So, this is the last chapter of the last story in the AU-series. Wow. 😊 There are two 'extras' to come, but it's not the same…
Leave Behind Your Demons
Two days after their nearly-catastrophic-but-in-the-end-highly-successful mission in Serbia and their nerve-wracking flight home (because Q had passed out once again upon takeoff), Sherlock was lying on a cot in Holmes Manor, having been shaved and treated. He was still very skinny (even though still not nearly as skinny as his little brother by default) and weak but also looking already much better and a few hours ago already had had the strength to argue with Mycroft about the older brother dressing his wounds 'too brutally' and 'deliberately causing unnecessary amount of pain' with his administrations. In the end, Mycroft had huffed and given up on trying to check on all his wounds, opting to pout instead. Not that he would admit to it of course but – as Q had pointed out – it was unmistakably pouting.
The injured middle brother was slowly eating a slice of pizza right now, enjoying having real food after his long and uncomfortable captivity. He had to move careful because of his hurting wrists; reminders of having been chained to the ceiling for days.
His two brothers were sitting in front of him; Mycroft in his armchair and Q on the floor; watching him worriedly.
"You can both stop this unnerving staring. I'm not dying." – Snapped Sherlock irritated.
"You could have fooled us in Serbia, brother dear." – Reminded him Mycroft angrily. – "You'll have to take it easy for at least another week, I hope you know that. I don't want to hear you complaining about being bored or anything like that."
"Okay."
Mycroft blinked surprised.
"Okay?"
"Yes, okay! I just spent close to five months chasing after criminals and killing people. Oh, and not to mention: getting tortured. That was fun! So, yes, brother, I don't mind a bit of a downtime."
"That's good. Fine."
Q just remembered something important; something he had been meaning to discuss with his middle brother for ages.
"Sherlock, you'll need to talk to Miss Hooper soon."
"Molly? Why? What's wrong with her?"
"She has a new boyfriend."
"Well, then, it's good for her. What does this have to do with me? Surely, you don't think I'm the right person to talk to her about it?"
"You are, if her new boyfriend is her would-be assassin!"
"WHAT?"
"The sniper who was supposed to shoot her on Moriarty's orders. Apparently, he didn't want to act on his own accord but stayed close just in case he would get a new order sometime… You have to do something! I mean… come on, you do care about her wellbeing, right?"
"All right, all right… Of course I do. I'll see what I can do to get rid of him."
"Just be your usual self when she introduces him to you. It ought to do the trick… He's actually not any bad to her now but I still think he shouldn't be around for long. He used to want to kill her after all."
Sherlock hummed in agreement and continued eating while Mycroft took a piece of pizza as well. Q, of course, politely declined. After about ten minutes of complete silence, each Holmes boy engrossed in their own thoughts, Sherlock piped up with an observation:
"You both came for me."
"Brilliant, Sher! While this is not up to your usual standard; I'm glad you can remember what happened even though you were really out of it." – Praised him Q delighted.
"You both came, Benedict. Mycroft hates legwork and has never ever left his office for any field assignment before. And you took days off from your work, which you normally never want to leave even for sleeping, and flew on a plane to Serbia to personally participate in a potentially deadly operation there."
Older and younger brother shared a knowing look. They both understood this had been as close to a 'thank you' as they'd ever get from Sherlock Holmes.
"Yes, little brother, we did it all." – Agreed Mycroft.
"And I got a magnet out of it. Not a bad deal, if I say so myself. We'd do it again." – Nodded Q in continuation. – "Though I'd prefer not having to… You know. Travel this way."
"So, you won't be a fan of flying from now on?"
"You're kidding, right?" – Q took a deep breath. Maybe it was time to tell them. He leaned back against Mycroft's armchair and closed his eyes. – "We were sitting in the middle of the airplane with mom and dad. We could see the right wing from the window."
Both his older brothers looked to the young boy in alarm. He remembered!? They had always assumed he had forgotten it all. He had only been two years old, scared and injured. Then he had spent weeks in coma! How could he still remember?
The teenager hadn't opened his eyes so he couldn't see the panicky stares. He took the silence as a cue to continue.
