A/N: Hello hello! A couple quick notes before we begin. (1) This story is dedicated to the indescribable Angie (Red On Pointe). I've borrowed some of her words here in her spot on portrayal of Mycroft Holmes in the rp forum The Convergence (which I can't link but it's on my profile). She's fantastic and amazing and I could sing her praises for a long while. (2) This said rp forum gave us the idea for this ship, which is probably one no one else has ever thought about, but it does work, I promise. (3) All that being said, I hope you enjoy the story, feedback is appreciated.

A/N2: Oh! And do remember to watch the date at the top of each chapter for the timeline. That's all.

Of Angels and Umbrellas by Gracie Holmes

7 June 2013, Eleven Seventeen PM.

"I don't think she's coming, sir." A woman, who'd chosen and kept the name Anthea, stood in the doorway of a sitting room at a large estate home. The dedicated PA had her usual phone in hand, but was studying her boss seated in his chair. "You did say today was the last day of the search." A pause. "I'm sorry."

Mycroft Holmes, owner of said estate, did not give an immediate verbal response. His hands were folded in his lap and he turned his head slightly to meet Anthea's eyes, noting and then dismissing the slight concern in them. He cleared his throat. "Thank you. You may go home now." Pause. "Please cancel or reschedule my appointments for tomorrow."

"I will, sir." Anthea turned to leave, but paused. "Sherlock sent an email. Said he's in America, Chicago specifically. He needed a flight to Los Angeles in the morning. I took care of it already."

"Thank you, again." Mycroft said impassively, this thoughts briefly straying to his little brother still working on dismantling Moriarty's vast network. He was so close to being done, being out of danger. Their mother had been asking questions again.

"Good night, sir." Anthea gave him one more look and then left the room, bound for home.

Mycroft sat in still silence. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing, effectively tuning out the silent world around him, just lost in thought. She never missed their appointments, after almost nine years she had never missed. Last month she'd mentioned they were having difficulties with one of her brothers. That something was bound to happen, and not for the better. She'd been stressed, worried, scared. The conversation was fresh in his mind and her voice echoed in his head.

"I don't know what to do." She said. "There's too much at stake. The other don't know," pause, "but I am scared. Mycroft, I am absolutely terrified he's going to do something. I can almost feel it."

"Is there anything else you can do? Preparations to make?" He said, reaching across the short distance between them to take her hand, holding it tightly. "I'm here, whatever happens."

"I know. Thank you."

And then several weeks ago there had been reports of lights falling from the sky, mostly over America, but it had happened all over the world as well. Unexplainable lights, they'd called it a 'Global Meteor Shower'. Quite the uproar with very little explanation. Least to everyone else.

But apparently the explanation was exactly something he feared it might be. Something had happened to the Heaven he barely believed in, and only after she'd brought it to light in his life. He had held onto a hope that she'd escaped, that she'd survived and would turn up as was the monthly ritual. And he had no way of contacting her aside from a prayer.

A prayer that left him with no answer. Nothing but silence.

Taking a deep calming breath, Mycroft shifted slightly in his chair, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Simply to prevent staring at the empty chair in front of him.

His mind would not silence, and their was a tightness in his chest, a catch in his throat. Sentiment getting the better of him, as uncomfortable as it was, he could not stop it. He could not compartmentalize. Her absence and the compounding evidence lead him to the likeliest conclusion.

His angel was dead.