Hey hey heyyyy my pack of baes :D How are you all? So this chapter was pretty fun to write, I really hope you like it, it clears up a lot and prepares y'all for the huge plot in the story ;;)

I WANT THIS WHOLOCK CROSSOVER TO HAPPEN AND I WANT CLARIARTY TO BE CANON SO BAD OMFG. UGH.

So I hope you like it, and remember, I breathe reveiws, they are my oxygen. Don't let me drown, review guys! :D

Clara awoke slowly and distinctly became aware that she was alone. She blinked, tilting her head to find that she was curled up on the couch, but her head no longer rested against Jim's shoulder. She sat up, realising that it was well into the next day and she must have slept for ages. Her exhaustion over the past while had finally caught up on her. She cast a quick glance around the small flat but the silence told her that her suspicions were correct. Jim Moriarty was no longer there.

"Oh, you idiot," She groaned as she sat up, annoyed at the man's carelessness. He obviously didn't take care of himself at all, and was hardly fit to be roaming around by himself the way he was. She struggled not to worry but couldn't help it, trying to put her mind at ease in the hope that he had probably got some sleep and may have recovered a little bit at least.

A small piece of paper on the coffee table beside the couch caught her eye as she made to stand and she snatched it up quickly, her heart pounding as she scanned the words on the page.

You fell asleep on me, didn't realise I was that boring!

Don't worry, I'm still not dead. I had to leave, staying here wouldn't be safe for you.

Do give Sherly and Johnny boy my love when you get to 221B, won'tyou?

Oh, and I put my number in your phone.

- JM.

Clara couldn't help but smile at the small note, tucking it safely into her pocket after re reading it a few times. She felt some of her worry lessen slightly at the knowledge that he was alright, but that still didn't console her completely. She decided her next stop would be 221B, she was in the mood for a good story.

She scrolled quickly through her contact, smirking when she saw Jim Moriarty's number amoung the list. She decided to comply a quick text to make sure he was okay, just to put her mind at ease.

You were bleeding a lot last night. If you die due to your own carelessness, I will kill you. Idiot :)

-CO

She sent it with a grin, knowing that Jim would at least get a laugh out of it. After a hasty shower, removing any last traces of blood from herself and the apartment, she left, hailing a cab and readying herself for the story that awaited in 221B, Baker Street. She checked her phone, grinning when she saw that it was a text from Jim.

That would be extremely ambitious of you :)

-JM

She stifled a laugh and thanked the cabbie in a rush, eager to speak with the consulting detective and his blogger. She wasn't sure if she should give too much about Moriarty away, and decided to keep her mouth shut for the most part. Until she knew more about him, anyway.

She wasn't left waiting long when the door opened to reveal Mrs Hudson whose eyes lit up as she saw a face she recognised.

"Clara, Clara, do come in," She smiled in welcome, ushering her through the door. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine, thanks, Mrs Hudson," She grinned back at the kindly old lady, noticing the sound of a violin playing a sweet melody she didn't recognise from upstairs. Mrs Hudson noticed her gaze as it trailed up to the flat above.

"Boys! Clara is here to see you!" She called and the violin ceased playing for a moment, only to resume again a moment later at a slightly quicker pace. Mrs Hudson turned to her with a light expression. "Go on up dear, he's in quite a good mood today. I would say it's because it's nearly Christmas, but I think it's actually because there's just been another murder not too far away."

Clara blinked at the lady's lighthearted tone when discussing something as serious as murder, but she supposed Mrs Hudson was well used to it, being Sherlock Holmes' landlady. She thanked her hastily and hurried up the stairs, brimming with anticipation at what answers she would gain. She knocked briefly on the closed door and let herself in, offering the two men a smile as she entered.

"Hello again, boys," She grinned as John smiled back warmly, once again seated in the same archair as last time, only with a mobile phone in his hand instead of a newspaper.

"Clara," He nodded in greeting, giving Sherlock a warning glare as the other man gave his violin bow one last flourish and ended the tune with vigour. Clara was pleased to see that he was dressed in more suitable attire than a dressing gown this time, and was wearing a dark suit which was a stark contrast to his pale skin.

There was a few strands of tinsel sparsely decorating the fireplace, complete with a bauble dangling off what Clara hoped wasn't a real human skull, giving the impression that Sherlock had been forced to leave them there. He didn't seem to be one for festivities.

"Clara Oswald," Sherlock Holmes draped himself across a chair and raised an eyebrow. "Sit down. John, go make some tea."

