Each day was quieter than the last, too quiet each day, and it took a toll on Louis' mental health.

William was gone, and he would have to accept it. But he didn't want to. Something in him believed that William was still out there, alive. Neither his or Sherlock's body had been found in the Thames.

And that gave him the courage to take on the MI6 as William's biological little brother. He had also gone rid of his glasses: the only reason he had them on daily was because William always reminded him.

Louis had even shifted his hair so that his scar was visible. Now that it was out who his brother was, he saw no use in hiding it anymore. It made him look more skilled, too.

Today was another quiet day. He was at the estate, sipping his tea as he tried to distract himself from his dear older brother's death. He had realized that William wouldn't be coming back, so he at least made an effort to cherish the beautiful world his brother had tried to build for him.

Louis couldn't properly focus, so he let out a grunt and placed the book down. Fred and Bonde looked up with confusion on their face, as Louis spoke up. "I don't think he's dead. But where could he be?"