Clara Oswald had once believed, if not somewhat naively, that she had her life all planned out. That, despite the unpredictable odds, she had some modem of control over her future, if only miniscule. At some point down the road, she knew that she would be expected to put travelling to far away galaxies on the back burner and concentrate on setting down some roots. To stop running. To jot herself in somewhere on the Doctor's haphazard schedule and tell him to pick her up then, and only then. To limit the amount of exploring and adventuring that she was prone to and concentrate on her career, maybe even on starting a family. She would marry someone painstakingly normal, perhaps a lawyer, or a writer- She had always fancied having someone to rave about Jane Austen with- Or even a PE teacher. Someone to act as the polar opposite of her hectic life, someone to keep her grounded, someone to help her to return to normality when she needed it most.
They would live in a nice flat- No, an old house, a building with character that they could refurnish to their own tastes. Maybe somewhere in the country. With a dog. Two dogs. And- Kids? Did she want kids? The idea had scarcely crossed her mind, though a few times it had lurked in the corners of her subconscious, urging her to come to terms with the thought. For some reason, it scared her. It scared her because it was something so concrete, so certain. It held the promise of a permanent shift in priorities, a mound of responsibility that, though it terrified her, she almost wanted to embrace it with open arms. Her fear was achingly irrational.
She was Clara Oswald, she had the power to silence and entire classroom of children with an icy glare and a snap of her fingers, surely she could handle her own offspring. Maybe she did want kids. Children of her own to help with their English homework and to immortalise the memories of her travels with the Doctor in way of retelling the elaborate tales to the enraptured kids. Her unlikely fantasy was short lived. However fanciful this ideal life may be, all hopes for any aspect of it had now evaporated, which was something she had been blind to prior to her abrupt, startling realisation.
Jim Moriarty had somehow weaseled his way into her thoughts and hopes and aspirations, slowly but surely unscrewing each nut and bolt one by one until he shook the very foundations of everything she believed in so firmly.
She looked at him now, the coolly observant man who held so much ground shaking power over her, all that she had thought she knew lying in a shambles of broken pieces around her. He had altered everything, destroyed all that she believed that she wanted, now a sorrowful array of unborn stories better left untold. His conniving disposition and acerbic wit had seeped through the cracks of what was left of her hopes for the future, corroding them like acid.
There was nothing left, except him.
She wanted to hate him, truly she did, but her stubborn heart refused to allow it, instead choosing to select the endeavour of feeling quite the opposite.
"Not to increase the pressure already weighing you down so heavily, but your deadline seems almost…" Jim paused for effect and cast his eyes up towards the ceiling, clearly suppressing a conceited smirk. "Dead."
"You're putting the lives of everyone in London at risk, and you don't even care," Clara breathed incredulously, though she ought not to be surprised at his temerarious tendencies after all they had been through. "And you're involving me! Making me choose- I'm not able to make that decision, Jim!"
Jim yawned loudly, smirking superciliously.
"Boring, boring tedious details," His face contorted in evident disgust, as if repelled by even the mere act of having to dignify her qualms with an answer. "I didn't bring you here to lecture me, Clara."
"Then why did you?" She cried, temporarily overpowered by a surge of anger as she tossed the device back to him. He caught it deftly, though his eyes widened in surprise. "Why did you bring me here? Why me? Why are you playing games, if you want to kill a load of innocent people then why don't you just do it?"
Jim blinked, momentarily stumped by her outburst. Clara was half sure that he didn't quite know the answer himself, at least to a certain extent. He was constantly searching for distractions, anything to relieve his incessant boredom, so engrossed and enraptured by the thrill of the chase that he didn't fully realise why he wanted to win the game in the first place. Jim Moriarty was an enigma, there was no denying that, but Clara was beginning to understand him just a little bit more.
"Because…" His forehead creased in discontentment and he gestured with his hand as if to grasp the correct words. "Because where's the fun in that? Where's the finesse?"
He waved his hand in a fluid motion as he spoke, not unlike a proud chef introducing his piece de resistance. Clara gritted her teeth and took an involuntary step forward, her blood boiling with anger. Jim whistled and his eyebrows shot up.
"My, my, you do seem a bit rattled. Have I crossed the line yet?" His eyes twinkled as he let out a slightly strained chuckle. "What's wrong?"
"Should I make a list?" Clara choked out, her eyes wide in disbelief at his blatant lack of regard for anything and anyone except himself.
"Someone needs to deal with this now," Lestrade boomed before a reply could be uttered, his eyes darting to each of the crowd assembled earnestly. "The way I see it, there's only one conclusion that can come of this twisted situation. Whatever happens, at least one place in London is going to be blown up, and considering both of the places in question are a bit too close for comfort, you-" He jabbed a finger at Sherlock, who was standing still as a statue, fingers steepled against his lips and eyes clamped shut in fierce concentration . "Better bloody well come up with a solution!"
"Shut up, Lestrade. I'm thinking."
