CHAPTER 10 IS HEREEEE!
So anyway, here's a dramatic chapter, I had intense feels writing it omg, and I CAN'T THANK YOU GUYS ENOUGH FOR ALL THE AMAZING REVIEWS! 99 I MEAN WOW THANK YOU SO MUCH!
Hope you enjoy this chapter, happy reading!
Stony silence had tersely occupied the quiet room for what felt like hours, but even years spent travelling in the Tardis hadn't quite managed to warp her concept of time so effectively that she wasn't able to decipher that it had to have only been mere minutes since the bombshell had been dropped. Clara winced at the select choice of words in her internal monologue.
She had been left alone with the conniving criminal since the invidious man in question had fervently insisted that Lestrade keep everyone except for her out of the room unless the detective inspector wished to be 'instantaneously blown up into more pieces than all the King's horses and all the King's men could ever hope of putting back together.'
The conceited serial killer hadn't uttered a word since his questionable demand, and Clara knew better than to prompt him for an answer. So instead she remained stubbornly silent, subtly trying to resist the tempting urge to punch him in the jaw.
That was when the singing began.
"Hickory dickory dock,
The mouse ran up the clock,
The clock struck one,
The game's begun,
Hickory dickory dock," Moriarty sang softly, a sharp edge to his lilting tone that was just short of tangible. Clara didn't fail to pick up on the slight change of profound lyrics and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, refraining from giving an audible answer no matter how much she wanted to yell at him to stop being so bloody ridiculous. Jim puffed out his cheeks and widened his eyes dramatically before exhaling in an abrupt, loud huff. He slammed his hands down on the table suddenly and Clara jumped at the harsh snap. She had almost forgotten what an irascible disposition the man could have.
"Come on, Clara, don't be tedious," He drawled derisively, his voice teetering on impatience. Clara clenched her teeth adamantly and continued to glower at him. Jim's face morphed into a mocking expression that mirrored his frivolous behaviour. "You can't just glare at someone and expect them to fall in love with you. No, you have to earn that."
Clara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his acerbic wit. It didn't help that she had to constantly remind herself that she was supposed to be angry with him. His wily behaviour proved difficult not to enjoy to a certain extent.
"And you can't seduce me with your notorious ability to destroy people's lives!" She retorted finally, wincing inwardly at how easily he had managed to rile her up and get a reaction out of her. Jim hummed good-naturedly, a delicate smile illuminating his face.
"Here's another fairytale for you," He flexed his fingers and leaned back in the chair he was sprawled across, swinging his legs up onto the desk lazily. "Once upon a time you weren't such a boring, ordinary little person like the rest of them. Come on, Clara get your head in the game!"
"I'm not going to be part of your insane scheme!" Clara hissed in undefiled outrage, and this time she was the one to slam her hands down on the table in a virile manner. "We're not Bonnie and Clyde!"
The corners of Jim's mouth curved down thoughtfully as he considered her brusque outburst, his dark eyes pensive. His nimble fingers tapped his temple lightly.
"I was thinking more along the lines of the Joker and Harley."
"That's not- I'm- You- Ugh! That's not the point!" Clara threw her hands up in exasperation at the reprobate man. Jim shrugged flippantly, unaffected by her words.
"Hickory dickory dock,
The mouse ran up the clock,
The clock struck two
Will Clara see it through?
Hickory dickory dock."
Clara was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now in pent up anger and nervous energy. A spark of worry and panic shot through her like a white hot electric current, painting her cheeks with a faint blush. She was running out of time, that fact was probably the only thing Moriarty was making clear.
"Alright, Brown Eyes," She leaned towards him, resting her palms on the desk for support. "I get it, you're excited because you've got some ingeniously evil masterplan going on, why am I here?"
"You know full well why you're here," Moriarty's eyes turned cold and calculating. "Tread softly, Clara. All this chitchat might get you in trouble."
Clara bit her lip anxiously, as if the solution to her current predicament lay somewhere underneath the soft flesh.
