Looking up to the ceiling of the room, Sherlock feels their hearts beating together, sharing a same rhythm and tempo. Jane's thin, fragile body is glued to his and Sherlock accepts this because he knows this makes her feel safe.

Jane needs to feel safe.

Neither of them care what people think.

Jane is sleeping, her head on Sherlock's chest. And he's careful, he knows she can't lay on her left shoulder because that causes her pain, so that's the reason why he has his left arm embracing Jane's delicate frame while his right hand is taking her left. Their fingers are entwined. Sherlock looks down at their hands and to the stains left on his tee, stains which are the traces of her tears. Sherlock knows he could have prevented this. He should have prevented this. He knew Jane was going to get hurt. He did nothing, and now Jane's broken.

He feels awful because he knows he could have prevented her pain. She's broken now and Sherlock can't fix her, that's why tonight he ran the six streets that keep them away from each other in the middle of the rain after she had called him. She was crying and she told him she needed him, she asked for his company and for a hug. For the first time since they knew each other, Jane cried and asked for a hug. And Sherlock was there to reassure his friend everything was going to be OK.

It's so calm and peaceful now, the rain had stopped. Sherlock looks up to the stars shining on her ceiling, those same stars he helped her with, those stars his father bought for her before going away to Iraq. Sherlock then he looks down at her peaceful sleepy face and caress her hair. Sherlock wants to wake her up and talk. He wants to tell Jane he will always protect her, that he's going to be by her side and no matter what, they will always be friends.

Always.

Even in the same darkness of the place, Sherlock recognises Jane's blue nails, her short, perfectly cut and blue painted nails. Blue nail varnish that matches her eyes, the walls of her room and the duvet that covers their bodies. Sherlock takes a deep breath, taking Jane's scent in. He sighs inwardly and closes his grayish eyes. She smells like tea, floral shampoo and citric soap. But he looks down again, at their entwined fingers, and her blue nails take him to a nice journey to the past. A past in which they were nothing but strangers. A past in which Sherlock ignored her existence until one morning he saw those blue nails braiding her blonde hair. Her short and pale fingers and her small and short blue painted nails. That was the first thing he saw on her and now it's the last thing he looks at every night she runs to his place because she's afraid. But tonight he had to ran to hers because she was broken.

Sherlock Holmes has friends? No, he hasn't. He's got only one. And her name is Jane Watson.

His greyish eyes were scanning the grass of the school park and it was sunny enough to make him hate it. Around him teenagers were talking to each other, saying how good their holidays were and how bad was to be back at school. Girls were lying about how many boys they had kissed and boys were lying about how many girls they had shagged. Sherlock found it pointless and stupid to lie about things like kissing and shagging. Even being in the last seat at the back of the classroom he could hear them talking about things he knew he will be deleting from his hard drive in a few hours. Why couldn't they be quiet? Why they have to talk and talk? His gaze was still focused on the landscape outside so he didn't saw the girl who had walked towards his direction and sat in the empty spot in front of him.

The teacher arrived and soon he was talking about geography, the different cultures and the continents. Sherlock was still looking outside until his eyes caught two blonde hairs over his desk. His greyish eyes traveled a few inches up and he saw two pale and feminine hands and blue nails braiding that blonde hair and securing the hairdo with a blue band. The movements of her hands told him a lot of things about the girl with blue nails. She used her left hand quickly that her right, left-handed. But the position of her shoulders suggested a trauma, or more likely a wounded shoulder, left shoulder. Observing further further and further he found more, like the blue pearl earrings and a matching ring. A present from a close relative, maybe a parent. Then her blue exercise book, her blue pencil case and her blue fountain pen, she was obsessed with the colour blue.

But the hours passed, the teachers changed and after hours that lasted like five minutes to Sherlock, the bell rang and all the class ran outside ready to have their lunch at the cafeteria. He was usually the last leaving the classroom but this time, the blonde girl with the blue earrings and braided hair was still there, in the seat in front of him trying to write the last things the teacher had written on the blackboard and finally filling her brown leather bag with her books and her blue pencil case. She stood up in silence, not looking at the boy with greyish eyes and black curly hair sitting behind her and hung her bag over her right shoulder and left the place. The teenager caught two initials engraved on her leather bag.

JW.

Sherlock twisted his mouth when he found out his deductions were right, she was carrying her bag over her right shoulder, bad left shoulder then. But something new caught his eye. She had a light limp. It was a very light limp so he was sure he had been the only one who had noticed it.

He wasn't the kind of kid who had lunch at the cafeteria with the others and no one talked to him anyway. He was the one no one liked because of his weird eyes, his extreme intelligence and his frightening deductive skills. No one wanted to be humiliated by Sherlock Holmes when the boy was able to tell your whole life story only with a quick look over your shoes or your tie. So forgetting all about the blonde girl with the light limp, the wounded shoulder and the blue nails, Sherlock made his way to the school benches at the back of the building. It was always deserted and it was perfect to think. No one would disturb him and no one would tell him that he couldn't smoke, an habit no one knew about.

But when he reached his favourite place, someone else was there, drinking tea from a mug and reading a book on his bench. It was too late to turn around and go so Sherlock would never know why he kept walking and sat there, placing his bag over the round table and sitting in across her. The blonde girl with the leather bag was there, reading a book and drinking tea. And that was the first time Sherlock saw her face. She had a modest fringe covering her forehead and very pale skin, though her cheeks were furiously blushed, naturally and not by the use of make up. She had deep blue eyes, and pink and thin lips. She was beautiful. And natural. Maybe she was the only girl without tons of make up on her face. She raised her eyes from her book and looked at the tall and dark haired boy sitting across her but she remained silent and continued reading her book while Sherlock Holmes kept looking at her with his eyes, scanning her figure, her movements and the air around her. The leather bag was over the table and the engraving JW was still there, in front of him.

When the bell rang, the mysterious girl was the first leaving the deserted place, walking with her light limp and her bag over her right shoulder. And Sherlock knew she was the new puzzle he wanted to solve.

They met again in class. She occupied the empty place in front of him and again he felt hypnotized by her blonde hair and the blue band. That was the last class and it was the last time he was going to see her until the following day.

Her blue nails hit the desk when she found the class boring. Her left hand travelled to her neck and Sherlock saw how she pressed her fingers, trying to relax the muscles of her pale and fragile neck. She leaned her head to the left and then to the right, trying to found the concentration a maths lesson needed. And when the last bell rang she was there again, filling her bag with her books and then placing it over her right shoulder and leaving the deserted room alone and in silence.

Outside, his driver was waiting for him and Sherlock forgot all about the blonde girl obsessed with blue when he remembered the little experiments he was working on at home. Mummy and father were away travelling, Mycroft was at university and he had the house all for himself. He had important plans, like playing the violin until his fingers could bleed, trying a new experiment with dissected frogs and maybe a few ones with acids.

The way back to his house was the same. The same people, the same houses, the same shops. That little town was the same. Everything was the same as always until the car stopped at the traffic lights and there she was, the blonde girl with the bag over her right shoulder. As soon as the lights changed, she crossed the streets walking with a very bad limp. Her face showed how painful it was. Sherlock frowned, he saw her walking normally with a very light limp, but now she was in pain. The blonde girl had removed her school jacket and loosed her her blue tie. She was sweating and it was obvious her bag was heavy on her shoulder. The lights changed again and the driver passed her by. Sherlock had his face glued to the window of the car, looking at the blonde girl with the bad limp and blue nails.

The girl with the JW initials was a puzzle. And Sherlock Holmes wanted to solve her.