Sorry for the wait! I was super busy this week with school but I should have a few chapters posted this weekend. Please review! Hope you enjoy:)
Isla woke later, laid out on a couch in a dimly lit room she recognized as her sitting room. The furniture remained the same though she was surrounded by boxes. They reminded her of when she was small, the pirate fantasies she and Sherlock had played at.
She sat up, everything aching. Memories of Mycroft's words flooded back to her. Alfie dead. Alfie had killed himself, because of her. They were going to get married, she had found the ring in his sock drawer, seen it in his face when he looked at her. But he had been waiting, she knew, until after they had graduated. Three months away, now everything was gone.
She stared at her brothers, feeling dead inside. They stared back, surveying her with mixed looks. It was she who finally broke the silence.
"So I'm dead then? You had the funeral and everything?"
This seemed the last thing either of them expected. Their faces, however, told her exactly what she needed to know. She stood, ignoring the pain shooting through her body at the sudden movement and crossed to the door. "Then I'm going out," she called over her shoulder, her voice hollow.