"Shut up! No, don't. Tell me your plan. Tell me where the bloody bomb is."
"That's cheating, Clara," Moriarty whined childishly, briefly reminding Clara of the kids she used babysit. "Why can't you just play along? Honestly, what is your problem?"
"I'm glad you asked," Clara huffed incredulously, straightening up and folding her arms. Looking down at him now, she felt more in control, albeit a little. "Because I have quite a few right now and you're the root cause of most of them. Because-"
"I think you're overreacting-"
"No, listen. Look at me. Look. At. Me. Do I look like I'm in my favourite comfy pyjamas right now? No. Do you know why? Because I'm here. Here. At 5:00 am. Freezing. Tired. And quite frankly annoyed beyond belief. All because of you."
Jim plucked a pen from the table and popped it into his mouth, chewing on the tip irritably.
"Now now, don't cry over spilt milk, Clara, it's awfully unbecoming of you."
Clara squeezed her eyes tightly shut, needing to block out everything just for one blissful moment. She had to think. There was no Doctor here, not this time. This time it was up to her to save the day. The pressure resting heavily on the shoulders was as liberating as it was a burden. A small part of her stirred in anticipation at the opportunity to prove herself, to laugh in the face of danger and save the world against all the odds.
We don't walk away.
No one was going to die tonight, not on Clara's watch.
"Why here?" She snapped open her eyes and stared at Jim, scrutinizing him. If she was going to have any chance of winning this game, she had to play by his rules. It was time to get a move on and start deducing. "Huh? Why here? How did you even get in here?"
"I don't need a key to enter a locked room, Clara. Gaining access to places I shouldn't be is practically standard procedure for me."
"Well, judging by the amount of times you've probably broken into my flat I suppose it's not that farfetched," Clara inclined her head slowly in reluctant agreement. Jim grinned, the pen clasped securely between his bared teeth.
"Well you can't blame me, you are always away," He mumbled, taking the biro out of his mouth and smirking at her. "Busy busy little bee."
"Think, Clara, think," She groaned, resisting the urge to chew her fingernails anxiously as she strained to formulate an answer.
"Now I'm going to play devil's advocate here," Moriarty coughed loudly, and Clara frowned in confusion as the obvious display of emphasis on the word. Was that a clue? What could it mean? "-Aaand assume that nearly everyone in London is going to die as you're not hurrying the hell up."
"Shut up shut up shut up!"
"I'm sorry is my callous ruthlessness distracting you?"
"I need…" Clara hadn't even noticed that she had begun to pace, wringing her hands in agitation. "I need to think."
"Hickory dickory dock,
The mouse ran up the clock,
The clock struck three
All hands point to me,
Hickory dickory dock."
Clara froze, stopping in her tracks and pivoting on her heel, one finger poised in mid-air as she tried to grasp at the clue.
"What… What does that mean?" She breathed softly, realising that he was giving her clues, and obvious ones at that. After all, the game was no fun if it was a guaranteed win for him. "Something… It's got to mean something."
Jim let out a dark chuckle.
"It's on the tip of your tongue isn't it?" He whispered, prodding his own tongue with the tip of the pen. "The answer."
"One, two, three…" She murmured in a low atone, her eyebrows furrowing as she attempted to piece the fragments of the puzzle together, scrambling for purchase.
"The clock struck four, Clara's a bore," Jim intervened in a lilting sing-song tone. "Hickory dickory dock."
"How- How long do I have?" Clara breathed, trying not to let the fear seep into her voice as a startling realisation took shape in her mind. "This is a game, it's got to end sometime, even if I lose. If I run out of time, it's going to automatically detonate, isn't it? So when's this bomb set to go off?"
"Clever deduction," Jim purred, his dark eyes glinting with mirth. He appeared to be impressed. Clara tried not to feel flattered. "It's an offer you just can't refuse, isn't it?"
She tapped her foot impatiently, her palms breaking out in a cold sweat.
"Tell me."
