Meeting Clara

Sherlock and John left New Scotland Yard walking down the street intending to have lunch (or at least John intending to eat lunch) at the Mediterranean café on the next block. Sherlock continued his exposition on why the Samuelson's maid was unlikely to yield any more information on the where abouts of the missing engraving when John stopped short staring with a warm gaze at an attractive woman in queue at the coffee shop across the side street. Without a word John walked away from Sherlock directly toward the woman. He approaches her almost shyly but as she turns she is clearly both surprised and delighted to see John. They hug like family and John kisses her on the cheek. Initially annoyed at having his line of thought so suddenly interrupted Sherlock is soon intrigued by this new puzzle and also walks into the coffee shop. The woman was positively beaming as she regards John talking animatedly.

"Wow. You look great!" she exclaims smiling broadly. "How have you been? Its been ages. I mean I've seen you in the papers and you blog is really interesting ..."

"Good. Yeah. Great. Ah, really? Thanks..." John replies still smiling somewhat shyly – no apologetically. An ex-girlfriend, then? The woman is looking John up and down with a kind, pleased, appraising smile as Sherlock approaches. She obviously knows John well but clearly never expected to see him.

"Sherlock Holmes" Sherlock says somewhat abruptly offering his hand which the woman accepts confused.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry ... " John starts, "Um, this is a friend of mine, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Clara, my sis-s, hm, Clara Roberts." Sherlock immediately places the name and smiles broadly at the woman then glances at John who gives him a slightly panicked 'not now, Sherlock,' look.

"We were just about to have some lunch at the shop down the street. Would you care to join us?" Sherlock asks most charmingly. Clara is at somewhat of a loss but fondly regarding John again she accepts.

"I'd love to!"

The café is crowded as usual but it is a warm afternoon and they are able to find a table in the small courtyard behind the shop.

"No, I've left Partridge and Bain and am actually with the Prince's Trust, if you can believe," Clara was saying in reply to John's query.

"Right. That's fantastic," was John's response before turning to Sherlock to explain that Clara was a solicitor and art historian. Sherlock appeared genuinely fascinated as the small talk between John and Clara quickly moved on to shared reminiscence. He laughed at Clara's story of her first meeting of John.

"Harry, Haaarrryyyy! There's a drunken, naked soldier on your couch!"

To which John corrected,

"I'll have you know I was neither drunk nor naked. I was a hung-over, half-dressed, cadet of Sandhurst some 57 hours into what I vaguely remember as a highly successful 72 hour leave!"

This only earned more laughter. Sherlock was positively on his best manners throughout the meal and John soon stopped sending him warning looks and concentrated on the conversation. Clara for her part continued to beam at John with what? Familial fondness, sure, but something more. Relief. Heartfelt relief. The conversation was wide-ranging and interesting (if occasionally embarrassing for John) as they ate their falafels and pilaf.

"Listen, I'll understand if you have to run back to the office, but we did kidnap you from a coffee shop. Would you care for a coffee, espresso wasn't it?" John asked leaning naturally towards his former sister-in-law.

"Please!" Clara replied laughing clutching at his upper arm in mock desperation only to withdraw suddenly when she seem to realize it was his left. John gently caught her hand and gave her a quick 'its OK,' look.

"Great. I'll just pop back up to the counter. Sherlock, coffee?" Sherlock nodded and John stood up and began to make his way through the lunch crowd. Clara continued to smile after him as he left.

"It's the first time you've seen him," Sherlock states abruptly once John was out of ear shot.

"What?" Clara looks at him quizzically.

"You're obviously quite pleased to see he's doing well so I assume it's the first time you've seen him since he returned from Afghanistan," he continues. The deducing begun. "Or, more likely given the way you've been openly accessing his physical state, this the first time you've seen him since he was in hospital. As I understand your initial separation from his sister roughly coincided with the time of his return. It was a near thing then, was it?"

Clara simply stared at Sherlock for a moment. Then trying for glib nonchalance she replies,

"Which a near thing, my separation from Harry or J-john?" Quickly losing the staring contest she looks away before continuing.

