Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay, I have been god-awful sick all this week with some kind of summer flu/sinus infection crap that took me down. Fever finally broke on Friday (THANK YOU GOD!) and so I'm finally getting to where I don't feel shaky sitting up. As far as the chapter goes, it's a bit of filler, but my brain is fuzzy and doesn't want to work well and I didn't want to write something important and have it be awful. Also, my lovely beta, Mel, hasn't looked over this yet, so all mistakes are mine. Also, I've been getting lots of requests for the recipes for some of the food I write in my stories. I promise, I will post some of them, I just have to find my family recipe book so I can remember what the amounts were for them, I can usually remember them for the most part off the top of my head, but didn't want to try with my head like this. So next chapter will probably have the recipe for the Chocolate Torte from a chapter or so ago. I hope you are all enjoying your summer! Have a fabulous week!

~J.

Jayne wasn't sure exactly what time she fell asleep. But she clearly remembered Sherlock telling her she needed to sleep. He followed her into the bedroom, tucked the blankets around her and kissed her forehead sweetly before the mask of indifference crept back into place. Jayne hazarded to guess he was thinking of how easily Mrs. Hudson could have been hurt, or even killed, simply because she knew him. Jayne wanted to punch the American for making that fear creep into Sherlock's heart and mind. But she was too tired and the bed was rather warm and comfortable and before she knew it, she was dead to the world and dreaming.

The dreams were odd, glimpses of her past and her hopes for the future. She saw herself as a young girl being sent to Bible school, her parents waving at her as she boarded the big purple bus with Camp Peace and Love emblazoned on the side. Truthfully it looked more like a bus for a load of hippies than it did for a Bible camp. She'd made a few friends at Bible camp, but had lost them through the years. She remembered one girl, Zooey, who'd committed suicide when her parents told her being a lesbian was a sin against God. Jayne had been horrified. Her God was a loving God. He accepted everyone for their flaws and their love of him.

Next, she was sitting in a rocking chair, overlooking the magnificent lights of London, snow falling at the windows, a baby girl in her arms and Sherlock peering over at them as he looked up every few minutes from his laptop. The baby began to coo and squeal, making Sherlock chuckle as he stood, coming to stand next to Jayne. He placed one hand on Jayne's shoulder and the other under the baby's chin, laughing when she squealed again and reached for him.

A picnic she and her parents had gone on for her birthday in October during a trip to see her grandmother in Virginia. The day had started out unseasonably warm, and they'd gone out in shorts and tshirts. It had begun to snow halfway through the picnic. No rain, just fast, quickly accumulating snow. By the time they'd managed to run back to their car, the ground was white and slippery and they had laughed and squealed as they slipped and slid in the snow. Jayne had screamed with laughter and surprise when her father had scooped enough snow up from the ground and dropped it down the back of her shirt. She'd been fourteen at the time.

The baby girl was now about four and it was her birthday. She was wearing a beautiful white eyelet dress with a baby-blue satin ribbon at the waist tied in a big bow, white patent leather mary janes on her feet. . John and his wife was there, with their little boy Hamish. Hamish and Emma, Jayne' and Sherlock's daughter, were chasing each other around the room. Mrs. Hudson snatched Emma up for a kiss and a hug before setting her back down. Molly and Greg were there, Molly's engagement ring flashing at her hand and Greg placing his hand gently over Molly's stomach and they looked at each other with love in their eyes at what they thought was their secret. It made Jayne grin, they were so obvious.

The doorbell rang and Emma ran to open it, Jayne hurrying behind her. The door opened to reveal Jim Moriarty, a smirk on his face and a gun, complete with silencer, in his hands. Jayne screamed and grabbed Emma, turning to run. Silenced gunshots made little noise, but a soft "pumph" as they hit their intended targets. Jayne watched horrified as John went down trying to protect his family. His wife and Hamish were next, as Jayne screamed out. Greg tried to protect Molly, and they both went down. Sherlock was trying to fight Jim and he went down. She watched as Moriarty started towards her, his eyes lit up like a child's with happiness. "Hello there, pretty." he said in a sing-song, walking towards Emma. "EMMA, RUN!" Jayne screamed at her daughter, pushing her towards the door. Jim kept stalking towards her and Jayne ran at him, he slapped her hard, knocking her to the ground before shooting her in the stomach. It was a wound that wouldn't kill her immediately. She heard her daughter screaming for her. "Emma!' she could only whisper.

Jayne jerked away, screaming and crying. Sherlock ran into the room and pulled her into his arms. "Jayne! Jayne, what's wrong!?" he shouted at her, shaking her. Her eyes were blank, as if she were still half in her dreams, tears streaming from her eyes and a look of loss about her. He reached out and stroked the side of her face. "Jayne?" he said softly. Her eyes went wide and she seemed to really wake up again, and looked at him, finally seeing him.

