Chapter 25

The first thing she noticed was the pricking of a fire quite close to her. Then she felt its heavy warmth upon her face but it was not unwelcome. She remembered feeling rather cold. Blinking her eyes open, Clara found herself in front of an open fire. Slowly she let her senses take in her surroundings. The room she was in was a very large salon, the walls covered with hundreds of books. She was laying on a comfortable sofa, two blankets draped over her. When her eyes fell to the large window she could see the night sky, its dark blue with a few stars shily blinking against the dirty grey clouds. She sat up. There was an armchair and a small table next to the fireplace, a fairly expensive carpet beneath her feet on which she slowly stood. Behind her there was a large globe, made of mahagony. When she looked at the door she almost shrieked in shock at the huge armour from the middle ages which seemed to guard the entrance. Who would have such expensive furniture and a taste so old-fashioned? As soon as Clara had ended her questional thought, she knew the answer. Carefully she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The walls were occupied by paintings, portraits of great men of English history. Given those and the armour back in the salon, Clara started to believe she was at the museum of national history rather than a private house. Moving forward on her tiptoes, she listened for any sound but there was just silence. The lamps gave a weak yellow light, enough for her to take in outlines but impossible to see properly. Was she alone?

"Miss Oswald".

She jumped and for a second her heart stopped. She turned around to see Mycroft Holmes standing in front of her, hands in his pockets, his expression blank. How the hell did he manage not to make a sound? And what was he thinking scaring her like that? Looking him up and down she found him dressed quite lax for his standarts. His tie and jacket were missing, his waistcoat looked a bit worn out and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, giving her a glimpse of his arms. She swallowed when she realised that he looked quite attractive that way, in this light, from this ankle. Maybe she had not fully recovered from the attack yet. The attack. The memories of the scary man with his icy grip came rushing back in a flash and she took a step backwards even though it was not him she was afraid of.

"Where am I?", she asked, busy to let her breath return to normal. Her throat burned and her words had come out in a croak. Her hand found her way to the spot she had been gripped upon. The skin there was still cool. Clara supressed a shiver.

"Given the circumstances of you sneeking around I believe you do know the answer to that question, Miss Oswald", Mycroft answered and raised an enquiring brow at her. Oh, how she hated it when he looked at her like that! Like she was a misbehaving child! Putting her hands on her hips, she stuck her chin up.

"I was not-" But he raised his hand and interrupted her calmly.

"You are still recovering and I imagine the last thing you remember not to be a pleasant one. You have never been to this place, so your curiosity is a perfectly natural reaction."

Just as she decided to stand up to him once more, her intention was blocked by the memory of the attack, rushing back instantly. The man's eyes had been almost as cold as his grip around her throat, choking and freezing her at the same time.

"Miss Oswald?"

He had been talking to one of those scary snowmen, mentioning something about a plan. Then he had turned, found her, as if he had known about her presence all along.

"Tell your friend that no one can stop the Great Intelligence"

"Clara?"

She gasped as Mycroft's voice brought her back to the moment. Looking up at him, she found him standing closer than before, both of his hands gently placed upon her arms. His eyes were scanning her face, as if he was looking for something there.

"What did you just remember?", he asked calmly, his voice the only sound in the dark corridor. For some odd reason it made her feel safe.

Regaining her posture, Clara took a deep breath before she blurted out: "There was a man. About as tall as you but probably a bit older. He was... He had a conversation with one of those creatures. He said something about the Great Intelligence and... They have a plan! I don't know what it is but he knows about us...about me. And I...I couldn't..."

"I know", he interrupted her but his voice was still low and gentle in a way she would have never imagined him to be capable of. Her eyes found his again and for the briefest moment she believed that she would drown in the endless blue of them. Then he blinked and the moment was gone.

"You are safe now", he added and she nodded, slowly calming down. Feeling his arm around her shoulder she looked up at him again, as he turned her slowly. She let him walk her back into the salon and to the chaise, she had just left and sank down onto it with a sigh. Even though she had just woken up she felt exhausted. Mister Holmes sat down next to her and threw one of the blankets around her form. When she looked at him questionally, he said:"You are shaking".

It was then when she realised he was right. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf. Clara closed her eyes briefly and looked away, hiding her face from him.

"Sorry", she muttered. "I am sorry".

"You have nothing to apologize for. Fear is wisdom in the face of danger. It is nothing to be ashamed of".

At that, she looked back at him in wonder. Was he trying to be there for her?

"If there was one person to make an apology it would be me", he went on.

"Why, for what?"

"I send you out there without knowing what sort of man we were dealing with." He stared straight ahead into the fire, its gleam casting funny shadows across his face.

"I let you run straight into danger and you almost died." At that, Clara took hold of his hand. Mycroft flinched and looked down at their fingers as if she had just burned him.

"I am a grown woman. I made the decision to follow that man, it was my fault, not yours. I won't let you take responsibility for my actions, Mycroft". At the sound of his name, his eyes went up to her face.