DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters (except Bartolio Ramboni and Carter) the rights go to the BBC and Sony, or who ever own James Bond. No Yaoi, but Johnlock is a pairing in this fic. If this bothers you (for whatever reason) stop reading now.
John was never expecting he would get a nice quiet afternoon. What, actually able to get stuff done? Drink tea in the quiet without being interrupted by a case or one of Sherlock's experiments? This was relatively unheard of. But just this once, just for a little while, John got that. For a little bit.
"John, get your coat." Sherlock walked into the apartment, still on the phone with someone.
"Yes, I heard you, Mycroft. Yes, he's getting ready right now, I'll be out in a bloody second- come on John!" Sherlock shouted.
"Just a moment I need to find my…" Sherlock grabbed him by the coat.
"We don't have the time, and you won't need a phone where we're going." Sherlock pulled him down the stairs and onto the curb just as a sleek, black car was pulling up. The door was pushed open from the inside.
"Get in." the familiar voice of Mycroft Holmes chirped from within. The boys climbed in and sat across from Mycroft and Anthea, who was playing with her phone, like usual.
"Hello." She acknowledged them with a quick smile and a peek up from her phone.
"Are you ready?" Mycroft tilted his head and looked at Sherlock.
"If I said no would I be able to leave?" Sherlock was quick to respond with only the very slightest bit of boredom and frustration.
"Once a year, that was the deal. Once a year you visit them and then they leave you alone all 364 other days." Mycroft rolled his eyes. Sherlock "humph"ed in reply.
"It's really not that bad, Sherlock! Why must you always make such a big deal out of this?" Mycroft was getting fed up with his little brother's attitude.
"Um, excuse me? Where are we going?" John felt like he was watching a tennis match, just back and forth and back and forth.
"Once a year mother requires that we visit her and our younger brother at their workplace and say hello, what not." Mycroft replied. "And today is that day."
John turned to Sherlock. "You're mum? What, does she own a shop of some sort?"
Sherlock smiled. "Of a sort."
The car pulled up to a group of guards with large guns and army uniforms.
"Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes on visit with two guests." Mycroft handed the young guard a paper and they were waved though. After a quick security scan, they entered.
"Sherlock, this is no shop." John said, staring with wide eyes at the screens and computers and people around him.
"Welcome to MI6, John Watson. The underground of British government." Sherlock wasn't fazed by all these things, neither was Mycroft or Anthea. They had obviously done this before. But John was caught, mouth agape, looking around like a child in a sweet shop. Through hallways and rooms, the brothers winded through the center like they had maps in their heads. Sherlock's eyes darted to every screen and face, memorizing and filing every fact he obtained with his observations. Mycroft was only thinking of the argument that would follow this meeting.
Behind a large glass door lay a room of men and women rushing between monitors and computers. Numbers were everywhere, and papers flew like birds. At the very end of the room, at a large table with touch screens and monitors stood a tall, slender man with hipster glasses, a tie, and a knit red sweater.
"Hello Ma-"the man turned around to face Mycroft, who had spoken.
"Q! They call me Q! Do you want me to get killed?" there was fear and surprise in the man's eyes. He way in his early twenties, very slim, and looked just the Holmes brothers.
"Q. I forgot. You're a big shot spy now." Mycroft put a hand of his shoulder. "How have you been, little brother?"
Q rubbed his shoulder where Mycroft had grabbed him. "Well enough, I guess. I don't see a lot of action other than hacking but, it's a nice position." He looked at Sherlock. "Hello Sherlock."
The taller man nodded. "Hello Q." He walked over to the table where Q had been standing before he saw his brothers. "What the hell are you doing?"
The table was just one giant touch screen with numbers, photos, and documents running across it. It was some sort of incredibly long and complex code. It must have made sense to the brothers, because Sherlock immediately started moving and swiping numbers into different places.
"Hey!" Q jumped in, pushing Sherlock's hands off the board. "I have been working for months on this code, don't you dare mess it up."
"You did it wrong! Can't you see that this set has to be replaced by this in order to…" he started moving a few pieces, which John and Mycroft were able to watch because the contents of the video table were broadcast on the video wall in front of the table. A moment later, a large message popped onto the screen.
ACSESS GRANTED
"Well, would you look at that." Q stepped back. "Way to go, Shirley. You broke the first real code I was assigned. How does it feel to outsmart everyone ever for the, what, 100th time?" Q was obviously shocked, and a wee bit jealous, but either had enough experience with his brother showing off or just didn't care anymore.
"If you'll excuse me, I have to finish this now that our dear brother hacked the computer of MI6's most wanted. Mother's office is upstairs; you know where to find it." Q turned his back on the company and started his coding and cyphering. Mycroft shot a dirty look at Sherlock, who shrugged it off and started walking. They all headed for a white and chrome elevator with one button on it. Anthea hit the button, and they ascended. Because the back of the elevator was all glass, John could see the entire city. Within a minute, the elevator stopped and opened. The passengers disembarked into a white office, with several cubical and people running about, much like below. At the end of this room lay a door with a card scanner of sorts on the side. Mycroft slipped a card out of his pocket and put it thru the scanner, which flashed green and with a 'click' allowed them access. Inside was a large desk, with a huge window behind it. On the desk lay stacks of paper, a laptop, and a china pug with a Union Jack painted across it. A short, stout woman sat behind the desk, her fingers clasped and a scowl on her face.
"Hello boys." She stated. This was no kind greeting, but this wasn't shocking, especially if she was related to Sherlock.