BONDLOCK

MYCROFT'S SON

Author's Note:

Pairings: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Q/James Bond

Disclaimers: Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. James Bond belongs to Ian Fleming. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

'Oh, Mycroft,' Sherlock muttered, 'I'm torn between horror and sheer amusement.'

Mycroft sighed, thoroughly exasperated by the conversation already. 'Yes, well, if we could move on-'

'How old is he?' Sherlock demanded.

After a brief scowl, Mycroft said, 'Twenty-one.'

Sherlock's eyebrows climbed at that. 'Which meant... really, Mycroft?'

'Yes,' Mycroft sighed.

'You were fifteen,' Sherlock laughed. 'I didn't know you had it in you.'

'Well, obviously I didn't either,' Mycroft growled. Sherlock finally stopped pacing his brother's office and sat with a flourish, arms crossed over his chest. 'I didn't learn of his existence until three days ago, as I told you.'

'I thought you were gay,' Sherlock hummed, completely ignoring the older man. 'Wait,' he raised an eyebrow, 'that's what you meant when you said that you knew without a doubt that you liked men.'

'Yes,' Mycroft repeated. He leaned back and straightened his tie, more from a desire to control something than for any need to actually fix it. This conversation was far from being in his hands. Which he should have expected, really.

'Have you told Lestrade yet?' Sherlock questioned, drawing Mycroft's attention.

'No,' his brother shook his head.

'Really,' Sherlock mused. 'I'd have thought, given that it's soon to be your one year anniversary, that he'd be the first.'

'And I thought that my brother should know first,' Mycroft replied, 'seeing as how you're the one gaining a new family member.'

'Does Mummy know?' Sherlock asked. He looked far too gleeful. 'Father?'

'No,' Mycroft growled.

'Oh, I need to be there for that conversation!' Sherlock said and actually laughed. Which, again, Mycroft should have expected; this was Sherlock, after all. 'Is he brilliant?' Sherlock then questioned. 'What's his name? What's he do for a living?'

'Quillan Frederick Turner, and he's the current Quartermaster of MI6,' Mycroft replied.

Sherlock's eyebrows jumped in surprise, but he didn't say anything. For a civilian, Sherlock knew a little too much about Britain's Secret Service. Mostly because he'd been privy to certain information when his brother had fallen into his current role. Despite what Mycroft said, he was a freelance agent half the time. In his younger years he'd often gone on missions for MI6 and MI5, only becoming what he was now because the higher ups had realised just how intelligent he was.

So Sherlock, obviously, knew about the inner workings of MI6 because his brother had needed to speak to someone who wasn't involved. Thus, he knew that the Quartermaster- often referred to as "Q"- was in charge of the technological side of MI6, including security. They'd made that lovely exploding pen a few years ago that Sherlock may or may not have nicked from his brother.

(He definitely had... and destroyed his parents' garden shed... but they didn't talk about that).

'So,' Sherlock finally spoke, and Mycroft looked up from where he'd been staring at his computer.

'Yes?'

'Quillan?' Sherlock asked. Because, really. Mycroft's name was bad enough, and where their mother had come up with Sherlock was still a mystery. Although Sherlock's first name was actually William, so she wasn't really at fault for giving him an odd name.

'I honestly have no idea,' Mycroft shrugged. 'Again, I had no idea of his existence until three days ago. His mother clearly named him.'

'How did you find out about him?' Sherlock questioned.

'He was injured,' Mycroft explained, sliding his chair closer to his desk so that he could link his fingers together, 'and he needed a blood transfusion. For some reason a new nurse working in Medical decided to run his blood against MI6's database- don't ask me why, I have absolutely no idea,' Mycroft said when Sherlock opened his mouth. 'Anyway,' Mycroft continued, 'my blood is still on file from my years as an agent. My file was flagged and brought up, and the Head Nurse decided to contact M when it was found that young Mr Turner had a relative despite his files saying that he had no father. I got a call three days ago, as I told you, saying that I apparently have a son.'

'I see,' Sherlock hummed. 'And you're sure?'

'I had Anthea take two samples and watch over the test at MI6,' Mycroft said. 'He is my son.'

'I see,' Sherlock repeated. He brought his hands up beneath his chin- a habit he'd picked up from Mycroft when they were younger, he still couldn't shake it- and hummed again. 'Are you going to tell him?'

'I've been ordered to,' Mycroft murmured, the sour look on his face telling Sherlock just how much he hated being ordered to do anything. 'Quillan is now at risk due to being my son, just as I'm at risk due to being his father.'

'You're both at risk anyway, with your jobs,' Sherlock said.

