III. Let it Roll!

They arrived in Serbia very soon. Mycroft was still not fully adept with the language because they had spent a great part of their travel scheming and talking instead of studying. Q had claimed he had things to prepare as well, so they decided to look for a cheap hotel room they could use to get ready.

After two hours of hard work, Mycroft had just finished listening to the CD and repeating all the phrases the fourth time. He hoped his knowledge would be enough to get by.

That was precisely the moment Q stepped out of the bathroom where he had spent a ridiculously long time. Mycroft had thought a few times about asking him if he was all right but had always decided against it in the end, thinking that perhaps he didn't want to know at all the answer. Now he just gaped at the boy who had-

"Blond hair!? What the hell!?"

"I dyed it."

"Obviously! The question is: why? Does Annabel prefer blonds or what?"

"Don't be stupid, Myc! It's just for this mission; it will come off after two or three washes. I just thought I resembled Sherlock too much not to arise suspicion when we go in. Now, with blond hair it's a completely different matter."

Mycroft had to admit there was some truth to that statement. The boy certainly didn't remotely look like any of them right now. Funny how much hair color counted… But was it just the hair…?

"Do you have a stubble, Benedict?"

"It's Boris right now and yes. Although it's only make-up. I don't get stubble at all! Do you think there's something wrong with me? Shouldn't I have to shave at 17?"

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tiredly, muttering 'Dear God, please, help me!' under his breath three times in a row, as if expecting it to miraculously solve all his problems he had because of bothersome little brothers. Of course it didn't, so when he opened his eyes again, their youngest member of family still looked just as ridiculous as before.

The senior Holmes just didn't get it… Everyone he knew had such normal families… Even high-ranking members of the Parliament. None of them was cursed with a middle brother who insisted on chasing after criminals as a hobby and got captured abroad while playing Robin Hood. No one else had a youngest brother who built weapons and explosives for fun, tuned cars more heavily than the ones in the Fast and Furious saga and played dress up on a rescue mission. What had he done to deserve all these?

Q just shrugged and threw the towel he'd had on his shoulders onto the bed. Immediately Mycroft noticed…

"Do you have a TATTOO!?" – He shrieked, indicating at the boy's right upper arm where a perfectly shaped eagle could be seen.

Q didn't even turn around, from where he was rummaging around in his bag as if looking for something, as he answered with a tone that indicated the matter should be obvious to everyone with at least half a brain.

"Yes. Criminals have tattoos. Don't worry; it's also washable."

"I certainly hope so, for your own sake, young man!"

Now Q turned towards his older brother in the blink of an eye.

"I am legally an adult. I could get a real tattoo if I wanted to, Myc." – He reminded him.

Mycroft opened and closed his mouth a few times in a perfect imitation of a goldfish. Finding no right words for what he had originally wanted to say, he opted for pointing out instead:

"You're not very waterproof right now. If we were caught in a rain, you'd completely disappear, Boris."

Q continued searching in his bag.

"Yes. But we won't. I checked the weather forecast. No rain today. We're not in England anymore, you know."

"And certainly not in Kansas…"

Q pulled something from the bag. – "YES! I knew I packed it."

Mycroft tried to see over the boy's shoulders what it was, feeling a certain kind of dread at the thought of what else the crazy youngster could come up with.

"Should I dare ask…?"

"Hair spray! It's more authentic if I slick back my hair." – He announced proudly, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, working on his hairstyle. – "I saw teenagers do it in high school."

"You never went to high school." – Reminded him Mycroft tiredly but his statement was ignored again.

"Don't you want to get ready too, Alexei? We shouldn't sit here for hours like we don't have anything better to do."

The teenager tried to look strict but with his slicked back blond hair, tattoo and stubble he looked so unlike himself, Mycroft couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. In the end, he just nodded and went into the bathroom to dress. He could hear his brother shouting to him from the other side of the door:

"Do you think I'll have time to buy a fridge magnet while we're here? For memory of my first successful plane travel…"

God save them all…

Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q

In the end, the boy had gone as far as to wear ragged sneakers, tattered skinny jeans that even had some holes, a white T-shirt with frightening satanic symbols on it and a loose black leather jacket. He had also produced out of seemingly nowhere a necklace with a huge silver cross and put three fake earrings into his left ear. ("Oh, for God's sake, do stop freaking out, Myc, they are just clip on ones!")