"I was so excited to be flying and the clouds were so beautiful! And I had Bibby Bunny…"
They remembered the sock animals their mother had made for all of them of course. Both of them still had their own. They had never even considered that their little brother didn't even have that much of their parents anymore…
"But then it suddenly all went to hell… It happened so quickly! There was fire and smoke on the wing outside and complete panic inside. 'Just a little turbulence', mom said 'nothing to worry about', but of course, it was not exactly true… I had read a lot about planes and crashes before the travel. That had been like an obsession."
Mycroft and Sherlock could still very clearly remember the excited tiny boy asking thousands of questions about how planes can fly, why they stay up in the sky and what happens if they don't… In the end, Mycroft had just let him read it all up on the internet, tired of the baby always finding his answers less than satisfactory. The small boy had spent two entire days doing research tirelessly before their trip.
"So I knew what to do. I climbed under my seat to be protected during the crash. I tried telling mom and dad to hide but they didn't listen and insisted on the seatbelt… Then they got very injured and were dying in horrible pain. I saw them. They pleaded with me to help them but I couldn't. I left them and they hated me for it. I saw the betrayal in their eyes." – He finished in tears.
"WHAT!?" – Exclaimed his two brothers simultaneously.
Mycroft choked.
"You say they thought you betrayed them by surviving?"
Q opened his eyes and looked at his brothers. They seemed worried about him. Not at all angry or disgusted. Should he hope…? Surely not. Surely they just didn't understand the implication of it all yet, or somehow thought he was just joking. But who would joke with something like that!?
"Yes, they did. When we were already in the water and I came out from my hiding place… They were still sitting in their seats… alive but they couldn't move. It was horrible. Dead or dying people and so much blood everywhere. Those who were still alive were crying, screaming or moaning in pain. And mom and dad… You can't even imagine. Obviously, I don't want to go into details. At least you shouldn't have nightmares about it."
Sherlock swallowed around the big lump in his throat, dropping his remaining piece of pizza. He had suddenly lost his appetite.
"You've never told us you can remember. We've never known you saw them…"
"I couldn't say it. I actually couldn't say anything for a while."
"Is that the reason why you didn't speak for ages? Not even your injuries?"
Q shook his head.
"I can't remember having any injuries. I think I was too much in shock to notice pain. But I think… thought… think… that what happened to mom and dad was partially my fault. I thought you would hate me for losing them…"
"WHAT!?" – Came again from both.
"Why would you think such a stupid thing? We nearly lost you too! How would we think it was your fault?" – Asked Mycroft in disbelief. Had this crazy boy finally totally lost it?
"Well, it was for my birthday, wasn't it? If I hadn't had birthday and hadn't wanted to travel, we would never have been on that plane… I just thought…"
"Oh, my God, Benedict, for a genius you can be very stupid sometimes!" – Said Sherlock angrily. – You know what?" – He challenged.
"What?" – Asked Q dejectedly, expecting Sherlock to tell him to go to hell or die finally or something like that.
"I think these aren't real memories at all."
"Sherlock-" – Mycroft tried to tell him off but didn't get too far. The middle brother continued as if there hadn't been any interruption.
"I think you're confusing things. You went through a horrible ordeal, you were two years old, injured and in shock. Your mind has created scenes that didn't happen at all. Well, not like that, anyway."
"Sherlock, you're crazy! I can remember!"
"No, you can't. You just think you can. What you described isn't a memory; it's a nightmare. The mind does that to you."
"It's rubbish!"
"No, it's not."
"Sherlock, stop it right now! You're making things worse!" – Warned Mycroft in a strict voice.
"No, I won't stop it, because Benedict has to understand. I want you to remember! I mean actually remember! Not your nightmares but what really happened that terrible day."
"I told you, these are real memories! Why are you doing this to me? Why won't you believe me?" – Screamed the boy, getting up and shakily backing into the wall. – "Real memories! They were dying, they wanted me to help, they hated me for leaving them! It's true, it's all true!"
"No, it's not. It can't be. I knew our parents, they would have told you to go and not look back. These are no memories. This is your nightmare."
"Sherlock, stop it right now!" – Repeated Mycroft, crouching down next to the by now only half-conscious teenager.
"No, I won't! REMEMBER, Benedict! You need to remember!"
"Leave me alone! Just leave me alone, please!" – Sobbed to boy in total panic, scenes running in front of his eyes. He couldn't see the room or hear his brothers anymore. He only had scenes about that day in his mind. The same scenes that kept revisiting him in his nightmares.
