It took a hole week for me to accept that Alice's eyes were the most beautiful in the world, and that became my biggest concern. It took the same amount of time for me to accept that those nice people were actually trying to be good with me. It was one of the best weeks of my life, if I'm allowed to say. Even Uncle Mycroft making a weird face everytime I would say so, the twins, Alice and James were my friends now, I know he was happy about it too. Even if was too early to call them friends or something alike, but friends really sounded so good.

For the first time after my mom's death, someone was hearing my laughter every day. For the first time studying in London, I wasn't simply sitting on the first chair and listening to the teacher, without talking or looking around, too scared of screwing up something. It was a good sensation, not being just with myself.

On my first day of extra chemistry classes everything happened very naturally. I got to school early, sat on the second chair and waited for my... Colleges to come by. James arrived first, with a smile and a good morning, followed by the twins those with more than a smile to him, not that I would deduce anything about it, and, finally, Alice arrived. Well, finally I guess, naturally I'm not waiting for her, my anxiety didn't got smaller after her arrival. I mean, it did, if she missed class it could be because of a illness or so, but carrying for her wasn't wrong, I didn't need to be with my mouth so dry about it.

— Good Morning, Lise — she smiles, sitting in the table right in front of me. She gave me a brand new nickname, and it was sweet, it always came with a smile — First day of extra classes right?

— Yes! How is going to be like? With Ian and all — I ask on a low voice, because I'm too shy, I guess, or maybe because that way Alice is the only one to hear me, and the only to answer it.

— Relax — she turns to me, through the week the anxious and uncomfortable dark eyes had turn into bright darkness, full of recognising towards me, both of them making me feel transparent, like my every single thought and worry were written on my skin, waiting for her to read it. Strangely it doesn't bother me, specially when she is smiling that way — Ian is very nice and pacient, and — she bounds over the desk, closer sweet smile and eyes on mine — don't tell anyone, but he cares about us, for real, you know? He is always worry about our well being. And I think that's very nice of him.

— Well, yes — I search in my mind for a longer answer, but I can't find it — I believe you.

With another smile she turns front, I know is because the teacher is in class now, but certainly she was happy for having that excuse. Who wants to talk with someone who doesn't even know how to answer?

Through the day my level of anxiety goes up quickly, although everyone tried to calm me down with compliments towards Ian, but I wasn't worried with him. I was worried with me, and my lack of social skills. I don't even know why, but it would be great to make Ian like me. He was still a mystery, the only information I had about him was how he was a survivor of something, former MI6 and all. I didn't even knew if I should trust him. But a tiny little part of me want him to really like me.

— First exclusive class, Holmes? — while I'm putting my books on my backpack on the end of the class, alone as always because of my slowliness on copying, Sabrina comes to me.

Her eyes are not dark as Alice's, they were brown, yes, but way lighter, almost caramel, and certainly way colder, very calculating, as all in her, agressive, egocentric.

For reasons I can't imagine nor permit myself to deduce, she wasn't so close of the other any longer. When I arrive, seven days before, she was not only their friend, but some kind of leader. Now she stepped away. In any moment the other three act in a way to make her leave their small group, it was her. For some reason.

— Yes. Every Wednesday — I try to let my voice as sweet as possible, but my hands shake, she is about to say something, very unpleasant taking for her expression, and even making my best straight face, the true was it was going to be thought to hear.

But she doesn't have the chance. A big hand on my shoulder makes us look up, silently. Ian smile at her, making a shiver goes down my spine, always the cold eyes, this time even colder towards Sabrina.

— Let's go, Louise, lot to do today, and we still have to eat — he bounds a little, a different light behind his eyes when he observes mine — You uncle called me, all mysterious and bossy as always, and told me to feed you.

— Excuse me, then — Sabrina doesn't look at us while leaving, head down and hands shanking. I can tell from her walk and her body posture is not angry, although I can't say what is it without deducing thinks, and I'm doing quite well in not for the last days.

— Sabrina worries me sometimes, I would be very thankful if you keep a distance from her, Kay? — I look up to Ian's face and there is no trace of worry there, confusion maybe, some kind of internal arguing, his pretty eyes flood in a sweet sadness — But wherever. Let's go.

Some blocks away from the school there is a big park, I wonder what is it's name while walking besides Ian, hearing while he talks to himself about my grades and what to study with me today. A worm sensation goes through my chest, caused by his presence, his calm and... Familiar presence.

I stop still, letting him walks a little in front of me, but I don't see Ian. All I can see is a very well illuminated room, with a pale and beautiful woman holding me, she was always holding me, caring.

— You know I love him, Theres — a young man with sad dark eyes is sit in front of us — But I can't, I simply can't, not after all, is not his fault, I know, but... — Ian's cry that afternoon was deep and hurt, full of a soffering I don't recognize.

— Louise? — my eyes rise and i manage to focous on his worried expression. His dark eyes still hold that deep sadness, among all the other feelings — What's wrong?

— Nothing... — I snap without thinking, questions flooding my mind, like I normally do with uncle Myke, to not worry him — I am very sorry, sir.

— Oh my Lord — he grabs my shoulder pulling me closer, forcing me to walk along with him again — Don't call me sir! I love the army, but good Lord no...

