Chapter Thirteen: Why Holmes?
I sat still, staring at Sherlock, waiting for him to say something. He looked up at me and began to speak. "Clara, I need to tell you what was on that note." He spoke.
"Sherlock just cut to the chase and tell me what was on that note." I snap. His eyes, blazing with fury and frustration stare into mine. He sits back up in his chair and he adjusted himself in his chair. I could tell he was nervous, you could see the sweat building up on his forehead.
"Clara, we are all in danger now, on that note was a message from a man who goes by the name Jim Moriarty. Moriarty and I have at confrontations before, 2 and a half years ago, when I faked my own death to save my friends. He did as well. Now I never knew he faked it too, but he arose again only a few months ago, creating a wide spread fear that the Napoleon of Crime was back." He said, staring at me intently as he did. I began to squirm in my seat, I myself began to sweat, my hands beginning to clam up. "Moriarty is an extremely dangerous man, and he will stop at nothing to have me destroyed. He has threatened you, Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and anyone else that I hold most dear. I am now afraid that he will come for you." He finished. His hands beginning to tremble. He stood up and began pacing again. I slumped back into the chair, thinking about what Sherlock had just said to me. Moriarty is coming for me? Why? I am just a girl who doesn't even know who she really is.
After some time, Sherlock stopped pacing and took me downstairs to Mrs. Hudson for some lunch. Even though it consisted of only sandwiches and biscuits, it got all the thoughts of Moriarty leave my mind temporarily. Once lunch was over, Mrs. Hudson gave me some biscuits to take with me back out into the field. Whilst I was having lunch with Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock had phoned Lestrade about the case at hand. Giving him all the evidence that he and I had gathered at the scene.
"Sherlock! Please come and eat something!" Mrs. Hudson called. No answer. "Fine then you can starve, once again." She continued, muttering to herself. I assumed it was usual for Sherlock not to eat. I took it upon myself to take something up to him and force him to it. I grabbed a sandwich and a few biscuits and pondered my up back up the creaky stairs.
"Sherlock Mrs. Hudson wants you to eat this." I say as I walk through the door. Sherlock was sitting at his laptop, tying away at something important.
"Sherlock." I say, trying to get his attention. I kept saying his name but he was still concentrated on the laptop screen. I gave up. I picked a biscuit of the plate and threw it at him. It hit him on his temple and he was startled by the biscuit.
"What the hell was what that for?!" He yelled at me, causing me to giggle.
"Well you weren't answering me so I thought of a creative way to get it. Now Mrs. Hudson wants you to eat, so you will." I say, walking over towards him and placing the plate down next to him. "Eat. Now." I demanded. He still didn't move, he just went straight back to typing. "Sherlock you need to eat." I say again.
"Digesting food slows down my thinking process." He says, not moving from his seated position. "But I will eat this arrangement of food if it will stop you from complaining." He said, picking up one half of the sandwich and biting into it. I smile, knowing that I had won.
After he had finished his food, made a few calls and spoken to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock took me down the road to a fish and chip shop to grab some dinner because Molly had texted him saying because she had to work late.
"Thank you James." Sherlock said, after the young boy handed him the chips wrapped in butchers' paper. I gave him a small smile. "Don't even think about it." Sherlock spat, his voice so sharp it could cut the glass. James's face dropped from the small smile it once held to a frown. Sherlock grabbed me by the shoulder and guided me out of the shop. I turned my head to see James staring at my back and I give him a small smile once again, which made his face brighten up. Sherlock had gotten us out of the shop and back down to Baker Street. We gave Mrs. Hudson her share of the fish and chips and we walked up the stairs. We sat down on the couch and began to eat what was left. I was surprised that we had gotten him to eat again. Twice in one day seemed to be a new record. After some time, we had finished and I was picking up the rubbish and trying to find a bin to place it in, which took what felt like an hour. Sherlock had been glued to his laptop again, looking at God knows what. The silence was deafening.
"We need to go over to your flat and get you some clothes, Molly is working extremely late and wants you to say here tonight. Get up because we are going now." Sherlock said, standing up and grabbing his coat. I stood up and walked over to the red armchair and grabbed my bag from it. Turning abruptly to see that Sherlock has gotten my coat of the back of the door and held it out to me.
"Thank you." I say, taking it from him.
"You're too short anyway." He said, smirking. I punched his arm lightly in response. Suddenly, something in brain ticked, reminding of a question that I had been meaning to ask him all day.
