The steps creak underneath my feet as I ascend the stairs to my flat. My flat, not his... sometimes I forget that.

I open the door to 221B and am immediately greeted with... silence. I shake the raindrops off of my umbrella and watch then splash onto the floor. I hang the umbrella on the doorknob, and shove my boots against the wall. It is another rainy day in London.

I shrug off my jacket and throw it on the couch, then proceed to plop down next to it. My eyes are groggy -I had trouble sleeping last night. The awareness of what almost happened had kept me awake. The kiss... well, it was a near kiss, of course, thanks to Mrs Hudson. How will Sherlock and I act? I wonder. Will we ignore it, acting like nothing happened? I know we'll have to talk about it eventually...

Where is Sherlock anyway?

Right now I don't have the strength to answer, not to mention I don't really care.

Heaving a sigh, I will myself to get up and make a cuppa, but my body wins this round and stays right where it is. Reluctantly, I grab my book off of the coffee table and crack it open. The Time Machine by H. G. Wells. Quite a good one, really. This is my fifth time reading it.

I don't remember how much time passed, it felt like only seconds, but just as I had reached the 89th page, I heard a voice disrupt me.

"Clara I have an idea." it said, and I jumped, whipping my head up to see who it was.

"Christ, Sherlock!" I yelp, the book slipping from my hands. "You scared me!"

"That seems to be apparent." he says. He is across the room, in his usual chair, with his hands in a praying position by his chin. "I have an idea."

"How long were you there?" I ask him, eyebrows raised.

"Irrelevant." then he continues, "You say this Doctor has a phone number, but you've forgotten it. Mightn't someone else know it?"

That's actually quite a good idea... I think. Except, Ash had forgotten it as well, and I recall the Doctor saying that Rose is stuck in a parallel dimension, Donna has forgotten too... but wasn't there one other?

"Yes," I say, standing up and snapping my fingers. "Martha Jones! She lives in London -and she's a physician, I think he's said. We could look her up in a phone book!" I grab my coat, shrug it on, and head over to my boots. Sherlock stays where he is. "Well, come on, then." I tell him.

"Me? Why?" he asks, looking over at me.

"Well, it was your clever idea to begin with, wasn't it?" I state, then open the door and leave, with Sherlock trailing after.

~~~~~~~~~

WC: