Goodbye – But Not Forever
Q sat on his by now habitual place just outside the airport on the hood of the stolen ('burrowed' as he like to call it) MI6 car, looking up at the sky, watching the arriving and departing planes. He had taken to drive to that place every occasion he got since that argument with Bond over a month ago. Oh, and it seemed so distant by now! So far away… Had it really been only a month? Anyway, he didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish with visiting this dreaded place because for managing his fear it clearly didn't do him any good. He still flinched every time he heard or so much as spotted a plane from however afar. Still, he came anyway, tormenting himself with it…
This time he had a completely different purpose than to just look up at the sky, though not better in any sense, so the place for it was strangely fitting. No wonder: he had been the one to suggest it to begin with. He also knew that no one – who didn't have any business knowing about this little meeting – would think of looking for him here.
The boy chanced a glance at his watch. 6:59 PM. The prearranged time for the meeting was nineteen hundred and his 'client' wasn't the type to be late for something as important as this case was. So any time now…
He didn't have to wait long; soon he felt more like heard someone sit down next to him. His companion remained silent for a while, both just sitting there, not even looking at each other, observing the scenery instead.
After having watched two planes take off and one arrive, the newly joined man finally spoke.
"You hate being here, yet you come regularly."
The teenager didn't dignify that with a verbal answer; he just shrugged.
"You hope to cure your fear this way." – It was a statement, not a question, so Q hoped that no answer was expected to that either. His state of mind was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now after all. But with that certain person you could never know for sure… He wasn't known for being very diplomatic.
"It won't work you know. As a matter of fact, I fear it will just make things worse."
Now Q just about had had enough of being deduced so he turned to the man sitting next to him with a solemn expression.
"Let's just get to business, shall we, Sherlock?" – He stood up, walked around the car and opened the trunk. He then took out a relatively big gym bag and returned with it to his companion who had in the meantime lit a cigarette and was now smoking it leisurely, seemingly without a care in the world. – "Those things will kill you, you know."
"I somehow have a feeling cigarettes aren't the biggest danger for my life right now."
"They're also disgusting." – Q opened the bag and took a quick account of its contents. Quite honestly, he could think of at least twelve different things he would have rather been doing at that precise moment from playing with his two kittens to even sit in the dentist's chair. He felt like screaming. – "Oh, God, I have done this a thousand times before, but never with my own brother…"
"I have every faith in your professionalism, Quartermaster."
This had been the first time ever that Sherlock had acknowledged his title in any way but mockingly: he had said the word with respect instead of teasing him with it, and it wasn't even followed by cruel jokes. That gave Q a surge of energy he hadn't known he possessed. Also, it showed very well just how dire the situation really was. It was no time for wisecracks and brotherly banter. It was time for work: from now on they wouldn't be Sherlock and Benedict Holmes any longer. They would become an agent heading out for a very dangerous, potentially deadly mission and his Quartermaster doing his best to help and aid him through it.
The transformation was sudden, unexpected and brutal for both of them.
Q cleared his throat to get rid of the sudden lump in there.
"Here's a Phonak Invisity Flex Miniature Receiver earpiece. It will let us communicate without anyone on your end realizing it. Unless you're talking too loud to yourself – then they might think you're crazy. I'll wear mine all the time. Just tap it twice to activate it and I'll be able to hear you." – He explained to Sherlock who nodded to show his understanding and threw away the kip to be able to hold the items his little brother handed him. – "That's a Walther PPK/S 9mm. It's equipped with a palm-print reader. That means it will recognize your palm and only you are able to fire it. Should someone take it away from you in a fight they would be unable to shoot you with it. Oh, and a new addition to the features: it will drench them in pink ink as well."
Sherlock actually looked impressed.
"Did you come up with this technology?"
