Jane shifted against Holmes, a small groan passing from her lips. She opened her eyes and blinked. Her head snapped up as she glanced around herself, and she suddenly turned, facing Watson and Mary.
"Dr. Watson!" she exclaimed. "And you must be Mar - oof!" In an attempt to extract herself from Sherlock's arms, Jane had rolled off the couch and landed on the floor.
"Are you alright?" Watson asked, jumping to his feet.
"Fine, fine," Jane answered, crawling on her hands and knees until she reached a chair with which she could pull herself up.
"John has told me much about you," Mary said, her hand upon Watson's knee.
"Has he?" Jane raised an eyebrow. "There's not much not good to say, I assure you." She smiled weakly and went over to the couch again. "I am sorry you came upon us in such a manner," she said. "Sherlock and I have not slept in days."
"Yes, John told me as such."
Jane reached out and touched Sherlock's shoulder lightly. "Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up. Dr. Watson and Miss Morstan are here."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he stood abruptly to his feet, swaying precariously. Jane steadied him with a hand upon his shoulder. Holmes blinked repeatedly, attempting to clear away the sleep from his eyes. He moistened his lips, gaze darting between Watson and Mary.
"Madam," Sherlock addressed Mary, bowing slightly. He turned to Watson. "How long have you been here?"
"Not long," Watson answered.
"No more than twenty minutes," Mary supplied, not at all smiling in Holmes's direction.
Sherlock cleared his throat nervously, casting a glance at Jane, trying his best to keep his face from being flushed. He had not expected Jane to wake up with his arms still around her. He could only fantasize what she was thinking about. She gave him a small smile and walked around Watson and Mary, arms reaching up into the air as she stretched. Sherlock's eyes followed her, his gaze traveling from the tip of her fingers to the Achilles heel of her feet. Watson watched him with a peculiar expression, trying to decipher Holmes's gaze. He wasn't exactly sure what he saw reflected in the sleuth's eyes.
"Holmes," Watson began, feeling the need to break the silence, "I brought Mary in the hopes that she could become acquainted to you."
Sherlock looked at Watson and couldn't help but laugh. "What is there to be acquainted to?"
"Surely not his habits," Jane said from the other side of the room. "Sherlock, have you anything to drink?"
"Such as?"
Jane shrugged and glanced at the glasses filled with whiskey, cognac, and bourbon. "I shall pour something myself."
Mary twisted in her seat and looked hard at Jane. Jane, not at all appearing to notice that all eyes were on her, took out a clean glass and selected the cognac. She poured a generous amount for herself and asked, without looking, "Would any of you like anything to drink?"
"Tea," Mary said, a slight edge to her voice.
"Whatever you are having, Jane," Sherlock said. "Nanny! Tea, please!"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes!"
Sherlock sat down on the edge of the couch and ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting uneasily between Watson and Mary. Jane came forward with two glasses of cognac and handed one to Sherlock. She did not join him on the couch, however. She stood to the side of all three of them, staring hard at the table in front of the couch. All eyes were again on her as she lifted the cognac to her lips. With a light smirk and deep inhalation, Jane tossed the entire drink back in one gulp. Eyes screwed tight, she swallowed thickly, her hand tightening on her glass. She opened her eyes after a moment and smiled, turning to Sherlock.
"Excellent cognac," she said, setting the glass down on the small coffee table. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
"Where are your manners!" Mary cried, repulsed and disgusted.
Sherlock almost leapt to his feet to defend Jane. He restrained himself, however, and watched Jane's smile slip into a thin line, a look of 'isn't-it-obvious?' in her eyes.
"My manners," Jane said, "are reserved for special occasions, if I should ever encounter myself attending one."
A look of disgust and horror crossed Mary's face. She turned to Watson, appalled. "You said she was not lady-like, but this is, by far, the most degrading I have ever seen a lady be!"
Jane laughed and picked up her glass again, heading back over to the liquor cabinet. As she poured herself another glass of cognac, she said, "The rules of society are a bit prejudiced, Miss Morstan. Just because I am female, I am not necessarily required to act like a lady, am I?"
