Soufflés, Skype and Sherlock Holmes

I'm Not Your Friend, Clara

"You shouldn't have come."

"Stop being ridiculous about this, let's just get the job done."

"The client will exaggerate, show off, dramatise every detail; we need to deal with the facts."

Clara crossed her arms. The three were loitering on the doorstep to Henry Knight's ginormous house. Sherlock and Clara were both frowning at each other. With the heels on, Clara didn't have to tilt her head up as much.

"And you're saying that you don't exaggerate and show off or dramatise every itty-bitty detail?" She raised an eyebrow archly.

"Well, I-I..."

"That's what I thought." Clara pressed the buzzer forcefully. "Shall we just get on with it, eh?"

Henry opened the door, looking dismal in his worn out jeans and a faded cardigan. Clara smiled. His ears went pink. "Hi."

"Hey!" Clara said brightly, "Can we come in?"

"Yeah, yeah, course. Come in."

Sherlock scoffed silently. Clara turned round and mouthed "Behave!" before following Henry. Henry's house was a large old-fashioned glass conservatory with a modern two storey connection added on, to join it with another stone building nearby. There were high ceilings and minimalist art and sky lights dropping geometric patterns on the floor.

"This is, uh..." John started, absorbing the posh atmosphere, "Are you, um..." He paused, captivated by a brushed chrome ceiling light in a shape of a flower, "...rich?"

"Yeah," Henry said, scratching the back of his head and glancing at Clara.

"Right," John breathed, as they entered the opulent kitchen. Sherlock gave him a dark look as they sat down on the kitchen stools.

"What's up, Henry?" Clara asked with sad eyes. Henry dithered around, getting coffee cups and instant coffee sachets. He clicked the kettle on and listened to it boil.

"It's-it's, just a couple of words..." He pushed the sugar bowl round and round on the smooth marble bench. "It's what I keep seeing. 'Liberty'..."

"Liberty," John repeated, pencilling it down in his notebook.

Henry looked up, confused and fearful. "'Liberty' and... 'in'. That's just that." He poured their coffee and put the jug of milk back into the fridge.

They grabbed their cups, Sherlock plops two sugar lumps in his and put three in Clara's. She gave him a look. He just shrugged, what? Her lips quirked, just rather domestic of you. Sherlock jutted his chin back, it's all part of the facade. Clara raised her eyebrows at him. Really?

They thought for a minute, puzzled by the strange words. Clara sipped her coffee, nearly going crosseyed trying to figure it out.

"'Liberty in Death', isn't that an expression? The only true freedom," Sherlock pondered.

"What now, then?" Henry asked. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why his father had to die.

"Sherlock's got a plan," Clara exclaimed, smiling at Sherlock expectantly.

He stuttered for a minute. "Ah, yes. Yes. A plan, I've got a plan."

"Right," Henry said, nodding.

"We take you back out onto the moor..."

"Okay..."

"...and see if anything attacks you."

"What?!" John exclaimed.