"Oh! Oh, Sherlock, it was awful!" she cried and buried her face into his neck, sobbing again as he held her. She told him about the dream, between sobs. He listened and comforted as well as he could, though he admitted to himself he was unused to the role of comforter and a bit uncomfortable about it. When she told him of the child, he felt his heart jerk sideways in a strange way. Sherlock had never though of having children. They were loud, messy and asked incessant questions once they hit the age range of being able to talk.

But when she told him of Moriarty and the murders, Sherlock felt himself growing angry. His hands turned to fists, even wrapped around Jayne. While he seriously doubted that there would ever be a child between him and Jayne, he was dreadfully certain that dear Jim was never, ever, going to lay a hand on what was his. He soothed Jayne as best he could, and finally was able to get her to go back to sleep by crawling into the bed with her and holding her until her breathing deepened and her body relaxed.

He studied her while she slept, taking in every detail of her face. From her full lips, slightly almond-shaped eyes, the way her eyelashes curled up at their tips, to the soft wing shape of her eyebrows. Everything that made Jayne's face Jayne's. It certainly wasn't what made her Jayne, of course. He knew that. No, what made Jayne, well, Jayne, was what was inside that beautifully bright mind of hers and her deeply giving, loving heart. He was amazed at how she'd adopted all of them, as if she had known them all her entire life, instead of less than a year.

He had most certainly never expected her to be as brave as she was, most people went to pieces when confronted by kidnapping, guns, bombs, threats and danger. Jayne had held it together and found ways to be helpful. She was also fiercely loyal and protective. He grinned when he thought about her kicking the big American for hurting her beloved Mrs. Hudson. Still smiling, he yawned and closed his eyes. His weary body dragged him down into sleep before his mind could begin to entertain more thoughts about his Jayne.

Mid-morning sunlight peeked through the curtains when Jayne woke. Her heart still felt heavy from the horrible dream the night before. But she pulled herself out of bed and stood under the hot water of the shower spray until she felt more awake. She pulled on a clean t-shirt and jeans, left her feet bare, and braided her hair back. She padded into the living room. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin, obviously in his mind palace. Jayne kissed him softly on the cheek and walked into the kitchen. She found John there, a mug of coffee in his hands. His eyes were bleary and he looked hung over.

"Didn't sleep well either, huh?" she asked softly, trying not to aggravate his headache.

He didn't glare, just stared into his coffee. "Can't believe he had that bloody thing here. Mrs. Hudson could have been killed, does he understand that?" he huffed.

Jayne bit her lip and placed her hand on John's shoulder. "Of course he knows, John. He probably never thought that he would have to use that plan, but he had it planned in case he did. Do you not know how much he loves Mrs. Hudson? And how much she loves him? He'd be crushed if something happened to her, she's like a second mother to Sherlock. He helped her get rid of an abusive, murderous husband, remember? If you'd seen the sheer fury in his eyes when he took down that American, you'd have no doubt how much he adores that woman. But John, he tries to think of every angle, every possible angle, that someone around him could be hurt. And he tries to protect us. Not always in the way some of us think he should, but in the only way he knows how. By being cleverer than his enemies."

Leaving John to mull over her words, Jayne headed to the stove and turned the burner on, pulled a skillet over it to heat. She pulled thick slices of ham, a container of eggs and leftover baked potatoes. "Hungry, John?" she asked softly.

"Starving. Drank bit too much last night, nausea's finally gone though. Now I feel like my stomach thinks my throat's been cut." he grinned at her.

She laughed and oiled the skillet lightly. She cubed the already-baked potatoes and slid them into the hot oil, sending them popping and splattering as they crisped on the outside. John went to take a quick shower while Jayne finished up breakfast. She sprinkled salt on the hash browns she was frying and used a paring knife to cut off the hard ring of fat around the ham steaks. She cracked eggs into a bowl, whisking them, as she knew Sherlock wasn't so fond of fried eggs. When the potatoes were crisp-fried, she scooped them from the pan, laying them on a plate with a layer of paper towels to keep them from being too greasy. She slid in the ham steaks, frying them to a delicious-smelling golden-brown. She removed them to a baking pan in the oven to keep them warm on the lowest heat setting.

Finally she poured the eggs into a clean, nonstick skillet, using a silicone spatula to stir them around and keep them from sticking. Just as John walked in, hair still damp, the eggs were ready. "Perfect timing," she said, scooping the eggs onto three plates. She pulled the ham from the oven, serving them onto the plates and finally the hash browns onto the plates as well. "Sherlock, breakfast is ready!" she called to him. She heard the sounds of him locking and shutting his laptop and he appeared in the doorway. She handed him his plate and he surprised her with a kiss on the cheek before sitting down. Still blushing, Jayne sat at the table with the boys.

"So," she said, taking her first bite and swallowing, smiling when it was just as good as she'd hoped. "What mischief are we managing today?"