The Man With The Umbrella

- 17 -

Amelia woke up the following day with a dying need to watch something, anything. Changing into something more comfortable, she slid out of the confines of her bed and pulled her laptop out of her suitcase. She felt lethargic and lazy in a way in which she welcomed.

She settled on a film which was already downloaded off Netflix, Jaws. She didn't know why a rabid animal would soothe her nerves but she didn't bother to question it. She curled herself around the laptop and fell in and out of sleep watching the eighties film.

She thought vaguely whilst she dozed about the news, about Jolene. Her death had moved down to the bottom of newspapers, overtaken by political scandals. One article stood out, it was about Sherlock Holmes. A group of believers reached out into the article, stating how he was still alive, a year down the line.

She had to smile.

Amelia messaged her mum, stating how she had a few days off work. Her mouth twitched with the lie and guilt. She then messaged her father to make sure he looks after himself and her mother, and that she would be posting the letter for Jolene's family soon. Her parents home was only an hours drive away from Jolene's funnily enough.

Amelia would call this day a good one, so far. She didn't cry nor did she panic. She was quiet; she felt at peace with what she was doing. After Jaws had ended, which she barely watched, she decided to do some decent things.

It seemed to be the right thing to do.

The wardrobe beside her smelt both old and new whilst her phone played Céline Dion in the background. She reorganised the wardrobe because she was bored before pushing her suitcase underneath the bed.

Breathing in, she opened the curtains to allow light into the room. She no longer felt as though that she needed to tiptoe around the house because she was hiding.

Amelia cleaned her bathrooms sink and reorganised her deodorants and washed her face before having a shower and then sitting her body washes, shampoos and conditioners neatly in a row. She was a firm believer of if one has a clean room one would have a clean mind.

She pulled her dampened hair into a high-bun, changed into some black jeans and a blue blouse before matching it off with her worn but comfortable white trainers. She tucked her phone into her back pocket, threw her shoulder bag over herself and slipped on a necklace.

Viola had left for school, so she didn't have to worry as much.

It took a few minutes for Amelia to find a pen and some paper, she spent a good few seconds simply standing outside doors towards the further end of the house. She assumed those doors were to his bedroom and his office. He seemed the type of man to have an office.

It was when she stood there, chewing her lip that she recounted the previous night. She had yawned so loudly, still dopey from her nap that he backhandedly told her to go bed.

Amelia thought about how Mycroft would of spent his morning. She thought of him changing, for just a split second, from his sleep clothes into one of his three-piece suits. Fingers doing up his buttons, straightening his tie, fitting his jacket over his broad shoulders...

Amelia positively marched downstairs with cheeks flushed from embarrassment. It felt... Different to think of Mycroft Holmes like that. He certainly wasn't the kind of boys that Amelia knew of from her youth, with there kisses and touches stolen. Amelia never really had an interest in relationships in that sense of way but she still thought to herself how she had to tread carefully with her fantasies of Mycroft Holmes...

He was... Rare.

***

Sitting at the table in the dining room, Amelia begun to write a letter. It was brief and heartfelt. She used the use of Jolene's parents first names, her condolences, and left her phone number at the bottom should they ever need anything.