Sunday, as usual for twenty-nine year old Jayne, flew by in the small two-bedroom apartment she shared with her best friend and roommate Shirley. She'd gotten ready for work the next day, with her copy of season one of the hit BBC show SHERLOCK playing on her tv. She listened and half-watched it while she read a fan fiction, giggling at the scrapes Sherlock Holmes and his colleague John Watson, an army doctor, got themselves into. On the screen right now, Sherlock and a young man named Raz were running from two cops, John left holding a can of spray paint in front of a defaced wall.
Jayne stretched and tried to make herself relax. Tomorrow was going to be a very long day, and very busy as well, with two reviews and a business meeting with a new manager that she was not looking forward to. She looked up to double-check that her favorite plum-colored skirt suit was hanging on the back of her door before closing the lid on her laptop and turning off the tv. She laid back on the bed, smiling at remembering one of the funnier moments in the fan fiction she'd just been reading.
She had to admit, she and Shirley were insatiable about Sherlock, collecting memorabilia, even having one of Shirley's British pen pals send them pieces of rock from the river bed where part of The Great Game had been filmed. Jayne's piece was currently on the bookshelf-style headboard of her bed, along with her Sherlock deerstalker hat, magnifying glass, framed autographs from Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman and leather bound copies of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous books about the famed detective Sherlock Holmes.
Jayne let her eyes close as she thought about what life with the real Sherlock would be like. Difficult, she was sure. She honestly couldn't imagine walling herself off from her emotions, she loved the people around her in her life too much, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.
She woke to voices. Familiar voices. She groaned when she realized Shirley must have come into her room and started watching an episode of Sherlock before work. "Shirley, I know you love Sherlock as much as I do, but couldn't you wait until I was awake?" Jayne mumbled, half into the pillow.
"Did she just call you Sherly? How did she get there, though, Sherlock?" John Watson's voice sounded loud in the room. "That is the question, isn't it, John? Not there one moment and appearing the next. And why in my bed, of all places?" Sherlock's smooth voice echoed in the room.
"Dammit, Shirley, I'm tired, go away! Turn the tv off, you can watch it later. "Jayne shouted, throwing a pillow at her friend. She smiled when she heard a thud and an, "Did she just throw a pillow at me?" Sherlock's voice said, sounding awfully loud from the television.
Wait a minute, Jayne thought, that's not how any of the episodes of season one go. She jerked up when Shirley poked her, and grabbed her in a headlock, throwing her down on the bed beside her, as she often had when they'd wrestled as kids. Before Jayne could get Shirley more than half over her, Jayne suddenly noticed that Shirley seemed to have gotten taller, thinner and stronger, because she was suddenly pinned by her arms to the bed. And staring up into a pair of strange blue-gray-green eyes.
Jayne's eyes nearly bugged out of her head before she let out an eardrum splitting scream, throwing herself away from him and landing in a heap beside the bed, pushing herself into a corner as she stared at the very familiar face-and eyes-of Sherlock Holmes. She didn't realize she was still screaming until he shouted at her, "Do stop that, you're annoying me."
Jayne's mouth immediately snapped shut, her eyes welled with tears and she started shaking. "Oh my god! It's finally happened. I've lost my mind!" she wailed. The distinct sound of a laugh had her looking up at him. Her mood suddenly shifted into anger. "Don't you laugh at me, Sherlock Holmes! You're just a figment of my delusional imagination, you're not allowed to laugh at me!" She threw another pillow at him, surprising him and catching him a little off guard.
"Lestrade's on his way. So's Mycroft," John Watson said from the doorway. He noticed how pale the girl was and that tremors wracked her body. He slowly stepped closer to Jayne, crouching down, his hands outstretched to show that he didn't have any weapons. "It's ok. Hey, it's going to be ok. Some nice men are coming who will help you."
She glared at him in disbelief. "Oh yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes are really going to help me. Are you insane, too? They're going to lock me up in some mental ward and throw away the key!" She started crying again.
