The Man With The Umbrella

- 9 -

Amelia spent the morning hidden away in her flat with Viola. She was more than aware that blue paint was striped across her forearms, she was beginning to look like a vertically stunted version of an Avatar, in Viola's opinion.

The blue took up the left side of the painting, contrasting of light and dark on the bottom half, creating the effect of glinting cold water that made Amelia's heart beat in furthered anticipation. So far, she was wholly pleased with what she was crafting for him. That, and Mozart blaring in the background that Viola was playing was somewhat lightening her mood.

For a good hour that morning after leaving Mycroft's and just painting, she didn't think of the question mark killer, Jonathan. The name he acquired for his kills made it sound like a knock-off Batman villain. She didn't even wonder about the people, good and bad, which were watching the pair. Her mind was content listening to her daughter's music and her hands were busy painting.

She was quite good at shutting down traumatic events in a unhealthy way. It was something she constantly did in the past when pregnant with Viola and attending Harvard. She did it because at the time, her unborn daughter depended on her and from there it stemmed into how she was now.

A light knocking from her door broke her tranquility and her daughters playing. It was the kind of knock which was unfamiliar to be her landlady, Mrs Holland's. Amelia padded across the hall in her knee-lengthened leggings and a baggy shirt that was mottled with various colours of paints over the days she decided to paint.

It was only when she was halfway through opening the door that she remembered that, well, her daughter's father, the serial killer was stalking her, but by that point, Amelia had already noticed who was on the other side of her battered front door. It was Mycroft.

He considered Amelia with a downturned mouth and a cold gaze, his dark and tall form looked unwelcome in the utter mundaneness of her building's landing. His umbrella hung over one arm and in the other hand, he held familiar bundles of clothing.

He tilted his head to Mozart, Viola had continued to finish to play before deciding to play a different piece from that said artist. Mycroft casted a quick look of the young girl over Amelia's shoulder. Amelia gawped in embarrassment.

"First..." He began, gaze turning back to Amelia's, but not before his blue eyes flickered down her form. Was this some form of payback for myself checking him out at the music hall, months ago? She pondered to think. To her, she looked like a striped zebra. "You leave a dwelling, that I had thought I had iterated enough, was safe. Then, Miss Watson, you return gifts."

"I thought you might of wanted them back?" She ended the statement as a nervous innocent question. Mycroft assessed her, as if she was the stupidest person on earth. She honestly felt stupid in that moment anyways. "Do I seem like the type to either have females stay at my home, who I buy sleep clothes for, or wear myself? Considering these are the two options that would make sense, I would hope your answer to both would be no, Miss Watson."

Before she could utter a reply, she heard a door open and close on the floor above. She ushered Mycroft in with a roll of her eyes and a yank of his arm whilst considering the thought that Mycroft was allowing herself to know something about him. He didn't have females around at all. "Just come in, Mister Holmes."

She didn't allow the minor thought of talking to Mycroft in that way because if Amelia truly considered him, in his handsome, tall and powerful glory, she may of been in the verge of a complete mental breakdown then and there.

He stepped through the threshold of the flat, shoes clicking and with a back straight. Amelia closed the door behind him, her own frame made her shorter against his due to her lack of heeled shoes.