"What did your last slave die of," John grumbled, remaining unmoving as he finished complying a text.

"Poison."

"Oh shut up. I'm not making you tea."

"Well then, what do I keep you for?"

"I'm making Clara tea," John raised an eyebrow and gave Clara a look, a small smile playing around his lips.

"That doesn't sound half bad," Clara grinned in response as Sherlock huffed, gradually descending from the previous good mood he had apparently been in. "So, Detective Boy. There's no point telling you what I'm here for, you probably already know."

"Correct."

"So," Clara sat down in the same chair she had occupied the last time she had been there and fidgeted slightly. "You're going to tell me about Moriarty then, right?"

"Wrong."

"What?" She stiffened slightly, not expecting him to be difficult about it. "How do you mean, wrong?"

"I mean that I will tell you everything I know about Moriarty," Sherlock began slowly, leaning back in his chair and smirking. "In exchange for everything you know about him. So go on. Enlighten me."

"Sorry, Mr Holmes," Clara folded her arms across her chest and raised a challenging eyebrow. If there was one thing she had learned from being a teacher, it was that you lay down the rules and don't let others question it. "I asked first."

"That's not how it works," Sherlock growled in annoyance, leaning forward in aggitation. He clearly hadn't expected to be challenged.

"You don't get to decide that," Clara replied curtly, unwilling to share her information too soon. She felt the need to protect Jim and didn't want to slip up. She softened her expression and leaned forward earnestly, almost pleading. "Please, Sherlock. I need to know his story."

Sherlock Holmes narrowed his eyes in concentration as he stared at her, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"Clara, how ma-"

"She takes three sugars, John," Sherlock interrupted his flat mate before he could finish his unspoken question. Clara raised her eyebrow in amusement, but couldn't deny that he was right.

"How did you know that then?" She questioned curiously,

"Touch of sugar on your sleeve from this morning, that rules out the possibility of taking no sugar," He shrugged simply. "The rest is balance of probability. You're a school teacher, you take more than one because it helps you wake up in the morning, you often have trouble waking up on time as I can tell from your lack of good punctuality. You don't take two, however, the spot of sugar on your sleeve indicates that the spoon was raised more than twice, but less than four times..."

Clara frowned and rubbed at her sleeve self consciously.

"Well, that's all well and good, Sherlock," She quirked an eyebrow again. "But I know how I take my tea. I'm looking for you to tell me something I don't know. Like-"

"Like the great tale of James Moriarty, the consulting criminal, yes," Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently and heaved a sigh. "Tell me why you want to know."

Clara began to get impatient and more anxious with each passing second. She needed to know the full story about Jim and Sherlock Holmes was making this unbearably difficult. "I told you, I-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock," John left the kitchen and placed a cup of tea next to Clara which she accepted gratefully this time. "If you won't tell her, I will. Jim Moriarty was probably the most dangerous, psychotic man you could ever meet. Not that you will meet him, because he's dead."

Clara nodded slowly, ignoring the fact that John had jut informed her that he was deceased and trying to act like that didn't bother her, or confuse the hell out of her. She noticed Sherlock watching her intently out of the corner of her eye, a slight frown marring his features, but she determinedly stared at John instead.

"First time I met him," John continued in a light but slightly irritated tone as he recollected his memories, bring his cup of tea to his lips. "He tried to blow me up. Twice, actually. Oh wait sorry, the second time he tried to shoot me, not blow me up. He decided to vary it a little. All in the space of about ten minutes, very efficient."

Clara stalled her hands as she brought the cup to her lips, her eyes widening as John went on. She realised she was shaking slightly and considered putting the cup down, but didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. Sherlock's eyes on her were making her feel uncomfortable, almost as if he knew she knew something important. Like the fact that his nemisis was still alive, though the world thought he was dead.

"He was a psychopath," John burst out. "A complete psychopath who wouldn't think twice about murdering any innocent person. He- What, Sherlock?"

Sherlock, who had just made a scoffing noise at John's comment, feigned ignorance and waved at John to continue. "Nothing," He huffed in a strained tone. "Go on."

"Right," John frowned, slightly put off. "Where was I, oh yeah completel raving lunatic who just kills for fun- What now?"

Sherlock had groaned again in the middle of John's explanation and was looking extremely annoyed and just a bit bored. He leaned back, his chin tucked into his chest and mumbled something that Clara couldn't quite make out, and neither could John by the way he leaned forward with a scowl.

"What was that?" He ground out through gritted teeth.

