Clara said she would meet them at the facility - the mysterious, Baskerville army base that was shrouded in outlandish rumours. She had packed her bags quickly before rushing back into her flat. The TARDIS was in her bedroom. Not exactly surprising, but if Sherlock stumbled in here...Clara shuddered. She knocked on the doors and they squeaked open. "Clara!" The Doctor cried, happily. He raced back to the consul. "A number, any number - just give me a number," he demanded, mischief written all over his face.

Clara grinned and thought for a minute."One thousand, eight hundred and...ninety three."

The Doctor swivelled some knobs and pushed a load of buttons. "Side trip?" He proposed. "This is a time machine."

Clara squirmed but her smile for the better of her. "Geronimo?" She said, arching an eyebrow.

"London 1893, here we come!" He slammed down the lever. "Geronimo!"

.

Long story short, it wasn't London 1893, but rather Scotland 1893. Clara was glad to arrive in Dartmoor without the constant idiocy of Strax - the walking potato - overshadowing her every step. Even Sherlock could at least recognise her gender. Clara was at the gates into the Baskerville research lab, shrouded in secrecy. A young and outgoing man, of some sort of military rank greeted her sternly at the barred gates. Clara smiled and waved off the cab. She wasn't stupid enough to make the Doctor park the TARDIS at the front gates. She caught a cab from Dartmoor and left her bags at the local inn. The boyish soldier was nice enough as Clara showed him the ID badge. The stolen ID badge. The psychic ID badge. He looked at it, seemed impressed and scanned it under a machine. Clara plastered a nonchalant smile on her face as she adjusted her blazer, handbag and rather uncomfortable set of black heels. At least she felt important. "What is the nature of your visit, Doctor..." Clara smirked slightly, "Oswald...?"

"UNIT sent me - mandatory inspection," she replied promptly. Clara propped her sunglasses on her head. "Any chance there's a Holmes running around here? I told him I wouldn't be late but..." Clara frowned at her watch, "I'm afraid I might be." She beamed at the young soldier. "Fancy helping out a damsel in distress?" No more words were needed as Clara was personally escorted towards the facility.

Clara spied the boy's getting out of their massive car. "Oh, so sorry!" She called out, waving briskly. "Cabs are endangered here, I think!"

"Clara!" John exclaimed. "So um..." he trailed off lost. Clara trotted towards them as fast as she could.

"Glad you could join us," Sherlock finished.

Clara patted the soldier's arm. "I had a fine guide." He blushed and ducked his head. He wandered away, clearly dismissed. A jeep pulled up sharply in front of them and another young soldier jumped out.

"You look different," Sherlock murmured, his voice whispering by her ear.

"Nothing wrong with a bit of theatrics," Clara replied smoothly even though her feet ached. She started when Sherlock grabbed her hand and shoved something small into her palm.

"Play along - Henry Knight guessed so now we have to keep up the act. We met in London, through friends and workmates. Yes, we share a flat. I asked you 6 months ago, you said yes. Had to get the rings resized." All of this was hurriedly muttered to her, blindingly fast by Sherlock just as the grave faced soldier was walking towards them. Sherlock only finished when the soldier's boots crunched on the gravel in front of them.

"What is it? Are we in trouble?" The fresh faced soldier was demanding and forthright.

"Are we in trouble, ma'am," Clara corrected, gritting her teeth. She glared at the soldier and tutted disapprovingly. This was rather fun.

"Yes ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." Nevertheless, he still blocked their path.

"Were you not expecting us?" Clara prodded, nose in the air. John was staring at her in silent awe.

"Your ID showed up straight away, Doctor Oswald. Corporal Lyons, security," he introduced himself briefly. "Is there something wrong, ma'am?"

Clara frowned deeply, staring down her nose. The heels gave her a lot more confidence than she first believed. It was magical what a dash of red lipstick and a new pair of shoes could do to a person. "Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not," she seethed, a crease appearing between her brows.

"It's just we don't get inspected here, you see, ma'am. It just doesn't happen."

"Ever heard of a spot check?" Sherlock interrupted, his tone clipped and short.

Clara smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Clearly you've never encountered UNIT," she chuckled. Her smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Lyons, I don't think you are quite grappling the fact that we are here on very important business and I would rather do a little less chit chat and a tad more er, business." Clara turned to John. "Captain John Watson, of the, um,"

"Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," John filled in helpfully. He flashed his badge briefly.