Except that some details were a bit different now…
He was still groggy when he began to feel ice-cold water seeping into his clothes. They were indeed in the ocean then. He very carefully climbed out from under the seat and pressed the life vest to blow it up. It was too big for him to wear like it had been designed to be worn so he bound it with a knot to his wrists. He was thankful to Sherlock for teaching him 'pirate things'. The water level was rapidly increasing and he knew he only had minutes to get out of the plane into open waters before the whole cabin would be filled.
He looked around in search for his parents and he saw something he would most likely never be able to forget ever: everyone around him seemed to be dead or unconscious! His mommy's head was slumped forward onto her chest and when he tried to rouse her she wouldn't move. His dad's eyes were closed. Neither of them was breathing!
The little boy wanted to scream and rage. He wanted to cry. Most importantly: he wanted his brothers there and his parents alive and this whole thing to just have been nothing more than a cruel nightmare! He felt like running. Fleeing. So that was what he did. He ran to the nearest emergency exit careful not to damage the life vest, ignoring everything around him. A motionless old man in one of the seats had ketchup all over his clothes from the sandwich he had been eating just before things had gone to hell… Everything was eerily calm and silent as if people had been just sleeping peacefully.
Q managed to calm his breathing a bit and opened his eyes. Mycroft was sitting next to him on the floor, trying to check his pulse. Sherlock was sitting up on the cot and wincing, but also watching him expectantly.
"So?"
The boy cleared his throat before shakily saying:
"They were already dead. They died on impact. They didn't ask me for help or tell me to stay with them. They were dead… There wasn't blood. They just… died. I saw them dead. Not dying."
"Yes, so I thought. That happens when you hit something very hard without proper protection. There's no pain, no blood; nothing. Only you had protection because you're smart and you were small and quick to think. Mother and father must be very proud wherever they are now."
"Do you really think that, Sher?"
"Of course! Which parent wouldn't want their child to survive? And don't you try blaming yourself! You didn't break that plane! You didn't even ask for that present! Mother and father could have died in a car crash or been run over by a truck or whatever. You didn't do anything!"
"So, you don't think I'm the reason they're dead? You REALLY don't?" – Q still couldn't believe they were telling the truth. He didn't deserve it!
"Of course we don't! It never even occurred to us that you would believe it. Oh my God." – Answered Mycroft clearly horrified at the mere idea.
"I also thought that if you knew I saw them dying… (his voice cracked at that point and he had to stop for a moment) then you'd know I'd woken after the crash before falling into the water and you'd know I left them… willingly… behind to save myself. Then you would hate me even more."
"Benedict, come here please." – Commanded Mycroft pulled him into a standing position and steered him towards the armchair. He sat down himself first then patted his knees.
"What? Myc, I'm too old to sit on your lap!" – Protested the boy as he was yanked there anyway.
"Benedict, right now I couldn't care less about you wanting to play the invincible adult so do all of us a favor and shut up. Listen to me. And listen good, young man: we would NEVER hate you for being alive. I don't know how this could have crossed your mind for a minute. If you hadn't left them behind, you would be dead now as well. You couldn't have saved them. They would have wanted you to save yourself, I am as sure about that as Sherlock. Besides, I think we have established that you didn't leave them behind while dying and in pain. Nightmares are not reality, little brother." – Q just shrugged. – "Benedict!"
"I guess so…"
Sherlock tried to get up but then abandoned the idea at Mycroft's stern look and let himself fall backwards onto the pillows again.
"Have you really felt guilty for surviving all this time?"
"I… think I have. Not consciously so but… yes. I think so. It certainly stopped me from being able to speak for a long time. I didn't want to say all these things but then it meant I couldn't say anything else either. It was like a punishment."
"Jesus."
"There was absolutely nothing to punish yourself for! You survived a plane crash because of your brilliance and quick thinking. That's something you can be proud of!"
"But if I knew what to do, why didn't I try to convince mom and dad more forcefully to do the same? Why didn't I tell others to do it as well? I killed them with my silence!"
"Oh, come on! Do you think anyone else would have fit under the seat?"
He had actually never thought about it like that before… Really, nobody else would have fit under the seat… to his best knowledge, he had been the only baby onboard that particular flight. Then maybe he really couldn't have helped them?
"I don't think they would have fit." – He admitted reluctantly.
"So, what's the conclusion then?" – Pressed Sherlock further as if talking to a small child with limited understanding of the world.
"That I am not to blame for the crash."
