I don't own Sherlock... or James Bond. I don't even own the idea of mixing these two fandoms, seeing how I'm not the first to do it.
You don't need to have watched or read anything about James Bond to understand this. Though, if you're interested, I'm basing the characters on a mix of the ones incarnated during the movies of Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig. Still, I never actually going into any 'official' events, so I'm not sure how much of a crossover this is in the end.
Again, great thanks to Ariana DeVere for her gift that is the transcripts of Sherlock.
I have no beta, and am not British, please forgive any mistakes.
P.S. The scenes in italics are flashbacks, just so you know...
License to Kill
"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." SH
"Friends protect people." JW
Three men ranging in ages from late twenties to early thirties, the shortest 5' 6'', while the tallest was 6' exactly, one dark-haired, and two blondes; and that was all that could be seen from them, as they were all wearing dark nondescript clothes, and thick soled boots. They were silently walking through the shadowed streets of the small city in southern Turkey, on their way to a mission, being careful to keep out of sight of any possible passerby. They mostly kept silent, until the shortest, dark-blonde and gray eyed, began talking.
"Anyone find it odd that they sent all three of us, on the same mission?" He asked softly straight into the hidden mike on the collar of his shirt.
"A double O is missing, and even with that this is still a high priority mission." The taller blonde (green eyed) answered, speaking just as quietly. "Since they either have no double O's free to send on this mission or they do not wish to endanger another elite... it is only to be expected that they would send several lower ranked Intelligence Officers..."
"It doesn't explain why exactly the three of us." The shortest man insisted. "Granted, we work well enough as a team, but still..."
"We're being tested." The dark-haired blue-gray eyed agent stated. "That's why we're all here. We're being tested for 00 status."
"Did you break into M's files again J...?" The green-eyed asked seriously.
"Of course not." The tallest man replied with a belying half smirk. "Not my fault she didn't put the file away when I entered her office right before we were sent off..."
"You're just lucky you're her favorite." The gray eyed agent declared.
The other blonde snorted but didn't say anything, there was no time, as right then they reached a five-story tall apartment building, the last known location of their missing 00 Agent; the time for chatting and joking was over, there was a mission to fulfill.
xXx
Three men were standing, tense, in the patio of the property known as Appledore, and owned by media magnate (and sociopathic blackmailer) Charles Augustus Magnussen. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had gone there that night, on Christmas of all days, with a ruse, offering the man government secrets in Mycroft Holmes's personal computer, in exchange of whatever he might have on Mary Watson's (or whatever the initials AGRA stood for) past. It had been an absolute failure, there was no evidence, no vaults, the man relied entirely on his eidetic memory and the fact that he owned a media empire to get away with things. The only saving grace was that the computer they'd taken had been 'fixed' so Magnussen would find nothing but dummy files in it (at least they weren't traitors). Still, they had no way of taking down Magnussen and already a man had died due to the cruel blackmails of the bastard; as Lady Smallwood's husband had committed suicide just the day before, after certain information connected to him had been made public (of course, in Magnussen's own paper).
They were running out of time, police had arrived, possibly MI5 as well, judging by the military-grade helicopter hovering a few yards away, spotlight pointed straight at them. Sherlock and John had already heard Mycroft's voice coming from its speakers, ordering both of them to back away from Magnussen. But how could they give up? How could they surrender with everything all of them, not just Mary, stood to lose? How could they allow a monster like Charles Augustus Magnussen to win...? They couldn't.
"Here we go, Mr Holmes!" Magnussen called loudly, glee evident in his tone.
"To clarify: Appledore's vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there." Sherlock called to him in an almost detached tone.
"They're not real." Magnussen declared, satisfaction reflected clearly in every inch of his stance, his expression. "They never have been."
Sherlock nodded to himself, though even then John's eyes remained fixed on him, the doctor knew the detective well enough to tell his friend was planning something, a last resource... a desperate measure... Magnussen had forgotten one of the key points of war, as stated by Sun Tzu in his Art of War: 'Do not press a desperate foe too hard...'
"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Step away." They could all hear Mycroft's voice again.
"It's fine!" Magnussen called in the direction of the helicopter, completely disregarding the two men by him as threats. "They're harmless!"
The police took position, weapons at the ready even as they reported on the fact that all three men in the patio appeared to be unarmed. John couldn't help but take it all in, his mind unconsciously working out their odds if things went badly... they weren't good.
