A few moments ago my life was perfectly peaceful:

I was enjoying a nice cup of tea on a nice sunny morning. It wasn't too hot yet it wasn't too cold, and a slight breeze blew across the skies. I lay in bed. Calm, content. My hands were resting in a praying position just beneath my chin. I was thinking. I thought quite often. About many different things. Like why my windows open outwards rather than inwards. Why the sky is blue and not purple or orange or pink.

I sighed and reached over to my bedside table. Picking up my phone I clicked on the 'news' app. That was when it began. That awful, wrenching feeling in your gut that makes you want to threw up in fear. The headline on page one was unmissable. My jaw dropped in horror and I lay there, waiting. I don't know what I was really waiting for. Reassurance, perhaps? Someone to pinch me and tell me that it was 'all just a dream'.

Well, that never happened. As much as I wished it would. Because my life had just been changed on that one eventful morning. That was it.

That was the day that my brother, Sherlock Holmes, died.

—

The next day.

When I woke up the first thing that hit me was a wave of immense anger and pain. It startled me, but I brushed it aside. I mean, what did it matter? What did life matter? What was the point of it all? Of course mum and dad would know. And Mycroft.

I didn't feel the cold strike my bare feet as the slapped against the tiles.

I didn't feel the warmth of the water over my body as I showered.

I didn't feel the softness of my favourite jumper.

I was having breakfast when the doorbell rung, but still I sluggishly stumbled my way over. I opened the doorway, the blaring noise of a helicopter burning my eardrums. In the doorway stood Mycroft.

No sounds were uttered, no words were spoken, but that didn't matter. Mycroft simply opened his arms and into them I fell, sobbing drastically into his shoulder. But he didn't mind. He just held me close to him and tightly, rubbing my back.

—

I sat in a chair in Mycroft's office, staring into space.

"How are you feeling, Winter?"

I looked at him, my face blank. "How do you think?"

"I won't know unless you tell me, sister of mine."

"SHERLOCK'S DEAD!" I shout. Through the doorway I glimpse I few astonished expressions. Mycrfot sighs and quickly shuts the door.

"Sherlock's dead." I whisper. "My brother, my best friend is dead and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't… I don't know what I am without him. He was always there for me and I never even got the chance to tell him and…how are you not overwhelmed with emotions, Myc?"

"All hearts are broken, Winter. Caring is not an advantage."

"I can't help it!" I exclaim, suddenly furious.

"You need to calm down. What would Sherlock think if her saw you like this, hey?"

"You're right." I reply glumly.

—

So that's all for my very first chapter! What do you think? Do you guys like it?

PLEASE REVIEW! Should I keep going?

Imogen xxxxxx