Sherlock couldn't help but smirk. Watson glared at him. Holmes dropped his smile and shrugged, finishing off his glass of cognac in another gulp. Jane continued to amaze and perplex him. Mary let out a noise of repulsion.
"Yes, you are required to act like a lady. You cannot go out into society with manners like that!" Mary's voice had risen a notch.
Jane tossed back half of her second glass of cognac. Exhaling explosively, murmuring again, "Excellent cognac," she fixed Mary with a baleful expression. "Miss Morstan, you are not my superior, and thus I am not necessarily inclined to do what you ask of me." Jane finished the rest of the cognac and burped quietly, her hand on her mouth. She set her glass aside.
"And you have her boarding with you!" Mary exclaimed, staring at Watson.
"Not me - Holmes." Watson lay a reassuring hand on Mary's arm. "She is boarding with Holmes."
"And having a considerably fun experience from it!" Jane cried from her corner, plopping herself down in a chair by the liquor.
Holmes laughed, a broad, boyish smile stretching out across his face. Watson glared at him again. Brow furrowing, Sherlock asked, "What? Why do you look at me like that, Watson?"
Watson shook his head. "I doubt Miss Heathrow was anything like this before she met you, Holmes. I am amazed by your depravity!"
Jane sighed and groaned audibly from the corner. "Oh, Dr. Watson, could you please refrain from arguing with Sherlock again? I am becoming quite agitated from all your bickering. And it is not Sherlock's depravity that you should be concerned about." When Watson shot an inquiring glance at her, Jane merely gave him a vague, mysterious smile and propped her feet up on the liquor cabinet.
"Do you own a single article of feminine clothing?" Mary asked, still trying to recover from her revulsion.
"If I did, it would no doubt be shredded or burned by now." Jane gave another smug smile.
"John," Mary said, turning to Watson, "we must make sure that Jane is fitted for some new attire."
Startled, Jane tipped the chair backward and fell on her back. Getting to her knees, she stared at Mary wide-eyed. "You mean, dresses?"
"Yes, I mean dresses," Mary answered.
"Great Scott, no!" Jane shook her head fiercely. "I abhor dresses."
"You have no choice." Mary stood to her feet and looked down at Watson. "I would like to go, John, before I am sick."
Jane heaved a groan of frustration and fell down on her back again. "You cannot expect me to wear a dress!"
Mary scowled and headed for the door. Watson leapt ahead of her and opened the door for her, a look of helplessness drawn into his face. He turned to Sherlock and cast his glance between Holmes and Jane.
"The two of you disgust me! I cannot believe you both!" he cried.
"I believe, Dr. Watson," Jane said from her place on the floor, "that you have stated that before. I understand your revulsion to my habits, and I am sorely disappointed that you cannot tolerate the way I am. I hope that all goes well with explaining to Mary that you will only suffer this torture, if you will, for only a few weeks more, and that I will never submit to her plans of putting me in a dress."
Watson scowled and slammed the door behind him deliberately. Sherlock got up slowly from the couch, twisting the empty glass in his hand continuously. Jane sighed again, still sprawled out on the floor. Whether or not the cognac had hit her system, Holmes could not tell. He set his glass down on the liquor cabinet and looked down at Jane. She looked back up at him, her eyes regretful.
"I am sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I am only causing trouble. I should leave."
"No! I - I don't want you to leave." Sherlock crouched down beside Jane. "I am enjoying your company too much to have you leave now."
Jane chuckled and shook her head. She reached up and cupped Sherlock's cheek, making him inhale sharply, his body going slightly rigid. Holmes couldn't tell if Jane had noticed his reaction or not. She merely continued to smile up at him.
"You are a character," Jane stated quietly, her hand cool against Sherlock's cheek. "Had I the choice to be entertained by the Queen or by you, I would spend my day with you without even thinking about it."