Mycroft had long given up trying to find words for this phenomenon that used to be his subtle, occasionally even shy little bother once in a previous lifetime. He had been such a cute little child… The oldest brother felt a pang of nostalgy looking at the boy now and imagining the smiling, bright-eyed little baby in his place. Those times were long gone by now.

It hurt a bit, so he decided to try and focus on their mission instead of dwelling on the past. He himself had an elegant suit with sunglasses and – as he checked in the mirror – he had to admit: both of them looked their respective parts perfectly. So: Showtime!

Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q

They were standing in front of the building that most probably held Sherlock and a bunch of criminals who wouldn't hesitate to kill all of them, should they be found out. They only had one shot at it.

"Shall we?" – He asked the younger one.

"Let's roll." – Q answered, trying not to let it show how frightened he really was.

They entered the building with forced determined strides; Mycroft leading with Q following behind him like it was expected of a good servant, carrying his bag. Mycroft only had an expensive walking stick with a bird's head on the top.

As soon as they were inside, they could hear voices of two people speaking in Serbian, an insisting thud-thud like a crop hitting bare skin and also… groans of pain… from a third person. They looked at each other and nodded. They continued just a tiny bit quicker.

As soon as they arrived into the main area of the building – a bare, dark room that only held a desk, a chair and Sherlock – their brother! – chained to the ropes hanging from the ceiling, they could see they had been right: this was the place they had been looking for.

There were also three men with his brother in the room: two stood by the barely conscious Sherlock with a whip held in the hand of the taller man and a bucket of water near the smaller, bulkier man on the floor, and the third was sitting at a huge office desk, silently watching the proceedings.

All four turned towards the newcomers. Sherlock's eyes lit up at the sight of them while the man at the desk jumped up and angrily stormed to meet them.

"Just who the hell are you!?" – He asked in Serbian.

Mycroft nodded at Q as the young boy stepped forward and answered also in Serbian.

"Is that, in your opinion, the right way to greet Alexei Sokolov, The Falcon?" – The men looked at him as if he had spouted an extra head and he hoped to God it was because the name didn't tell them anything – which was of course understandable – and not because he had messed up the first sentence he had ever spoken in that foreign language. – "The Boss." – He pressed.

This finally had the desired effect: the Tall Man dropped the whip and stood up even taller. The Bulky Man nearly fell over the pail in his hustle to right his clothes and straighten up properly. The Leader, who had just seconds ago wanted to attack them, took half a step backwards and bowed elegantly.

"My Boss." – He said, still facing the floor. – "It's such an honor having you here with us. We have been waiting and hoping to see you in person one day. Please, excuse my earlier lack of manners. I didn't know it was you."

"I forgive you this once." – Said Mycroft with scornful graciosity and looked around as if making sure the place met his expectations. – "So, is this the famous secret location I've been hearing so much about? Where you have orchestrated Spectre's every move from? I could find it without problems in mere minutes."

"Sir… My Boss… Nobody has ever come here before. I swear it is secret!"

"We'll see."

"My Boss… Would you like something? A tea, perhaps? And your young companion…?"

"My name's Boris Erdeli. I'm the Boss' most loyal helper. And a tea would be fine for both of us." – Q said with all the authority he could muster, for they had figured the personal servant to the Great Boss would probably be full of himself when faced with 'lower' personnel. Such were the workings of criminal organizations. Everyone had their own place in their ranks. 'Kiss up, kick down' was their motto.

And thankfully they had been right: the Leader visibly clenched his teeth at the tone of the 'pup' but motioned to the Tall Man to go and prepare the requested tea for them.

"I would like a tour around." – Ordered Mycroft. – "And some sandwiches. We have a long road behind us."

"Of course, my boss." – The Leader sent Bulky to get food and asked Mycroft to follow him to see other parts of their sanctuary.

Q was finally alone with Sherlock, if only for a few minutes. Making sure that really nobody was near to surprise them, he ran to his injured brother and whispered.

"Sher! Oh, God… you look terrible… How are you?"