I let a smile go and realized Ian Pasteur had my entire trust, even before remembering of him talking to my mom, even not know who was him. I've already decided to trust him.

After obligating me to put too much food in my plate, Ian set with me in a table closed to a window, allowing us to see the cars coming and going. But I don't look through the window, every move Ian does fascinate me. He knew my mom, enough to see in her a confident, to talk about love and pain.

A lot of pain, for what I could deduce (what a relive let my brain work without restrictions), a lot of pós trauma reactions, his eyes won't stop for a moment, always in alert, almost scared in fact, some loud sounds would make him glitch slightly, and even on eating, I wasn't the only one to force myself on it. If I wasn't looking for something, I would never be able to see it all, he was living like that for years now, maybe all those little things just split through his own perception, it was routine.

The apparent always sweet with everyone Ian was as broken as me. I shake my head, uncle Myke always say that calling myself broken was ridiculous, I'm not a toy or something, normally I desagree, but looking at my teacher I know he was right, a hurt person is not a broke toy.

Ian was like me, and he knew my family, he used to trust my mother. But...

— How? — I vocalise in a low voice, without even realising, I have barely touched my food, observing him, and, when he rise his eyes to me, chewing very slowly, I think he realise that.

— What?

Part of me knows I should just pretend that I've didn't say anything and keep up with my life's but I can't bare the curiosity.

— How do you know my uncle Mycroft? How did you knew my mom? I remember you on our guessing room, you were friends. But how? Why did that over? I don't remember you on her funeral.

Ian, still chewing, observer my face, a little smile on his lips.

— Have you already asked this to your uncle Myke? — The nickname strikes me, putting me straight in the chair — It was how Theres called him, I used to rather Croft, but wherever. Have you asked him?

— He... — I can't follow his words, "Croft"? — He didn't let me ask anything. I tried to research, but there is nothing about you. Who are you?

He bounds a little over the desk, using his arms as support and smile, the caring on his eyes, the total lack of rage or disgust for spy on his stuff unarmed me.

— And you always obey uncle Myke? — his head falls in his shoulder, once again making the reptile like move — Let's play a game, miss Holmes — he has a kind yet sad smile, observing my face — You can ask me a question, and, if I'm able to answer it, I truly will. But you have to answer me a little too. Kay? — I accept, sitting straight on the chair, his smile getting larger — Ask and eat, shortty.

— How do you know my uncle Mycroft?

— I was a young and well prepared soldier, climbing fast, and MI6 found me. I woke up one day and this strange well dress man and his umbrella were on my living room — he don't take his dark eyes from me, not even for a moment, locking me up in his look — He introduce me in missions, we grow closer, closer enough to me be able to become friends with you mother, for long enough to see him climb to what he is today, and enough to watch your birth. Theres was an amazing woman, you know that right — I shake my head, it was my only certain in live, actually — My turn. How is Sherlock? He was your Godfather, I hear he was working as a detective, but how is he?

— I don't really know. When momma died, uncle Sherlock didn't wanted to see me again, and we only saw each other again last week, because I needed him — his eyebrows are joined hardly — He hates me, Ian, he knows is my fault mama died.

Ian's hand move forward to grab my fast enough I can't even react, his touch is strong and kind, worry.

— Sherlock Holmes could never hate you, Louise, be adores you, the years didn't chance that and nor your mother's death. Sherlock Holmes how killed your mother — he turn his eyes to the table, for the first time taking them from me, full of some kind of guilt — I know I wasn't there, and I should have been, but I know Sherlock, I know he spent all he could of himself searching for you father — his eyes come back to me — If Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes could their would've kill him, don't doubt that, and is not just for your mother, I know you spend a year without talking after what he done. If Sherlock stepped away, it wasn't because he hates you, dear.

I want to desagree, but I could barely breathe, when he takes his hand of mine I can only keep my eyes on the table. That subject would always bring that cut like sensation, like part of my organs were being taken from me. It was not about my mother's death and I know, my hole body in hurting because of the flashes of the brown eyes who always cared about me, the same smile as daddy would always give to mommy, but this time, with much more blood.

— And why you stepped away, Ian? — my voice sound low and it made more difficult to breathe underneath it.

The before hidden pain in his eyes came to the surface in a strike, and he didn't bare to focous anymore, looking through the window, chancing cars with the dark and now lifeless eyes.

— I had a mission, your uncle gave me it, and I failed badly, I got hurt and our relationship just didn't worked out anymore. I step away from your mother because she reminded me of him — he smiles gently, almost as if seeing her — Always so smart, all of you, and imensily kind, even trying to keep feelings away, you have more emotions than most out there.

I stare at him, deducing more out of his eyes about their relationship than he was admitting. I wonder how hurt his was, but don't ask, I don't dare say anything, wondering now, maybe I actually couldn't. He was a handsome man, and, surely, deserved so much more, in fact, it was an almost sin, to see him so sad and hurt.

— The game is over. It's not doing good for us, baby girl — Ian turns to me, the kindness back to the dark, the pain almost perfectly hidden — Can I call you like that again? It's how I used to, when you where smaller — I agree, unable to speak — Let's go back to school, Kay?