"Thirty minutes."
"What?!"
"Well you did ask. Let's be realistic here. I know I'm renowned for my generosity, but even I can only stretch so far."
Clara balked visibly, her hands trembling as she wiped them subtly on her pants and attempted to regain her composure.
"You're mad, this is mad-"
"Madness, brilliance…" Jim's lazy smile didn't reach his eyes. "It truly is remarkable how often those traits coincide."
Clara held a hand to her head, suddenly feeling faint.
"Thirty- Thirty minutes-"
"What's wrong, Clara?" Jim popped the pen back into his mouth and spoke around it in an almost incomprehensible slur. "Bit off more than you can chew?"
His abrupt laughter bordered on manic.
"Hickory dickory dock
The mouse ran up the clock,
The clock struck five
No one's getting out alive,
Hickory dickory dock- Whoa, whoa, easy tiger!"
Clara had walked briskly around the table to his die of the desk and grabbed his face to snap him out of his song, a firm palm cupping either cheek. Jim looked at her with wide eyes, the pen dropping from his hand to the desk with a soft clatter as he unclenched his fist.
"What am I to you, Jim?" She whispered, her eyes searching his imploringly. "What am I?"
Jim cleared his throat and widened his eyes a little, squirming slightly.
"Well, um, now is not the time for an existential crisis, Clara, shouldn't you be worrying about more important things-"
"Shh!" She shushed him sternly, narrowing her eyes and analysing him. He relaxed slightly and ceased fidgeting, and Clara loosened her grip on him a fraction, her hands resting against his face more gently. Something shifted in Jim's expression, and what Clara saw in his eyes was unidentifiable, but it wasn't malice, it wasn't rage, and it wasn't insanity- Well, maybe just a little. Whatever she saw there, it gave her hope.
"What about our story?" She whispered, inching closer. Jim blinked, his face blank.
"What?" He murmured, his eyes darting across her face as if trying and failing to deduce what she was thinking. She could tell it frustrated him, but it also intrigued him.
"You've told me all these stories, but really I'm only interest in one," Her heart thudded in her chest as Jim's hands came up to circle her wrists gently, though he didn't remove her hands from his face. Feeling a surge of courage, she stroked a thumb across his cheek softly and his eyelids fluttered shut. "Our story. Tell me about our story, because quite frankly it's the only one I really care about. Is it… Is it a sad one?"
The last few words came out barely above a whisper, but she knew Jim heard them. She felt as if an entire aviary was trying to fight its way out of her chest, little wings beating in rhythm with her heart as she remained transfixed, staring into Jim Moriarty's eyes.
"I…" His voice faltered and he fell silent for once, and though Clara knew she should treat this as a slight victory, a dull, profound ache has settled in her chest and she couldn't shake it. She was falling, falling falling falling, entangled in the convoluted web of the spider, the consulting criminal, and she could see no way out. And the worst thing? She was happy right where she was.
Jim cleared his throat and shut his eyes, inhaling deeply before opening them again to look at her.
"I don't know," He replied simply. "Haven't a clue."
Clara cracked a half smile.
"Me either."
An array of heavy footsteps outside the door snapped the duo out of their reverie, and Clara remembered that she was still supposed to be angry with him.
"I ought to slap you right now!" She stood up quickly, silently berating herself for her moment of weakness. Trust her to fall for a madman. He was toxic, but utterly addictive at the same time. "I'm still angry. I'm aggressively angry. Just so you know."
Jim grinned widely at her as the door burst open and Clara blinked in surprise, glancing up just in time to see Sherlock Holmes storm into the room, his long coat billowing around his knees.
"Look at you," She cooed before she could stop herself, looking him up and down, ninety percent sure that the long coat was just for dramatic flair. "All you're missing is the deerstalker."
