"She locked herself in Sherlock's room for a few days after the accident, but she's doing much better now. Of course, she’s still mourning Sherlock, but I know my sister well—she wouldn't refuse to meet you."

Those were Mycroft Holmes’s words when Louis voiced his need to apologize to the youngest Holmes. The accident had marked the end of their grand plan—the Lord of Crime had fallen, leaving London in the wake of both fury and unity then peace. But in the chaos, Sherlock had made a fateful choice: he had jumped into the river after William.

Louis knew, deep down, that he had played a part in that decision. He had been the one to plead with Sherlock, urging him to save William, to stop him from facing death alone. But in the end, both men had leaped together into the river. No one knew if they had survived, but after an extensive search, the British government had declared them dead. The headlines had spoken of their enigmatic demise, and the city had mourned them in its own way, with statues and whispered tales of their brilliance.

With Albert shouldering full responsibility for the Lord of Crime’s actions, the eldest Moriarty had willingly surrendered himself to prison. That left Louis alone to carry the weight of the Moriarty name. Despite his own turmoil, he had resolved to fulfill all of the duties— and one of them was an apology to Sherlock’s family.

"She’s waiting for you inside."

Mrs. Hudson’s voice was gentle as she gestured toward the living room of 221B Baker Street—the place Sherlock had once called home, now occupied by his youngest sibling.

Louis took a steadying breath. He was prepared. His suit was immaculate, every detail meticulously arranged. In his arms, he carried a bouquet of purple hyacinths—a silent message of constancy, regret, and sincerity.

Louis stepped inside, The living room was just the same: cluttered bookshelves, the same violin and armchair where Sherlock had once lounged, Yet, despite its familiarity, it felt emptier now, a hollow echo of its former self.