Clara sits on the couch, her legs folded and a mug of tea in her hands. She isn't wearing her usual dress, instead opting for a pair of jeans and a large red jumper. Her chestnut hair is in a messy braid and a few stray pieces fall down in front of her eyes. She blows the steam off her tea, making it swirl into the air. She glances at Sherlock, who is sitting in his chair, his hands together and fingers pressed lightly against his lips. She tilts her head to the side, studying his familiar profile. The soft light from the lamp is casting a warm glow on his face, turning his usual alabaster skin into a warmer beige color.

"Sherlock?" she says aloud.

"Hm?" he mumbles. He's been quiet for several hours and she's been puttering around the house, knowing better than to bother talking to him. But one can only go so long before needing to talk. He turns to her and due to the light; his eyes are green with flecks of gold. She loves seeing what color his eyes are from day-to-day, because they tend to change with the light.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks him.

"The Doctor," he responds, his voice unusually soft. He looks away from her, his eyes flickering to the mantle. His answer brings her up short and she swallows hard, clutching the tea tighter in her hands. The Doctor, how she misses him. She can't help but think about all the adventures she had with him. But eventually when they ended up in London and he introduced her to Sherlock, she knew it was time for her to leave the Doctor. She had, after all, saved him. It was still difficult though, saying goodbye to that crazy chin boy.

"Did he ever tell you about his other... Friends?" Sherlock asks, shaking her out of her thoughts.

"No, he didn't mention them. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Sherlock says quickly and closes his eyes once again.

Clara snorts and takes a swig of tea before answering. "Shirley, you always have a reason. Now tell me what it is." She demands.

Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh and a slight eye roll before turning to face her and supply her with an answer. "I just remember seeing a picture once, in the Tardis. It was this woman with red hair. Do you remember that ridiculous hat he wears?"

"The fez?"

"Yes, that one. She was wearing it. I asked him about it, but he just changed the subject and hid the picture. I was just wondering if you knew who it was." He tells her as he remembers the picture of the beautiful redhead, who was laughing and grinning at the camera with the red hat on her head.

"I have no idea. But you know him, Shirley. He has more secrets than anyone in the universe." She tells him.

"It must have been someone important to him," Sherlock states as he turns away and resumes his former sitting position.

"The Doctor has never met anyone who wasn't important to him." Clara says quietly. Sherlock looks at her. He frowns. The smile is gone from her face and she's just staring at the mug in her hands. He stands up, straightening out his crumpled purple shirt. He extended his hand down to the small brunette, who took it instantly. He pulls her close, putting his arms around her small, 5'2 frame. She leans her head against his chest and he breathes in her familiar, flowery scent. He knows every inch of the woman. He will always be grateful to the Doctor for bringing the two of them together. And Clara is right, he has more secrets than anyone human or alien who's ever existed. And Sherlock knows that he owes the Doctor his privacy. So, he pushes the thoughts of the Doctor and the redhead woman away and focuses on Clara.

"Hm, what a mystery you are to me, Clara. The Doctor was right when he called you the impossible girl. You're the only person who I can't fully figure out." He says, his eyebrows coming together in annoyance. He can read everyone else. Why not her?

"I'm glad. I don't want to be an open book." She says, smiling at the consulting detective. He eventually allows himself to smile at the somewhat irritating brunette. He puts his hand on the side of her face and she clutches it tightly. As much as she irritates him from time to time; he can't help but love her, because she's his biggest mystery that he needs to solve.

"And I love you for that," he whispers and presses his lips against her forehead. The Doctor is a case for another time. For now, he has Clara Oswald. And, perhaps, that's all he needs.