Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

Consequences

Clara deflated on the steps of the TARDIS, she hung her head in her hands. It felt like her mind had become a blended mess of silly detectives and burnt soufflés. With an exhausted sigh, she pulled herself up and gravitated to the consul. "Doctor?" She called softly.

"Yowzah!" he replied loudly from beneath her feet. Clara tip toed down the metal steps and to the cramped space underneath the main consul. The doctor was on his stomach, fiddling with wires. His skinny legs twitched as a fizz of sparks shot into the air.

"Can we go somewhere?" Clara rested her head on her hand, leaning onto the nearest surface. "Somewhere, far, far, away."

"In a minute..." he squinted into the wire-ridden cavity and poked something with a screw driver. "I thought you'd want to be with that nasty detective of yours?"

Clara sniffed reproachfully. "Sunsets and aliens sound much more exciting," she said quickly.

The Doctor sat up swiftly, looking at her with his sparse eyebrows drawn. His chin protruded crankily. "Something's up," he muttered.

"Why would you say that?" Clara mumbled at her shoes.

The Doctor scrambled to his feet, his gangly legs bringing him closer. "One – you didn't contradict me when I called him nasty. Two – you're impatient to get away." He frowned down at her. "What happened?"

Clara rolled her eyes. "Can we just-"

"No."

"But it-"

"Clara."

She rolled her eyes, sucking on the inside of her cheek. "Look, I'm just being silly..."

"You and I both know I'm the silliest person in this room," the Doctor smiled.

A tiny grin tugged at Clara's mouth. "We were on this case and there was this woman," Clara scrunched her nose, "Anyway, Sherlock and I were fighting and then the roof fell in on my flat." She met his gaze again. "That's it, yeah?"

The Doctor tugged on his mauve bowtie, looking grave. "The roof, you say?"

"Doctor," she warned. "Stars and aliens, remember?"

"Sorry – short term memory loss, happens sometimes..." He ran up to the consul, taking the stairs two at a time.

Clara scuttled after him. "Doctor you are not going to my flat!" She protested.

"About time," he said, grinning like a lunatic and slamming down the handle on the consul. The green light in the glass tube bobbed as the TARDIS shuddered and wheezed. Clara and the Doctor held onto the railing for dear life as they sailed through space and time itself.

With hair tangled from the wild ride, Clara blocked the door to the TARDIS. "No," she said, shaking her head.

The Doctor straightened his bowtie and brushed back his floppy hair. "Why?"

"Aliens," she gestured to him. "Not aliens," she pointed behind her.

His lips wobbled into a pout.

"No! I'm not having these two lives mix!"

The Doctor's nose wrinkled. "Oh so the detective with the silly hair gets preference over a time travelling box and a time lord?!"

"I just don't want my detective-life mixing with my space-life."

"Hey, look a fez!" The Doctor pointed to the side with an animated expression, making Clara follow his eyes. He barged past her before Clara snapped out of the trick. He pulled open the door and skipped out onto a floor of wet plaster. "Eugh," he grumbled, flicking a string of it off his shoes.