"John, what do you observe about this young lady?" Sherlock asked John, looking at Jayne in a way that she knew meant he was analyzing everything about her. "Not now, Sherlock. It's obvious the poor girl has suffered some kind of mental shock and has lost her wits." Once again, Jayne's mood switched to instant anger.
"Stop talking about me like I'm not even here! You may be figments of my damaged psyche, but you don't have to be rude!" Sherlock sighed at her bipolar-like mood swing.
"Look at her, John. She's dressed in pajamas. She has no shoes on, no slippers, nothing. Her accent. American. Southern United States, probably Carolinas, perhaps Georgia from the cadence," he was cut off from going any further when Mrs. Hudson suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"What is all the screaming in here?" she demanded to know.
Then she caught sight of Jayne sprawled beside the bed, tears still falling down her cheeks. "Sherlock! What have you done to the poor girl?"
This made Jayne cry all the harder. "Oh," she whimpered aloud, "let's add another person to my new imaginary friends!" Jayne buried her face into her hands.
John tried to explain, "We don't know who she is Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock's trying to figure that out."
"Oh, the poor dear," said Mrs. Hudson. She looked over at the girl, who was obviously in some kind of panic. "How about I fix you a nice cuppa, dear?" She smiled when the girl peeked up from her hands and nodded.
"Two sugars, please, Mrs. Hudson?" Jayne asked politely. The older woman looked surprised that the girl knew her name, but nodded and headed for the kitchen.
"Would you be more comfortable waiting in the living room?" John asked softly. Sniffling, Jayne nodded and took John's proffered hand. He helped her up and led her to the living room; Sherlock watched before walking behind them. Jayne knew that he was cataloging every single piece of information there was to find out about her from her clothing, hairstyle, anything that would give him clues as to her origins.
Sherlock sat in his chair, John on the couch and Jayne in John's chair, smiling when she saw the familiar Union Jack pillow propped against the back. She pulled it from the chair, setting it in her lap where her hands unconsciously slid over the soft material. A sudden draft caught her off guard and she shivered.
"John, why don't you loan her your dressing gown, she seems a bit chilled." Sherlock ordered.
John's head shot up. "Mine? What? Why not yours?"
"Because I'm obviously too big for his. Besides that, he's currently wearing his, you are dressed," Jayne answered for him, causing Sherlock's head to snap her way. John sighed, rolled his eyes, but eventually brought her the robe and she wrapped it around herself. Jayne sat silently, staring down at the pillow in her lap until Mrs. Hudson came from the kitchen with a tray of tea cups filled with hot, steaming tea. As Mrs. Hudson handed Jayne the teacup, there was a knock at the door.
Sherlock observed that Jayne's knuckles went white around the handle of the cup, her eyes became filled with fear and widened considerably. "Open up, Freak. It's me," came a voice that Jayne was quick to recognize and let out a low growl. Sherlock was definitely surprised, he looked at her as he skirted her chair and opened the door to find two of the people he wanted to possibly see least in the world.
Sergeant Sally Donovan and crime tech Anderson stood at his doorway. Sally pushed right past him, nudging his shoulder hard. It was all Jayne could do not to throw her teacup at Donovan. "Oh my god," Sherlock heard Jayne whimper.
"Hello dearie. I'm Sally. What's your name?" Donovan crouched down in front of Jayne, speaking to her like Jayne was a three year old. Jayne clamped her lips shut, afraid of what she'd say if Donovan continued in that sickly-sweet tone. She grimaced when her hopes were dashed and Donovan spoke again. "Do you know your name, dear?"
"Of course I know my name. My name's Jayne. Jayne Alexis Wyler," Jayne spat at her. Anderson chuckled and looked at Sherlock. "Boss said you were having woman trouble."
"You'll be the one in trouble, Mister Anderson, when your wife finds out you're sleeping with Sergeant Donovan. Does she know you spent the night with Sergeant Donovan, Mister Anderson? In the bed you share with your wife?" Jayne asked him, furious for Sherlock's sake. These two made his life hell. Anderson and Donovan both looked shell shocked.
