Something is piercing his brain just above his right temple Mycroft figures. His fingers rotate and press on the area but it does little to alleviate the pain. He knew he shouldn't have had that third cup of tea and now his brain was dealing with the rush of caffeine.

Grumbling from his stomach reminds him that he hasn't taken a break for lunch and since the clock reads just after six it probably is best to assume he won't make it home in time to catch Gregory for dinner. The whole situation within MI6 was probably to blame for the headache.

Over the years he had had always strived to devote as much time to his youngest brother as to Sherlock. It had become clear when Sherlock was a teen that he would need the attention a thousand times more than young Alexander.

Years had estranged them all and now to find out that some lunatic was hunting him set Mycroft into full defense mode. He had half a mind to pull Alexander in and require some sort of round the clock security.

However if he knew anything about either of his brothers then he knew with certainty that it wouldn't work. Sherlock would burn down the safe house and Alexander would simply hack through any potential security. There would be more of a struggle keeping the security in place than keeping him secure.

Digging his fingers into the spot of pain, Mycroft tried to breathe through the anxiety. He could keep it together for a little longer. MI6 wasn't completely deficient and Andrew Wells was bound to make a mistake soon. James Bond seemed able to keep his brother safe for the time being.

Mycroft flipped open his file on double-o seven and tried to review it again, two fingers still pressed into his temple.

The phone rings, cutting off his reading and he snatches it up.

"Mycroft Holmes," he snaps. He would apologize only to the PM for his tone and he doubted she was calling this late in the evening.

The person on the end is his one main contact within MI6. She speaks for a moment and utters the one phrase that Mycroft had been treading. He stands and then promptly sits back down, as his knees won't support him.

She stops and he can only mutter out a "No, dear lord," in response.

Blood coats his fingers in the most disconcerting way and, even as he watches the ambulance rush off, Luca inside, Bond can't help but feeling that he's lost two more people that night.

Lights flash white and blue in the surprisingly few cars now parked around the street. He turns from the street and goes back inside. There are few people inside, most pulling bullets from walls or upstairs looking at the window they broke in through.

Tanner has his laptop on a cleared portion of the kitchen island, typing away frantically amidst broke ceramics and destroyed fruit. His shirt, the same one as days prior is now wrinkled beyond salvation, his jacket gone, seemingly professionalism damned.

In the middle of the living room, staring mournfully at the blood stain on the carpet is M, suit crisp and clean a day prior, now also showing signs of abuse. The sleeves of his jacket deeply creased, and waistcoat looking stretched in the way clothes get when they've been slept in.

"They used a rock," Eve says, coming down the steps toward Bond. "It probably caught Q by surprise and he ran from the room. They entered through the front door, shooting Caldwell and grabbing Q. You interrupted probably only a few seconds after they had gotten hands on him."

Bond looks at her, nods and heads for his wet bar, noting with some sadness when he approaches that they had shot and destroyed his scotch decanter. "Bastards," he mutters under his breath.

"I'm sorry, Bond," M says., and for a moment 007 thinks he's talking about the scotch, then he glances over and sees the look M is giving him.

"I should have realized that this could have happened," M continues, and shakes his head, eyes going back to the blood stain that probably isn't going to come out of the rug.

"What is our next move?" Bond asks, knowing he could get lost in 'should have's and 'what if's if he started down that path.

"Q-branch is looking into the mobiles of the dead attackers, trying to match anything to a physical location that we can raid," Tanner says, reporting even though no one had been speaking directly to him.

"How long will that take?" M asks.

"The night easily. We are going back and triangulating several dozen calls," Tanner replies, both explaining why the delay and not mentioning that the person who would be best suited for this task is now missing.

"Q-branch should be mostly up and running, transfer what you have and get back there to supervise. I'm putting you in charge until we get this mess sorted. Recall double-ohs nine and three. I want them both to meet me there for assignments," M straightens looking at the other agents. "This is our only priority right now. The rest of the world can burn for all I bloody care. Everyone reports in to me for new assignments. Hand things off to other agencies or bury them. I want only sections two and four working on the other items the rest of you, this is your case."