The Swan Queen | Sherlock

Masquerade

 It didn't feel right. Being back on the stage where Clara had died. Dancing the finale that killed her. There was an ominous feeling about the place. I couldn't shake it off. It had only been a week. It felt too soon.

"Whenever you're ready, Sam," said Mark.

I wasn't sure I would ever be ready. But I tried, nonetheless. When the time came for me to jump off the cliff and onto the mattress, I found I couldn't bring myself to do it.

"Sam, if you're not up to it."

I had to be up to it. Our first performance was in 2 days time. If I didn't do it now, I never would. I had to let go, embody Odette. Just let go, Sam. Let go and fall. Fall to your death. It looked much higher from up here, the mattress looked so far away. Let go...

I looked out at the audience, made up of dancers and crew, and jumped. My heart was in my mouth, blood rushing to my head. It felt like time slowed down, I was falling in slow motion. Was this how Clara had felt? Moments before she died. However, my fall was cushioned by the thick mattress below.

The theatre erupted in applause as I got to my feet and took a bow. It didn't feel right.

"Well done, Sam," Mark applauded. "You're practically ready."

"Well done, Sammy," Amanda said in the locker room once practise was over. "Mark was pleased with you."

"He will just be pleased to get this show started. What with ticket refunds and a delayed start," replied Anne-Marie.

"Trust Clara to mess everything up, as usual." Amanda was standing right beside me. If she hadn't of been I might not have done it. But I couldn't help myself. I raised my hand and slapped her across the cheek. "Oi!" she cried.

"How dare you. She's barely been dead a week and you're already making jokes! Even in death, you haven't a nice word to say about her. You're just a mean, spiteful bitch who's jealous that Clara was a better dancer than you. Maybe if you practised more and gossiped less you'd be the swan queen or even the understudy. I'm surprised you even got a part at all."

Amanda remained silent, her expression was surprised. The other dancer snickered behind her back.

"That poor girl fell to her death after slaving away for hours to perfect her routine. She fell because she was shattered from all the work. She fell because vicious girls like you had gotten into her head with your poisonous words." I took a step towards Amanda, getting up close to her face. "Clara died because of girls like you. I hope you remember that."

I picked up my bag and brushed passed her. A black car was sat out the front waiting for me, I automatically hopped in, before realising I had made a mistake. "Oh!" I gasped, realising the person beside me was not Mycroft, but the theatre patron, James.

"This one's taken," he replied with a smirk, "but you're welcome to a lift."

"Thank you, but I'm good, I have a lift waiting for me." I smiled back at him. My phone went off at that moment with a text from Mycroft.

Something important has come up. Can you make your own way home? M

I sighed. How typical. Ok. I texted back. "On second thoughts, I may need that lift after all."

"Happy to help. Where would you like to go?"

"Baker street," I replied, "221B Baker street."

The drive took off in that direction. The traffic was slow moving, and I just wanted to be home. I felt bad for the harsh things I had said to Amanda. It's what she deserved, I told myself.