"Sherlock, what do we do?" He asked his best friend, just loud enough to be heard.
However, it wasn't Sherlock who answered him.
"Nothing!" Magnussen looked down on them, a superior smirk on his face. "There's nothing to be done!" He actually laughed at that point. "Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!"
John turned away from him, choosing to look in the direction of the helicopter instead, despite the fact that lights were so bright it was harder for him to keep both eyes opened. He was so focused on not looking at Magnussen he actually missed the look Sherlock was directing at him, completely determined, he was readying himself for something.
"Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes." Magnussen added, still smirking.
"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, stand away from that man." Mycroft voice called once again. "Do it now."
John was so highly strung he noticed Sherlock's hand reaching his jacket before the taller man actually touched him. His reaction was swift and immediate, as he grasped Sherlock's hand with his own, a set of gray eyes (with hints of blue and brown, if one were to look close enough), met a pair of blue-green-gray ones with hints of amber; two storms, so different yet so similar at the same time.
The consulting detective wasn't expecting that, and for a moment all he could do was stare at John, trying to read him, to understand why the former military was stopping him. John, while he might not have been as much of a genius as his friend, needed no time to put it all together and understand what exactly Sherlock had been about to do. He couldn't allow it.
"Not this time Sherlock..." He said quietly, knowing his friend would read his lips, even if he couldn't hear. "I won't let you destroy your life over me a second time..."
Sherlock was left speechless. So John had realized it then... the fact that his jump off that rooftop hadn't been the result of logic, of putting a single life against three in the scale... it had never been about Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade, much as the consulting detective might grudgingly admit to caring for both of them. No, all along the only person he'd thought of had been John.
John let the barest hint of a smile appear on his lips, it might not have been the best moment, or the right words for such a confession... and he knew that even if certain words weren't be said, Sherlock would understand the truth of it all. Still, they were running out of time. He had stopped the detective, but the former captain realized that the only thing that could stop Magnussen, the only way to truly keep his beloved safe (not Mary, she wasn't even a blip in his mind in that moment, it was all about Sherlock)... Magnussen had to die. Still, John wasn't going to let his friend... partner, carry the consequences of murdering such a man, especially under the watching eyes of a dozen or so policemen and several members of MI5 (without counting the 'British Government'). No, John knew perfectly well what the consequences of such an act were bound to be... Sherlock had protected him the last time... now it was his turn.
So, after making an abrupt decision, the former military man was on the move.
"You are a hero Sherlock..." He whispered quietly, straight into the taller man's ear.
Sherlock didn't get the chance to reply, to even think anything at all; suddenly he was falling, John had pushed him, hard enough to put some distance between the two of them. In the next second the blonde was pivoting on one foot, in the same move drawing his gun from the pocket of his coat (the same Sherlock had made a grab for before). Not a single word was said, John Watson simply raised the gun and a quick, smooth motion fired a single shoot. The bullet hit Magnussen straight between the eyes.
xXx
The three members of MI6 slipped into the last room at the top floor of the building, the door was slightly open, lock broken; inside everything seemed to have been tossed around, probably while the enemy looked for something... something they probably had found, judging by the fact they were gone. Also, their missing Agent was right there, on an armchair, slowly bleeding out from a stab-wound in his flank.
The gray-eyed blonde reacted before his companions, making a quick check to make sure there was no ambush, no traps about to be sprung on them, before rushing to the injured agent. He was already pulling medical supplies from various pockets by the time the other two joined them.
"Did they get what they were looking for?" The green-eyed blonde asked the bleeding agent in a very no-nonsense tone.
"No." The older man wheezed out, he was having trouble talking.
"You should talk little." The smaller man stated. "I believe you have a punctured lung. I'm doing my best but if you don't get serious treatment soon, you'll die."
The dark-haired, blue eyed Agent crouched beside the smaller blonde, silently helping by holding things while the other worked. The other blonde stayed on his feet, on the other side of the injured man, face impassive.
"The mission." He reminded them all.
"The package... still at drop-out point..." The older agent stated with great effort, before slowly giving them a set of coordinates.
"We have to get there before the Russians do." The taller blonde stated seriously.
The tallest of the three friends nodded slowly, though the other didn't react, he simply continued working on helping the injured agent.
"You go." He said after what seemed like forever.
"But..." The dark-haired didn't know what to say to that.