"And for leaving?" – Nudged him Mycroft.
"No, because they were already dead. There was nothing to do."
"And for not preventing the crash or the deaths?"
"No, because I couldn't have done anything."
"Bingo. See: you are a genius after all."
Despite his brother's mocking tone, he felt lighter than anytime during the last 15 years. He actually felt like laughing at his own stupidity. Some genius he was, indeed!
"It's crazy. I wish I would have spoken with you right away. I could have spared myself fifteen years of repressed angst." – He shook his head at this whole unlikely craziness. – "And it was only faulty engine. That's all. Not even an attack…" – He added, slightly bitterly.
In fact, the crash hadn't gotten much publicity back then, given the fact that it honestly hadn't had anything to do with any previous terrorist attacks, even though of course that had been everyone's first idea. But as soon as it had been established that the plane's engine had simply given out, nobody had thought the matter so important anymore. There had been small articles reporting about everyone on board having died a tragic death but a small two-year-old boy who had miraculously managed to get out relatively unscratched and eventually even survive the accident with 'only' a coma. There was nothing more about what later happened to him – thank God for small miracles. He knew Mycroft had done his best keeping prying people away from his family and had never let it be brought to public that the 'famous' Holmes family had been involved at all. Until that very day nobody knew how and when the three brothers had become orphans.
"I guess Karim Nader was right after all…" – Mused Q quietly, as if to himself.
"Who?"
"He conducted an experiment about real happenings vs memories in relation to September 11, 2001. He found that over 70 percent of the participants had slight misconceptions about what they thought had seen/heard that very day. Actually, most of them would have bet they had seen on television the first plane hitting the North Tower right after it had happened. In reality though, this footage hadn't been aired until the day after. Nobody was able to explain why they had all felt differently."
"See, exactly my point. Our brain alters memories and that was what happened to you too. There's nothing mysterious about it; it happens all the time. Only that by most of the occasions it's not important and we never even realize it at all." – Nodded Sherlock. – "Of course you would have been in shock and it's just natural you saw everything to be even more horrifying than it really was."
"That makes sense." – Continued the train of thought Mycroft. – "I mean, small children tend to see monsters in the shadows. They're absolutely sure it was there, moving under the bed or moaning in the closet behind closed doors and ready to attack them. They see it and remember it. And it's just in normal everyday life. I couldn't even begin to imagine what an average child might have felt going through what you did, Benedict. You at least never saw monsters."
"No. I saw blood and suffering instead… THIS was my constant monster. And I believed it for fifteen years! And I knew about this phenomenon! I knew that research and countless similar ones! Daniela Schiller went even as far as to say our memories change every time we recall them and we always believe them to be real the way we're recalling them at the given moment. I see PTSD nearly daily even in trained agents! How could I have been so stupid?"
"You're not stupid. Just human."
"I just… I feel… wow. I feel lighter." – Marveled the boy. – "And so very tired."
"We had a long few days. Go to sleep." – Nodded Mycroft and let the teenager stand up. They both bid him goodnight and watched as he trotted half-asleep upstairs, never complaining about having to sleep in his old childhood room in Holmes Manor instead of going back to his own apartment. He somehow really didn't want to be alone that night.
Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q
As soon as they heard the boy's door closing behind him, Sherlock turned to the oldest brother, rounding on him angrily.
"You shouldn't have allowed him to go with you. He's a boy, and it was dangerous. We could have lost him."
"He insisted on going, what could I have done?"
"Maybe say no?"
"Have you ever tried saying 'no' to the kid, Sherlock? Besides, I'm ashamed to admit it but I really needed him. He was the one who planned, organized and led the whole operation to detail; I was just following his commands. He was full of ideas and knew whom to trust. He was an asset. I don't think I could have done it without him." – It was very hard for Mycroft to admit this but still: it needed to be said.
"He could have been an asset from here, just like in the past months when he was keeping in touch with me."
"He insisted on going." – Repeated Mycroft.
"Whatever. He will continue to have nightmares."
"I know. But thanks to you, at least they're going to be about the truth now and not something he had made up to torment himself with. How did you know he was not remembering correctly, anyway?"
"Oh, come on, it was so obvious! I can't believe you didn't realize it right away. Mother and father would never have behaved that way, not even if they had been really dying in pain. Benedict didn't really know them that well but you and I did. We know what they were like."
