Author's Note: Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

Throw Away Love & Golden Years

Whatever mine is yours
We share the blame
Just like the darkness in your mind
Is blind with shame...

Thunder shouted from overhead as Clara ran down the street, feet pounding the pavement. The mother of all storms was about to explode into existence over her head, and she didn't have an umbrella to hand, not even a hood. But the rain won the race, and it sped to the earth below, soaking Clara to the skin in a matter of moments.

Clara rounded a corner, arms flung over her head. As she hurtled past a doorway, a hand shot out, dragging her into the shelter the entrée provided. She shrieked, rounding on her captor, only to shove Sherlock hard in the chest, knocking him backwards. "What the hell are you playing at!?"she yelled above the roar of the rain.

"I'm playing the role of the chivalrous gentleman," Sherlock said mockingly.

"You can't just go around grabbing people and dragging them into doorways!"

"Why don't you leave then, return back to your natural habitat," Sherlock fired back, gesturing to the rainswept street. "All you need is some seaweed in your hair, and you would be a sight to delight a sailor's heart."

"Oh, I love it when you go all nautical on me."

"I would love it if you left."

"I did that already," Clara said quietly. "Remember?"

Sherlock turned to face her, his agate eyes narrowing as he met her questioning gaze. "Clara is clarifying," he mused, flipping up the collar of his coat. "Clarifying if I remember Clara..."

She missed him, but he was a man who never missed anything, whether it be a stain or a stance, never mind her. A whole year had passed since she'd dragged her suitcases down the stairs of 221B Baker Street and out of his life forever.

"Well, do you?" Clara asked, her voice suddenly very small.

"Do I what?" Sherlock said tauntingly. But then he held up his hand, as though to halt her. "Wait, I remember..." Swift as starlight, he suddenly pulled her close to him, crushing her lips with his, Clara's heart surrendering itself. He tasted of rain and midnight and loss. She was starving, he was the feast... But then Sherlock shoved her away from him. "I remember," he said, voice low and ragged. "I remember."

Then, without a backward glance at everything he had lost because he could not love, Sherlock strode into the embrace of the merciless rain, face pale, shoulders hunched. Clara watched him go out of her life, just as she had gone out of his. "You remember," she said softly to herself. "But I have to forget..." She glanced up at the sky, wondering if she could do this, if she could forget Sherlock.

But the sky remembered everything, even the stars that had died so long ago. One could still read their story, even when it had long ended. Clara would still remember Sherlock Holmes long after this day; she would remember long after the rain.