"And yet I still look much better than you in that moment, little brother." – Answered Sherlock with difficulty. Talking looked painful. Also, he had to lower his voice very much, seeing that his smooth baritone carried across the room even is whisper. It made him seem even weaker. It was a shocking sight.

"Oh, shut up and tell me what they did to you!"

"How can I tell you anything if I have to shut up, genius?"

"Do you really have to be difficult even now?"

"Yes. And how did you even get here so quickly? Surely not by train."

"I apparated."

"You what?"

"Figure it out, smart aleck. And tell me: did at least something of the equipment survive?"

"No, they all died a hero's death."

Q shook his head in exasperation.

"God, you're officially an honorary Double-O agent from now on. Your modus operandi is certainly the same."

"You mean my success rate?"

"I mean the destruction you cause."

Before Sherlock could think of a comeback, they heard steps nearing. The Tall Man was approaching with their tea. Q backed off from Sherlock and transformed his face from caring and worried into a bored, self-assertive expression.

"Your tea, sir." – The deliberately mocking undertone was hard to miss but Q ignored him.

"Why do you have him here?" – He asked in Serbian again, nodding towards Sherlock, careful not to show too much interest.

"He's our hostage. We found him lurking around here a few days ago."

"Didn't your leader just say that nobody had ever managed to get in here before? Interesting…"

"Well, nobody other than that one here… And he ain't about to tell anyone, is he? He'll learn to mind his own business now. Alas, it will be too late for him by then but it will be a good example for others like him." – The Tall Man grinned at his own idea of joke, showing all his rotten teeth.

Q felt nauseous.

"There must be a reason you haven't killed him yet. You suspect he knows something, don't you?"

"Hey, kid, who are you to ask these questions? You might be a servant to the boss but you are not THE Boss. Zip it and drink your tea!"

The teenager wondered if he should press the matter further but he was saved from having to react in any way when Mycroft and the Leader came back, accompanied by Bulky and a tray loaded with sandwiches.

"There are going to be certain changes here from now on." – He could hear Mycroft say to the Leader. – "I want those two-" – He motioned towards Tall and Bulky. – "— taught proper manners. They are too self-assured for their own good. I heard one of them insult my helper. I won't tolerate this kind of behavior!"

"Yes, sir, of course, sir. Miloš! Go and clean the toilet! Now!" – And with that, Tall was gone, muttering insults under his breath that only Q could hear.

"Boss, they have not been entirely honest with us." – Said Q with a much humbler tone to Mycroft, still in Serbian, playing his role perfectly. – "This one here-" – He pointed at Sherlock accusingly. – "—managed to get in here just a few days ago. They're questioning him because they think he might have connections outside who know about this place and probably about Spectre. And, so far he's not talking."

"WHAT!?" – Shouted Mycroft, turning to the cowering leader. – "Why didn't you tell me about this? You should have called me right away!"

Q froze. They didn't have a clue whether the Leader had called the Boss or not. Or even if they were able to call him or they had to wait for the Boss to make contact. Oh. This could backfire. Mycroft had immediately realized his mistake as well but, being a professional, his face didn't betray his thoughts. Now they could only pray and hope for the best.

The Leader was visibly shaking.

"My Boss… I was sure… I am still sure… that I can take care of this little problem… this is nothing… Honest!"

All three Holmeses breathed a sigh of relief.

"This is unacceptable of course." – Continued Mycroft without missing a beat. – "I want everyone but my loyal helper out of this room, right away. I, myself, am going to question this hostage."

"Yes sir. Of course, sir. Slavko, come on!"

And the two men left, closing the door, leaving the brothers alone. All three just held their breaths for a few seconds, before Sherlock croaked.

"This was close. How can you be so stupid, Mycroft? They could have-"

"Be quiet, we don't have much time. Benedict, help me get him down! And I hope you have a plan for getting us out of here?"

"Of course I have a plan. I have already alerted the MSA. They should be outside by now. I told them to be ready to attack as soon as I send the signal."

"Then it would be the right time to do it now, little brother."

"I agree." – Said Sherlock hoarsely and moaned as he was lowered to the floor, finally, for the first time for days, free from any chains and ropes.

"Okay. Sent. It should be-" – At that precise moment the door was banged open and the three Serbian criminals stood there, aiming dangerous looking guns at them.

