Just wanted to wish everyone Merry Christmas, and here's a little Christmas gift for you all! :D ~J.

Jayne's visit with Dr. Palmer went very well, and as she'd suspected, all he did was give her a prescription for her thyroid pills. Same brand and dosage as she'd previously been on. It had been interesting to meet Anthea, though meet was a relative term. The woman hadn't stopped texting the entire time she'd been in the apartment. Jayne had been surprised when Anthea had pulled an extra cell phone from her bag, a gift from Mycroft so that he could keep in touch with her. Jayne was glad that it was a relatively simple model, with a keyboard. She refused to admit it, but she was a bit intimidated by the newest smartphones.

She was also happily surprised that John and Sherlock's numbers had also already been put into the phone. And she was quite certain the phone was entirely encrypted, with Mycroft being who he was. She almost jumped out of her skin when she got her first text message:

The eyeballs can go back in the microwave now. -SH

Jayne laughed. Still smiling, she picked up the jar of eyeballs and placed them back in the microwave before washing up the dishes and putting them away after drying them. As she cleaned, she realized the hamper was full as were the ones in John and Sherlock's rooms. Jayne knew Mrs. Hudson probably hated having to do their laundry, so she gathered everything up and finally located the washing machine and dryer in a small room just past John and Sherlock's bedrooms.

She sorted the clothes into dark and light piles, laughing at one pair of satin boxer shorts with a print of hula dancers. Obviously John's, Jayne highly doubted Sherlock would ever wear something like that. The errant thought of, "what kind of shorts would he wear, if no one were "looking"?" teased her over-active fan girl imagination. She viciously tried to shut that part of her mind down. She was living in his house, cooking his food, and now doing his laundry, for god's sake! It's not like he could have that many secrets, right? "Suuuuuuure." she grimaced when she realized no matter what, Sherlock was Sherlock, no one was ever going to know all his secrets.

By the time the boys had arrived back home, with John toting some strange sort of gadget and Sherlock looking provoked, Jayne had most of the laundry finished, with only one last load of Sherlock's shirts to finish. She wanted to take care with them so as not to ruin them. She joined them in the living room and sat down on her spot on the sofa. Sherlock disappeared into his room for a moment before returning to the living room.

Again, instead of sitting in his regular seat, he sat near Jayne. "How'd it go?" she asked, mostly of John.

He groaned and pointed at Sherlock. "That git had me in and out of every pawn shop in London, swearing one of them would have what he was looking for. After seven of the blasted things, he finally pulled some old pieces of material that we'd seen at a dozen other shops down off the shelf. And then he gave them to one of his homeless network and we came home." John sighed and sank down deeper into his chair, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Sherlock.

Jayne found herself smiling. "Let me guess? It was the materials it was made of that was the difference?" Sherlock's gaze jerked up to meet hers and John looked at her in surprise. Sherlock gave her a subtle nod, making her smile.

"How did you come up with that explanation? He wouldn't tell me," John asked.

"Well, if he was still looking, it means it wasn't what he was looking for exactly. All I could think of was that there had to be something wrong with the others, and you said that he looked at them over and over again in each shop. That makes me think it was the materials in it, not the object itself. What was it, a coat?"

John almost growled at her. "Now how did you guess THAT?!"

She blushed. Truthfully, she'd watched episodes of Sherlock so often that she felt she had some idea of how Sherlock's genius worked. But then, there were times he'd completely surprised her already. "You said that he handed it off to one of his homeless network. All I could think was he needed to know how a material would react to the weather or the conditions the homeless are exposed to. One of his network would know the best places for the precise conditions that Sherlock would require for his experiment." She turned to look at Sherlock. "So, am I right?"

"Fifteen year old homeless girl went missing three days ago. Her body was found wrapped in a coat that none of her acquaintances recognized. She had been raped, beaten and strangled." Jayne noticed that Sherlock looked angry and strangely guilty around his eyes. "She was working on a small chore for me when she disappeared."

Without thinking, Jayne immediately crawled into Sherlock's lap and wrapped her arms around him. Not realizing that he'd stiffened and that his face had gone blank, Jayne whispered to him. "It's not your fault, Sherlock." She felt his arms wrap around her and thought that he was accepting her words. But when he lifted her off his lap, she gasped and he put her down on the couch before stalking out of the apartment. Jayne felt tears sting her eyes.

John sighed and stood, walking over and put his hand on her shoulder, as if to lend her some support. "I'm sorry, Jayne. He's a difficult one, is Sherlock." Jayne nodded and sniffled, wiping away her tears. She turned and looked at John. "Are you hungry? I was thinking of making something filling again since the rain's a bit chilly today. Maybe some beef stroganoff?"

She laughed when John's stomach growled. "I think you're a saint, Jayne. Do you want help or do you want me to stay out of your way again?" He looked hopeful and she laughed. "No, honestly, John, that's fine. Will it bother you if I have the radio on while I cook?" When he shook his head, she kissed him on the cheek, surprising him and making him blush a little as she started for the kitchen. He shook his head at her impulsive, sweet nature and settled into his chair and opened his laptop, and began typing out a blog, though one that omitted the lovely Jayne.

Jayne turned on the radio on the windowsill and slid the dial across the stations until she found one playing old American hits from the fifties and sixties. She was singing along as she thinly sliced a large roast that she'd had John pick up. Her breath caught in her throat as a hand closed over hers, stopping her movements. She looked up to find Sherlock standing beside her. She felt the blood drain from her face as she let her eyes slowly rise to his face. "I'm sorry," she said simply.

He held her hand for a moment and her brow furrowed as he felt his fingers on hers, and something slide onto her right ring finger. When Sherlock's fingers moved, she looked down and nearly squealed. There on her finger was an exact replica of the ring she'd only told Sherlock about that morning. Her heart beat harder and she could hear it pounding in her ears as once more her eyes filled with tears but this time happy ones. She dropped the knife on the cutting board and surprised both herself and Sherlock by throwing herself into his arms, her arms going around his neck and dragging his face down to hers. "Thank you, Sherlock Holmes," she whispered before pressing her lips gently to his.