CLEVER- A Wholock AU. (Clara Oswald+Sherlock Holmes)

Clueless

"What the actual hell."

Sherlock Holmes paced through his living room in his flat at 221B Baker Street. He pulled his jet-black hair straight from the roots in frustration. The snow was falling slowly through the window as it was early winter, however he couldn't stand it. He paced and pulled at his hair yet again, the snow particles driving him mad.

Earlier that day he had received a call from Detective Lestrade informing him of a murder in an old manor house. The victim showed no obvious cause of death, here is where Sherlock Holmes comes in, as the only consulting detective he was supposed to solve this case. Just one thing, he was stuck, he had found blood covered snow near the corpse and identified two out of three elements; the snow and the victim's blood. The third element was a complete mystery to him, hence the pacing. After pulling some more on his hair he gave up this pacing nonsense and sat down, getting ready to enter his mind palace. There he flicked over more than five hundred elements, but none matched the properties of the one mixed with the snow and blood. Thinking he needed to dig deeper, he grabbed his nicotine patches.

He grabbed them and soon they were on his arms and he was lying on his couch, when a loud clatter was heard from downstairs. His eyes fluttered open in desperation; for God's sake he was trying to solve a murder! Securing his robe around him, he made his way downstairs, to the landlady, Mrs. Hudson's, apartment.

"Mrs. Hudson, do you mind? I'm trying to work on a case up there!" He remarked as he barged into the kitchen.

"Oh Sherlock dear, I'm so sorry but I am making dinner for a guest."

"Are you now? Is it him? That bloke from the bakery shop? I already told you Mrs. Hudson, he has a wife at the Canary's and one at Edinburgh."

"How dare you, Sherlock? And now it's not him so you can rest your busy little mind, it's actually a fine lady, who asked me for a flat here."

"My mind is not little, Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock muttered clearly annoyed, "Anyways please keep it down and don't let a psychopath live here!"

"Why should it worry you? You're already living here."

"I am a high functioning sociopath who happens to take passion in solving crimes Mrs. Hudson! Well I'm going back up to my flat and again please keep it down."

She let out an airy laugh before saying, "Wait Sherlock dear! Do you mind staying here for dinner with me and her? It would be easier for you to identify if she is a psychopath or not. I'll make you biscuits."

"Alright, alright, but only because John is with Mary at their honeymoon, pretty pointless if you ask me, and believe or not I actually care about the safety of this building."

He agreed while sitting down at Mrs. Hudson's cozy little kitchen while she started cooking again. Holmes stared out to the window pondering over this mystery new girl and the mystery particle. Mrs. Hudson kept blabbering about her recipe and about how sweet and beautiful this girl was and about how she had suspicions that she was a stripper too. However Sherlock didn't hear a word he was too engulfed in his thoughts. About half an hour later Mrs. Hudson place a plate filled with sweet biscuits in front of Sherlock and kept on talking to herself claiming that the food would be ready soon and now convinced that the possible inhabitant was secretly a stripper or doing drugs, or both. Sherlock barely acknowledged the taste of the biscuits because he was yet again too busy analyzing all of the facts of the murder, the new particle and all his previous knowledge on every possible element, well except this one.

Minutes ticked by with Mrs. Hudson talking nonsense about the new girl, and Sherlock traveling in his mind palace. Now by every second the food was getting colder and Sherlock more desperate.

"Mrs. Hudson, are you sure you didn't imagine her? Too much scotch, by any chance?"

Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes at the witty remark and just in time, the doorbell rang. She looked expectantly at Sherlock; an eyebrow raised "Well?"

Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes; "What? She's finally here, as a house warming gift you may want to buy her a watch"

Mrs. Hudson let out a sigh and eyed him for a second. "Aren't you getting dressed, dear?"

Sherlock looked at his robe, dumbfounded "And why would I do that?"

Mrs. Hudson flicked her wrist at Sherlock, muttered a 'Whatever' and excused herself to go answer the door. Sherlock ignored her once again and thought about his case. After some shuffling on the hall, the door was opened and a short, dark haired woman was seen standing at the door.

"Erm..Hello, this is 221 Baker Street, right?" she smiled hopefully, showing Mrs.Hudson the ad on the newspaper offering a flat. "I came for the flat."

The woman was short, and looked around the age of 27. She carried a red shoulder bag not bigger than a notebook. Her brown hair reached just past her shoulders that were clad in a leather jacket and beneath a cotton red dress. Some black leggings adorned her petite legs. Nothing seemed to come from a designer's closet, however it was obvious that they were well kept.

"Yes! Come in dear." Mrs. Hudson ushered her into the kitchen, with a friendly smile on her face. Sherlock could hear them chatting as they approached the kitchen, but payed no attention to it whatsoever.

Something was off about her.

Upon seeing Sherlock, she tensed, since he was a little more than a head taller than her.

"Hello," she said breaking the silence and extending her hand with a kind smile, "I'm Clara Oswald."

Sherlock ignored her and she quickly dropped her hand rather awkwardly and her smile faltering. He started circling her and then abruptly stopping and just staring. Her well kept clothes clearly told Sherlock that she wasn't living off the streets, but she wasn't extremely wealthy either. She had come from a hotel; it was obvious because of the smell of cheap shampoo from an ordinary London inn. Her small baggage indicated her little amount of possessions, and since they had no etiquettes it meant she had lived there, and had not come from an airport. However her accent told a different story, pointing to a southern residence. As Sherlock deduced Clara just stared at him, her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

This was all Sherlock could tell by her appearance, it frustrated him. This was evident as a frown quickly appeared on his face. He has always been able to deduct a person's back-story by simply looking at them, these deductions always being correct. Nonetheless Clara gave him nothing to work with, nothing she was carrying or doing gave him a clue of her past. It was almost as she had simply had been erased and then appeared out of thin air. She was basically, imposible.