True to his word, two hours later Mycroft's assistant "Anthea" was at the door, texting with one hand and holding out the large bag of clothes with the other. Meanwhile, Jayne and Sherlock were still going back and forth as to why Jayne should stay in 221 B. "For God's sake, Sherlock, I'll be just downstairs!" Jayne was exasperated.
"No," he said just as adamantly as before. "What if I have something to ask you? It will be a hassle of going all the way downstairs, knocking on the door, possibly waking you up. Which will just make you angry and uncooperative." He sounded so reasonable. It just made Jayne want to hit him.
"No, Sherlock. If I'm going to be stuck here for any length of time, I want a place of my own. As much as I admire you and John, I'm still a female. I need a space of my own without worrying about men wondering around. Besides, what if I slept naked or something?" She grinned when John almost choked on his tea.
"You obviously don't," Sherlock said, eyeing her pajamas, which she was still in. "And it's quite apparent you are a female, you have breasts and lack a penis." He wondered why her face was suddenly suffused with blood. Why was she blushing? He thought back over what he'd said, analyzing it word for word to when she had begun blushing. Ahh, he thought, it was when he'd said the word penis. He didn't understand why it was such a taboo, it was clearly a part of human anatomy, every male had one.
Jayne tried to control her blushing. But it wasn't easy, she blushed often over the least little thing. John finally jumped in a little to save her. "That's enough Sherlock. She'll be right downstairs. Besides, she'll have to stay here until it's ready for her to move in, consign yourself with that.
Sherlock sighed pitifully and threw himself down onto the couch. "Oh, fine!" He turned to watch Jayne as her blush began to fade. It had brought some nice color to her face, she finally hadn't looked so pale.
She noticed him watching her and laughed, thinking of something. "Just think, Sherlock. You won't have to knock in the middle of the night, you can just pick the lock." She was rewarded with his smile as he steepled his fingers and placed his chin on their tips, thinking of what other interesting tidbits he'd be able to glean from her once she had a place of her own.
"Jayne, if you'd like to use my laptop to order some things for yourself, you're welcome to," John politely offered.
"Thank you, John. But I'm not very comfortable using this card, really. I'll make do with what Anthea brought for now, until I can make my own way or I find a way…home." Both John and Sherlock noticed how she choked up at the world and both found themselves praying she wouldn't start crying. John because he couldn't make it better, Sherlock because he didn't want to listen to the annoying sniveling noises he was certain she'd make.
Jayne blushed as her stomach growled and she placed a hand over the offending organ. John smiled and Sherlock smirked at the noise. "It is getting pretty late, and none of us have had any breakfast yet…can it still be called breakfast when it's two in the afternoon?" John thought out loud.
"Technically, yes. It is still "breaking the fast." Sherlock and Jayne both said at the same time, causing John to huff and sigh while rolling his eyes. Sherlock and Jayne just stared at each other.
"I could maybe cook something if I can take a look at what you have in there?" Jayne offered.
"Yes, but be certain not to move my severed head, I'm working on an experiment," Sherlock groused.
"Oh for heaven's sake, Sherlock, not another one!" John exclaimed, looking a bit peeved.
"I won't move your head, Sherlock,"Jayne said, standing and walking into the kitchen, opening cupboards and feeling a bit ill at the enormous pile of dirty dishes littering the counters, stovetop and sink. She smiled when she saw an unopened bag of self-rising flour, a package of sausages, butter, eggs and milk. "Sausage gravy and biscuits and scrambled eggs!" she decided, thinking immediately of one of her favorite meals for Sunday breakfasts at home. But looking around, she realized she would have to do some dishes before she could do any cooking.
So she quickly set to clearing out the sink, scrubbing it clean and running water as hot as it could go. She spotted a bottle of bleach under the sink, probably from some odd experiment of Sherlock's. She poured the bleach into the hot water, along with a dollop of dishwashing liquid and began to wash the dishes, setting aside the baking pan and skillet she would use for the biscuits and gravy. She also washed a large bowl and dried it well.
