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

Guns & Nightmares

All throughout dinner Clara's hands wouldn't stop shaking. She was nervous, however she didn't know why. Maybe she dreaded being asked about her family or her past in any matter, because after all she had no recollection of such things. Maybe she was simply nervous of the possibility of not getting the flat.

Sherlock, on the other hand was literally bored out of his mind, not only bored, but frustrated too. Bored by the dinner and Mrs. Hudson's endless and pointless chatter. Frustrated by the murder and the impossible girl he had in front of him.

Mrs. Hudson was just plain oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that Sherlock was outright ignoring her and Clara barely listening. Oblivious to the food which was accurately cold. Oblivious that both guests just wanted to leave.

After Sherlock (not so kindly) denied dessert, and Clara struggled to keep her's down, Mrs. Hudson announced, "Well well! Clara, you have got yourself a flat! However, I need to call the maintenance, unless you want the ceiling to fall and pipes to burst?"

Clara's eyes widened "N-No Mrs. Hudson" she stuttered.

"Oh dear calm down! I was just messing, but I really do need to call maintenance. Meanwhile you can stay with me here, I have a little guest room at the end of the hall." Mrs, Hudson clarified after a good laugh

Clara didn't want to seem too eager, but she didn't want to go back to the hotel. She was sick of the rotten wood smell and the barely-there shower. In spite of wanting to stay, Clara quickly responded with a modest "Oh I don't want to be a bother" because she knew Mrs. Hudson would insist until she stayed with her. In the end Clara was right, and after dinner, she was quickly unpacking her bag in the guest room. Delivering a 'goodnight' to Mrs. Hudson, she fell into a deep sleep.

***

Bang. Bang.

Clara awoke with a jolt, swearing she had heard gunshots. It was the fourth time she'd been awoken during her sleep, her lost memory and identity troubling her. 'Maybe I'm just paranoid. That's all' she tried convincing herself. Just as sleep was pulling her back into darkness, she heard another gunshot. Cursing, she struggled to find her slippers while wondering how the hell Mrs. Hudson hadn't been woken up by the shots. Debating whether or not to tell her, Clara walked down the hall, settling on letting her sleep since in the case of a murder or a robbery, the landlady wasn't of much help. Instead she quickly ran up the stairs to Sherlock's apartment, she thought he would be of much more help. As soon as Clara knocked on his door, she heard a fourth gunshot, except that for this one, she could tell where it came from. From his flat. Desperately she knocked on his door (more like pounded.) "Sherlock," she screamed "Oh my God, Sherlock!"

Clara was about to try kick his door down when a few seconds later he answered the door, a tired look on his features "Why are you he-"

"God! Are you okay? I-I heard some-" she was breathing heavily, making it hard to finish her sentences. "Bangs a-and, oh my stars, wait, you-you're not bleeding? But how? I heard them. O-Or did I imagine them? Oh God I..I must be going mad." she muttered the last part mostly to herself, her eyes widening slightly.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow up and stared down at her "Oh, you mean the gunshots. I was bored" He merely shrugged and glanced at the wall, the wallpaper ruined with holes. "You can go back to sleep now, bye!" He quickly said and attempted to close the door. Clara wouldn't have it that way, she was infuriated that she had been woken up by gunshots and the one responsible didn't seem to mind, almost as if it was normal. So naturally, she wedged her foot between the door and door frame just before Sherlock closed it.

"What the hell?! Do you seriously think I'm just going to ignore the fact that my soon-to-be neighbour just shoots the wall at 2:30 in the bloody morning? Why do you even have a gun?! I'm not supposing you got a gun license just to shoot a bloody wall." Clara exclaimed using an excessive amount of hand gestures while still standing in the hallway.

Sherlock let out an annoyed groan at the small brunette and somewhat explained. "I own a gun because I am a consulting detective- and before you even ask," Sherlock raised his hand, as she opened her mouth to argue, because he could tell she was going to ask about his job, just like everyone else. Clara quickly closed her mouthed and arched an eyebrow ,silently letting Sherlock continue.

"When the police can't solve a murder they come to me for help" Clara swore she saw him sneer
for a second"Which in Scotland Yard's case makes me quite useful."

She groaned in frustration and rested her head against the doorway. Why can't anything in my life be simple for one second, she thought, Next thing he's going to tell me is that the next door neighbor is a drug dealer,probably.
Clara folded her arms over her chest, and looked up at the curly-haired man once more "Anything else I'm supposed to know about my flat-mates?"

Sherlock pondered over it a moment before talking "Well, Mrs.Hudson used to be an exotic dancer"

"Oh, of course she was." Clara rolled her eyes and yawned, sleep calling as her soft bed came to mind. She somehow felt like she hadn't slept for days, and Sherlock could tell ; the dark bags under her eyes couldn't be hidden by makeup, nor was her skin- which looked pale- almost as if sick.

As Clara mumbled about guns, sleep and exotic dancers, Sherlock took this opportunity to finally shut the door. She was too tired to argue, being deprived from her sleep by her own mind which constantly wandered off to her poor memory. Combing a hand through her disheveled hair, she made her way downstairs and threw herself on the bed. Before sleep could pull Clara under its deep, dark spell, she pondered about how she could manage with a mad man shooting walls on ungodly hours of the morning.

***

Falling.
Thousands of times- over and over again. Clara Oswald fell, and lived, and died. She just couldn't seem to stop it- no matter how hard she tried. She shut her eyes, waiting for the pain to come as she would hit the ground- but it never came. She never landed, and that scared her the most.
Clara could feel it, though. The pain. It felt terrible, she ached and she gasped for air. Hell, she felt as if she had died- over and over again. No matter how hard she screamed and cried, no one came to her rescue.

Finally , the scenery changed. Clara Oswald sat in a dark room. She let out a shaky breath , relieved that she'd been pulled out of the never ending loop. She tucked her knees tight against her chest, hugging herself as the room grew colder.
Suddenly a figure appeared. Clara assumed that it was a man- she couldn't be for sure, the pitch black darkness swallowing his features. As soon as the strange figure stepped out of the darkness Clara let out a shriek-
"No-no no NO!"
She had seen him before.

"Clara! Clara!- Oh dear, you're burning up- Clara!" Clara awoke with a gasp to Mrs.Hudson shaking her awake. Her bed soaked in sweat, and her hair a total mess- sticking up in every direction. She didn't want to wake up, she had to know who was the stranger invading her dreams(well, more like nightmares.) It was crucial, since somehow, Clara managed to believe that it was related to her memory loss.
Mrs. Hudson sighed in relief as she noticed that Clara had awoken, but a worried expression took over her features.
"Are you alright? What happened, dear?" she gently interrogated her, as she sat on the edge of her bed, reminding Clara of a concerned mother. "I was merely waking up to make myself some tea when I heard you screaming."

"No need to worry" Clara sat up, faking a smile "Just a bad dream."

Neither Mrs.Hudson nor Clara believed that.