"Yes, you're quite right. Last time I saw John he was in still at Queen's Hospital up in Birmingham." She glances toward John at the end of the queue at the counter. "And, yes, Mr. Holmes, it was a very near thing. You are his friend, his flat mate from what I gather, I would have assumed you'd know," the solicitor states eyes quite serious.

"I knew that John had been invalided home from Afghanistan from the first time we met. I've been able to deduce mostly from the fact that he, a highly trained, highly skilled surgeon, was medically discharged the nature and severity of the wound. However, it is not a topic of casual conversation, even for me, never mind John. Obviously." Sherlock's look was utterly unapologetic.

"But you're ... what? Curious, none the less?" Clara remarked voice rising a bit. "Want to know the gory details, then?" her agitation was building. "Well, whatever you've guessed, I really am not sure you can ... appreciate..." Her voice caught suddenly as she tried to stare Sherlock down again. She then looked away, furiously twisting a paper napkin in her hands and was quiet for several long seconds.

"He arrived in several hours before dawn on Thursday having been shot Monday afternoon," she said vacantly looking back at Sherlock. "Drugged unconscious, dependent on a ventilator, his whole left arm and shoulder bandaged to his body. The bandage had vaguely pink spot over his shoulder. I remember his hair was blonder but dirty. His face was streaked with sweat and dirt and tears. It seems no one had had time to wash him up properly just yet," she tries to quip lightly but it falls flat. "Harry just stared and stared and stared. I'm sure I did, too. There was a near constant flurry of activity around him with the nurses and doctors. We stood against the wall holding each other staring until a kindly nurse said that maybe we should come back tomorrow. Funny, that was probably last time Harry and I held each other," she finishes ironically. "By the next afternoon he had been cleaned up, he was awake and off the ventilator, even managed to smile through the drugs while listening to Harry rant at him, whispering out a few self-deprecating, reassuring things. Obviously much better but something was off, not quite right. His face was flushed and the nurses were in every few minutes. At one point Harry went to the loo. John reached for my hand. His grasp was so weak and his hand was ... hot. 'This isn't going to go well,' he said. When Harry returned he smiled some more as his eyes started to glaze over and the nurses ushered us out. Afterwards an overly nice doctor started explaining quietly about not being fooled by adrenaline reactions, about serious injuries, copious blood loss and infections not responding, about fever, growing risks, the possibility of abscess and of sepsis and about realistic expectations. Overnight John crashed. By the next morning the infection was rampant. His whole body was shaking and he was delirious with a fever of 40C. By evening he was unconscious and back on the ventilator." At this point Clara's gaze suddenly became laser like. "We spent the next two weeks waiting for John to die." Sherlock flinched ever so slightly at this statement, his air of feigned casualness gone. "And then things got really bad."

After a beat, she continued slowly shaking her head.

"What am I doing? I've never told anyone this and I don't even know you." She looks again toward the counter and John. He was almost at the head of the queue. He turned and gave them a shoulder shrug and a radiant, patented John-smile. Clara smiled back while a slight catch escaped from her.

"Reconstruction and physio therapy were nothing short of a nightmare. Two surgeries in 3 days then a third weeks later. Pushing him to sit up, get up, stand, walk, move, move his arm, his hand. He was still so sick but there was nothing else for it. He'd been bed ridden for far too long. They needed to push him and it was absolute hell. At first it was all he could do to flex two fingers. He couldn't even grasp a tennis ball never mind a tea cup. On top of this he was ever aware of his role as officer never publicly showing pain, frustration or disappointment. Stiff upper lip perfected. He knew the name of every soldier on the ward. He complied, almost fiercely, with everything his doctors and therapists asked but it couldn't stop the growing realization of the extent of the damage. He'd struggle for hours to stack wooden blocks. He couldn't hold a pen and soon couldn't walk without limp. No one could figure that one out." She tipped her water toward Sherlock.

"Harry, of course, wasn't dealing well with any of this. She needed her irrepressible little brother back the way he was supposed to be. And it was most definitely not happening. Each week seemed to bring a new obstacle or another setback. I kept remembering his warning from that second day. He'd known, known all along. God, it must have been so terrifying for him. After a while a sort of mask fell across John's face ... ah, you know the one I mean," Clara said nodding at the look of pained recognition on Sherlock's face. Yes, he knew that mask. "He simply stopped talking to us, retreated further and further inside himself. Mind you Harry and I were most messily flying apart all at the same time. Wrapped in my own misery, I had gone back to London and only got up to see John on odd weekends. Christ, it was still so hard to watch." She paused again. John had finally made it to the front of the queue and was gesturing to the barista.

