
"Goodbye. I love you."
He lets the phone slip from his hand on to the roof. She still grips her phone tightly in her hand, but lowers it from her ear as she yells his name. She runs forward... Just as he raises his arms and slips off the roof. He falls through the air at alarming speed, but to her it seems like eternity. He plummets to the ground before she even has time to shout. She lets out a heart wrenching scream and falls to her knees, desperately groping the ground to make herself crawl towards the fallen man.
No. No no no no no. He's not dead.
She's vaguely aware that someone grabs her, trying to keep her away from Sherlock's body. She struggles and writhes against their grip, tears blurring her vision. She lurches forward and grabs his hand, but the hand that had once held hers, is now cold and still. His skin is like ice.
"No, Sherlock, no." she repeats. Someone is now pulling her away from his body, and she's too weak to fight them. She goes slack in their arms, her eyes still glued to the lifeless body.
Please. Please come back to me.
But he's not coming back. He's not moving. He's not waking up. He's gone. Clara clutches the arms of the stranger absentmindedly, suddenly needing support to hold herself upright. The blood soaks his ebony curls and red stains his skin. The person holding her begins to drag her away.
"Come back to me. Sherlock!" she sobs. But then his body is taken into St. Bard's and he's disappeared from her sight. Clara slips out of the arms of the stranger, but doesn't move off the ground.
He can't be gone.
In the distance, she hears a familiar voice. She hears quickened footsteps and eventually a pair of hands on her face. She looks up and sees the familiar eyes of John Watson. He looks frightened.
"Clara, what happened?! Are you hurt, what happened?!" he says, but his voice still sounds miles away to her. She tries to speak, but her voice refuses to surface. She has to cough several times before she can finally speak.
"He's gone. John, he's gone!"
John stares at her, pure disbelief in his eyes. He begins to shake his head, the shakes becoming quicker when he sees the blood on the sidewalk. He puts his arm around Clara's quivering shoulders, not entirely sure if it was to steady her or himself. Clara isn't screaming anymore, she's simply staring at the spot where he fell. Her eyes look haunted.
It takes almost an hour for John and Clara to pry themselves off the ground. John has to call Mycroft, but he can't make himself say the his little brother has died. But Mycroft knew. Mycroft always knows. He comes for them in a car. John and Clara are clinging to each other. He takes them to a hotel. Clara locks herself in a room, refusing to come out. John goes out on to the balcony and doesn't so much as speak to Mycroft, furious because he realized that it was because of Mycroft that Sherlock was dead.
Mycroft eventually leaves the two of them. Clara is sitting on the floor, her arms wrapper around her legs. She looks so... Broken.
Come back. Please come back to me.
o0o
She stands in front of his gravestone. It's black and unusually shiny. She notices how the trees are clearly visible in the reflection. She allows herself to smile. He would have noticed that too.
It's been three months since he... He... Fell.
She's never gone through so much pain in only three months. The worst are the dreams. They're so vivid. She'll dream he's standing in a room in her flat, calling her name. She'll wake up, and in those short moments when you're still half asleep and you don't know what's real and what isn't, she'll run to the room he was in, then be brutally reminded he is gone.
She stares at the slab of shiny black stone, but refuses to cry.
"Come back. Please come back to me." she says, knowing that no one can hear her.
But what she doesn't know that there is someone watching her, from the shadows of the trees. He stares at her, almost hoping she'll turn around and see him but knowing she can't. He can't reveal himself to anybody, not even her. He watches as she turns and walks away, stumbling ever so slightly. Clara, his Clara, the loud, bossy girl who taught him to love. That Clara has disappeared. The shell that remains is not her, it is far from her.
And he needs to get her back.