The Man With The Umbrella

- 42 -

The weather clearly fits the actions of today, Amelia thought loudly to herself as she gazed outside the window to the rain pelting it down outside.

Agent Harrison and Agent Michelson were the two people who guarded her door during the midst of her time spent in the hospital and it was odd to hear from Anthea that they simply died as soon as they were transferred to do a bigger mission.

Apparently they were shot both in the back of the head so there was no one to question anything more on the matter.

Amelia Watson still found the news to be a little upsetting, however. Harrison and Michelson, from what she saw of them in the last few days, did not seem to be themselves. It wasn't fully noticeable to the Doctors and Nurses who past by them but it was noticeable to her.

She couldn't help but think that there was more to the deaths of her loyal guards other than the fact that they were shot!

The rain that was storming outside also matched Amelia's mood completely. It vaguely reminded her of that particular day where she painted in Mycroft's guest room during her days of grief over her best friend.

Visually her smile faded as she remembered. There was no Jolene in this world.

Sighing a heavy breath, she carefully stood up from the bed, straightening her nightdress out before walking to the ensuites shower to clean herself from her bed ridden state and to be freshly dressed for Mycroft.

The water began to steam from the shower head as it splashed and sprinkled on the woman's skin. Amelia hissed lightly as she raised her arms to comb through her hair. Looking down, she gently fingered her scar harbouring her torso. She had a kidney removed, they had quoted...

Ten minutes later, she shut the shower off and sat on the toilets lid to carefully dry herself before getting changed into the clothes Anthea had delivered to her from Notting Hill.

Hooping a beige jumper over her head and black vest, Amelia stood so she could shimmy into some black jeans and brown knee boots. She placed her hair into a clean, smooth bun, leaving a few baby hairs out for the fun of it before tucking her necklace away safely under her knitted jumper.

Clasping onto her side, she slid her left hand through the handle of her crutch and limped her way out of the bathroom. It was as if she was pivoting side to side as she walked, trying her best not to feel the burn of a stretch on herself. It vaguely reminded her of the time that she waddled heavily pregnant with Viola.

Leaning onto the freshly made bed, she began to open her handbag only for it to fall straight on the floor, spilling a few contents out. "Mother-fucker!" She cussed in aggravation before a polite cough grasped her attention.

Looking up, her face softened somewhat as she peered from his shoes to his suit finally looking to his face. Mycroft bloody Holmes, as cold as ever, stood with a back straight and leathered gloved hands neatly placed atop of his umbrella's handle.

It honestly looked as though the man was dressed for a funeral... At least it isn't my own, she thought aloud to herself again, attempting to break the silence building up within her mind.

As Amelia looked to Mycroft with a softness, Mycroft returned her with a look of nothing. He offered no pitiful look and he didn't offer her any look of softness. In her mind, he was going to be a tough one to crack.

His eyes finally caught onto her bag and contents which had previously fallen. Offering nothing and saying nothing, he took two long strides towards her before kneeling down and placing her notepad, pen and bag back onto the bed beside her.