"You're telling it wrong!" Sherlock sprang up from his chair, steepling his fingers underneath his chin and beginning to pace. "The thing you have to understand about James Moriarty, Clara, is that he isn't a man at all. He's a spider."

Clara froze at his words, a chill running down through her but gave him a small nod of encouragment as he went on. She noticed that he had habitually lapsed into talking about Moriarty in the present tense, almost as if he was absentmindedly entertaining the idea that he might still be alive, though the conscious part of his part was denying it as it didn't add up with the facts.

"A spider at the centre of a web," Sherlock hissed resentfully with just a hint of respect in his tone that Clara didn't fail to pick up on. "A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances. That's where you went wrong, John. You said he was a psychopath who wouldn't think twice about murdering any inncoent person. That's true of course, to a certain extent. But he's so much cleverer than that."

"But he has killed innoc-"

"Yes, yes, John do shut up please, I'm storytelling," Sherlock huffed indignantly, waving a hand at John in aggitation. "But he's always playing a game, and it's not senseless. He always has a purpose for it, the innocent people are mere pawns in his game of deadly chess."

"But he does it for fun," John butted in again, half turning to Clara as he explained. "I get what you're saying Sherlock, he always has some elaborate game going on. But sometimes he just gets bored, like any psychopath does."

"But he's not just any old psychopath," Sherlock murmured, sitting down in his chair again slowly as he stared at the wall in thought. "He's clever, he's scheming and he's dangerous."

"And he's dead- Sherlock, why are we talking about him in the present tense?" John suddenly voiced the opinion with a confused expression. It seemed to Clara that he had given up on his suspicions that Moriarty was behind the bank break down and the recent bombing even though they were actually correct. She guessed that Sherlock had shot that idea down, forcing him to aswell. Or maybe it was that they just didn't want to believe it. John frowned with a sigh. "I mean, we know he's..."

Sherlock didn't respond to John's unfinished question, but he didn't have to for Clara to know that he had been about to say 'dead'. Sherlock seemed to be thinking intently, thinking out various possibilies and solutions to the conundrum he had been presented with.

"Okay, you wanted to know his story, so I'll give it to you," Sherlock glanced up at Clara, holding her gaze. She lenaed forward instictively, itching to finally hear the whole truth. "I didn't know James Moriarty long, but I knew him long enough to know that he was the most dangerous foe I had come up against yet. He seeked me out because I kept prying into his work unintentionally, and he warned me to back off. I should've killed him then and there-"

"Which would have killed you and me too, Sherlock, thanks very much," John raised an eyebrow, though he was leaning forward aswell, seeming as interested in the tale as Clara was.

"John, what did I tell you about butting in," Sherlock raised his eyes up with a sigh and continued. "He told me to back off, left, then came back moments later once we thought we were safe. He was unpredictable, completely unpredictable and that was a challenge even for me, all the way to the end."

Sherlock paused, seemingly lost in his memories and Clara found that she was trembling. She took a deep breath and John cleared his throat, snapping Sherlock out of his trance and causing him to continue.

"Yes, he decided he was going to kill us, but was interrupted by a very important call which saved all our lives, I must admit," Sherlock rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his steepled fingertips, a small crease in between his brow. "But that was only the beginning of our great game. I don't suppose you heard, with all the travelling you'vebeen doing, about the time he stole the crown jewels?"

Clara choked on her tea, eyes widening. "He what?"

"Stole the crown jewels, yes," Sherlock gave a small amused inclining of his head. "Well, I say steal. More like he broke into to the vault for his own amusment and waited for the authorities to find him. He allowed himself to be caught, because that was his plan all along."

"And then he was found not guilty," John seemed to be unable to help himself from interrupting with his own reinaction of the tale. "Everyone knew he had done it, but the jury declared him not guilty! I didn't understand how at first but we soon realised-"

"I soon realised."

"Right," John scowled at Sherlock fondly. "That he had blackmailed each member of the jury. Just shows how much power he had. It was scary really."

"We had a little chat then, Jim and I," Sherlock continued in a lighthearted tone though his eyes remained cold. "About how he owed me a fall. I must admit, I underestimated him. His plan wasn't just to kill me, but it was to destroy me. To burn me. Everything about me, ruined. He made people believe that I was a fraud, even those closest to me. Except for John of course, John always stood by me. Even though he's about to forsake me in favour of getting married-"

"Sherlock," John heaved a sigh. "Don't bring this up again. Look, I'm here with you now, aren't I? Nothing's changed."

"End of an era..."