'I know, but those in charge feel that Quillan must be informed,' Mycroft sighed. He rubbed his eyes, and for the first time Sherlock saw just what a toll this information had taken on his brother. Mycroft, who tried so hard to pretend that he wasn't affected by things as tedious as feelings. Which was untrue; he cared for Mummy and Father, and for Sherlock far too much. He was no ice man.

'Did you...' Sherlock hesitated, a frown marring his face, and Mycroft just watched. 'Do you want me to... well...' Sherlock trailed off, eyes somewhere on the wall. Really, that painting was atrocious, and the walls were such a dull grey. How did Mycroft work in this office?

'Sherlock,' Mycroft's voice brought him back.

Sighing, Sherlock said, 'I suppose you'll want me there, yes? Moral support and all that garbage. John's always going on about how important having friends is during trying times.'

'We're not friends, Sherlock,' his brother reminded him.

'Brothers, then,' Sherlock waved a dismissive hand.

Mycroft chuckled, but he looked warmed by the word. It was rare that Sherlock ever actually called them brothers, and Mycroft savoured every time. Sherlock just liked pissing him off, in all honesty. Really, he couldn't ask for a better brother than Mycroft (which he would never, ever, ever say aloud, not even when facing death).

'I would appreciate it,' Mycroft nodded, and Sherlock muttered something that sounded like, "you're welcome", under his breath, but would of course deny it if asked. 'I've contacted M and I'll be going into MI6 tomorrow. You'll be allowed a temporary day pass on the grounds that you not take anything.'

Sherlock huffed. 'Can I at least go into R&D?'

'As long as someone's there to watch you at all times, yes,' Mycroft said.

Sherlock scowled but nodded; it was probably the best that he'd get. Civilians generally weren't allowed into MI6, after all. 'What time?'

'I'll have a car pick you up at eleven,' Mycroft said.

Sherlock stood. 'Not going to pick me up yourself?' he questioned, tucking his chair into Mycroft's desk. 'I'm hurt, Mycroft.'

'I have several meetings tomorrow before I'm meeting with Quillan,' Mycroft answered, eyes already on his paperwork. 'I'm sure you can survive the car ride without me.'

'That remains to be seen,' Sherlock said ominously and turned, leaving with a flourish of his coat.

Mycroft sighed. He wondered if the car would turn up with the leather seats removed like last time. To this day he still had no idea where Sherlock had hidden them.

{oOo}

Q had heard that Mycroft Holmes was visiting MI6, but hadn't given it much thought. He'd never met the man himself, but had heard of him; he'd been some type of agent in his younger years, but had quickly moved onto bigger and better things when his intelligence had been found. Apparently, Mycroft Holmes was the man everybody went to when they had issues. He could work anything out, no matter how difficult. According to rumours- courtesy of Eve and Tanner- Mycroft Holmes had stopped forty-two separate wars since taking his current position.

Q didn't care, in all honesty. As long as Mr Holmes didn't try and take his funding, or his minions, or get him booted, then the man could do what he liked. Really, Q would prefer that the man remain mysterious. At least that way he wouldn't have to actually meet him. Q was famously bad when meeting anyone above him, with the exception of M. M was always too cranky to be particularly scary.

'Have you heard?'

Rolling his eyes, Q didn't bother looking up. 'Yes, I have.'

'I bet you don't know what I was talking about,' a soft voice teased, this time directly in his ear. Q shivered and again questioned just why he'd thought that dating a spy would be a good idea.

'Mycroft Holmes,' was all Q said, and Bond tutted before moving away. When Q finally looked up from his coding, it was to find 007 lounging about his couch like he owned the place. Then again, they both liked to have rather athletic sex on that couch, so James sitting with his legs spread wide was really rather tame. 'Can I help you with something, 007?' he questioned and picked up his Scrabble mug. There was a kettle in the corner for when Q holed himself up in his office working on something, and he made use of it now.

'According to water cooler gossip, Mycroft Holmes only has two meetings today at MI6,' Bond informed him. Q just raised an eyebrow, waiting. 'A meeting with M at 11:45, and a meeting with the Quartermaster at 12:30.'

Q frowned at that and turned. 'I wasn't told of any meeting.'

'R was,' Bond said, 'but M said that it wasn't important enough to drag you away from work.'

'A meeting with the British Government isn't important enough?' Q demanded. Okay, so he knew little about Holmes, but he knew enough; the man was powerful. 'I have a meeting at one with Finance. Surely M doesn't expect my meeting with Mycroft Holmes to go that quickly.'

'Eve doesn't know exactly what the meeting's about,' James admitted, and Q rolled his eyes. Of course the agent was getting his information from Eve.

'Well perhaps Miss Moneypenny is wrong,' Q shrugged, going back to preparing himself a cup of tea.

