Jayne walked along the hallway, her heels clacking against the marble floor. Her arms were stacked with file folders, and she sighed as she headed towards the filing room. Day in and day out, this was her solace. Mycroft had kept his promise. He'd kept her busy, constantly, so that she wouldn't have to think. Unfortunately, the nights were still her own. And it was during the night that she was so, so lost without him. Sherlock.
It had been two years. Two years since they had come to her door, Greg Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's own brother, to tell her that he was dead. That in order to save them all, he'd sacrificed himself. Two long years of lonely nights. Alone. Numb. Despair-filled nights. But still, the little voice in her mind that was attatched to her heart told her that he was not dead. But it was getting harder and harder to listen to that voice.
"Jayne?" a voice called, startling her out of her thoughts.
She turned to see one of her co-workers in the archives, a slim, tall figure. Blonde hair pulled back in a bun, soft blue eyes covered by the chunky black frames of her glasses. "Yes, Liz?" she asked. Liz's hands traveled down her heather blue jersey wrap dress, self consciously, her nude leather pumps tapping on the floor as she delivered her message.
"Mr. Holmes just called. He'd like you to meet him for lunch."
Jayne sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Liz," she replied. Jayne closed the door to the archives room behind her and began reading off the names of files in her head, and putting them in the appropriate cabinets. At eleven fifty-two, she filed the last one, and walked out of the room to her little office. She shut the door behind her, looking around at the small room. It was panelled in dark brown wood, with two windows, one facing east, the other north. She had a nice view, when she actually thought about the view, instead of simply letting her mind wander when she stared out the window, her mind remembering happier times.
Her phone beeped, reminding her of her lunch with Mycroft. She quickly grabbed her long, black tweed coat, pulling it on over her navy blue pin-striped pantsuit and silk wine-colored blouse. Her navy flats matched her purse, the bag large enough to carry everything she thought she needed, including an extra change of clothes in case she needed it. Her new passport, identification, hell, even her library card, all of them well-made not-so-fakes given to her by Mycroft, were in that bag.
She met Mycroft at the elevators, and he gave her his real smile, one that only she, of a very few people ever got to see. "Hello, my darling Jayne."
She smiled back at him, but knew, from past discussion, that it didn't truly meet her eyes as it once had. "Hello, Mycroft. How's the British Empire today?"
He leaned on his umbrella and looked her over. She was tired, he could see it in her face. It was compounded by grief and too many nights filled with nightmares and lack of sleep. It still tore at his heart, and he wished he could tell her the truth, but he knew it would put her, as well as everything they'd put into motion two years ago, in danger. But soon, soon everything they'd worked so hard for would be coming to a close, and he would get to see Jayne smile her true smile again. "It's going very well, my dear, very well. It looks as though we will have a new little Prince to spoil very soon," he said.
That bought a true smile to her face. Jayne loved children, and the prospect of the Royal family having a new little member made her smile. Jayne had had the dubious pleasure of meeting the queen some months ago, thanks to Mycroft. She was a lovely woman, but she exuded power and it made Jayne extremely nervous. But according to Mycroft, the queen was quite fond of Jayne and had liked her quite a bit. She had yet to meet William, Kate, Harry, or Prince Charles, but she had gotten to meet Lady Camilla. The older woman had also been quite taken with Jayne, walking with her through the gardens at one of the older estates where a party was being held in honor of some countess that Jayne couldn't ever remember the name of. When the party was over, Camilla had patted her lightly on the face, told her to keep her spirits up, and that she hoped to see her again some time. Who ever thought that I would be shaking the hands of Royalty, Jayne thought, let alone that they would like me enough to want to see me again.
"That's wonderful news, Mycroft," Jayne said, her lips still curved in a smile. He offered her arm, and she took it, as they entered the elevator. "So what shall we have today, my friend?" she asked. "Curry? Chinese? McDonald's?" she teased lightly, knowing his disdain for the fast food chain.
He teased her constantly about her Big Mac addiction, though he'd surprised her one evening when she'd been feeling down, and planned a weekend of nothing but watching movies, reading fanfiction (which still existed in this world, thank heaven!)and being basically a slob, by arriving at her doorstep with Althea. The assistant was holding a shopping bag full of the newest movie releases (some not quite on the store shelves yet), a grocery sack full to the brim with snacks, and a large box of Godiva chocolates. Meanwhile, Mycroft held a large bag with a half-dozen Big Macs, fries, and a holder of drinks. "We're not staying, darling, but if you insist on having a lie-in weekend, you'll need sustenance and something interesting to watch."