"Back to Jim Moriarty," John spoke loudly, eyes wide as he heaved an aggitated sigh. Clara chuckled at their little domestic, quite enjoying the company of the two. She could see that they had a strong friendship, and could also tell that Sherlock wasn't a man who made friends easily.

"My final meeting with James Moriarty was on the roof of St. Bart's hospital," Sherlock's tone grew dark, but he carried on talking with the same brisk pace. "He had destroyed my image, tainted my name, even made it look like I had simply made him up. That James Moriarty wasn't even real, that he was just an actor. He had a fake identity for himself, and proved me to be a fraud. Proved that I had made up all the crimes I had solved just to make myself look good. The last step in the final problem was for me to kill myself. Throw myself off the roof of an exceptionally tall building, in fact. Jim always was one for drama," Sherlock commented dryly. "He even gave me a little extra incentive. He had three bullets prepared for the three who mattered most to me, and they would die unless I threw myself off the roof."

Clara noticed that John had tensed visibly and was glaring at the floor. She hadn't realised how hard her heart was beating until that moment. She clutched her tea tightly in her two hands, willing Sherlock to go on.

"I figured that there was a signal to call off the shooters," Sherlock continued briskly. "That as long as I had Moriarty, then John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson would live. But the one thing I didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty would go just to see me fail, how unhinged he really was. He shot himself in the head, forcing me to jump."

Clara gaped at Sherlock, her knuckles white from gripping the cup so tightly. She took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes wide.

"He... He killed himself?" She whispered shakily, wondering how on Earth he had managed to survive a suicide.

"Yes, quite efficiently," Sherlock replied curtly, unperturbed by Clara's unease. "Of course that meant I had to jump. So I did."

"Then how are you alive?" Clara spluttered in shock. "You both decided to kill yourselves? You're all bloody mental!"

Sherlock shrugged, widening his eyes slightly at Clara's outburst. "I may be 'mental'," He cocked an eyebrow. "But I am still alive. Moriarty is not. He didn't value his own life, he cared more about winning the game. So I would assume that he was just a bit more 'mental' than me."

"Yeah," Clara shook her head slowly. "Yeah, way more mental. Complete raving lunatic, like John said."

"So go on then, Sherlock," John widened his eyes at the detective and waved a hand at him in a mock flourish. His voice was strained and Clara could tell that he was suddenly angry about something. "Tell her how you survived. Tell her how you let me grieve for two years thinking you were dead."

"Now, John, I thought we were over this whole 'two years' fiasco," Sherlock scoffed, his grin fading slightly at the deadly glare in John eyes. "Yes," He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well."

"Honestly, you two are like an old married couple," Clara shook her head with a shaky grin. "So, you threw yourself off a roof and lived? Not bad."

"Unlike Moriarty, I was able to fake my death," He muttered with narrowed eyes, clasping his hand together in front of him. He didn't seem to want to entertain the possibility that Moriarty might still be alive, or maybe it was simply that the scenario didn't add up with the facts in his head. "I had some help of course, from my homeless network and my brother, but it took me two years to unravel Moriarty's network. Two years of being dead."

Clara swallowed thickly and stood, her legs shaking slightly. "Thanks... Thanks for telling me."

"Well if you take away anything from that," Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "It's that Moriarty was one of the cleverest, most malicious, most dangerous men I have ever met. In fact, he isn't- wasn't, a man at all. A consulting criminal, a psychopath, are the words I would use to describe him."

"I..." Clara paused, taking a shaky step backwards, her mind reeling. "I really have to go. But thank you."

"Wait!" Sherlock stood haughtily with an indignant expression etched upon his features. "You haven't told us your part of the story."

"I will... Another time," Clara squeaked, feeling guilty for not keeping her part of the bargain but knowing that if she stayed any longer she would surely burst into tears and began having a panic attack. "Goodbye!"

She scurried down the stairs, ignoring Sherlock's halfhearted yell of indignance and left without another word, pushing past a startled Mrs Hudson who yelled "Oh boys, what have you done now?" and ran out onto the street.

She didn't stop, unwilling to cease walking until she was a safe distance from 221B. Her breathing became rough and shallow, and she could feel tears begin to prick her eyes but she pushed them back adamantly.

"James Moriarty isn't a man at all."

The words rang in her mind, rebounding off the inside of her skull and beginning to give her a pounding headache. She was surprised to see that it was late evening and was starting to get dark. She hadn't realised she had spent so much time at 221B, but she supposed she had slept quite late. She jumped, startled when her phone buzzed in her pocket, indicating that she had recieved a text.