"Oh yeah?" Lestrade's eyes widened and his voice rose an octave higher. He shifted his weight to his left leg, pushing his coat back and settling his hands on his hips. Clara's theory on where the second bomb was hadn't gone down very well with him. "Care to share some of that genius intellect with the rest of the group?"
"Well, if you insist. Since we're prioritising, I was just thinking that due to the fact that Scotland Yard hasn't appeared to be doing anything of much use recently, it wouldn't be a very significant loss."
"Exactly- What?!"
"Alright, alright, shut up!" Clara's voice was just short of a desperate cry. "We need to be clever here."
"Clara, it's Scotland Yard, which, in case you'd forgotten we are standing in right now, or bloody Big Ben, and we can't save both," John ran a hand through his greying hair impatiently. "There is no clever way of getting around this."
"On the contrary, there's always a clever way of getting around things, John," Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he stared directly at Clara. "You just have to have the right connections. If you're intelligent enough, that is. But I think you are intelligent enough to connect the dots, aren't you, Clara?"
"Five minutes with the girl and you're already deducing her level of intelligence?" Jim rapped his knuckles on the desk in acute agitation, his tone light but his eyes hard and cold. "However did you come to that conclusion?"
"She's prone to spending time with you, she's been smart enough to stay alive this long," Sherlock replied haughtily, to which Jim's glower grew even darker.
"The right connections…" Clara whispered slowly as realisation dawned on her, flicking her eyes upwards to look at Jim. A slow smile began to spread across her face. The depraved criminal narrowed his eyes at her in response, disconcerted by her sudden display of elation. He clenched his jaw and issued her with a challenging glare.
"Ten minutes."
Clara's blood seemed to freeze in her veins and her stomach plummeted.
"What?"
"Ten minutes."
No two words had ever evoked more fear from Clara than at present. Sherlock's face remained stonily unreadable, but Clara caught his sharp inhale of breath at Moriarty's words.
"He's giving us ten minutes before he detonates the bombs himself," Sherlock hissed. Clara's eyes widened in horror.
"That wasn't the deal-"
"He got bored, we lost our chance," The detective ruffled his hair vigorously as he began pacing. Clara knew what they needed right now. The only thing that could save them from this mess. She whipped out her phone and dialed the number of the best helpline in the universe.
Moriarty watched her carefully, his gaze calculating as the cogs whirred in that brilliant mind of his. He observed Clara's actions, scrutinizing her next move in the game as if daring her to put his queen into check.
"I'd ask if you have any last words but we'll be here for days," He crooned, a lazy smile in place on his face, but his eyes were too alert for him to be completely at ease, something Clara did not fail to pick up on.
Ignoring his attempts to disconcert her, she clutched the phone to her ears with trembling fingers, the pounding of her racing heart surpassing the steady thrum of the dialing tone as she willed the recipient of her desperate call to pick up. Finally, a soft click and a familiar cheery voice granted her wish.
"Doctor," She breathed, feeling a flood of relief as sure and strong as the ocean wash over her. Jim's eyes snapped up to glare at her, widened slightly in astonishment. "Doctor, I need to get here right now."
The Doctor's tone turned from playful to serious in an instant.
"Should I bring anything?"
"Just yourself and your unwavering willingness to do exactly as I say," Clara replied swiftly, slightly breathless in her haste. Her eyes never left Jim's as she spoke.
There was no need to explain any more than that. The Time Lord sensed the urgency in her tone and asked no further questions, merely promised her of his swift arrival and hung up the phone.
"Look, it's great you're thinking ahead to potential casualties and all that, but we've already got a doctor," Lestrade frowned and jabbed his thumb towards John, who was eyeing Clara warily. "And to be perfectly honest, he's of no use right now either. We need bomb disposal, not a physician."
"I hope your reflexes are as good as your talent for stating the obvious," Clara snatched up the bomb disabling device and tossed it to Lestrade, offering no other retort to his comment. The detective inspector fumbled in surprise but managed to catch the device before it hit the ground, just about maintaining his dignity. "Right, when I give you the signal, you set that thing to disable the bomb under Scotland Yard."
"Are you mad?" John spluttered, eyeing Clara incredulously. "If we do that, Big Ben gets blown into oblivion along with thousands of civilians!"
"Big Ben is going to stay completely intact, actually," Clara smiled smugly, casting a quick glance at Jim who was analysing her intently. "And so is Scotland Yard. No one's dying today, not on my watch," She paused for a second and grinned, exhaling sharply. "I've always wanted to say that."
"You're making no sense-"
"Ah!" Clara made a swift zipping motion with her fingers across her lips, eyes wide as she listened intently. "Do you hear that?"
There it was. That beautiful familiar whooshing sound of the Tardis materialising, like a pair of magnificent wings beating vehemently. She let out a hearty laugh as a faint outline of blue occupied the space in front of them in the middle of the room, steady becoming sharper and more focused which each beat. Lestrade swore and blessed himself, stumbling backwards as he looked at the blue box with wide eyes. Moriarty leapt up from where he was sitting and stared at the Tardis in awe. It was the most human Clara had ever seen him, and for a moment she couldn't take her eyes off his face.
