Well, now that we've established that both Sherlock and John remember that whole thing, I'm going to...go off on a completely different tangent.

Harry tended to know when people were in love. It was a talent of some sort, but she didn't think it had much use until she met Clara. Suddenly, she read her signs like an astrologer read their stars, hoping for one of them to tell her something.

Clara was beautiful. There was no doubt about it. The second Harry saw her, she melted. Clara had wavy blonde hair that always got in her eyes, which were a lovely chocolate brown. Harry blearily thought a goddess like Clara didn't belong in such a normal, ordinary grocery store. Of course, Harry didn't know Clara's name then, having just run into her.

"I'm so sorry," elegantly slipped from Clara's mouth as she hurried to pick up the dropped items and place them back in Harry's basket. Harry was struck speechless. As soon as she could move her lips (several moments after the goddess had said anything) she stammered, "No, it's my fault."

"Why would it be your fault?" Clara had a smile on her face. What did that mean? Platonic or flirty? Er...

"Because I was staring at you, so I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," Harry blurted. The minute she realized what she just revealed, Harry covered her mouth with her hand and flushed. There went her one chance. Where had her usual blunt humor gone? How was she even supposed to talk to that vision?

"Really?" Clara bit her lip delicately. Harry felt like a humongous bear in comparison to a hummingbird.

"Yeah. You're very pretty." God, did Harry have less of a filter than usual? How did this day come?

"Thank you. That's nice of you to say." Clara paused. Harry wondered for a moment how she even knew Clara's name, but then remembered the goddess wore a nametag. She wanted to slap herself for being so stupid, but that would look really dumb in front of Clara. "Do you want to go out sometime?"

Wait, what?

"What did you ask?" Harry managed to say.

Clara blushed. "It's okay if you don't want to, I just haven't gone on a date in a while and I've seen you around and you seem nice, so..."

"Yes."

"What?" Clara looked surprised.

"Yes, I would like to go on a date with you."

Clara smiled again. "Thank you. That would be lovely. It can be only one date if you want."

"Let's see how it goes first." Harry smiled back, shyly she was sure, but it didn't matter. She was on top of the world.

"So, wait," Johnny said. Harry couldn't see his reaction over the phone, but she had a pretty good idea of what was going through his head. "You are going on basically a blind date with a woman you met at the supermarket because she asked you to."

"Yes, John. Haven't you been paying attention?"

Johnny sighed. "I hope you have a good time. You haven't been happy lately and I hope this makes you happy."

Harry's heart swelled. "You are an amazing big brother."

"Yes, yes. Now go have fun. Try not to drink very much."

"I will." John hung up, but Harry didn't move the phone from her ear. Johnny approved! It made her want to jump up and down.

And now, she had a date to plan for. Holy mother of all things good and gorgeous, Harry had no idea where to begin.

The first kiss happened three dates later. Harry was determined to take things slow, especially since she was completely in the dark about the whole love thing. It scared her; she was supposed to know by now whether the relationship would go anywhere. But she didn't.

Harry and Clara were standing across from each other in front of Clara's flat, Harry awkwardly shifting her weight between feet, Clara primly waiting with her feet together and one arm over her torso, holding onto the other arm. "Goodnight," Harry said, thankfully remembering eye contact.

Clara tilted her head to the side and smiled softly. "Goodnight, Harry." Harry nearly swooned right there at the sound of her name from Clara's lips.

"Goodnight," Harry repeated. She didn't want to leave; in fact, the thought of leaving hurt her chest.

Clara licked those perfect lips, just barely flicking her pink tongue over them. "Harry?"

"Yeah?" Harry didn't expect Clara to move closer, to unhook her arms from around her body, to place them on Harry's shoulders. Clara smelled amazing, like wildflowers that grew in allies or near street corners. Harry could see the glistening lipgloss coating Clara's mouth. Jesus, this was very much helping Harry's new urge to never leave this woman's side.

"I..." Clara ran a finger over Harry's cheekbone, "...want..." and tapped her nose, "...to..." and traced that finger over Harry's bottom lip. "...kiss you."

"And I...want to...kissyoutoo." Harry was surprised she managed to get it out.

"Lovely." Clara leaned in and pressed her cherry-glossed lips to Harry's. It was slippery and tasted unbearably sexy and Harry was beyond thinking by this point. Their bodies were getting closer together every second, but it only took a few for their bodies to meet.

Harriet Watson had absolutely no idea what happened after that. All she could remember was Clara waving goodbye.

The months slipped by. Harry and Clara moved in together, Johnny came around a few times, and eventually midget-like, pixie-cut brunette Harry Watson and petite, long-haired blonde Clara Peters were married. They were happy, but one thing had to happen.

Harry, who'd always struggled with alcohol, began drinking again.

She didn't even mean to; a glass of wine every once in a while turned into one per night, which turned into three a night, which turned into abandoning wine and turning to beer bottle after beer bottle after beer bottle. On and on and on. Harry knew it was wrong, she knew it hurt her wife, she knew it made John angry and sad, she knew it. But knowing and doing something about it were two different things. And Harry was hit with that difference every time she took a swig.

Knowing what she was doing was wrong added a impassible layer of depression to the whole experience. Harry would cradle a bottle close to her chest like it was Clara (like she knew the difference) and whisper how sorry she was, while her wife would go to sleep with tears on her cheeks, calling rehab places every week. But Harry never stayed for long, causing more depression and calling. A vicious circle. Eventually, it was too much.

"Harriet, are you going to come to bed?"

Harry looked up from her spot on the couch. She hadn't moved in days, clutching her latest bottle of liquor, having left the idea of a shot glass behind far too long ago. "Clarabella, why do you stay with me?" Harry knew using Clarabella would sting, since it was a pet name she only used once in a while, but she couldn't help it.

"Because I love you," Clara answered.

"Why do you love me?"

Clara's gaze simultaneously softened and hardened. Harry always wondered how she did that. "I love you because you are Harriet Olivia Watson. I'm your wife, you should know that."

"But I am a horrible person. I don't understand why you would love me because I'm me."

Clara swallowed, and Harry could see tears in her eyes. "I just do, Harry. There's no explaining it."

"You're hurting, Clarabella. The explanation for that is me," Harry slurred, standing up. Her steps were staggered and uneven, but she knew she had to walk.

"What are you doing?" Clara asked, finally crying. Harry nodded, that was what was supposed to happen. Her love would cry, and then it all would get better.

"I'm leaving, because you will never leave me."

"Why are you leaving? I love you and I will always love you!" Clara's voice was cracking, and God, did it break Harry's alcohol-sullied heart, but it had to happen.

"I am hurting you, and it needs to stop. I can't live like this, with you. With anybody. Johnny is ashamed of me, but he's too nice to say so, and since he's in Afghanistan, I can't exactly leave him. So I'm leaving you."

"Harriet Watson...!" Clara broke off, moving to wipe the teardrops from her cheeks. "You...are...notgoing! No! You can't!"

"No one is going to stop me!" Harry drunk-yelled back. "Goodbye! If you're lucky, you'll never have to see me again!"

"I LOVE YOU, YOU ARSEHOLE!"

"I CAN'T LOVE YOU!" Harry slammed her bottle of Scotch on the table by the door, hard enough she hoped it would shatter and glass would rain on the floor, like the pieces of their hearts. Of course, Clara's would be put back together easily, but Harry wanted to leave hers there. It would form artwork gouging into the wood floors more beautiful than she'd ever been. "GOODBYE!" She left her keys and shut the door behind her. Harry wondered why she needed Clara to tell her after all this time that she loved her, since she should have been able to just know. She smirked bitterly. It never worked on her wife.

Harry wandered the streets of London until she was thoroughly lost. She didn't want to be found, least of all by herself. This began a streak of long nights and even longer days, trying to find a job, begging on the street corners, looking for places to stay when it got to cold to sleep in a blanket on the ground. This was it, the Harry Watson existence reduced to a too-thin body and a bottle that sometimes held money.

