The Man With The Umbrella

- 41 -

Waking up from a blissful sleep to a daunting reality was something in which Amelia could not grow accustomed to...

Once she pressed her emergency button; only for Nurses to trample through the room, Amelia was in a daze. A daze from being induced on morphine and in a daze of what commences next.

She half-expected to see Mycroft sitting beside her bed at some point when she woke up on numeral occasions but amiss he was not there. She did however, have a moment in her light sleep; when her morphine drip was on the lowest currency, feeling as though he was there. The word she faintly remembered was, why? If she wasn't mistaken.

She also expected Mycroft to scold the woman for her bodily actions, but again, he was no where to be seen or heard from.

Sighing out unhappily, she sat up slightly to gaze around the room she was in for god knows how long. Amelia could tell that it was a high-end suite room but whether this room belonged to St Bartholomew's hospital or not, she was unsure and rather weary about.

Cards, was the first thing that stood out to the Watson woman. Cards upon cards from family members to friends to even working acquaintances. From what Amelia counted, there was about thirty decretive cards dotted along the window-sill and tables.

The next thing that appeared odd to Amelia was the fact that she wasn't in a hospital gown. She was in her night-dress that was usually hung on her wardrobes door at Mycroft's. Although she appreciated comfort over anything more during this moment in time, she still found it to be odd.

Someone's obviously had to see me naked! She thought loudly to herself.

The fact that she awoke properly this time to see no one else in the room with her, was sickening and depressing. Out of everyone she could ever want, she expected Mycroft to be beside her. She would honestly welcome himself belittling her now over this dreary silence she was cloaked in.

Half an hour ticked by slowly in which Amelia resulted into watching some crappy television show about selling things in warehouses before someone knocked gently on her door.

It was disappointing to discover that it was not Mycroft. "Not the Holmes brother I was expecting, Sherlock." She smiled out before hissing lightly and holding her side. "Sorry to disappoint, Amelia." Sherlock answered to say as a greeting before walking in and taking his Belastaff off. "Nah, you're alright. Suppose it's better to have you visit before I'm thrown to the dragon himself." She commented, holding her arms out to hug Sherlock comfortably.

She mildly hummed in gracefulness before he then moved away to vacate the blue plastic chair beside her. "How are you feeling?" He asked quietly, unbuttoning his blazer and crossing one foot over his knee. "Could be worse. I could be dead." She giggled before widening her eyes and muttering a haste, "Sorry."

Sherlock considered Amelia with a curious brow before pouring her a glass of water and pushing it towards her. "You know, I don't seem to understand you. I get to the point where I'm believed to comprehend you but then you suddenly add another personality quirk in that confuses me further." He converted to her.

Amelia pretended to think that statement over whilst drinking her glass of water before placing it back on the table and wringing her hands together in a tight clasp. "I'm rather good at surprising people, you should ask your mother about that, I'm sure she has a list whereas my own mother probably has a file."

"Why, Amelia? Why on earth would you be so willing to give up your own life just for me?" Sherlock questioned out slow and steady with eyes unwavering. Amelia was alarmed at the similar gaze he held with her just as his brother usually did.