There's an abandoned library two streets down to your left.

I know you want to talk.

-JM

The words on the screen blurred as Clara's eyes filled with moisture and she hastily wiped them away with her sleeve. He was right, she did want to talk to him. But at the same time, she was absolutely terrified to. For the first time, she was scared to face him. Because now she had all the facts, all the facts that she had suspected but had been trying so hard to deny. She knew she had to talk to him, but she had a feeling that the person she needed to talk to the most right now was a pyschiatrist, because why else would she care for a murderous pyschopath, even after all he had done.

She didn't reply to the message, she knew she didn't have to. Jim knew that she was going to be there, and so did she. She walked briskly, wishing she could stop the torrent of screaming thoughts that just would not leave her alone.

The cold, December light faded quickly, more quickly than she had anticipated and before long the large throngs of people were beginning to thin out and the street lamps were flickering into life. Everyone seemed to be heading home early for work in the morning, and she knew she should be joining them. She was definitely going to lose her job at this rate, and she blamed a certain consulting criminal.

She knew the library was the right one when she reached it. It was a tall grey structure, looming and desolate, but it was in fairly good condition, as if it had only been closed down recently and hadn't been neglected for long. She wondered for a moment how she would get in, but then decided to simply try the front door. It was, as she had suspected, unlocked. She didn't question how Jim made his way into these public buildings anymore.

She felt a shiver run down through her as she entered the building and closed the door behind her where it shut with a gentle click. She looked around, but there were no signs of life inside. She knew better than to assume that she was alone, of course.

She walked slowly across the room as she waited for Jim Moriarty to make his presence known, cringing at the loud click her shoes made on the hard wooden floor. She wandered down through the abandoned aisles where few books remained, thick layers of dust coating their spines and rendering the titles unreadable.

"There was a man with a story, a man who spent his whole life just searching for distractions."

Clara jumped at the soft voice that suddenly sounded from behind her. There was no mistake that it was Jim Moriarty's lilting Irish tone, but she hadn't heard him approach. She didn't turn around, not having the courage to face him just yet. From what she could hear, he seemed to be keeping his distance, standing behind her quite far back. He was about to finish the story, she realised, closed her eyes and balling up her fists in the hope that it would prevent her tears from falling.

"Playing with the ordinary people became boring," His voice was deadly and threatening, and Clara could almost hear the mocking grimace on his face as he spoke. "So he decided to have some fun with Sherlock Holmes. He decided to destroy him. They played the great game, and he held all the cards."

"You- You're a murderer," Clara choked out in a strained whisper, trying to let her tears fall. "You- You apparently killed yourself just so Sherlock would have to die, just to win a game. You're insane."

"Maybe I am!"

Clara flinched at the sudden shout, Jim's enraged yell echoing through the vast room and rebounding off the walls. She had never felt properly frightened by him until now.

"Are you scared yet?" Jim's voice had returned to a low whisper, his voice somewhat choked. "Are you?"

Clara opened her mouth to reply, her back still facing him, but she couldn't force the words out. She was scared, but she wasn't sure if she was actually scared of him.

"Yes," She whispered finally, allowing one solitary tear to fall. "I am scared. But I'm scared of the things you've done, I'm not scared of you."

"That could prove to be a fatal mistake," Jim growled menacingly, but Clara wasn't about to let him push her away.

"Well maybe I'm just an idiot," She gave a low, strained chuckle, closing her eyes tightly shut again.

"You're the only one not to run away," Jim's voice was strained again, and there was a hint of sadness in it that surprised Clara. She still hadn't turned to face him, but she could hear the vulnerability in his voice. "The only one who didn't get scared."

"But..." Clara paused, taking a deep breath. "The story's not over yet. You're supposed to be dead. It's not over. Finish it."

"I didn't really die. Sherlock didn't really die. Turns out we both faked suicide at each other. The end."

"Tell me how," Clara's voice cracked but she was determined to get the full story before she decided what to do. "And tell me how the Doctor is involved."

"He helped Sherlock survive, that's how," Jim replied bluntly. "Sherlock lied to his friends about how he managed to live, he jumped, and a big blue box just happened to be passing by."

"The Doctor saved him?" Clara gasped, her eyes flashing open. "What he just like, fell into the Tardis?"

"Apparently so," Jim's tone was once again emotionless. "Ruined my fun."

"So how did you survive?" Clara was trembling again. "You," She swallowed thickly, the tears beginning to flow as she struggled to get the words out. "You shot yourself in the head."

