The Man With The Umbrella

- 64 -

"I need to speak to Mycroft."

In London, Sir Edwin, now sporting a full beard, is in the back seat of a car. "He's in hospital. There was an explosion."

"Put me through to the hospital." The Governor persisted. "He's not conscious. He's severely injured. No one is even confident he's going to pull through."

"Where's his brother? Where's Sherlock Holmes?"

"Missing."

"No, he's not. He's here." The Governor terminated the call and tucked his phone into the inside breast pocket of his jacket as he walks over to the technician, who points at live footage from the beach on one of the screens. "Sir, we found two more from the boat."

The Governor looked at the screen. John, who is being filmed by a body camera attached to the jacket of one of the guards, is standing with his hands raised while guards aim their rifles at him. Beside him, also with his hands raised, is an elderly man wearing oilskin overalls. He has a large white bushy beard and matching eyebrows and a woolly hat. "He stole our boat! Him an' another fella, with guns!"

"Where'd you find them?"

"North side of the island, sir." The guard responds in a northern Irish accent. The Governor peers at the shaky footage, then smiles. "Holding cell, now."

"Right, sir."

John and the fisherman are ushered away as the automated announcement pitches in again. "Lockdown in progress."

***

Antarctica, code triage.

A day previous, the Monday, Amelia trusted Emily by herself in Eaton square's studio apartment. Decked in a blue suit with a mans shirt covering her pregnant torso instead of a usual woman's regular, she left in the later evening of Monday noon, accompanied by Anthea driving to St Bartholomew's hospital.

She was worried underneath the calculated face she was presenting, she was worried for her husband.

Having an automatic text message sent to her phone from a government burner phone, Amelia's next few minutes was spent in a blur as she got ready, got Emily comfortable for the next few hours and travel before finding herself strutting through the hospital with an umbrella swooshing an two personal assistants standing either side of her as she walked; Merlin and Anthea.

"Where is my husband?" Amelia spoke in a tone which was demanding and spitting cold. "Just through here, Misses Holmes." Anthea guided as she tiptoed forward to guide them all to Mycroft's private room.

Walking a few paces, Anthea opened the hospital door and stood on guard with Merlin as Amelia walked through the threshold to soften her stance and creep forward quietly.

She considered to hold his hand but decided against it as she judged his notes of his injury. It seemed as though that he only just got caught in the whirlwind of Baker Streets explosion and to make any sudden movements may wake him from his cycled seldom sleep.

She braced her hands on each side of her chair as she squatted down to sit, trying to be as quiet as possible. Engulfing down her heavy breath, she sat back into her chair with her dominant hand lazily stroking over her stomach as she gazed to her husband fondly.

She frowned a little as she noticed the difference in Mycroft lying on the bed. She noticed everything and she didn't like what she saw. She noticed extra wrinkles in his fine wine aged face, she noticed flecks of light grey hair mixed with his dark ginger and black hair.

All in all, Mycroft Holmes was looking his age but Amelia still gazed across to him with a dreamy expression painting her eyes. If she stared any harder she'd probably allow a heavenly sigh to escape her lips which would then in turn wake him up.