The day her brother found his flatmate was also the day Harry found a dirt-cheap place to 'live'. Clara had sent back all her things, and Harry thought she knew why. Harry and Clara were similar in that if something held bad memories, they more often than not got rid of it. But, Harry kept one thing of Clara's that she couldn't bear to let go of: the necklace. It was a sapphire and diamond pendant necklace with a thin chain, CW for Clara Watson engraved on the silver-plated back. Just touching it reminded her of cherry lipgloss and nights spent with Clara's hair twirled around Harry's fingers. It was painful. But, what on earth was she supposed to do?

Harry was sitting in her new flat, wearing Clara's necklace and not unpacking when her new phone rang. She reached for it, but almost put it back down again when she saw the number on the screen. It used to be hers, but she couldn't look at that phone without thinking too much, so she gave it to Johnny in the hopes her big brother would find a use for it. "Hey Johnny," she said, trying to sound okay.

"Harry, you'll never believe what just happened!" Her brother sounded so happy, Harry could barely believe it. "I found a man who will share a flat with me. He's amazing, he deduces people, he deduced me within the first few minutes of me meeting him."

"I've never heard of him. Who is he?" Harry asked.

"I just met him yesterday. His name is Sherlock Holmes, and he's a consulting detective. The only one in the world." Harry could hear the beaming smile in her brother's voice. "Anyway, I'm very happy. He's an absolute prat sometimes, but I really like him."

Harry was going to say she was so glad he was happy, since she worried about him, but then she was hit with a thought. Her 'magic power' hadn't disappeared with Clara. Johnny was in love with Sherlock.

Maybe a year and a half of John's blinding happiness passed before it all exploded. There were three days of John being in incurable agony, telling Harry he didn't know how long he could last, telling her Sherlock was gone and was never coming back, telling her he'd never known pain in Afghanistan, even when he was shot, but he knew it now. Harry knew she couldn't help, and that killed her.

After those three awful days, John was eerily calm. When Harry mentioned the name Sherlock Holmes, it was like the man never existed in the first place. Harry threw the most painful memories Johnny had told her right back at him, but he responded with nothing more than a cold "I don't know what you're talking about".

Harry wondered if her brother was more broken than herself.

It was this event that made her start looking for Clara at the supermarket again. She couldn't live like that, with John unresponsive and everyone else gone. Harry needed someone, and she was beyond the thought that she was bad for Clara. She needed Clara back.

Clara had had the job at the supermarket, the same 10 am to 4 pm shift the whole time she and Harry were dating and married, and she would always go to the market between 6 and 8 pm. Harry wandered around the place generally until the other employees that were never Clara kicked her out.

A year passed, the same hours going and going and gone. Nothing happened. The pain was still there, Harry had to move again, and John was still dying inside. It didn't ever end, Harry thought to herself as she stared out her one grimy window. Never never.

Of course, being kidnapped was the most interesting thing that had happened to her in a long time. Especially since her brother came to save her.

"Because you're amazing," she heard a man's deep voice say when she bothered to pay attention. Johnny said something in reply to that, but Harry ignored it, because she knew that voice. Sherlock Holmes was back! Her brother was going to be happy again!

She ended up being too drunk to walk, so Sherlock carried her. Harry knew Johnny was fully capable of taking care of himself, but sometimes she had to be the big sister and watch over him. She would make sure Sherlock Holmes would never hurt her big brother again, and maybe he would help her find Clara.

Harry wondered how a meeting in a supermarket could have turned her whole life upside down and fermented-wheat-smelling. In fact, she didn't even want to know. But now, she had a duty to Johnny: make sure Sherlock didn't hurt him like Harry had hurt Clara.

Wow, I'm wondering how I wrote this in a couple hours while newly ill. How did I do? Please review; I've never written someone like Harry before now, so...yeah. Love you all!