Jayne smiled and took the bags from Anthea, who immediately headed back down to the car. She turned to Mycroft, who put the bag down on her table and reached up, patting her cheek lightly. She shocked him by throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly, though she knew he really didn't care much for being touched. He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. She knew how much he cared about her. No matter the public face he put on, Mycroft Holmes did love, and he loved deeply. He had loved Sherlock and it had been a horrible blow to his heart when his brother had been killed, she had seen it in his gaze sometimes when he didn't realize he was staring blankly out the window, just as she did.
"Thank you, Mycroft. This will definitely make it a much better weekend. I'll think of you with each and every bite of Big Mac, I promise," she said, making him huff and pat her back genially. "I look forward to seeing you back at work, and in proper clothes," he said, eyeing her "I am Loki of Asgard" sleep pants, and overlarge grey sweatshirt that hung off her frame, "and on time and ready to work. Understood?" he asked. "Yes, sir, Mr. Boss-man," she agreed. He'd taken his leave, but she had kept her promise and over the two-and-a-half days, had enjoyed the Big Macs, warmed-over fries, and the other goodies along with the action-packed movies he'd brought her.
His shudder brought her mind back to the moment. "You and that horrible restaurant. I could take you to the finest of haute cuisine and you'd want to stop for a Big Mac after."
"Of course I would. Do you not see how tiny those stupid little plates are? There's no food on them, Mycroft. Twenty-five pounds for a slice of a peeled, julienned carrot browned in a clarified butter sauce with fleur de sel. Seriously? It's a frickin' cooked carrot stick with salt. I can make a pound of it on my own for a whole lot less and actually feel like I've eaten something. I'm sorry, but I'm not Anthea or any of those other little stick figure women you surround yourself with. I'm a woman, I have curves and an appetite," she teased.
"Okay then, you choose. Anything but McDonald's," he said, and she laughed.
"How about Angelo's? They still have the best pasta I've ever had."
"That sounds quite enjoyable, yes."
They wandered out to Mycroft's chauffered car and climbed in. Mycroft gave the driver directions and soon they were on their way. "Are you sure you're okay going to Angelo's? I know it was a place that you frequented often with my brother," he quieried, not wanting her to hurt anymore than was necessary.
"It's all good memories there, Mycroft. I can't let myself be led around by my memories, or I'd avoid pretty much everything. All of London in fact, as well as several other areas." They pulled up to Angelo's and walked into the restaurant, assailed by scents redolent with garlic, herbs and the tangy scent of simmering tomato sauces.
They were quickly seated and brought their drinks, Mycroft having a glass of deep rich red wine, and Jayne stuck to her lemonade. As Mycroft peered over the menu, she did as well, mouth watering at some of the offerings. When the waiter reappeared to take their order, Mycroft put his menu aside. "I'll have the garden salad with balsalmic dressing on the side," he said.
"No he will not," Jayne said, glaring at him. He sighed and looked at her. The waiter looked back and forth between them. "Mycroft, I know you're hungry. A salad is not going to hold you until supper-and you better eat more than a damn salad for supper, too, my friend-so you need to eat something with more substance. Besides, food has no calories when you're out with me, remember?" she said, winking at him. A smirk graced his lips. "Allow me to order for you, my friend?"
He agreed with a quick nod of his head and Jayne looked up at the waiter. "My friend will have the ravioli with wild boar ragout, and we'll share a platter of the fruitti di mare. For dessert, he'll have the chocolate tartufo. I'll have the Shrimp Alfredo and the caramel panna cotta with blackberry coulis for dessert," Jayne ordered, handing him their menus. He wrote the order down and smiled, "Wonderful choices, signorina!"
While they waited on their food, they spoke about work, Jayne telling Mycroft about a disaster she'd averted when one of the newbies had nearly shredded a week's worth of forms that weren't finished being loaded into the new computerized filing system. "The poor girl probably thought the American had gone crazy," she giggled. "Here I came running, hair flying, barefoot, sliding down the hall towards her and that damned paper shredder, yanking the files out of her hands and asking her if she had a brain cell in her head!"
When their food arrived, they were much too busy devouring the plates of delicious pasta, the platter of seafood, and their creamy desserts to do much talking. When the bill arrived, Jayne allowed Mycroft to pay. They returned to work, feeling much better, definitely fuller, and just a bit happier.
Three weeks later, Jayne was hurrying toward's Mycroft's office with a specific file he'd been asking for. Unfortunately, she wasn't watching where she was going, and knocked into someone. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, immediately dropping to her knees to pick up the papers. A pair of hands appeared in her view, holding several of the dropped pages.
"Quite alright," came a very familiar voice.
Jayne gasped and looked up. He stood there, looking slightly worried and guilty. Tears filled her eyes as she flew at him, throwing herself into his arms. "I knew you weren't dead! I knew you weren't dead! I knew you weren't dead!" she repeatedly whispered over and over in litany. He'd granted her wish. He wasn't dead.