Sherlock found he couldn't speak, his mouth drier than cotton. Jane sat up and pressed her lips against his cheek, her lips soft against his stubble. Leaning back and smiling warmly at him for a moment, Jane patted the other cheek with her hand and got to her feet. Startled, Sherlock still crouched in the same position, thoughts racing and yet seemingly frozen at the same time. His heart palpitated in his chest, making it hard for him to breathe evenly. He turned slowly, his eyes following Jane as she went over to the couch and stretched out on it, her legs hanging off the arm rest.
Swallowing thickly, Sherlock slowly got to his feet and asked, in an attempt to hide his odd reaction to Jane's kiss on the cheek, "What happened to your feet?"
Jane spoke a second too late, piquing Sherlock's attention. "Nothing of importance."
Brow furrowing slightly, Holmes said, "It surely looks like something of importance. You've had your feet bandaged for a week."
"You've noticed."
"I am a man of deduction, Jane," Sherlock said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "I notice the little details."
"Indeed." Jane waved her hand in such a manner that Holmes understood he should leave the topic alone.
"What do you think of Watson's fiancé?" Sherlock asked, sitting in a chair across from Jane.
"Miss Morstan?" Jane pursed her lips, an action that brought a small smile on Holmes's face, though he did not know why. "Contrary to your belief, Sherlock, I believe that she might be the one for Watson. It almost seems like Fate for the two of them." Jane fixed Sherlock with an unreadable gaze. "One cannot run from Fate forever or elude her design upon your life."
Sherlock shivered, his mouth growing dry again, the whiskey in his throat burning. Jane's gaze was so intense that Sherlock could not look away. In fact, he felt drawn to her gaze, an insistent tugging in his chest. He moistened his lips with whiskey and forced himself to look away, feeling his heart pushing up into his throat.
"Some things, I suppose," Jane continued, "are just meant to be. Some encounters and accidents may just seem to be a part of life, but some of them, I believe, happen for a reason."
"Such as?" Holmes asked quietly, looking down at his cup.
Silence.
"Such as you running into me."
Holmes looked up slowly, meeting Jane's intense gaze again. Her eyes softened. There was something in her pupils that Sherlock could not place. He found he could not look away again, and the silence stretched between them, not uncomfortably, but not exactly comfortably, either. Sherlock couldn't think properly, couldn't form coherent thoughts as he continued to look at Jane, losing himself in her dark eyes.
"You think that was Fate?" he heard himself asked, his voice still quiet.
"I would like to think so," Jane answered, her voice dropping to match Sherlock's. "What other reason would the great detective who pays so close attention to everything not notice that he was going to run into someone in the street and knock that person over?"
Perhaps she is right, Sherlock thought to himself, still unable to turn away from her gaze. How did I not notice? Is it truly the hands of Lady Fate? What purpose was there in running into Jane?
"You were enjoying earlier," Jane stated, an inquiring flame sparking in her eyes.
Realizing what she meant, Sherlock straightened in his chair, fire rushing into his cheeks. He coughed nervously and swallowed down the rest of his whiskey. "Well, I was asleep. I had no idea what was happening."
"Indeed." Jane's eyes were impassive, but Sherlock detected a faint smirk on her lips.
"It was nothing."
"Of course."
Awkward silence stretched between the two now. Jane glanced at one of the clocks and passed a hand through her hair. "I suppose," she said, "that it isn't too early for supper?"
"I suppose not," Sherlock said, sensing that Jane seemed disappointed by something. "Shall we go out and dine?"
Jane looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Go out and dine?" she repeated.
"Only if you would like to," Sherlock said quickly, turning the empty glass repeatedly in his hands.
"I don't suppose it would hurt," Jane murmured, swinging her legs over the couch and climbing to her feet.
"Excellent," Sherlock said. "Shall we leave in twenty minutes?"
"Less than that," Jane said, and she smiled.
As she headed off to her room, Sherlock let his eyes wander after her. For a moment, he stood there, still turning the glass furiously in his hands.
What a woman, he thought, and he rushed over to his bureau in an attempt to find something worthy to wear.