"I just finished trying to call the Boss. And I found out he's been dead for months. Killed. By that there." – He said, indicating towards a surprised Sherlock with disgust. Typical the middle Holmes would make only ONE small mistake on his mission (not learning about his victim's identity) and it would come back to bite them on the butt at the 'best' of times. – "And guess what? It wasn't you!" – The three brothers looked at each other in alarm. – "The man I've managed to talk to doesn't know anyone called Alexei Sokolov, The Falcon. Or Boris Erdeli, the most loyal servant. And now we're going to kill all three of you, whoever the hell you really are."

"I don't think so." – Contradicted Q much calmer than he really felt.

"And just why not, puppy?" – Mocked Tall. – "Who's going to save you?"

"They!" – Answered the teenager, pointing behind the three men where at least a dozen masked agents appeared with fully loaded machine guns held ready. The three criminals turned around in slow motion before immediately dropping their pistols, capitulating. At least they had the common sense to realize when they were overpowered; it was already more than what Q had expected of them. Just then they were grabbed by the local special agents and led away at once.

A tall, middle aged official approached the youngest boy with his right hand extended in a friendly welcoming manner, as if this were the most normal occasion for a reunion of old acquaintances.

"Quartermaster! We're finally meeting in person."

Q shook the man's hand smiling.

"Colonel. It's nice to meet you too. Thank you for your quick and highly effective help. It came just at the right time."

"Oh, you don't need to thank me. Just remember it when we will need your agency's help next time."

"I never forget, sir. I trust this stays between us?"

"Like always, Quartermaster. Like always. Allow me to praise your Serbian. I wouldn't be able to tell you're not native."

'Thank you, sir."

"And I like this new look on you. Very unique. If I didn't know it was you, I'd want to arrest you as well." – Q just groaned at that. – But it is indeed you, right?"

"Yes, sir, I can assure you it's me."

They said goodbye and soon it was only Q, Mycroft and Sherlock in the building. The two older brothers gaped at their young sibling.

"What was that all about?" – Asked Mycroft finally.

The boy waved dismissingly.

"Nothing worth mentioning. Just a splendid example for good, unofficial international cooperation. It comes in handy from time to time. Now I'm going to trace that call Tall made so that we can get rid of 'the one he managed to talk to' as well and be finally done with this ridiculous hunt for good. It's getting rather tiresome."

"Tell me about it…" – Muttered Sherlock under his breath as he was supported by Mycroft, slowly making their way out of the building.

Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q

Q had indeed managed to trace the call and find a small group of the late Spectre hiding out in the Alps, waiting for someone to step into the shoes of the old Boss. The one who had really conveniently been killed by Sherlock without either of them even realizing the implication of it. The remaining people weren't nearly smart or brave enough to begin anything for themselves though. The teenager had alerted their German counterparts to take care of them and had been in turn promised a quick feedback on the state of things as soon as it would be done.

They were now back at the hotel room and Sherlock was half-sitting half-lying on one of the beds. Mycroft was bent over him, dressing his wounds and checking for potentially more serious injuries. Luckily, so far, he hadn't found anything that couldn't be helped by a good night's rest and plenty of food.

Q exited the bathroom, having just washed and dried his hair. He had also gotten rid of the tattoo, stubble and earrings. He was looking more like himself again, except for-

"Your hair looks green." – Observed Sherlock from his position on the bed.

"That's because I've only washed it once. It'll be fine after the next time."

"Hard to believe, seeing it now."

The teenager stuck his tongue out at his brother but didn't comment on the insult.

"What would you like to eat? I'm going out to get some food."

"You don't have to go. We can order something." – Reminded Mycroft. He didn't fancy his little brother walking alone in a foreign country. Who knew what could happen to him out there?

"Stop worrying. Yes. I can see it on your face. We were nearly killed a few hours ago; I doubt anything more dangerous could happen while getting food! Besides, I need to get something else too…" – He said blushing, looking anywhere but at his brothers.

Mycroft studied him for a minute with a calculating expression then sighed.

"Fine. Get us something Italian then. Nah, off you go!"

Q beamed and positively ran for the door.

"Okay! See you later!" – And he was already gone, green hair and all.

Sherlock just blinked.

"What else could he possibly need here?"

"A fridge magnet."

"What?"

"Don't ask. Just, don't."