"Is highly regarded in the defence force, and I would be ashamed if you didn't know Mr Holmes here," Clara gestured to Sherlock, rolling her eyes for effect, "And let's just say that if you've never heard of me, then you've never heard of the British Government." Clara finished on a powerful note and held up the psychic paper. Lyons swallowed heavily, sweat beaded at his temples.

"Sir. Major Barrymore won't be pleased, ma'am and sirs. He'll want to see you all."

Clara heaved a heavy sigh. She was about to go on another dramatic spiel when John butted in. "I'm afraid we won't have time for that. We'll need the full tour right away. Carry on." Lyons hesitated. He looked his boots. John tilted his head. "That's an order, Corporal."

"Yes, sir."

Clara and Sherlock shared a secret smirk. "Nice touch," Sherlock whispered.

"I haven't pulled rank in ages," John breathed, pleasure rippling across his features.

"Enjoy it?"

"Oh yeah."

Lyons led them through a maze of corridors where they frequently had to swipe their cards, or in Clara's case, psychic paper. When she swiped her badge, a simple, slightly tarnished gold band flashed on her left hand. Just because Cheekbones had to be a protective, dramatic prick in front of a client. Clara's high heels clacked on the hard floors as they entered the labs. Scientists in thick white lab coats were zipping round, holding sample jars and folders. A stack of cages were set in the middle of the room. Clara jumped, bumbling into Sherlock as a monkey shrieked and threw its body against the bars. Warm hands brushed her shoulders briefly until she was right on her feet. "Any ever escape?" Clara asked, worry seeping into her tone.

"They'd have to know how to use that lift, ma'am. We're not breeding them that clever."

"Unless they have help," Sherlock muttered bitterly.

A scientist, with grey hair and too many teeth when he smiled, dragged his face mask down and grinned as he walked up to them. "Ah, and you are?" He asked, looking at the three.

"I'm just showing Doctor Oswald and these two gentlemen around, Doctor Frankland," Lyons provided, stiffly.

"Ah, new faces, huh? Nice. Careful you don't get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap!"

John and Clara laughed politely at his joke. They watched him enter the lift at the end of the large hall. "How far does that lift go?" John asked, frowning.

"Quite a ways, sir."

"Mmmhmm, and what's down there?"

"Well we have to keep the bin somewhere, sir." Lyons gestured down an adjoining wing. "Please, this way."

Stainless steel benches were littered around the room. Scientists were prodding animals and holding up jars of suspicious serums up to the light. Clara grimaced. The heels were getting rather painful. Sherlock flashed her a smirk, so she swatted him roughly. Of course he could tell. Lyons led them towards a woman, dressed in the mandatory lab coat and latex gloves. "Doctor Stapleton," Lyons greeted. She handed a monkey to another scientist and flicked her short hair out of her eyes.

"Stapleton," Sherlock breathed, eyes sparking.

"Yes?" Dr Stapleton uttered, eyes flicking between the three. "Who is this?"

"Priority Ultra, ma'am. Orders from on high. An inspection."

Stapleton frowned, her chin jutting back. "Really?"

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton. What's your role at Baskerville?" Sherlock asked, his back tightening.

Stapleton laughed disbelievingly. She glanced at Lyons and snorted again. Clara tilted her head. "Er, accorded every courtesy, isn't that the idea?" Clara spoke as though she was speaking to a confused child.

"I'm not free to say. Official secrets." Stapleton crossed her arms. Sherlock was about to argue when Clara flicked her badge up and pushed it into Stapleton's vision. She swallowed thickly, her eyes shuttering in surprise. She cleared her throat. "Well, why didn't you just say?" She looked at the ground, mortified. "I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up – genes, mostly; now and again actual fingers." She smiled sheepishly. "Ma'am," she added, sobering her tone.

"Stapleton. I knew I knew your name!" Sherlock's eyes turned glassy as he pulled back strings of memory.

"I doubt it," Stapleton quipped, clearly not as impressed with him as she was with Clara.

"People say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead." He scribbled something into his notebook and held it up. 'BLUEBELL' was written in large capital letters across the page. Clara frowned. What? The rabbit?

"Have you been talking to my daughter?" Stapleton demanded.

"Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?"

"The rabbit?!" Clara murmured, bewildered as a lost deer.

"Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive."

Stapleton just stared at him blankly.

"The rabbit?" Clara repeated.

"Clearly an inside job," Sherlock added, slipping the notebook back into his coat pocket.

"Oh, you reckon?" Stapleton snapped defensively.

Sherlock smiled evilly. "Why? Because it glowed in the dark."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Who are you?" She stepped back, hands across her chest.

"Doctor Stapleton, I would like to remind you who exactly I am, and how much power I have. This is my," Clara choked on the word. She swallowed thickly and continued, but she struggled to regain the same vigour. "Husband, as well as my colleague, so I wouldn't be so disrespectful, Doctor."

"I, I-I uh..."

Sherlock jabbed Clara in the side. They were standing so close no one could tell. "I think we've seen enough for today, corporal," Clara finished, her words bitter. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Clara turned on her heel, Sherlock right beside her and Stapleton calling after them. "Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?" Clara hissed, glaring at Sherlock.

"What the hell is with this rabbit?" John demanded in a hushed whisper, jogging to keep up.

Sherlock blatantly ignored them and flipped out his phone. "Twenty-three minutes; Mycroft is getting slow."

They reached the lifts, Lyons now caught up with them and they all, swiped their cards. Doctor Frankland, the smiling white coat gave them a nonchalant grin. "Hello, again." Sherlock eyed him suspiciously as they entered.

When the doors opened again, a very angry bearded officer was glaring at them with raged eyes. Lyons stuttered something incomprehensible. "This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn't I told?"

"Major Barrymore, is it?" John stepped forward offering his hand. Barrymore ignored the gesture. "We're very impressed, aren't we Mr Holmes, and," He cleared his throat, "Ma'am."

"Deeply, hugely," Sherlock muttered. He grabbed Clara's hand and walked straight past Barrymore. "Keep walking," he murmured.

"The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense," Barrymore exclaimed, "Inspections?!

"Terribly sorry, Major," Clara called. "New policy. Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you'd get up to."

"Sir!" Lyons suddenly exclaimed. He had ducked in and out of a room and then slammed an emergency button in the wall with the palm of his hand. Lights flashed and alarms blared. Clara gripped Sherlock's hand.

"ID unauthorised, sir. I've just had a call. Doctor Oswald is still authorised, however."

Barrymore turned to Sherlock and john, hands on hips. A vein pulsed on his temple. "Who are you?"

"This has to be a mistake, Major," Clara said, a tad breathlessly. "I know these gentlemen and-"

Lyons handed Barrymore Sherlock's stolen identification card. "Clearly not Mycroft Holmes," Barrymore spat. His eyes flicked from the card to Sherlock.

John rolled his eyes and pulled out a notebook. He started to make a rough notation. "Computer error, Major. It'll all have to go in the report."

Clara nodded assertively. "Make sure UNIT hears directly about this, Captain Watson," she ordered.

John blanched, surprised. But he regained his composure. "Of course, ma'am."

"What the hell's going on?!" shouted Barrymore, frightening the words out of Clara's mouth. Sherlock squeezed her hand. How were they still holding hands?

"It's all right, Major. I know exactly who these gentlemen are."

The party turned around. Doctor Frankland was there, looking thoughtful. Clara had forgotten about him. She was too worried about her boys. Suddenly, the heels felt silly and the whole bravado of the scheme seemed transparent. The three held their breath. Clara was certain they'd lost.

"You do?" Barrymore seemed doubtful.

Frankland stepped forward, scratching the back of his neck as he considered Sherlock. "Yeah. I'm getting a little slow on faces but Mr Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place."

This was it. They were dead meat. Barrymore would eat them for lunch. Sherlock stuttered, "Ah, well..."

Frankland, surprisingly, offered his hand. "Good to see you again, Mycroft." Clara remembered to breathe as Sherlock let go of her hand and shook Frankland's. The blood rushed to her fingers, making her realise just how tightly Sherlock had been holding it. "I had the honour of meeting Mr Holmes at the W.H.O. conference in..." He tapped his chin, pretending to think. "...Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna," Sherlock corrected.

"Vienna, that's it," Frankland chuckled. "Though I can't say I had the pleasure of meeting your wife!" His eyes flashed over the identical gold bands.