She measure out flour as well as she could using a teacup into the bowl, then cut the butter into the bowl, mixing it well into the flour. She poured the milk (she'd already checked to make sure it wasn't soured) into the flour-butter mixture and used a fork to mix it well, stirring it into a large doughy lump. She spread a little more flour out onto a cleaned counter and dumped the dough onto the counter. She kneaded it for a few minutes before beginning to pull off small pieces the size of a fist, smoothing it and laying it on the baking sheet. The pan was filled-no spaces between the biscuits-and she slid it into the hot oven.
While that cooked, she slit the sausages, pulling the meat from the casings and began to brown it in the tall-sided skillet. When it was all browned, she pulled it from the pan, sprinkled the fat left in the pan with flour, salt, pepper and a pinch of sugar. It smelled so good that her stomach was almost constantly growling. She stirred the roux for a few minutes, watching it become a slightly golden color before swiftly stirring in more milk, creating the gravy. It was quite thin at first but as it began to boil, it thickened into a rich milk gravy that would be delicious overtop of the biscuits. She poured the gravy into a bowl, setting it on the back of the stove to keep warm while she washed the pan.
She cracked six eggs into a bowl, scrambling them quickly before pouring them into a little melted butter in the skillet. She stirred them with a wooden spoon as they cooked and set. She sprinkled them with salt and dished them up just as the timer on the oven dinged. Perfect timing, she thought. She pulled the biscuits from the oven, using a butter knife to spread a little butter on top of their browned tops. "Boys!" she called. She laughed when she looked up and John was standing there; he'd been leaning against the door frame the entire time, just watching her cook.
She quickly dished up a plate for John, then another for Sherlock and one for herself. She set it down in front of Sherlock on the coffee table. He looked at it in surprise. "I told you I don't eat," he said.
"You probably haven't eaten in days. AND you're not working. So eat, Sherlock," Jayne ordered. She blushed when she heard John moan as he took his first bite.
"This…this is incredible, Jayne. Where did you learn to cook? I've never had anything like this before." John shoved another forkful into his mouth.
"Learned from my mom, mostly. She's an amazing cook. She taught me everything I know, but I expanded on it by watching a ton of cooking shows. I enjoy cooking, it's a bit of a stress reliever for me. And considering the stress I've been under today, I needed to cook," Jayne explained. She'd been furtively observing Sherlock as he'd taken his fork and cut off a small bit of a biscuit. She smiled to herself as he sampled it. While he wasn't as profuse as John in his pleasure, at least he didn't grimace or make a snarky comment. So she began to eat in earnest.
"If this is what you can do for breakfast, I can't wait to see what you come up with for dinner," John said hopefully, making Jayne smile.
"Well, I do make a mean chicken and dumplings," Jayne admitted. "I'd need a few things for it, though."
"Write me a list, I'll go to the market." John said, certain that it would be worth every bit of hassle from the damn machines at the grocery.
"I believe I'll go with you," Sherlock spoke for the first time in a little while, causing them both to look at him.
"Oh…kay," John was surprised. He was certain that Sherlock wouldn't be wanting to leave the house any time soon. Usually after a visit from Mycroft, you couldn't get him to leave for days unless he was on a case.
"Then I guess I'll visit with Mrs. Hudson for a bit while you boys are out. After I clean up a bit," Jayne said. And before Sherlock could say anything, she continued with, "And yes, I know, don't touch your experiments, Sherlock."
Instead of looking annoyed, Sherlock actually looked pleased. Jayne quickly wrote out a short list for John of items to pick up so that she could cook for the next few days. As the boys left, Jayne made her way around the apartment, collecting dirty dishes, washing them and putting them away. Then she began picking up and straightening up. She scrubbed the toilet and bathtub and sink with bleach, making them shine. Then she went into the boys' rooms. Not surprising, John's was quite spic-and-span, probably all the years in the military. Sherlock's however, was still in disarray. So she quickly straightened the bed and made it. Yawning, she realized how tired she was and laid down on the edge of the bed, just to rest her eyes. She fell into a deep, dream-filled sleep, whimpering softly and wrapping her arms tightly around herself. And that was how Sherlock found her hours later, the sight causing a strange twist in his guts at finding her in his bed again