"You're an agent, and we have a mission to do." The man still standing insisted.
"I'm an agent, true, but I'm also a doctor, I'm not leaving 006 here to die when I know I can save him." The shortest man stated. "But you're right, there's a mission to finish it. And we all know the two of you can handle things just fine."
"If you stay here you'll lose your chance." The blue eyed man reminded him quietly.
"I know, and that's alright." The doctor nodded with a light shrug. "You'll realize one day that some things are more important than winning a competition, than being a 00... Now go."
The two did not insist, they simply walked to the nearby window and disappeared into the night.
xXx
John sat on what passed for a cot, in a corner of his cell, back against the wall, a small window above him, allowing just a bit of moonlight to slip inside, casting shadows just beyond the doctor and former military's feet. He'd been there for a handful of days, after spending the first night locked up in the basement of the local police station. He imagined the only reason it was taking that long for certain things to happen was that it was the holidays, and while he was sure some people would be working anyway, bureaucracy was such that it would still probably take a few days more, possibly even another week. He just hoped Sherlock was alright, and not doing something stupid...
As if in answer to his prayers, a figure approached the front of the cell right then.
"Good evening Dr. Watson..." Even mostly hidden in shadows and deprived of his usual umbrella (which the shorter man was sure hid a weapon of some kind in the handle), John recognized Mycroft's voice instantly.
"Good evening..." He wisely did not say the eldest Holmes's name; while there didn't seem to be any other prisoners nearby, it was better to be careful, just in case.
"I trust you're well enough." Mycroft stated more than asked.
"As well as can be." John shrugged. "How's he?"
He knew there was no need for Sherlock's name to be said.
"Being more of a pain than usual." The politician stated blankly. "Calling in every single favor anyone in this country owes him in an attempt to get you out."
John shook his head with a sad sigh, even as he couldn't help but feel deeply touched by that revelation. He'd believed Sherlock cared, but hadn't realized so much, hadn't allowed himself to contemplate the possibility of Sherlock caring as much as he (John) did... perhaps if he had things might have been different, perhaps not. In any case, things were what they were, and John did not regret his actions, so that was a moot point.
"I think that even the Queen herself owing him a favor wouldn't be enough in this case." John said with a hint of a smirk.
"Why did you do it John?" Mycroft inquired, and for once he sounded honestly intrigued by the mere idea, almost confused.
"Magnussen had to die." The doctor said calmly. "He kept hurting people, ruining lives, like with the Lady and her husband..." He shook his head. "He wanted you, and he tried to use me... we both know he wouldn't have stopped at that, at us. There are some people in this world that just need to be stop, in any way that's necessary... and some cases were simple stopping isn't an option, it only stops when they die." He let out a long sigh before adding. "And we both know he would have done it if I hadn't. I wasn't about to let him destroy his life over me a second time."
Mycroft actually widened his eyes in surprise at that piece of insight on the doctor's part.
"Please don't look so surprised." John drawled. "Contrary to what both of you seem to believe, I'm not actually stupid."
"No, you're not." The eldest Holmes nodded respectfully. "Tell me one thing Dr., you've asked after him, but never after your wife, why is that?"
"Why don't you deduce it?" The prisoner asked in return with a hint of a dangerous smile.
Mycroft nodded, not actually saying anything before turning around and walking away. Not like John was expecting anything, he obviously knew Mary was gone, probably even knew she'd been taken (because John was quite sure she wouldn't have gotten far), though he wouldn't necessarily be able to connect those things to him. As for why her supposed husband wasn't interested... well, Mycroft was probably versed enough in 'normal people behavior' to know why that was, if not, it wasn't really John's problem in the end. Mary (or AGRA) wasn't his concern at all, not anymore (one might say she'd never bee, because Mary Morstan had never been real).
The appearance of a second shadow before his cell pulled the blonde man out of his thoughts. He didn't raise his head to face the newcomer, he didn't need to, the rhythmic clicks of high heels on the floor had been a dead-giveaway...
"Evening Agent, have to admit I wasn't expecting this visit quite yet." He murmured.
He raised his eyes then, finding a woman with dark-hair and eyes, in a dress and a long coat, as well as heels. She didn't look like one would expect an MI6 Agent to; but then again, John knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving.