A knock on the door startled Q, and he frowned as Bond answered it.

'M,' the agent inclined his head and stepped back. 'And Mr Holmes, I presume?' he then added when another man entered the office.

Q turned at the name. Mycroft Holmes was tall, with thinning auburn hair and bright, intelligent blue eyes. He was wearing an expensive three piece suit- James was impressed, Q could tell- and had a long black umbrella in one hand.

'007,' Mr Holmes said, holding out a hand.

'You've heard of me,' Bond stated as he shook the older man's hand.

'But of course,' Mr Holmes replied, lips twitching. 'Who in the intelligence world hasn't?'

James just nodded at that and turned his eyes on M. 'I'll leave you to it.'

'Actually, Bond,' M said, and James stopped in the doorway. 'If Q doesn't mind, you can stay.'

James raised his eyebrows and looked at Q, who was as surprised as the agent was. Why would he need a double-oh for a meeting with Mycroft Holmes?

'He can stay,' Q finally said, earning a nod from M.

'Alright,' M said, eyes on Holmes. Holmes nodded and the door closed behind M, while James went to take a seat in the corner.

'Can I get you anything?' Q asked while Holmes' eyes drifted around the room, no doubt taking everything in.

'Tea,' Holmes said. 'Earl Grey, if you have it,' he added as he took the seat before Q's desk, 'it's my preferred blend.'

James' eyebrows shot up at that, and he gave Q an amused smirk. Q ignored him.

'Of course, Mr Holmes,' he said and busied himself making two cups. Holmes was silent the entire time and, surprisingly, so was James. He just sat in the corner, staring, as Q set a mug before the British Government.

'We haven't been properly introduced,' Holmes said, rising out of his chair just far enough to extend his hand. 'Mycroft Holmes.'

'Q,' the Quartermaster replied, shaking his hand. 'And I wasn't aware that you were visiting today.'

'I rarely do, unless it's called for,' Holmes said, retaking his seat.

'And you were called for today?' Q asked. He took his own seat and regarded Holmes from across the desk. 'I don't see what Q-Branch has to do with the British Government.'

Holmes' lips quirked at that. 'My visit today has nothing to do with business, I'm afraid. It's of a personal nature.'

Q frowned.

'A few days ago you were injured during a mission that required your hands on-site,' Holmes continued, nodding at the bandage that could be seen beneath Q's button-up shirt. 'A nurse, new to Medical, ran your blood through the database, no doubt looking for the best match in case any type of surgery was needed. Why you'd need surgery for a simple gash, no matter how deep, is beyond me. But, it happened.'

Holmes paused to sip his tea, and apparently Q's skills were up to snuff because he nodded in satisfaction.

'When your blood was run,' Holmes cleared his throat, 'my file was pulled up due to the compatibility.'

'Okay,' Q frowned, 'so if I'm ever in need of a new liver, apparently you're the one to call.'

That got a real smile from Holmes, but there was something odd in his eyes that Q couldn't make out. 'In more ways than you can imagine.'

Okay, so Q was used to the secrecy surrounding his life, but that was mysterious even for him. 'Okay...' he repeated, frown deepening.

'The test revealed something that nobody apart from your mother knew,' Holmes said, and then stated, rather bluntly, 'I'm your father.'

Q blinked. Well... this was all very Star Wars. He blinked again.

'Almost twenty-two years ago, there was a girl who lived near my family,' Holmes continued, apparently taking Q's silence as a need for more information. Which, yes, that would be appreciated. 'Caitlin Turner,' Holmes said. 'We were... acquainted.'

'I'd say you were more than that,' James snorted suddenly, and Q shot him a glare. Holmes, for his part, didn't say a word.

'Right,' Q finally spoke. 'Right.'

'I know that this is all rather... odd,' Holmes said, head tilted as he regarded the Quartermaster, 'and I wasn't sure I should tell you. However, the higher ups felt the need for you to know, so here I am.'

'You wouldn't have told me otherwise?' Q asked, feeling a bit... unsettled by that thought.

'I honestly don't know,' Holmes admitted. 'I only found out four days ago. Seventy-nine hours is hardly enough time to come to terms with the fact that you have a twenty-one year-old son.'

'So...' Q frowned, eyes somewhere on Holmes' rather expensive suit jacket, 'I have family.' He'd never had family, apart from his mum. Her parents had died when he was two and he had no memories of them. His mother had passed when he was fourteen and he'd been put into the foster system until MI6 had approached him. He'd barely been seventeen when they'd snatched him up, wanting to train him to protect England. He'd asked a few times about his father, but his mum had always brushed it aside. Q had gathered that, well... that his father had wanted nothing to do with him. He hadn't realised that his father had no idea he existed.