"No, I didn't," Jim paused with a sigh, almost bored. "The gun was a fake, designed to cause a sound like a gunshot and build up enough pressure to burst a blood bag attached to the back of my head. I fell, Sherlock jumped back, the rest was just good acting."

Clara's mind was spinning out of control with all the information it had just absorbed. She couldn't reply, she didn't have the words to describe how she felt. She couldn't deny that she cared about Jim, though she kept trying to push those feelings to the back of her mind. Because she knew she couldn't fall for a psychotic serial killer. But she wasn't falling for him, no she wasn't... She trembled slightly, shaking her head as she tried to push the thoughts away.

"Stunned into silence by my cleverness?" Jim let out a humourless laugh. He paused, and Clara heard him take a deep breath as his tone turned more serious. "I- I know... I know I'm not... Good."

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, and it seemed to be difficult for him to get them out.

"But, Clara," His voice suddenly became thick with emotion, something Clara hadn't known he was capable of. "I don't... I just need distractions. But it's not fun anymore if you... If you don't..."

He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. Clara finally turned around to face him, the tears flowing freely down her face now. Jim was standing motionless, a slightly pained expression on his face. He showed no obvious signs of the previous injury he had endured, his new dark suit free of any traces of blood, unlike the night before. He looked vulnerable and somewhat sad, and Clara felt a dull ache in her chest as she took a few stumbling, shaky steps forward.

"Jim," She choked out in a whisper, his face blurring slightly through her tears. Unable to fight it anymore, she ran forward, closing the distance between them and threw her arms around his waist with a choked sob.

Jim staggered backwards slightly at the unexpected impact, letting out a small startled noise. Clara froze suddenly, having momentarily forgot about his injury and worried she had possibly hurt him but Jim began to relax, letting her know that it was alright. After a few moments he came to his senses and wrapped his arms around Clara slowly, almost disbelievingly. Before she knew it, Clara was sobbing into his chest, all her pent up emotion since she had first met him being released as she clutched at him, never wanting to let go. She knew it was irrational, but she needed him. And she saw something in him that no one else seemed to, she knew that there was more to him than his apparent coldhearted insanity. James Moriarty was a man, and she was certain of that, even if it took a little push in the right direction by Clara to bring that out.

Jim buried his face in her hair, holding her closer to him and Clara noticed that he was trembling. She realised that this was new for him too, that he had probably never had anyone care about him.

"I'm... Sorry," He choked out, almost as if he was fighting back tears but Clara couldn't be sure. She just clutched him tighter, trying to ease his shaking, trying to let him know that he was forgiven, no matter what.

"It's okay," She murmured, attempting to calm her sobbing. "It's okay."

She pulled back slightly to look at Jim whose eyes were glistening with unshed tears which she knew he would refuse to ever let fall. She raised a shaking hand to touch his cheek gently, offering a small smile.

"It's okay to let your walls down sometimes," She whispered, stroking his cheek gently. "It's okay."

Jim took a shuddering breath, a couple of tears falling and running down his face at her words. "I'm sorry," He choked out again, a sob escaping his lips. Clara buried her face into the crook of his neck as his shaking became stronger than ever and wrapped her arms around him tightly. She was sure that this was proabbly the only time Jim had ever let out his emotions instead of keeping them bottled up. His swallowed down his sobs after his few seconds of weakness, as if ashamed, though his whole frame still trembled violently.

Clara's sobs had stilled aswell, her tears beginning to fade away, but she was still reluctant to let go of Jim.

"Just please," She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Please stay. Don't push me away. I- I need you."

Jim didn't reply, but made no move to let her go, and that was answer enough for Clara. She pressed a soft kiss to his neck and buried her face into his chest again, unsure how long they would stay in this position for but happy to stay like that for the rest of her life.

SOOOO WHAT DID YOU THINK? :D Oh my GOD I was literally having a feels attack as I was writing that last half with Jim and Clara, my hands went all tingly. I hope your hands go all tingly when you read it. Or your heart goes all tingly. Or your brain. Or... Something. What I'm trying to say is, I hope you like it :D

OH AND HEY, NEWSFLASH, THIS DAY ONE YEAR AGO PETER CAPALDI WAS ANNOUNCED AS THE NEW DOCTOR AYYY!

Not long until s8 now ahh I'm screaming :D

Oh and guys, if you're on twitter you should totally check out BadWolfRose00 's clariarty edits, they are AMAZING OMG.

So please, feel free to leave a review or two, it would make my day :D I love love loveeee getting feedback from you guys! Thanks so much! :)