"Clara, do make sure to wear matching socks before you decide to comment on my appearance," Sherlock replied breezily, looking straight past her towards Moriarty who was now standing. Clara looked down at her odd socks in dismay, silently cursing Sherlock's infallible deductive skills. "You," The detective stopped in his tracks and glared at a beaming Moriarty. "You're supposed to be dead. Whilst taking the term 'If you want something done right, do it yourself', quite literally, if I recall correctly."
"Yes, well," Moriarty grimaced theatrically with an almighty shrug of his shoulders as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "It appears that reports of my death were greatly over exaggerated."
"I knew it!" John had entered the room, juggling a laptop and a styrofoam cup of coffee. "I told you, Sherlock, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Moriarty's still up and about."
"Yes, well it wouldn't take an ape to deduce that, considering he's standing right in front of us," Sherlock narrowed his eyes, though he didn't appear too appalled. "Very much alive."
Clara moved to stand beside John as he place the laptop on the table, peered over his shoulder to see the video that was playing. It seemed to be a news report, and she gasped when she saw Moriarty's face plastering various billboards in London. He'd definitely got the publicity he wanted, that was for sure.
"Um, Sherlock?" Lestrade had appeared in the doorway, presumably having evacuated the building, looking slightly sheepish. "Can I, uh, arrest him properly now?"
"I'm going to elect to ignore that question, Lestrade, I'd expect that level of idiocy from the likes of Anderson, not you," Sherlock waved a hand at him dismissively, neglecting to even look at the detective, his hawkish eyes trained on Moriarty. "How?" He hissed, taking a calculated step forward in awe. "How did you do it? Your brain almost rivalled mine, until you splattered it all over the concrete. Only you didn't, did you? You couldn't have."
"Uh, boys?" Clara called, an eyebrow raised as she cleared her throat. "Chitchat can wait. We've got a problem here. A bomb shaped problem."
"Yes, I tried to tell him that," Lestrade rolled his eyes and gestured to Sherlock with a weary shake of his head.
"Yes, I really am so pleased that you could all join in the fun," Moriarty smirked cynically. He clapped his hands together with a sharp snap. "Get your thinking cap on, Clara. The clock's struck six, it's a whole new bag of tricks, hickory dickory dock."
"What the bloody hell is he on about?" John squinted in intense confusion.
"Masterplan. Speaking in riddles. We're all doomed," Clara quipped curtly with a shrug.
"Blimey. Sorry I asked."
Clara directed her attention to Moriarty once again, issuing him with a glare. She eyed the clock warily, seeing that it was 5:10am and trying not to think about how little time they had left.
"Would it physically pain you to hold back those vague riddles?" She snapped, her exasperation getting the better of her.
"You might not be around to find out. Tick tock, tick tock."
Clara let out an audible groan, resisting the urge to pull her hair out in frustration. She turned back to the laptop monitor as John and Lestrade bickered and Sherlock muttered to himself, mumbling something about a mind palace and trying in vain to decode Moriarty's riddles.
She squinted suddenly as something on the screen caught her eye and leaned in closer to inspect it. It was Big Ben, a hastily spray-painted red scrawl meandering along the clock face to form the words miss me, but that wasn't the strangest thing about it.
"Hey," She began slowly, frowning and throwing a glance back over her shoulder. She snapped her fingers at John. "Hey! Is this stream live?"
"Yeah," John frowned, shuffling from foot to foot. "Why?"
Clara whipped around to face the screen again, her heart pounding in her ears. She squinted to make sure she wasn't imagining things, but no- It was just like she had thought.
The hands of the clock all pointed to the number six. But it was barely past 5:00am.
Hickory dickory dock. Devil's advocate. The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck six. Six.
The clock.
Clara gasped, spinning on her heel to face the puzzled occupants of the room. Her eyes flickered to Moriarty.
"I think I know where the bomb is."
Well, I hope that was an exciting thing to read with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit to dunk!
Next chapter should be up fairly soon, don't worry.
Omg guys has anyone else seen the new trailer for Suicide Squad? I clicked on it so fast when I saw it, it looks amazing omg I can't wait to see it
Anyway, thanks for reading :)