The wooden door creaked open and an adorably eccentric man sporting a large Viking helmet stumbled out. He pushed back the visor and offered Clara a goofy grin that she realised she had missed terribly.
"You called, m'lady?"
"Yes!" Clara blinked as she remembered their predicament and checked the clock quickly. They had just more than five minutes. She turned to the occupants of the room. "Wait for my signal, then disable the bomb. Trust me."
She allowed herself one more look at Jim. He returned her gaze with barely concealed wonder, and Clara knew that this was it, this was exactly what he had wanted. He had wanted her to play the game, to really play it, to make a move that would impress even the likes of a consulting criminal. Feeling a rush of adrenaline course through her veins like white hot electricity, she winked at him and spun around, darting towards the Tardis without looking back. She resorted to dragging the Doctor back inside with her and closed the door, panting slightly. She beamed at the familiar thrum of the Tardis.
"Oh, I've missed this," She allowed herself a brief moment to grin before remembering why she was there in the first place. Whipping around to face him, she gasped. "Doctor, Big Ben! Now!"
The Time Lord didn't take much convincing, and after a brief explanation of the event which were currently unfolding, which the latter got a bit too excited about in Clara's opinion, the machine spluttered to life and they were en route for one of London's greatest landmarks.
Clara didn't dare allow herself to enjoy the journey for fear that she might refuse to leave the blue box ever again, but she didn't have much time to dwell on the fact in any case. In fact, they didn't even have the time to stop. What she was about to do was possibly life threatening and definitely dangerous, but she felt too alive to be scared.
"Don't you dare let me fall," She called over her shoulder as she pushed open the door of the moving spaceship and swung out, hanging suspended over London as the Doctor grabbed onto her feet to prevent her from plummeting to her imminent death. It was exhilarating, and she couldn't stop a grin from spreading across her face as she viewed the glimmering city from upside down.
She swung precariously in front of the vast clock face. It seemed much bigger close up, and the glow hurt her eyes. She squinted at the hands, quickly locating the foreign object which most definitely was not supposed to be attached to them. She stretched but found she couldn't quite reach.
"Think you could get us a bit closer?" She yelled breathlessly, arms flailing in a futile attempt to reach the bomb.
"Alright, hold on!"
"I will if you do!"
The Tardis jolted forwards and the Doctor's hasty apology was drowned out by her surprised scream. The result, however, was as desired. She finally managed to clasp her fingers around the deadly object. After a small struggle, she managed to remove it from the clutches of the hands of the clock and called up to the Doctor. The bomb was heavy, but no bigger than two of her fists. She found it strange how such a small object could have so much potential for destruction.
The Doctor heaved her up into the ship and they shut the door behind them quickly.
"Right, time is of the essence now!" The Doctor yelped, rushing to the console, flipping levers and buttons so quickly that it made Clara's head spin.
Clara took out her phone and dialed Lestrade's number, not daring to look at the time and see how little they had left.
"Come on, come on, pick up," She hissed impatiently, placing the phone on the floor and putting it on loudspeaker. "We nearly there, Doctor?"
"That should do it," The Doctor held his tongue between his teeth in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed as he pulled what Clara assumed to be the handbrake. "Chop chop then, Clara, I don't fancy scratching the paint job on the Tardis today!"
A voice on the other line crackled into life as the pair began lifting the heavy bomb and dragging it towards the door.
"Clara?"
Sherlock had clearly deemed himself the most worthy to speak on this occasion, no surprise there.
"You all set, Sherlock?" She panted as the Doctor kicked the door open with his foot. A mass of black space punctuated with patches of soft swirling mist greeted them. No planets, no stars, just black oblivion. It was perfect.
"Are you one hundred percent certain about this?" Sherlock demanded, his voice slightly strained.
"Yes," Clara yelled, her arms beginning to ache. "On the count of three, you disable the bomb that under your feet."
Clara thought she heard a voice suspiciously like John's protesting in the background but she elected to ignore it.
"Alright," Sherlock relented flatly as the Doctor and Clara began to swing the heavy object back and forth to gain momentum.
"One," The Doctor grunted, jaw clenched.
"Two," Clara gasped as they released their hold on the bomb and threw it into the suffocating darkness.
The Time Lord sprinted to the console and Clara slammed the door shut with a bang.
"Three!" They chorused as the Tardis sprang into action, Clara's heart hammering painfully hard in her chest. There was tense silence on the other end of the phone.
"Well?" Clara picked up her phone with trembling fingers, hardly daring to believe that it had worked. "Is- Is everyone okay?"
"You did it, Clara," Sherlock paused, and Clara nearly wept with relief. "It worked. And you effectively managed to shatter John's nerves in the process. I don't believe he'll ever be the same again."
Clara laughed shakily, looking up at the Doctor with a grin as relief flooded her. Clara Oswald- 1, Jim Moriarty- 0. The Time Lord smiled back brightly.
"Oh, Clara Oswald, I've missed you."
This one took me a while to write, I've been so busy and it took a lot of thought! I hope you liked it anyway, thanks for reading!