The Man With The Umbrella

- 26 -

True to his word, there were pyjamas tucked away in the spare room; the one where Amelia once stayed in many times.

She noticed the window she once spent hours painting by and she ignored the tightness of grief within the memory of her chest.

The spare room held the certainty of emptiness and an echo that dwelled upon memories that Amelia hated to remember; of frantic thoughts and mind-numbing panic.

She sleepily changed into her pyjamas, stumbling slightly as she pulled the bottoms up...

With trepidation, she pushed open the door to the room she never entered before. Mycroft's room.

His room was, in some ways, sad but at the same time, it was perfect. It was very much like the rest of his home, dark walls and wholesome, rich colours. The bed was large, possibly queen-sized, in which Amelia found herself huffing a laugh at.

She had a sneaky feeling that the second door inside the room was to a walk-in wardrobe. In her mind, a man couldn't have too many suits, ties or umbrellas for that matter in extent.

On the desk tucked away in the corner of the room was a picture of two boys. One in a pirate hat holding a tattered teddy and the other in wellies and cuddlier than the other. It was of the two brothers and Amelia found them both adorable.

It wasn't like she was going to tell Mycroft that though. From the picture, he looked like a child who was always wondering where his hug were at and now he was a man with an attitude of 'Bitch, do not touch me.'

Again, Amelia found herself slightly giggling away at her thoughts.

She found it sad how that picture was the only thing in the most personal room in the house being something what truly belonged to him. The rest of the objects and furniture in the room were things that were meant to even the room out. They were picked to match the décor of the four walls.

Amelia found herself wandering forward, feet pressing into the lush carpet. As she walked further into the bedroom she found herself in awe of staring at the painting in front of her. It was her painting. Her painting was in the most intimate place within his home.

In his heart.

The blues and the reds in the painting collided like worlds unknown. She stared at it for the living, breathing moment and began to realise what the meaning, unknown to her, meant all that time ago.

She remembered how Jolene had showcased a few of her paintings within her home. Her chest pained at the thought of wondering where they were now.

Amelia wondered if Mycroft looked at the painting when he awoke in his mornings, and last thing he looked at, at night.

***

Amelia fell asleep once her head hit the pillow. She realised this later because she sleepily became aware when she found herself being pressed closely to a wanted warmth which she knew to be Mycroft. She hummed pleasantly as he wrapped arms around her which resulted into manoeuvring the pair to his side.

In her sleep ridden state, she didn't panic or freeze or blush the deepest of reds. Instead she found herself snuggling further into the essence of him and hitching her leg over his hip naturally.

Amelia Watson allowed Mycroft Holmes to be the man that he could only be with her, in the dark.

***

Mycroft woke up a few hours later, still early in the morning and made his side of the bed. He hesitated slightly as he stood between his bedroom and the hallway, freshly dressed and briefcase in hand, before shaking his head and stalking back into his room to press a gentle kiss to the hairline of in his eyes, his sleeping beauty.