Chapter Ten—Time Passes

Doctor

Time continued to pass. Each tick of the clock was matched by a beat of each of his hearts, a breath ghosting into his lungs followed briefly by an exhale. It passed slowly, each day seeming incredibly long and dreadful, filled with loneliness and anger and hurt, blurring together into a grey haze of depression that he drifted through aimlessly, wandering a universe that had lost meaning to him.

Stars continued to shine. The sun rose in the east and set in the west each day on Earth. People went to shops and ate chips and watched the telly. People went on with their lives.

He wished he could do the same. He was lost.

The funeral was hard. He was asked to deliver a eulogy. He agreed, because he didn't know how to say no. She had been his best friend, she'd been there for him when he most needed someone. Of course, he would speak for her.

He sat in a library, listening to the rustle of pages and of quiet breathing, with a pen and several sheets of paper in front of him. Blank sheets. Several times, he would pick up the pen only to set it down with a sigh. He pressed his palms together, fingers lightly pressed to his lips as he thought.

How do you capture the essence of a person with words? How could he describe Clara, the impossible girl that was his best friend and his companion and—

Even if he could describe her, how could words possibly make this alright? Words would do nothing to assuage the profound sense of loss he felt, nor would it be of comfort to her family. Words were just that—words. Meaningless, trivial, quickly forgotten.

Words wouldn't—couldn't—replace what he'd lost.

The service passed quickly. The Doctor didn't even remember what he'd said, but he remembered the faces of people. The tear-streaked faces of Archie and Angie. The pale, tired faces of Clara's family. He could still remember when he'd come home with her for Christmas…he almost managed a smile at the memory, but it faded quickly as the hurt returned.

After everyone else left, he stayed for a while, sitting by Clara's gravestone, twirling a white Easter lily in his fingers as he stared at her name carved in the black marble, looking so final—so absolute. He sighed, running his fingers over the silky petals.

"Clara…I don't know what I'm doing. You obviously can't hear me, and I feel rather ludicrous talking to a stone. But—I miss you, Clara. I don't know where to go now, what to do. Everything has felt wrong since losing you." His voice caught and he stopped, taking a moment to pull himself together, his eyes pricking.

He wanted to say so much more, had so many things that he'd never told her and so much that he wished she could still say to him. But none of the words seemed to want to come out past the lump in his throat. He reached out to brush his fingers over the letters, as though he could somehow be close to Clara again by touching her name. He sighed and set his Easter lily down at the foot of her headstone, brushing his fingertips along the top before turning and walking away.

Time to wander off—once more leaving behind those he loved and lost, not daring to look back because it hurt too much.

[A/N: Thanks to Lifehouse (even though they'll never see this I still wanna thank them) for their song You and Me for giving some inspiration for this chapter!]

[Shout-out to AJ Skye, for being the first (*Cough cough ONLY cough cough*) reviewer for the last chapter!]

[I know this chapter's kinda short…Life has been and will continue to be busy, I'm afraid. Testing and projects and reading and oral reports to do, not to mention NEW SHERLOCKS! And trying to have an at least average social life xD But I promise I will keep updating this story because I just love it and you guys too much to leave it alone. Not to mention I'm antsy to get to Part Two—JOHNLOCK. My OTP!]

[And since I'm feeling nice, I have a spark of hope for Whouffle shippers—we will see Clara again. I'm not saying when or how, or what role she might play in the story, but she WILL be in it again. :) ]

[I wanna know—what did you guys think of S3 of Sherlock? Love or hate Mary? Any theories as to how Moriarty did it?]

[Part One is probably gonna end in either the next chapter or the one after that, I'm working on it already. Love and hugs and best wishes for all of you! Keep it real and rock out like a house elf on butter beer.]

—Makenna