'Yes,' Holmes' voice brought Q from his thoughts. 'My parents are still alive and retired. My brother lives in London.'

'Sherlock Holmes,' Q muttered. He'd read about the man, of course; everyone in MI6 had after the whole Brooks/Moriarty business.

'Yes,' Holmes repeated. 'He's here today, actually. No doubt terrorising your underlings.'

'Minions,' James spoke, making both Q and Holmes look at him. 'They prefer to be called minions,' James added when their eyes met his.

'Of course they do,' Holmes said, sounding amused. 'Well, you and Sherlock have a bit in common, then. He has his own minions.'

'Mum, she...' Q hesitated when Holmes' intelligent blue eyes settled on him once more. 'She never mentioned you,' Q told the man. 'Whenever I asked about my father she basically brushed me aside, said it didn't matter.'

'Her family moved a few months after we... well,' Holmes cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. 'I had no idea that she was pregnant. We didn't speak much after we...'

Again, he trailed off, and James chuckled from the corner. Q ignored him. So did Holmes.

'I... don't know what to do with this information,' Q admitted, drawing a small smile from the man opposite him.

'Neither do I,' he agreed. 'Nothing is expected from you, of course. My superiors just felt that you should know.'

'So... what do we do?' Q questioned.

'Take the time to process this information,' Holmes said. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a cream-coloured business card, which he then slid across the table. 'If you want to talk, feel free to call me at any time. If you don't, well...' He shrugged one shoulder, but Q understood. If he wanted nothing to do with Mycroft Holmes, than the other man- his father- wouldn't push it. He'd leave Q alone. 'I'm afraid I have business to attend to,' Holmes then said, standing and buttoning his jacket. 'England doesn't stop for personal matters; I'm sure you understand.'

Q just nodded.

'It was a pleasure meeting you, Q,' Holmes said, holding out his hand. Q quickly stood and shook it.

'Yes, uh... likewise,' Q tried. It earned him another small smile, and Q realised that it was identical to his own. Holmes' hair, though cut short, also held the same waviness that Q's did, and there were the same flecks of green in their eyes. Q's darker hair had come from his mum, as had the need for glasses, though clearly his height was from his father's side.

'I'd better go find my wayward brother,' Holmes said when he stepped back, dropping Q's hand. 'Things tend to explode around him when he isn't being watched.'

Q smiled at that. It made him happy to know that he got his love of explosions from somewhere.

Christ, he had an uncle. Grandparents.

'Until next time,' Holmes inclined his head, and offered James a brief nod before leaving.

Silence filled the office until Q dropped back into his chair, eyes on the card Holmes had left behind.

'Well,' James spoke, 'that was unexpected.'

'Tell me about it,' Q muttered.

'I can see the similarities,' James said, and Q just nodded. 'So...'

'So...?' Q echoed.

James huffed and stood, crossing the office to sit on Q's desk. 'What now?' the agent asked.

'No bloody idea,' Q muttered. He looked up at the man, and James gave him a soft smile. His eyes were filled with concern, concern over Q, and it made the younger man's heart swell. Nobody had truly cared about him since he was fourteen. 'What do I do?' Q asked.

'I don't know,' James shrugged. 'Do you want to see him again?'

'I don't know,' Q echoed, and James chuckled softly. 'I just... need to process,' Q said, thinking over what Holmes- his father, Jesus- had said. 'I'll just give it a few days.'

'Sounds alright,' James agreed. He ruffled Q's hair and then leaned down to kiss him gently. 'Want me to stay?'

'No,' Q shook his head. 'I'll be alright. Besides, you need to finish your paperwork on the Shanghai mission.'

James groaned. 'Can't someone else do it?'

'Seeing as how you were the one being shot at by people smugglers, no,' Q said. 'Go on, off you go,' he added, making shooing motions.

James laughed and kissed him again. 'Call me if you need anything,' he said before leaving, and Q just nodded. He eased back into his chair and his eyes, of course, found their way back to the cream-coloured card sitting innocently on his desk.

Mycroft Holmes.

His dad.

'Christ,' Q muttered and rubbed his face. He leaned back and sighed, eyes closed, as his mind swirled around those thoughts.

He had no idea what to do.

{End}

Author's Note: So, there's that. I was just reading some 00Q and I like the thought of Q being a Holmes. But then I thought it might be fun if he was Mycroft's son, and here we are. I hope it wasn't too bad.

Also, there may be more stories or chapters, I'm not sure yet. I really have to stop posting so many WIPs, I have a serious problem.

Cheers,

{IBegToDreamAndDiffer}