Wow, okay. Here we go again, being a nice friend who writes stuff for another friend one more time. This one's for Nat, I told her I got sort of inspired the minute I started listening to ADELE's new song, "Skyfall" and voilà, here have some Spy!Johnlock. Thanks, as usual, to Julia, my beta and soulmate who's taken the time to help me on this new project!

...I must add something about this fic's rating, since it'll be T for a while... but then it will simply not. My friend requested smut to be on it so yep. Wish me luck, readers, and enjoy this first chapter! I hope you guys like it.

- Mel.


"Mr. Holmes, the boss needs you here in five minutes," the soft voice of a now well-known secretary sounded from the other side of the line, the prologue of his mission boring him deeply. God, why him?

Sherlock Holmes, 22 year old, 1.84 meters tall; his hair was coloured with the most obscure tonality of black you'd find in this side of the country and those captivating baby eyes, filled with a charming blue, as if they were infinitely haunted by the sea. Just a child, his brother used to say, but as the days had passed, since he entered the company –or the industry, as he liked to call it– there was no woman who could resist the intriguing look on his face, his serious behaviour, his graceful moves or his detailed profile. Nor his deep baritone voice, his source to charm women everywhere he went. Sadly, it wasn't his intention to provoke women in such way. He was just doing his job.

"Thank you, Anthea. I'm on my way. Tell him not to wait for me so he can start with his meal," he said in a brief response, buttoning his shirt and adjusting his striped tie to his collar.

As the youngest member of the fallen Holmes clan, after the success of his brother in this top secret company and the early encounter of his mother to a slow and painful death, he had decided to follow him in a way to get a grip on his life and start evolving intellectually. He always repeated to himself the same words, "You were so young, Sherlock Holmes. You couldn't be more stupid. You're now more dependent than ever," every single time he had to complete– as he called them– stupid and dull missions so he could live decently and do what he wanted the most.
The idea has started with being a spy. Not to defend the country, but to gain the knowledge he needed to get out of this stage that happened to be truly indecent. For God's sake, he should've known better. Now he was being stalked by his older brother and he always knew where to find him. It didn't matter how important it was for Sherlock to spend some time on his own to advance on his so-called brain work; he'd call him any minute to tell him what he needed… and it looked like he always needed him! There were lots of other agents in there, but it had to be him. He was sure he'd never get to understand that – helping on a new mission. He was glad he never used hope as a way to see things from another angle, or he'd be completely screwed by now. Screwed and disappointed.
He was sure he'd be more pleased with the idea if it wasn't for the fact that there were always two agents by his side on every mission. It was almost impossible to concentrate with the pair of idiots beside him, who seemed to focus only on each other's bums and follow each other's essences. Anderson, an idiot with some camel complex, judging by his face and his numb movements and his scientifically proved empty brain, and the so irritating Sally Donovan, someone who happened to be the worse of the two, constantly doubting Sherlock's abilities and deductions. He was patiently waiting for Mycroft to understand that he didn't need anyone anymore to complete whatever he had put on his little brother's agenda.

Sherlock entered the hall of the old building, walking with relaxed arms moving at his sides and an always analytical stare, looking from left to right, from the most obvious thing to the most insignificant –but always important– details in the room, like the number of loose floorboards beneath his feet or the level of symmetry in the room. No one before him had noticed the simple but useful facts of this secret company. His phone began to ring, the melody drowning in the silence of the isolated hallway.

"I need you to go to room 221, dear brother," he heard Mycroft say with that sticky tone of voiced he used to talk with when there was some big news coming for the Holmes brothers. It almost never happened, so Sherlock's pace accelerated and in a minute he was entering said room. There were two cups of tea on a little rounded table, two seats available. His brother appeared from nowhere, as he always did. He had managed to learn how from his old boss or something; he seriously was a pain in the ass. He was even worse than agents Anderson and Donovan together.

"What did you call me for, Mycroft? It must be important," Sherlock mused, half-closing his eyes in disbelief. "It must be a new mission… or perhaps I've got some new agents by my side?"

"Both. You're right, as usual, Sherlock," Mycroft said in response, one of his fakest smiles appearing at the corner of his lips once more. This was the smile Sherlock was used to receiving every time he knew he wouldn't have a second to protest. "You're going to Meiringen, Switzerland. I have the perfect mission for you."

"Did you change my actual companions for someone worse? Because I'm not buying this," Sherlock whispered as he sat on the chair next to the window. "I won't be going anywhere, if I have to go with Anderson and–"

"No. You're going alone. You're packing your things today and you'll start working tomorrow," Mycroft cut him off, rolling his eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to inform you about the person we're going to investigate."

"It's a man, a middle-aged man. Gregory Lestrade, but his friends usually call him Greg or by his last name. I need you to get to know him, to be friends with him. I know how bad you are with friendships, but this is part of the job. He's not alone, though. He's got his personal friend and army doctor by his side, Dr. Watson, known as John by most of his friends," Mycroft said as he handed Sherlock a picture of the two people described. "You must know by now that you might need to take some precautions when joining them… forming a bond. You'll have to be careful, because it is rumoured that Dr. Watson," he put a finger on the short blonde man, showing Sherlock, "is one of the most loyal and outstanding agents of Lestrade's, so you must start working with him first. You may have some new data by tomorrow night. You're very clever, dear brother, and I need you to use your brain well. We've got an extremely dangerous situation between our companies, as Mr. Lestrade has been doing some illegal deals and we must put a stop to it now. The rights we own are an important part of the British secret agency."

"So that's it?" Sherlock asked, taking the last sip of his tea and leaving everything in the same place as he found it, stifling a laugh. "What kind of illegalities are we talking about, Mycroft?"

"Isn't that enough for you?" Mycroft asked, his lips forming into a thin, straight line. "So you're not confirming, then?"

"It's never enough, Mycroft. But I'm doing it." Sherlock grinned at the photograph in his hands before putting it in one of his jacket pockets and preparing himself to leave.

"It's a computer key code. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"Laters!"

All Mycroft was able to do in that moment was compare how entertained Sherlock looked to his reaction to the Irene Adler mission. He hadn't seen his brother so eager to do something for him since.

And Sherlock had to recognize this wasn't another ordinary mission. There was something about it that seemed interesting even before his involvement.