"Yeah… well, it's not a big deal. Here, look…" – He took out shoes of exactly Sherlock's size and something that looked like a t-shirt from the bag. – "…these shoes can store six bullets each in their soles. Undetectable of course, so no worries walking through the scan on the airport. Also, they can only be used in this particular Walther. Anybody trying to load them into their own pistols would damage their weapons for good. And this here is a bulletproof vest."
"A vest? It's paper-thin. How could it protect me from a bullet?"
"It's a totally new development: a prototype if you like. But it works perfectly, I tested it myself. As long as you're not shot at with an extra powerful machine gun, you should be all right with it. Also, it's totally invisible beneath your regular clothing so your enemies won't suspect anything."
"I'll give it to you: you certainly know what you are doing."
"That's not all. Here: this watch has a built-in GPS and it can also give distress signals: set the alarm to twelve and activate it for silent SOS. It will always alert the closest allies we have wherever you are. Use it if in need, and in less than 2 hours you should have help anytime, anywhere."
"You don't even know where I'll be going. I myself don't know it yet."
"I have colleagues everywhere. It's customary that we help each other with foreign secret assemblies all around the world. It can be official or… less so. If you understand what I mean."
"I think I do."
"Good. Just try not to abuse this option too much unnecessarily. I don't like owing favors to other nations' organizations; I still get boasting e-mails from the Columbian secret force's head because they had to help us out two months ago during one of 002's assignments. You see, the leaders tend to like reminding me about it for as long as possible; rubbing it in my face until we are able to repay them."
Sherlock smirked, most probably already enjoying making life hard for his little brother. Q just ignored him and went on with the explanation.
"So, here's everything I've managed to find out about Moriarty's web until now. Not much but something to begin with. I'll continue investigating and we'll be in touch the whole time anyway." – He handed Sherlock a thick folder of documents. The middle Holmes brother quickly leafed through it.
"Not bad at all. That's more than I've ever known about them." – Coming from Sherlock, it was equal to a declaration of love. – "So it looks like I should begin in Switzerland?"
"Yes, and it's just as well: I just had their equivalent of a Double-O in my branch two weeks ago. He needed some supplies because he had lost his own equipment during his time here. So they owe us now. M never knows about these things of course, so I'm free to use this advantage without being discovered."
"How did you find this information?"
"Well, I was just thinking: he once used the alias Richard Brook, right? So why did he choose that particular name? I just played around with it a bit: Richy Brook, Rich Brook… and recognized that in German it would be something like reicher Bach… And there is a place in Switzerland called 'Reichenbach'… So I researched it and found it could be as good a place as any to start. To be more precise: the Reichenbachfall, that is to say-"
"Reichenbach Falls."
"Exactly. Everything else is to be found in the documents."
"That's incredible." – Sherlock admitted, feeling very proud of his little brother.
"It's really not worth the mention… I still don't know if there was more to Max Denbigh that what at first meets the eye… I'll have to look into it more. Ah, one more thing!" – He took out a syringe and held it over Sherlock's left arm, hovering nonchalantly just half an inch above his skin. – "You're only going to feel a small-"
"Ouch, what the HELL?"
"- pickle. That was all; don't be a baby."
Sherlock rubbed his hurting arm.
"What the heck was that?"
"I injected a tracking device into your bloodstream. It's more secure than implanting it under your skin because lately some criminals have taken to… ahm… cutting them out from the captured agents." – The boy looked positively sick at the idea. – "Anyway, they can't take it away from you this way or even discover it. Don't worry: the smart-blood program has officially been cancelled and these devices destroyed, so nobody but me will be able to trace you with it."
"Should I ask how you managed to keep it going against Government's orders?"
"No, you probably shouldn't. Oh, look…" – He tapped a small screen he had suddenly produced from somewhere – probably one of the pockets of his ridiculously huge coat. – "… you're sitting here right beside me." – He pointed at a dot, clearly labelled as 'SH' on the map.
"Just lovely, I would never have guessed... All right then. But bit of a warning would be nice next time you want to stick me with needles."
