Preface:
In John Steed: An Authorized Biography, we discover that during Steed's first year at Eton in 1934, he encountered a young James Bond:

"One factor which seems to have contributed to John's unhappiness at this time was the bullying which was an unfortunate feature of life in the school - or at least in those circles in which Steed moved. The main bully was a boy called Bond, later to achieve a certain notoriety in a career not totally unlike Steed's. Indeed their paths were to cross several times in adult life, seldom with profitable results. Although Bond was only two or so years older than Steed (a fact which will doubtless be disputed by Bond and his cronies) he was a great deal bigger. One of his fetishes was to make smaller boys stir his evening mug of cocoa for him, just as in later life he was to make a laughable affectation out of his insistence on dry martini cocktails being stirred rather that shaken. One day he demanded that Steed perform this service. Steed refused. Bond again insisted. 'Who the hell do you think you are?' enquired Steed, suggesting at the same time that he should pick on someone his own size. 'Bond, James Bond,' replied the bully, clearly expecting young Steed to fall groveling at his feet. 'Well, Bond, James Bond,' said Steed evenly, 'If you'd like to present yourself behind the Fives Courts by Jordan in half an hour's time I'll show you in the only language you apparently understand, precisely why I have no intention of stirring your rotten cocoa."

Alas, poor Bond! He had never heard of the Bodger business at Lydeard Lodge. Thirty minutes later he was waiting behind the fives court, aglow with cocky truculence. Thirty-five minutes later he was being half dragged home by two of his familiars, his jaw and his ego both equally badly bruised."

Upon returning to his home, Bond was given a stern lecture from his father and an even sterner lecture from his Grandfather. Campion Bond was by this point, quite aged, spending what would be the last remaining years of his life in his own corner of the Diogenes Club, leaving a stench and a silence that left any who saw him to believe he had expired on the spot, and the young James was no exception. While the Club, permitted within certain rooms no speech, there was a great deal of Pity placed on the elder Bond, pity, disgust, and a smug satisfaction along those high ranking enough to remember.

Mycroft had passed away, replaced by his top agent Charles Beauregard, and with the expiration of the eldest Holmes brother also marked a change in the management of the club, which came too late as far as Campion Bond was concerned, to talk more freely. No attention was paid. Most of the lectures James received under the guise of quality time with his grandfather were spent with the elder reading from his Memoirs, of which the Diogenes Club had a copy ready for such an occasion. It was such a common occurrence that even those who occasionally shared a glance in the same room as the reading had by now committed the entire contents of the agent's life to memory. Suffice to say James, was not looking forward to another reading of his grandfather telling him to beware of women because of one Mina Harker who once wronged him. Little did young James know that for this particular evening, the elder Bond had someone else's story to tell.

"Grandfather"

The younger Bond stated coldly, disgust on his face. The elder Bond raised his head, he had apparently fallen asleep with the same miserable expression as always. Campion looked up to the young face in confusion.

"Well Hello little boy...Are you lost?"

James knew it would be one of those evenings. His eyes rolled and he shouted at the elder with the same tone he took with the boys who he made stir his cocoa.

"Grandfather, It's me. It's James."

Campion froze in horror like he was seeing a ghost.

"James? James! By God you're alive! but I saw you fall! Over the falls! and into the Sky!"

They had been through this before. disapproving eyes looked over to see a spoiled brat insulting a dying old man. Suddenly young James felt a strange desire to feign compassion. He spoke condescendingly, slowing his speech as if speaking to someone slow.

"No, grandfather. It's you grandson James."

Campion paused. His eyes looked to his right as if someone had walked into the room at an awkward moment and then smiled displaying rotten yellow teeth and emitting Bad breath, not complimented with the more natural smells that came of age.

"Ah...James...Shouldn't you be at Eat a ton?"

Bond in clear frustration momentarily closed his eyes and moved his head up.

"No Grandfather. It's Eton. Didn't father tell you was coming over. I had a fight at school."

Campion squinted as if the injuries on the boy's face had not been visible before.

"Did you win?"

"No"

It was here that Bond received the lecture he dreaded, and as it continued he looked for a way out.

"What was his name? I can have him murdered."

It was a bluff. Campion Bond had no power. He would just bark an order to the nursemaid who took care of him. She would pretend to listen and condescendingly nod her head, then continue pushing the trolley. The request would be forgotten, but in Bond's fantasy, he believed that he had killed a great deal of people, ranging from anyone to the King of France, to Sherlock Holmes, to Archduke Ferdinand and even some souls who were in the room at the present moment which he would claim to not be able to hear when they brought up this fact to him.

"You can't have anyone killed, Grandfather?"

" Of course not. I want you to murder him. James."

"I've never killed anyone."

"First time for everything."

"What was your first time?"

Bond already knew the answer. His grandfather told the tale from his memoirs many times before. It was simply a way of changing the subject.

"I...I don't remember."

"Huh? I suppose its wrong what they say then, about remembering your first time"

"Oh well that's not true, James. I remember my first time was with a woman named..."

"Not that story again. I learned about Sex from you grandfather, you wouldn't want father to scold you again. Haven't you got something new for me. You are so very old surely you must have something."

The elder Bond seemed to consider this.

"No more stories, Not from me."

Young James sighed.

"Today the story I have comes from someone else."

Campion Bond reached over to a stack of books, knocking his own Memoirs out from above another book, which upon further inspection appeared to be a Journal of some sort and an old one at that.

"Who's story, Grandfather?"

" The Man for whom I convinced your father to name you after."

"Moriarty.. the Mathematician? What's so special about him?"

"A Mathematician. It hurts his reputation to refer to him in such a way."

"He wasn't that? But even in your memoirs, you call him so."

"No. Mycroft Holmes, may he rot in hell, forced me to obscure certain details. Afraid of public perception he was."

"So this is your account of the truth then? "

"Not my account, but the account of an old colleague of mine. Colonel Sebastian Moran"

"Moran? Moran was a criminal. Moriarty was not"

"Ah. You've read that drabble shat out by Watson's editor Doyle. No, Moriarty was indeed a master criminal as well as the head of the British Secret Service...or both...I forget which...Either way I saved this from the furnace of the Diogenes Club's lower levels where they keep their contingency plans, such as the one to be should her Highness be wed to a Vampire. All those files going to waste. I was the caretaker there for a time. Smuggled this out, Was under the M section alongside Manchu, Mabuse and Mycroft. The irony is not lost on this old dodger."

James expected the book with intrigue, then looked up at the old man.

"Thank you grandfather"

For once in his life, he was more than little honest.

The visit ended and Bond was brought home by his father. that night Bond sat on his bed. Out of boredom and intrigue, he grabbed the Journal and began to read.