"I am Agent Moneypenny." She stated in a very formal tone. "M sent me. It's time we talk about your future... former-Agent Watson."
xXx
The three men were once again together, no longer in Turkey but instead in London, in a small, little known bar that carted to the Intelligence community (since drunk people were liable to say more than they should, it was better if they had their parties away from civilians... and, of course, there were the occasions when they got either 'too happy' or too physical).
"To James and Alec!" The short gray-eyed, blonde man called proudly (and just a bit tipsy) as he raised his glass to the two friends sitting around the same table as him. "The new 00s!"
Alec let out a wordless exclamation of pride (he was most definitely drunk already) before taking what remained in his glass (pure scotch) in one go. James for his part sipped at his own vodka (not his favorite drink, but still), looking at his friend with what could almost be called a mix of embarrassment and resignation.
"It's alright, you know." The smaller blonde said calmly. "I knew what I was doing when I decided to stay back and treat Agent Rutherford instead."
Yes, he had known, they had all known that his choice would cost him the chance at being chosen to take the place of the recently deceased 00... Even then, the idea had been that one of them would be chosen, and the other two would remain candidates for the next opportunity. They never considered that the next opportunity would present itself immediately afterwards. As, even though Agent Rutherford had been saved, he was no longer fit to be a 00; a replacement was needed, a new 00... and thus both James and Alec had ended with elite status.
"True... you weren't supposed to end up dismissed altogether, though!" James practically hissed. "That's not right John. You're as deserving as Alec or I, as any of the others. You're a good agent, there's a reason you were a 00 candidate after all and..."
"And I went against regulations." John interrupted him calmly. "Downright disobeyed orders by staying with Rutherford instead of going with you and Alec to retrieve that package."
"You did that to save Rutherford." The blue eyed 00 insisted.
"Maybe." The gray-eyed shrugged. "But it's also true that I ignored orders, didn't even call for aid... if the Russians had managed to get there before the two of you things could have been much worse, something could have happened to you, and it would have been on me, for not backing up my partners as ordered."
"I still believe you did the right thing. And I know Rutherford thinks the same. One day someone will realize what you're worth John, what M is missing on."
John shook his head, he wasn't as sure as James, but he'd rather not ruin his friend's celebration. There would be more than enough time the next morning to decide what to do with his life since he was no longer an Intelligence Officer.
xXx
John opened the door into 221B and was forced to stop right there, as he watched the two Holmes brothers seemingly about to attack each other (specifically, Sherlock looked like he was seconds from jumping at Mycroft and strangling the man with his own tie).
"John...?!" Sherlock seemed to call his name automatically, and it still took him a second or two to fully process it, as he rushed to John.
The embrace was so unexpected John dropped the rucksack he'd been carrying, as well as the coat he'd slipped out of just before opening the door. It took him several seconds to hug Sherlock back, but when he did, it was like finally coming home...
The moment didn't last very long, soon enough Sherlock pulled back abruptly, almost like a scalded cat, though he stayed close enough to John, the doctor could feel the almost electrical charge of their proximity.
"How are you here...?" Sherlock asked almost timidly.
"I'm free... mostly." John tried to find the right words to explain his most odd situation. "I've been recruited... or would it be re-recruited?"
"No!" The detective's snarl was almost animalistic as he turned on his brother. "You're not sending him on that bloody suicide mission! I would first go and present myself to it than allow you to do something like that and..."
It was John who initiated the second hug, though some might see it instead as him holding his friend from behind around the waist so as to keep him from murdering the older man.
"I'm no going on any suicide missions..." He assured the consulting detective softly.
Had he been anyone else, he probably would have. But M still liked him, even after the mess of a mission in Turkey that ended with him being dismissed from MI6 years before... it probably also helped that both Alec and James had threatened mutiny if John was sent on that mission to Eastern Europe (because James still read M's top secret reports whenever he could, and he was also still M's favorite...).
"I have nothing to do with this." Mycroft stated, unnecessary though the declaration was. Then he seemed to notice something. "Re-recruited? You've been in Intelligence before?"
"Almost a decade ago." John elaborated a bit. "My records were made top-secret when I got high enough in the ranks, along with the other members of my team, and then were fully erased around the same time I was dismissed for insubordination. Then I returned to the army and... well, the rest is pretty much history."
"You were dismissed from MI6 for insubordination, yet allowed to remain as military, and even kept rising through the ranks...?" Mycroft sounded honestly confused.
