Saturday morning I got ready for the dinner. I curled my hair and put on more makeup than I usually would. One of my step mothers bought me a red forties dress that ended just below the knee, and since I wanted to make a good first impression I decided why the heck not? I put on some simple black heels to finish the look. Now I just had to wait.

Later Mycroft pulled up in his car to take me to the dinner.

"Hello Miss Jones."

"You know since I am having dinner with your family, I would prefer for you to call me Keyland." I decided. I didn't want to be reminded of Dad.

"Right of course..." Mycroft replied seemingly disinterested in my being there. "Then you may call me Mycroft." he responded, robotic. He seemed lost in his own thoughts this evening. The silence dragged on. Soon I was lead to my own thoughts. I didn't know what to expect of his brother and wasn't sure how I should ask. So after a few minutes I decided to test the waters.

"So Mycroft, do you have anymore siblings?" Mycroft tensed. His eyes went wide, then suddenly his behavior shifted. He almost seemed, more human.

"No I don't." he said, straightening his tie. "What about you?" He asked leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Oh well I'm sure I do have some siblings out there." He raised one eyebrow.

"Well my family isn't the kind you would see on a postcard. My real mother was the first one Mortimer married but I was not his child. I like to believe she loved him and they were happy. But I doubt it. He married again, six no seven times after her death. I digress. To answer your question out of all the children he fathered I was the only one acknowledged. Er.. Well that lived." I said all of this with a straight face. Very matter of fact. As if telling somebody else's life story.

The rest of the way to Dinner was relatively quiet. I learned not much from reading Mycroft. { His shoes were Italian leather. - Expensive, 'Minor position' my foot! - He seems detached, anti-social. This speaks of a troubled childhood, -I would know-. His job was high stress, and he was the eldest. All very simple deductions.} I looked out the window and watched as we drove out of the city. I loved the countryside. Never went much though. Never had cause to, as our family had so few friends.I noticed how. Mycroft tensed when I mentioned siblings, Hmm. Sherlock must be a trouble maker. But I'd gathered that already. For the rest of the ride I tried to keep my thoughts on Mycroft and how his family might be like. He is working on a computer now. Must be important. Finally after miles of rolling hills and rivers, we made it to the Holmes' Residence. Funny this isn't what I pictured.

A charming little cottage sits at the end of the lane. Thatched roof and all. The car stops. Mycroft gets my door. He offers me a hand but I ignore it, brushing past him as I head to the house. He joins me on the stoop and knocks three times, leaning heavily on his umbrella. The door swings open.

"Mike!". A woman with sandy white hair smiles at us as she opens the door. "It's so good to see you!" she turns then and regards me. "And you must be Miss. Jones!" the woman's cheery voice carries through the cold air. "Oh Mike, you didn't tell me she was pretty, not that you would...Well come in the lot of you!" she gushed, swinging the door open. "I'll tell Sherlock you are here!" The woman I assume is Mrs. Holmes bustles out of the room.

"That is our mother."

"She seems nice."

"You think she is too normal for me to be her son."

"No I know that some people can be the polar opposite of their parent."

"Ah...right." He says hanging up our coats and his cane.

I hear footsteps coming our way as Mycroft leads us to the kitchen. Here goes nothing.

In walks a tall young man my age. He has black hair that curls over his forehead, and his eyes. Those eyes. Even red rimmed as they are they are indescribable.

At first you think that they are grey, then you see it sparks of green, waves of blue. They look like the galaxy. They look like the mind behind them is quite sharp.

I now know why they say that the eyes are the window to the soul.

I can tell he is a druggie though. Just by looking at his arms. What a shame. What a waste.

We stood in silence eyeing each other suspiciously.

"She is not as matronly as I would have expected." he announced his eyes roaming my face.

"William!!" Mrs. Holmes gasps, lightly slapping Sherlock on the arm.

"Only the best for you, brother mine." Mycroft responded rolling his eyes.

"Keyland Jones."I say extending my hand with a smirk.

"Jones! What a boring last name!" Remarked Sherlock. As his mother glares at him.

"I assure you Mr. Holmes I am anything but boring."

he gave me a despondent look.

"Really?" he responded dryly.

"Really, Ich weiß, dass du das jüngste Kind bist.[I know that you are the youngest child.]

No has tenido una relación seria toda tu vida.[you haven't had a serious relationship your entire life.]

, и вы использовали наркотики, чтобы отравить ваш мозг.[and you have used drugs to poison your brain.].

Instead of helping people with your incredible talent."I finished, staring into Sherlock's shocked face.

"I'm plenty interesting darling." I stated, patting him on the cheek as I breezed by him.

"Mrs. Holmes." I addressed her. "you have a lovely home." Mrs. Holmes smiled knowingly at me and we talked about trifling things as we left the room. I could have sworn I heard Mycroft laugh as we left, but it must have been my imagination. As soon as we were in the living room Mrs. Holmes addressed me. "I think that you will be good for Sherlock. He often needs someone to cut him down to size." She smirked, handing me a cuppa.

"Hmm I've noticed." I murmur

"Will you help me in the kitchen Keyland?" she says loud enough for the boys to hear. I smile this might be more fun than I thought...