Jane had had enough. Just because Sherlock couldn’t see it didn’t mean it wasn’t real. She had giggled each time Jane had tried to address the issue. Besides, she had sworn to Mycroft she’d protect his little sister. So, when Anderson tried to flirt with Sherlock again, Jane attacked.
It had happened on a Thursday night, in a small and seedy hotel room. The dead body of an old man was lying on the dirty carpet, next to a pool of blood. Sherlock was on her knees next to it. Lestrade was outside, interrogating the two young boys who had found the corpse and Donovan — god, this woman could be so jealous — was throwing glares at Sherlock while directing the other agents.
The consulting detective was so obnubilated by the body she hadn’t even realised Anderson had sneaked into the room. Jane was standing in the corner, out of sight. People didn’t often notice her. She was Sherlock’s shadow for them. Invisible. Oh, she didn’t have any problem with that. As long as she could see Sherlock make her deductions, she was happy.
Right now, being invisible was a blessing. She had the opportunity to stop everything once and for all. So she waited silently, ready to act.
When Anderson took a step toward Sherlock, all the past insinuations Jane had heard and seen came back in her mind. All those long looks Anderson had thrown at Sherlock when she wasn’t looking. All those times he had followed her even where he wasn’t needed. All those times Lestrade had told Jane how Anderson required to be the one to work with Sherlock. All the innuendos, the gifts, the inappropriate jokes… And Sherlock who didn’t see anything. Who was so oblivious and innocent. At least, Jane knew Lestrade was about to talk to Anderson. But she couldn’t wait until then.
So when Jane realised Anderson was standing just behind Sherlock, she tensed. A hand was held above Sherlock’s shoulder.
‘Anderson.’ The man jumped at Jane’s voice but relaxed when he realised it was ‘just’ her. What a fool. Sherlock looked at her too, a frown on her soft and pale face.
‘Jane?’ she asked worriedly.
‘Later,’ Jane hissed between her clenched teeth. ‘Out,’ she added toward Anderson. She must have been looking rather threatening because the man didn’t object. Sherlock rose a thin eyebrow. Jane shook her head again. Later.
She followed Anderson out of the room, leading him downstair and out of the building. She didn’t want Sherlock to listen to any of this.
Once they were away from the main agitation, Jane shoved Anderson on the wall and planted her fist on the two sides of his head, not caring about the looks people were throwing at them. Anderson lost his colours.
Her years in the army had taught Jane about how to deal with those kind of men. Those who were jealous of her brain and her career. Those who thought that, because she was a woman, they could easily submit her to their will. She had learned to deal with them and Anderson wasn’t even half the men they were.
‘This stops, now,’ she told him, looking straight in his eyes.
‘Wha-What do you mean?’ Anderson mumbled.
‘You and Sherlock,’ Jane said. ‘You leave her alone, or you’ll soon regret the consequences.’ Apparently, Anderson wasn’t feeling intimidated anymore because he straightened up and smiled smugly at Jane. He glanced behind her to make sure no one could hear him.
‘Or what?’ he whispered, sure of himself. ‘Do you want me to flirt with you? Are you jealous of all the attention she gets?’ He looked at Jane from head to toe in disdain. ‘It must be unnerving to see all those men trying to seek her attention and not yours. Maybe I should give you my attention. Maybe it’ll help you relax a bit.’
Jane hadn’t moved during Anderson’s tirade. She was good at staying calm and his words didn’t affect her at all. But when he bent to kiss her, she saw red. She hadn’t even realised she’d punch him until he was on the floor.
A quick assessment told her he wasn’t hurt much. A pack of ice and it’d be over. She crouched to face him. It was her turn to smile. But not her usual happy smile. It was a predatory smile. One that said she was hunting, and her prey didn’t have any chance left.
‘You’re pathetic, Anderson,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘I might not be Sherlock, but I know a few things about you. You’re still cheating on your wife. Not with Donovan, though. You prefer to meet all sorts of people, don’t you? I wonder what she’d think of it… Oh, not Donovan. She already knows. I would stay away from the coffee machine for a while, if I were you. No, I mean your wife. She’s cheating on you too, of course. But what do you think would happen if she knew about your little… adventures?’ Jane licked her lips. Anderson was shivering under her hands, his eyes full of fear. ‘I bet she’d win the divorce. Your kids, your house…’ Jane let the threat hang in the air for a few seconds. ‘Now, do we have an agreement?’
Anderson didn’t answer. He was slumped on himself like a small kitten in a dark alley.
‘I’m waiting,’ Jane urged him.
‘Ye-Yes,’ he stammered. Jane nodded.
‘Good,’ she said. She let go of his shirt and let him fall on the pavement unceremoniously. She was done with him.
‘You’re worst than her.’ Jane stopped. Anderson had muttered the phrase as if he wasn’t really excepting her to hear it.
You’re worst than her. Yes, she was. And it wasn’t new for her. Sherlock was using her skills to catch murderers. Jane was using her’s to stop people from hurting those she cared about. It was probably selfish and illegal, but as long as her closed ones were safe, she didn’t care. They’d never get hurt. Not on her watch. And it was time for people to start realising that. No one stopped her when she walked back inside. Not even Lestrade, who was badly trying to hide his small smirk.
Sherlock was her’s.