MI6, morning
Q walked into his office, and found 007 already sitting there waiting for him. "Ah, Bond," said Q, taking a seat at his desk. "How did the mission go? You're here, so I assume you retrieved the weapons and…"
"You know what I want to know?" asked James. "I want to know how much I wasn't told about that mission."
"Excuse me?" asked Q. "I told you everything I…"
"Last night, I faced a man who was holding what looked like a normal stick," said James. "That stick then proceeded to fire…I don't know what it was, but it killed Miss Naomi Trench. There was no sign of injury on her, but she was dead. What the hell kind of weapons can do something like that?"
"A…stick?" asked Q, somewhat confused at first, then his face seemed to light up. "Can you describe it?"
"You…want me to describe a stick to you?" asked James, somewhat confused. "It was a stick. A small piece of wood that…"
"Oh, James, I know what a stick is," said Q. "Describe what happened when the stick killed your…partner, shall we say."
"I can't say I actually witnessed it," admitted James. "But the guy holding it yelled 'abracadabra', and all of a sudden there was a green flash, I turned around, and the woman was dead."
"Okay…" said Q. "And the man using the stick…what did he look like?"
"He was…strange looking," said James. "Pasty white skin, bald head, and he didn't have a nose."
"He…didn't have a nose?" asked Q, suddenly looking very concerned.
"No, he didn't," said James, who noticed Q's reaction and was intrigued. "There were just a couple of slits for his nostrils. Why? Is there something I should know?"
Q was silent for a moment, before pushing a button on his intercom. "Miss Moneypenny, can you call Mr. Shacklebolt for me?"
"Mr. Shacklebolt sir?" asked Miss Moneypenny. "As in the Minister of Ma…"
"Yes, that Mr. Shacklebolt," said Q. "And tell him it's urgent. Actually, ask him to send Mr. Potter as well. This may concern him too, though I daresay he already knows." Q hung up the phone and turned back to James.
"Q, what's going on?" asked James. "Who are these people? What do they know?"
"James, what I'm about to tell you is top secret," said Q. "Do you believe in magic?"
"Magic, sir?" asked James. "In a young girl's heart?"
"Very clever James," said Q, somewhat amused but still with an air of seriousness about him. "But my question still stands: do you believe in magic?"
"If you'd asked me four hours ago, I'd have said you were insane," said James. "But after what I witnessed and saw, and what you've said just now, I'm not entirely sure what to think anymore. I'm even starting to think those reports from New Mexico about the guy claiming to be a Norse god are true."
"Well…" said Q, looking a bit unsure whether to continue, before sighing and committing to a decision. "Magic…is real."
James gave him a hard look. "And you're serious about that?" asked James. "Magic is actually real? That Harry Houdini actually did use magic to escape a locked crate? David Blaine used magic to survive 63 hours in ice? Criss Angel staying underwater for 24 hours actually was him using magic?"
"No, no, nothing like that," said Q. "To the best of our knowledge, those men are all completely human. No, actual magic can only be performed by certain individuals. It's generally a biological thing, though there are exceptions to the rule."
"Magic…is hereditary?" asked James.
"More or less," said Q. "But that's not the most important thing here. What is important is that the man you described matches the description of one of the most powerful dark wizards ever known to walk the face of the planet. And, according to our records, he was supposed to have died fourteen years ago."
"What's so strange about that?" asked James. "Surely if we can believe in magic, then necromancy isn't too farfetched to believe?"
"Actually, it is," said Q. "Wizardkind has all but ruled it out as an impossibility. And given that they're had hundreds of years of practice at it, I'd say if it was possible, they'd have figured it out by now."
"Well that's weird, because I specifically heard them say that three of them had come back from the dead," said James. "One of which I personally saw die, so I know for a fact that they're telling the truth about that."
"Oh?" asked Q. "Who would that be, exactly?"
"Blofeld," said James. "He was there. He saw me, he remembered me, but I know he should be dead."
"Blofeld?" asked Q, clearly surprised by the information. "Ernst Stavro Blofeld?"
"The very same," said James.
"I see…" said Q, clearly trying to think of what James's information could mean. "And the other dead man?"
"I didn't get a first name," said James. "But he was referred to by the others as Mr. Moriarty."
"Moriarty?" asked Q, more surprise in his voice. "Hold on a moment…" Q immediately started typing something into his computer, and soon showed James something on the screen. "Is this the man you saw?"
James looked at the photo on the screen. "James Moriarty," read James, studying the image of an average man with dark hair, and the same nasty smirk on his face. "Yes, this is definitely the man I saw."
"Guess I'll have to involve him too," muttered Q, who then sighed.
"What was that?" asked James.
"Never mind," said Q, returning to his professional stance. "Was there anyone else present? Anything of note about them?"
"There was one named Jim Keats," said James. "I didn't get a good look at him, so I can't say much about him."
"Hmm…" said Q, searching his computer. "Too common of a name, I can't say I know who that one is. Anyone else?"
"Well…" said James, unsure how to proceed with explaining the last member of the group he saw the previous night. "There was one other. But…um…it's a bit weird."
"James, we just got done talking about magic," said Q. "I can promise you, whatever strange occurrence happened with this last terrorist, I'll treat it with all the professionalism I can. You can trust that."
"Well, okay," said James, deciding to just go with it. "There was a man…and I say was, because he shot himself."
"Excellent, only four to go," said Q.
"That's not the strange part," added James. "Because after he shot himself, he started…glowing."
"Glowing?" asked Q, eyes widening as though he knew what was coming and didn't like what he was about to hear.
"Yes, glowing," said James. "Then when he stopped glowing, there was a woman standing where he had been. The wizard referred to her as 'Master'."
"…crap," swore Q, picking up his intercom again. "Miss Moneypenny, I'm going to need to speak with Torchwood as well on this one."
"Yes sir," came the reply.
"What's going on?" asked James. "What's Torchwood?"
"All in good time James," said Q, scribbling something onto a piece of paper. "For now, I need you to go to this address and fetch the man living there." James read the piece of paper: 221B Baker Street. "His name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. He may also have a friend with him named Dr. John Watson, feel free to bring him too. Use force if you have to, but DO NOT kill them, regardless of what you have a licence to do."
"Okay, but if this turns into another mission like last night's…" started James.
"Trust me, this will be the least dangerous thing you'll do for the next few days," said Q. "At least, I hope it will."