"Sherlock, why did you put your surname as mine?" I asked, grabbing his arm to get him to face me. He stopped in his tracks, slowly closing the door so that it was almost shut.
"Clara," he begun, "The reason I put Holmes as your last name is because you remind me of myself when I was a young child, but also the person I wanted to be. You are intelligent, but also have that humanity about you that I never had until some recent events. That is why I put Holmes as your last name, because you remind me of what I want to be, and so I have someone to call my daughter." He finished. I couldn't believe it. I just stood there, thinking a million things at once. But I only thought of one way to express my gratitude. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, giving him a light squeeze.
"Thank you Sherlock. I am proud to be a Holmes." I say. He eventually wraps his arms around my small frame and pulls me into his embrace. After a few seconds we let each other go and walked down the stairs. Sherlock said to Mrs. Hudson we would be back in an hour or so, and told her to not let anyone in. She didn't argue and said she would wait up for as. I had only just realise that it was getting quite late in the night. I was guessing it was around 8pm at the latest. Sherlock and I wondered down the streets, taking a few of Sherlock's shortcuts to Molly's and mine flat. As we were on one of Sherlock's infamous shortcuts, we came across a sport equipment shop. I looked into the window as I walked past and stopped in my tracks. Staring into the shop.
"Clara what's wrong." Sherlock asked, the concern in his voice growing. I said nothing. I stared into the shop, even more intently, looking at the hockey stick that caught my eye.
"I remember now. I remember playing hockey. I was good, very good." I say. I quickly grab out my notebook and wrote down what I could remember, it wasn't much but it was enough. I closed it and placed it back in my bag and walked beside Sherlock down the busy streets of London.
We were arriving back at Baker Street a little over an hour later, with me carrying in my bag my pajamas, a change of clothes for tomorrow, my toiletries and my pillow. I must have looked strange walking with a grown man with a pillow under my arm. Still, I was just happy to hear all those kind words from Sherlock. As we approached the front door, I tripped over and feel straight down onto the concrete.
"Clara are you okay?!" Sherlock yelled. Sherlock bent down, picking me up under my arms and lifting me up.
"Oh fuck Sherlock stop stop stop." I say, feeling an acute pain strike my ankle. He sat me down on the step at the front door. "I think I may have sprained my ankle." I continue. How fantastic. Sherlock didn't think twice. He opened the door to 221B and grabbed all my stuff and threw it into the main hall.
"This may hurt okay?" He said, kneeling down beside me. He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
"Jesus Christ Sherlock are you trying to kill me already?" I say, as he almost hits my head on the wall.
"Maybe." He says. He carried up the stars and into John's old room. He dropped me onto the bed and then walked back downstairs to get my stuff. In those brief moments I was alone. I wondered why he has suddenly changed. He has become kinder and much less colder than the first time we meet. I was sure he hated me when we first meet, but now, he had become a much kinder soul. Sherlock burst into my room with my belongings, setting them beside me on the bed.
"Sherlock were is the bathroom?" I asked, balancing on one foot and rummaging through my bag to find my pajamas and toiletries.
"The bathroom is down the hall. Do you want me to help you?" He asks, his face softening at the gesture.
"If you wouldn't mind…" I say, leaning on the bed post. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulders and carried me into the bathroom, he had already placed a towel out and washcloth. What is with him? It didn't bother me as much as it should have, considering he was legally my father and Molly was legally my mother. He left me in privacy to have a shower. Once the hot water was running I stepped in and slid the curtain across. I quickly washed my hair, which is harder than I thought, then again I was balancing on one foot. I finished and got dressed in my pajamas and brushed my teeth and hair. I hopped back to my room and placed my dirty clothes in my bag.
"Yoohoo." A familiar voice sounded. I turned to see Mrs. Hudson, holding a basket full of laundry. "Do you have any dirty clothes dear? I can wash them for you." She asked.
"I do in fact, thank you so much Mrs. Hudson." I say, handing her my small pile of dirty clothes.
"It is not a problem dear. Just come down and get it in the morning." She said, walking back out and down the stairs. Sherlock comes in moments later with ice in hand.
"Do you want to come and sit in the living room for a bit and help me with the case?" He asks, motioning to the room.
"Sure, why not." I say, lifting my arms up to that he can lift me easier. He carries me to couch, were I laid down and put the ice on my ankle.
"Are you ready?" Sherlock asks.
"Are you?" I respond.
"The game, Clara, is on." Sherlock says, giving me a smirking.