"I abandoned a mission in foreign territory, leaving my two companions to finish it on their own, to stay behind and look after a downed Agent." John clarified. "Apparently my choice was bad enough to lose me my position in Intelligence, but not so bad that they wanted me off the British forces altogether..."
For an instant it looked like Mycroft would say something else. John wondered what exactly his position allowed him to know? Was it enough for him to fill in the blanks? To realize who exactly John would be in the coded reports? To know he'd once been a 00 candidate?
"What were the conditions for your release?" Sherlock asked him, completely serious.
"Like I said before, I'm technically an active asset again." John answered. "Not fully a field agent but I can be called at a moment's notice. Mostly I've been told it would be useful when they need help providing medical attention to active agents, especially those who might be in the middle of a mission and therefore incapable of seeking medical assistance through official channels. I also might be called to assist on delicate extractions and such. Nothing too dangerous, or for an extended period of time, unless its absolutely necessary a..."
The doctor (former military, former and once again intelligence officer) cut himself off before he could say too much, though it didn't go unnoticed to any of the brothers, both of whom stated straight at him.
"What else?" Sherlock demanded when he got tired of waiting.
Mycroft remained silent, a bit more patient than his younger brother (or maybe it was that his mind was still busy rearranging everything he knew about John Watson after the revelation of his past as an Intelligence Officer), though he still wanted to know.
"M showed some... considerable interest in the work Sherlock and I've done together, especially in cases that turned international, like the Black Lotus, the H.O.U.N.D. in Baskerville, and of course Moriarty." John admitted hesitantly after a long pause. "She... expressed an interest in us working together to solve a few cases for MI6 in the future..." he shook his head. "Of course I told her that was non-negotiable. I knew what I was getting into when I shot Magnussen, but I will be the one to carry the consequences, not Sherlock and..."
"I'll do it." Those words, especially coming from Sherlock's mouth, where so unexpected neither of the other two men seemed capable of breaking the silence that followed them.
"Sherlock..." John murmured, almost completely at a loss for words. "You don't have to do this, you know?"
"Of course I know." Sherlock half-rolled his eyes at his (friend/best friend/partner...)'s words. "I'll still do it."
John didn't insist, he knew better than most how stubborn Sherlock could be and, while he might not have been willing to admit it, a part of him liked the idea of sharing something like that with the one person he cared for most in the world.
Mycroft didn't say a word, he could only watch the whole thing in silence. MI6 had wanted his little brother to work for them for years, had done anything to convince him, and never managed it... until then. And they weren't even pushing for him in that moment, Mycroft was confident enough in John's integrity to know the doctor would have never allowed that (for the same reason the man would rather commit murder himself than allow Sherlock to do it). His brother had changed so much in the years since he'd known the former captain, in so many ways: his social skills, his attitude, his professionalism, his heart... The elder Holmes wonder if he even realized, perhaps not... or perhaps he did and he just did not care. He might even like it! (A shudder went through his whole body at the idea).
"Well, having agreed on all that, I suppose there's only one thing left to discuss..." John shifted a bit, nervous. "How do you feel about having a flatmate again?"
"Wha...?" Sherlock seemed to actually do a double-take at that. "You've been staying here for the last few months and..." He suddenly remembered the person who was missing from their 'happy little reunion'. "What about Mary?"
"Mary's gone." The doctor sounded almost cold as he said that. "One might argue she never existed in the first place... but for all purposes she's gone and not coming back. Moneypenny will arrange the paperwork, I'm legally widowed..."
It mattered little if AGRA (because she wasn't Mary, never had been, not really) was dead or alive, she wasn't his wife, she wasn't anything of his.
"So, what do you say?" John asked again, eyes straight on his friend's.
"You're welcome here for as long as you want." Sherlock said in an honestly heart-felt tone.
"That's probably going to be a very long time, you know?" John asked with a small smile.
"That's fine." The detective assured him, turning around so the other two couldn't see the many ways sentiment was written on his face right then.
"It's all fine..." John added, as if in an echo of another time, another life.
And it really was all fine. They were home, together, it was more than fine, it was perfect.
Just so you know, this was the last story that could be considered Gen, from the next one on there will actually be some romance (not too much, as they're short stories, but still).
There will be more crossovers but for the most part you don't need to know any fandom other than Sherlock.
Suggestions for pieces are welcome, I would love to know what people like and what they don't.
See ya next week!