The Man With The Umbrella

- 18 -

Amelia would always remember that moment for that day. She liked to refer to it as the final part of the beginning.

As the pair walked out of the Diogenes Club, rain began to beat down heavy. Mycroft opened his umbrella and casted it high over both heads.

Amelia didn't realise that, that day would be the last time she would see Mycroft for the next several months.

She huddled close to Mycroft under the umbrella. She was careful not to invade his space, and she overwhelmed herself by the intoxicating smell of him. She nearly face-planted the pavement with awe when his usual sleek car came around the corner and Mycroft stepped forward to open the car door for her.

She was beginning to see him for him.

"Thank you." She breathed out, from what she was hoping, calmly. As Mycroft walked around to sit in the car with his dampened umbrella between them, Amelia thought of the first time she was in that car. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and she supposed that it was.

She placed her shoulder bag on her lap and her shopping bag between her legs as the car began to move, she presumed that he had already given the driver directions.

She looked out of the window to the people of London, still bustling around despite the weather. "I'm going to begin painting again, sir. I don't want you to think -"

"Whatever you're about to say..." He interrupted, not bothering to glance Amelia's way. "Is likely not what I am thinking at all. I have confidence in the fact that you will finish what you have begun and gain a joy out of it once more." He spoke before remotely pausing.

Neither looked to the other. "I would also ask that you call me Mycroft." Amelia snapped her head to his direction with a small smile lingering. Mycroft considered her with a levelled gaze. "You are no longer under employment and not have been for quite sometime."

Amelia became slightly embarrassed by the constant flush of her cheeks that he seemed to possess over her. To her, that day, she saw him out of his character. He showed characteristics that she'd never believed for him to possess. "Then it would be obligatory for you to call me Amelia, I suppose." She humoured him. The corner of his mouth twitched before flattening once again. "As you wish."

Amelia looked out the window once more, thinking so foolishly of the film, The Princess Bride. Her hands were clasped tightly between her knees. She thought of this moment as a chance. A chance to approach Mycroft with intimate questions. "Your favourite piece of music is Requiem in D minor, K. Six-two-six." She began but felt a spring of idiocy as she did so.

Mycroft's brow curved in almost a mocking manner. "And I saw, on your bookshelf, that The Brothers Karamazov has more creases in the spine than your other books. Does that mean it's one of your favourites?" Mycroft gazed to her a little unsettled. She smiled self-consciously. "Mycroft, don't be alarmed I am attempting, pathetically at this point, to get to know you."

"I see." He didn't show care to hide his grimace and Amelia tried hard to control herself. "It is, yes." Amelia nodded and left it to him on whether to abbreviate on that statement or not. "I find myself also enjoying the read of The Silmarillion as well, something my brother would mock me for."

Amelia smiled in achievement, knowingly. "I was scandalised to see that you've read it, never judged you as a person to read fiction." She answered. He tilted his head in agreement. "I've never read it, but it wouldn't hurt to try." She furthered on. "Then you may borrow the book if you wish."

She looked to Mycroft with widened eyes. "Thank you." She spoke after a moment. He rose a brow again, something in which she understood but in her defence, she had nothing else to say other than to express her appreciation. "Why do you trust me?"