Clara smiled, forcing herself to look happy - not terrified. "Well, I hope it's a pleasure now, Doctor Frankland," she said breezily, shaking his hand.

Frankland turned to Barrymore, perfectly at ease. "This is Mr Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake."

Barrymore nodded stiffly and Lyons turned off the alarms. "On your head be it," he muttered and strode out of the room.

"I'll see them out, Corporal," Frankland decided, dismissing Lyons.

They walked down the hall, still not sure if they had got away clean. The crisp, winter's air greeted them outside and the gravel crunched beneath their shoes. "Thank you," Sherlock said, turning to Frankland.

"This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?" He took their silence as an answer. "I thought so. I knew he wanted help but I didn't realise he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!" Sherlock grimaced and Clara stifled a grin. "Oh, don't worry. I know who you really are. I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though."

"Not my hat," Sherlock growled underneath his breath. Clara hid her smile behind her hands.

Frankland had a bounce in his step as he spoke to John. "I hardly recognise him without the hat!"

"Wasn't my hat."

"I love the blog too, Doctor Watson."

John appeared to be genuinely pleased. "Oh, cheers!"

"The, er, the Pink thing..." Frankland clicked his fingers, trying to remember. "...and the aluminium crutch! Loved it!" He turned to Clara, who seemed a tad shocked. "Oh and I see you're finally being mentioned! Though I never would have guessed about the..." He pointed at her hand.

Sherlock and Clara stopped, sharing a look. "No, no, no..."

"This wasn't, um..."

"It's just a..."

John spoke loudly over the top of them. He looked at Frankland as though what he was sharing was extremely confidential. "It's all a bit hushed up, if you know what I mean..." He smiled briefly, "Don't want everything online."

"Oh! Right. Of course, very sensible." Frankland nodded approvingly. His eyes flickered between Clara and Sherlock's stunned faces.

Sherlock recovered quickly, clearing his throat. "You know Henry Knight?" He still seemed unreasonably shaken up.

Frankland frowned, his eyes dulled quickly. "Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend." He twisted to and fro, as if he could physically avoid the change in subject. "Listen - I can't talk now," he gritted his teeth as they spied Major Barrymore standing outside the main facility. He reached into his lab coat and pulled out a small business card. "Here's my, er, cell number. If I could help with Henry, give me a call."

He handed the card to Clara, who pocketed it with a smile. "Doctor Frankland, I never did get to ask," she stepped forward, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear that had wafted away in the gathering wind. "What exactly do you do here?"

Frankland laughed cheerfully, grinning at his shoes. "Oh, Doctor Oswald - believe me, I would love to tell you but..." he shrugged, "Then I'd have to kill you. All of you."

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you," Sherlock replied, interrupting Clara's answer.

Clara gave him a look, before turning back to Frankland. "I am practically the Government, you know?" she quipped, making the scientist chuckle.

"As you keep reminding us," John sighed.

"Tell me about Doctor Stapleton," Sherlock said, steering the conversation back to the case.

Frankland shrugged as if there wasn't much to say. "I'd never speak ill of a colleague," he said.

"Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do."

Frankland wasn't surprised by this reply. "I do seem to be, don't I?"

Clara patted Sherlock's shoulder, a silent signal to leave. "It's been a pleasure, Doctor," Clara said, waving him off. "We'll be in touch."

"Anytime."

They trotted towards the land rover, gravel crunching beneath their feet. Thunderclouds rolled above them, threatening to burst. "What was all that about the rabbit?" John demanded, opening the door to the passenger seat so Clara could climb in.

Or jump, as cars such as this one didn't accommodate her short stature. Sherlock and Clara latched eyes for a second, a whole conversation zipping between them. A brief smile flickered across Sherlock's features as he pulled his coat tighter around himself, flicking the collar up in the process.

John rolled his eyes so heavily that they could have looked into his own brain. "Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?"

"Do what?" Sherlock grumbled, popping the door handle.

"You being all mysterious with your cheekbones and silent conversations and turning your coat collar up so you look cool," John ranted, climbing into his own seat. Sherlock was frozen outside the car, half way into the motion of getting into the driver's seat. Clara had her seat belt in her hands as she held in a laugh.

Sherlock was lost for words with the most disconcerted look on his face. "...I-I don't do that."

"Yeah, you do," Clara and John both blurted.