"What have you been telling her, Freak?" Donovan stood and glared at Sherlock. Jayne slammed her cup down on the side table, startling everyone . She stood and punched Donovan in the arm, hard. "Don't call him a freak. He's not a freak. Do you understand me? He. Is. Not. A. Freak!"
"I could have you arrested for that you know!" Donovan tried to intimidate her.
"Arrest me for what? Punching someone who only exists in my imagination?" Jayne asked. Everyone in the room gave her kind of a weird look. "Right, because I all of a sudden appeared in the middle of the room, with characters based on a work of fiction!"
"It would appear so, my dear," Said a voice from the doorway. Jayne took one glance, whimpered, and slid bonelessly into the chair she'd occupied only a moment before. Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway, leaning on his umbrella. The shit just got real, Jayne thought. Two young men-dressed smartly in suits of the same shade of black-stood just behind him as he entered the room. Body guards or agents of some kind, her still half-aware brain catalogued them.
"If you'll come with me, Miss Wyler, I'm certain we can sort this all out. We'll start with letting Anderson here take some blood work for tests, and go from there," Mycroft said, sounding quite reasonable he thought.
"That man is not touching me!" Jayne shouted, pointing at the smarmy little man.
"I could always hold you down so he can," Donovan put in.
"You and what army?" Jayne said, her anger getting the better of her. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You're not real! Dear God, I'm surrounded by fictional characters!"
They all looked at her like she was crazy, except for Sherlock. Sherlock was simply watching her, his eyes intense as she made her own observations. He'd felt a strange feeling flood through him when Jayne had defended him to Donovan. No one had ever done that before. Usually they'd joined in on calling him a freak and other, less inventive names. He nearly laughed when he heard John mutter, "Fictional?"
Mycroft surprised everyone by walking into the flat and sitting down on the sofa, staring at Jayne. He leaned forward a little on his umbrella as he spoke. "Very well, Miss Wyler, Agent Anderson will not touch you." Feeling a little more reasonable now, Jayne sat back in the chair, surrounded by characters she'd only ever daydreamed about. Mycroft continued, "Is there anyone you would trust to take some blood, check you over?"
Jayne thought about it for a moment before the perfect person popped into her head. "Molly Hooper." She smiled as she spoke the name. She'd always like Molly's character, even if she did think Molly tried too hard to try and get Sherlock's attention. But she thought the quiet, kind woman was just what she needed in the midst of this chaos.
"The pathologist at St. Bart's?" He asked. Jayne smiled and nodded. Mycroft nodded to his one of the young men who sent a quick text. Probably sending "Anthea" off to get Molly, Jayne thought. I sure hope it isn't her day off and they get her out of bed.
"Now, while we wait, is there anything you'd like to tell us?" Mycroft asked, looking at her expectantly. Probably waiting on me to tell him what drug I'm on, Jayne thought sadly.
"I'm not sure what to tell you, Mr. Holmes. I don't know how I got here. One minute I was laying down for bed, because I have to work in the morning. Had to work in the morning," she corrected, as it was now seven or eight hours later than it had been when she'd laid down on her own bed, in her own room, in her own apartment, in her own reality. Mycroft waited for her to continue, and Jayne sensed rather than saw Anderson, Donovan, John and Mrs. Hudson milling around the room. Sherlock just sat in his chair, staring intently at her.
She lowered her eyes, staring at a burn spot in the floor. She wondered which of Sherlock's experiments had caused that one.
"Well, if we're not needed, we're leaving." Donovan suddenly stated, heading for the door.
"And you'll say nothing of this young woman's appearance to anyone. Is that understood?" Mycroft Holmes ordered.
Looking furious, Donovan nodded before breezing out the door, Anderson trailing after her like a lost puppy. "As always, pleasant to see you, Donovan," Jayne whispered, causing John to choke on a laugh. Jayne looked up at the others, finally settling her gaze on Sherlock's face. "So where do we go from here?"