"The last time I saw him was the weekend after Harry had left me. I'm not even sure why I went. He was sitting in a chair dressed in an army t-shirt and athletic gear slowly pressing the tip of each finger with his thumb over and over. He was still far too thin and just so hollow like a shell of himself. It was all wrong. When he finally spoke he apologized to me.

'Harry called. I'm sorry, so sorry I didn't notice, I should have. I ... um, I'm really very sorry.'

And he meant it! I couldn't believe it. I swear I wanted to hit him. 'Oh, sorry I didn't notice your marital troubles I guess I was a bit preoccupied trying not to die!' Of all the stupid, I mean..." Sherlock stopped her with a knowing chuckle and half-smile.

"Seen that, too, have you? Anyway, I tried to make small talk, the weather, even football. Out of the blue John squared his shoulders and announced he was being discharged. Thinking he meant discharged from the hospital I started to congratulate him like an idiot. He just stared at his hand. 'No Clara, I'm being discharged from the army. End of the month.' I was gobsmacked, couldn't fathom it. I mean I'd worked out that he wouldn't be going back to Afghanistan but discharged? John was a soldier. A brilliant one. Always been a soldier as long as I'd known him. He was John, Harry's brother, the soldier. We sat in silence again, John intently touching his finger tips, before I began making excuses about it being time to go. Its funny, we'd always been real mates, John and I. Got on famously right from the start. Here we were both desperately in need of a friend and suddenly we couldn't say a thing. As I got up to go, his hand began to shake and he fisted it up furiously and let out an embarrassed half laugh. Then he said, 'I can't quite feel them, you know. They're sort of ... just a bit numb.' And that's how I left him. I cried all the way back to London, Mr. Holmes. For myself and Harry and for all the cruel thing in life but mostly for John, no longer a soldier or a surgeon, sitting alone in an ill-fitting t-shirt trying to feel his finger tips."

John was now making his way back to the table with the 3 coffees and a large cookie, holding two cups in his left hand, balancing the cookie on top of the cup it his right. Noticing the subdued air between Sherlock and Clara, John quickly shot his flatmate a 'what the hell did you do' look. Seeing this, Clara laughed and pasted on her best smile. Sherlock considered her with an unreadable expression for a moment longer before abruptly rising to help his friend with the coffees. John nearly dropped all three in shock.

They walked Clara back to her building, John and Clara exchanging numbers and e-mails to each other's phone along the way. Of course, Clara immediately recognized John's phone and he gave her another apologetic look. Clara simply smiled

"Its OK. You probably take much better care of it."

Sherlock for his part remained quite subdued. John was mildly puzzled by his friend's demeanor as he gave Clara a final hug and an 'I'll call you' before following Sherlock into a cab and back to Baker St.

"Well, come on then, what new Watson family secrets did you deduce?" John asked in the back of the cab. Sherlock stared wordlessly at John for a second then casually back out the window.

"Oh, only that I was right from the start."

"Right about what?" John shot back automatically.

"You liked Harry's wife." Sherlock quipped still gazing out the window. John sighed but grinned.

"Good deduction. That it?" Sherlock remained mute.

"Right." John remarked before turning to look out his window.

Later that afternoon, after John had left for an evening shift at the surgery, two rather unusual events occurred, groceries including fresh milk suddenly appeared at 221B Baker St., and Clara Roberts received a text from an unfamiliar number.

Ms. Roberts,

You were quite correct. While I had deduced

the relevant facts. I did not fully appreciate the

course of events. Thank you for enlightening me.

I shall not forget.

SH

A/N : I envision this happening mid second season, sometime before THoB. This is my first post and it hasn't been beta'd or Brit picked (as you can tell my English is "wicked American"). I'm still figuring this site out.

Comments and reviews are most appreciated!

Obviously none of these wonderful characters are mine...