Set directly after the events that transpired at Roland-Kerr Further Education College...
Refers to the Chapter 'Frailty of Genius' in The Colour of Light Part II
Chinese
"You're quite sure this is the best Chinese in Westminster?" Jane asks suspiciously as she eyes the dingy hole-in-the wall that was the Lucky Cat. The glowing sign above the place only had the 'L-C-K' and half of the 'U' lit up, and Jane purses her lips in a half smile as she reads it out loud: "'Lick'? Appetising."
"Oh just trust me," Sherlock rumbles. "You can always tell a good Chinese by the bottom third of the door handle," he says and actually pulls out his ruddy pocket magnifier and inspects said handle from top to bottom. Jane leans over, curious.
"Really? How, then?" she asks knowing he's probably just bursting to tell her. Show off.
Sherlock snaps the magnifier closed and turns to her smugly. "There is more wear-and-tear on the bottom of the handle where more hands have been in contact with it. It's shinier than the rest belying the faint oils our fingertips naturally leave behind. Because it's the bottom two-thirds it speaks of a specific clientele: people who are of the Chinese persuasion. The food's authentic enough to warrant a steady stream of said customers and their families."
"So you know this because…of the stereotype that Asians are short?" Jane asks. "That's a bit rude. I'm short, and so are loads of other people."
"No you're correct. The stereotype is a misconception. The average height of a man living in China is five-foot-eight, only half an inch to an inch shorter —give or take — than a man living in the UK. Not much of a difference to make any noticeable change in door handle polish wouldn't you say? No I am referring to short people of a different variety," he smirks, clearly drawing it out.
"Go on then, Mr. Wikipedia, enlighten me."
"Children," he replies, and Jane cocks her head. "It's about honour. The Chinese believe in having the utmost respect for their elders, and given this is a family establishment, children frequent the restaurant often, holding the door open for their parents and grandparents as they enter."
"Well then that can only mean one thing," she remarks, her stomach growling.
"What's that?" Sherlock asks.
"Damn good dim sum," she says and grabs the handle leaving Sherlock to chuckle behind her.
-oOo-
Sherlock didn't know what he expected. He'd assumed that after the adrenaline faded Jane and he would go back to the awkward acquaintanceship and uneven footing on which they started out. He was expecting stilted conversation and sidelong glances, and if he was honest, he was expecting her to walk away because, really, she just shot a man in cold blood for him. But neither of those things happened.
Instead, what happened was easy conversation, and anecdotes of the past of all things. Like normal people. Which he was shocked to find he didn't mind at all. There was nothing about Jane that bored him, and he listened with rapt attention when she talked about her military service in Afghanistan, her sister and their adventures when they were girls, and her insufferable mother. The tone was light and the company effortless. She does not mention getting shot or her father, and for once, Sherlock doesn't press the matter.
When their food comes, Sherlock eats with gusto, but he peeks up at Jane every so often from under his lashes. Despite knowing how hungry she must be, she doesn't eat as fast, and ends up pushing the pieces of her ginger duck around the plate more often than not. She nibbles on some cabbage, and he pauses half way to bringing a dumpling to his mouth. He huffs and rolls his eyes, setting his chopsticks down, and without saying anything he switches their plates.
"I told you you should have let me order for you," Sherlock grumbles in mock irritation.
"Okay so maybe the duck was a bit ambitious," Jane says digging into the orange chicken he just set in front of her. "I'm not good when my dinner still has its face attached."
"Then why did you order it?"
"Didn't want to be predictable," she says.
"Ah. Well how is it?"
"Delicious," she says around a mouthful of food. "I can see why you like it."
"Oh. I don't," he says with a quirk of his lips.
"What?"
"I prefer the duck. Face and all," he winks.
"You ordered the orange chicken just to trade with me later?"
"Yes. And because I knew it would be your favourite. I'll be quite surprised if you ever order anything else from now on," he says licking some sauce off the pad of his thumb.
The look on her face told him he was probably right, and she narrows her eyes. "Do you ever get tired of showing off?"
"Nope," he says popping the p with a smack of his lips.
"Berk."
"Bint."
She laughs, and throws a fortune cookie at his head which he catches deftly. "Go on then, guess my fortune if you're so clever." And Sherlock rips open the package eagerly.
"Be prepared to be amazed."
…
After dinner they head back to Baker Street and up the steps as quietly as they can so as not to disturb Mrs. Hudson. They walk in and hang up their respective coats, and as if they had been living there for years, Jane says:
"Tea?"
To which Sherlock grunts 'yes please' and flops down onto the sofa to think. He presses his palms together and touches the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his chin. After the kettle's boiled Jane comes over and sinks into the space next to him, and he idly takes the steaming mug from her. He takes a sip before he realises it's milky and sweet perfectly the way he likes it.
"How did you know?"
"I'm not the only one who's predictable on occasion, Sherlock Holmes," she says and props her legs up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. He grunts again, still not used to being surprised so regularly by someone so ordinary. (No…not ordinary at all. Something undefined.) "So, Moriarty?" she asks.
"Mm," he says staring off into the distance.
"Who is he?"
"No idea. The possibilities are vast. He's some sort of specialist; a consulting criminal. From what I gather, people go to him for help, big or small as long has he has something to gain from the investment. The real question is: how far does this 'Moriarty's' reach extend? I'm sure he would already be on Mycroft's radar if he weren't such a shadow. No doubt he would have contacted me by now for my help. Whatever or whoever Moriarty is, it's big, and I've apparently caught his eye," Sherlock says and sips his tea which was rapidly cooling. He's still deep in thought when he registers Jane sigh gently beside him.
He looks over and finds her nestled into the couch cushions fast asleep with her cup of tea (cold by now, probably) resting in her lap. He takes it from her loose fingers before it tips over and puts both mugs in the sink.
"Jane?" he says quietly and nudges her shoulder.
"Mm?" she hums, her eyes still closed. "Oh. I should get a cab. S'late."
"Yes it is," Sherlock says and sits on the coffee table. He takes her left foot and plucks apart the laces of her shoe.
"I'll come over firs' thing tomorrow. With my stuff," she murmurs.
"Good idea." He sets to work on the right one.
"Might need a key…"
"Of course. I'll have one made directly," he says and tucks her shoes next to the sofa. "Lay down now."
Jane mumbles and sighs once more, but only shimmies down further into the cushions. Sherlock rolls his eyes, and gently guides her to lie on her side, one hand cupping the side of her face and the other tucking her legs so she fit comfortably between the two armrests. She was really rather small and it was only in her vulnerable relaxed state that Sherlock realised this. Jane had always presented herself as a hard commanding presence that instantly filled any room regardless of if she had anything to say or not.
It was impressive, the list of things he managed to overlook when it all boiled down.
Without anything more, he goes into the hall and grabs a faded afghan of Mrs. Hudson's from the cupboard, and spreads it over her sleeping form. With that, he plops into his armchair, settling in for a long night of numerous possibilities.
AN: Hopefully this will work. Heh. Thanks to every one who's read my work, and a tremendous thanks to those who've commented. This will be pretty ongoing, and I am terribly sorry I can't seem to link the key words directly. This is also on AO3 (under the same username) where the html is a lot more forgiving than ff. Thanks!