The teenager just rolled his eyes. Really, how was it possible that even agents who faced death daily, regularly got shot and injured themselves all the time seemed to be afraid of a small needle? And Sherlock… He used to be a drug-addict for God's sake, he had stuck himself all the time for years just for the fun of it! And he was now behaving like a whiny baby. Unbelievable…
"Here's a lock-picker kit, though I think you won't need it… You're the one who taught me to open any locks after all. And that's a flash drive for you: in case you find important data on a computer and you need to copy it quickly. You can wear it around your neck on a chain. It will appear to anyone like it's a simple necklace, nothing else. They won't think about taking it from you. And these glasses…" – He explained, holding them up for Sherlock to see. – "… will let you see in the dark; they can be folded into a very small bundle, see? You can put them into your pocket; they're unbreakable."
Sherlock took everything with an appreciative nod.
"That's it then?"
"That's it, yes." – Nodded Q then sighed sadly. – "You're going to miss Christmas." – He stated the obvious but somehow still felt the need to say it out loud.
"I hate Christmas." – Another obvious fact… this conversation was slowly progressing into something entirely pathetic in Q's opinion.
"I know… Besides, you'll be with us next year and we'll make up for it then. I'll even make you try some pudding."
"I can't say I'm very excited about the idea."
All right, maybe they should just return to talk about the details of the mission instead of family and other personal matters… They weren't very good at this.
"Your 'suicide' is prepared. You'll go over the details of it with Mycroft first thing tomorrow. I'll be there, hidden of course behind a screen in HQ, to oversee the operation while Mycroft will make sure on location that John and the others aren't too close in the meantime to hinder us. There will be some helpers; some of Mycroft's most trusted men. Nobody else will know about it. None of your friends."
"I don't have friends."
"Of course you don't. My mistake."
Sherlock ignored his little brother's smirk.
"John will need to see it though. Otherwise he won't believe it."
"Yes. It's arranged that way. Don't worry about it."
"Will you…?" – The 'keep an eye on John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly and Lestrade for me' remained unsaid but Q understood it anyway.
"Yes, I will. I promise. Just until you come back."
"Of course. Until I come back. Won't you get in trouble with your MI6 people if they find out you're helping me?"
"I will. If they find out. Which they won't."
"You sound very certain."
"I am. I'm the Quartermaster; this is just another operation for me. Like hundreds of others I've done and will do in the future." – How he wished it were true… - "And I'll have you know: I've never lost an agent. We haven't even had any serious injuries. I'm not about to start now, so you'd better watch out for yourself, mister!"
"Thank you." – Q knew he meant for more than just the equipment. Sherlock gathered his gadgets and the boy gave him the keys to the car.
"It's a highly modified model: it's equipped with various weapons like guns and daggers. The full list can be found in the inventory I've included. It does other tricks so read the manual carefully. It's tanked full."
"Won't MI6 miss it?"
"They can't, as it officially doesn't exist."
"And unofficially?"
"Unofficially I'll just have to make it up to 008 somehow. Maybe he'll finally get that Cigarette Dart Gun he's been bugging me about for ages."
"Right. Should I drive you somewhere? I don't want to leave you here without means to get back. Maybe to your new exclusive apartment? Mycroft has told me you just moved in this morning. Not bad for an only recently turned seventeen-year-old, I have to admit."
"It's not so 'exclusive', and don't worry about it, I think I need a bit of walk anyway. I was sitting in the office for days"
"All right. Thank you again. Good bye, little brother." – Sherlock hugged him very briefly then got into the car behind the steering wheel and started the engine.
The teenager hopped down from the hood and went to stand beside the window on the driver's side.
"See you soon, Sherlock, good luck on the mission. Oh, and please: do try to return the equipment in one piece."
Sherlock mock saluted him then drove away soundlessly. Q remained standing on the same spot for some time deep in thoughts, not even caring about the planes flying over his head or the long road ahead of him to get back to the city.