"That's right of course. Come on, we should follow our little brother's example and call it a night as well. We'll have a lot to do, bringing you back to life and clearing your name in the next few days." – He said as he helped Sherlock stand and climb the stairs, taking each step painfully slowly.
Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q
After he had helped Sherlock limp into his own room, Mycroft went to check on their youngest, to see if he was all right.
He found the boy fast asleep, lying halfway on his blankets, his right arm hanging limply over the edge of the bed. It seemed to be an uncomfortable position to sleep in, and yet, the teenager looked absolutely at ease and content. Like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
"What are we to do with you?" – Asked Mycroft fondly, as he tried to move the skinny limbs into a more adequate sleeping arrangement.
Q mumbled something about flying cars and disruption-causing fireworks. Just like when he had been sick, but now Mycroft knew for a fact that it was not mindless mumble-jumble but actual plans of the Quartermaster of MI6.
"Of course he would be dreaming about creating weapons even now."
The youngest Holmes was finally fully covered and not in danger of suddenly falling off the bed anymore. Mycroft ran a hand through the boy's messy locks (his hair was back to its original color by now even if it had taken four washes instead of the promised two…) which had the youngster turn into the touch with a happy little sigh.
"An adult, heh?" – Laughed Mycroft and with a final glance at his little brother, headed to his own bedroom to get some much deserved sleep.
A soft voice stopped him though.
"I really thought I'd killed mommy and daddy…" – Mycroft turned back to find his little brother's startlingly green eyes lightning in the darkness much like a cat's, looking expectantly at him. – "And I really believed you'd hate me if you ever found out."
"I know you believed all these but I can assure you, this fear was entirely unfounded: we were there when you were born and they said you would die. We were there when exactly two years later you were in a coma because of the accident and again they said you would die. Ten years later we actually had to bury you and grieve for a year and a half. That was the most horrible day ever in history and the happiest when we learnt you were alive. We don't even hate you for faking your death. We could never hate you, whatever you did. Even if you had done what you thought you did; we wouldn't hate you. But you didn't leave or kill them! You're not at fault in anything that happened that day."
"I know that now."
"But do you also believe it?"
The teenager gave it a moment of thought before answering.
"Yes, I do. Now I do."
"I'm glad. But we're still going to regularly remind you."
The boy smiled delighted, unseen by his brother in the dark room.
"Thanks, Myc. Oh, just one question: did you tell Sherlock about Mary Morstan?"
"No, I still haven't had the opportunity… Did you tell him?"
"I didn't either."
"Oh, dear."
"Indeed… You know he'll go to look for John first thing tomorrow even if he'll need to swallow an entire bottle of painkillers first? He's never going to take your advice and recuperate for a week. Oooh, it's going to be fun."
"I'm sure we'll hear about it soon enough. Well, sleep well, little brother."
"You too."
With that Mycroft left the room to do just the same, thinking that with brothers like these two, he'd need to catch as much rest as possible.
He was also sure he'd take any challenge they'd give him gladly.
Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q
The next day, Q stood in the cemetery, in front of his parents' grave. The only time he had been here before was Sherlock's funeral and that time he had purposely avoided paying his respect to them, all the while telling himself he had to concentrate on faking being the mourning teenager he had been expected to be; in the reality feeling that he didn't deserve to even glance at them.
Now he felt like he was able to even laugh at the sight of Sherlock's useless headstone and of the place where his own one used to be. And he could even stand to actually look at his parents' memorial.
"Ahm… Hi… Mom and Dad. I don't know if you can hear me… Ahm… I feel totally stupid talking to a stone, but… well…"
He looked around helplessly to make sure nobody could hear him, before kneeling down to trace the scripts with his hand.
"I just wanted to tell you two that I'm all right now. I mean: really. Better than I ever expected to be. And Sherlock and Mycroft too. I don't think there are going to be any more fake funerals. At least in the near future. We're not planning secret missions or hunts either. Mycroft wants to concentrate on his political career now, which he claims to have a bit neglected lately. And Sherlock… well… who knows with him…? I think he'll want to make amends with his friends. Yes. Friends. Really. I know it sounds unbelievable but I swear: he has found loving and loyal friends who seem to be able and also willing to put up with his attitude and I'm sure will forgive him even faking his own death. Who would have thought it possible?"
The teenager was slowly arranging the flowers he had brought with him into neat bouquets in two vases.
"I flew. On a plane. And it went… well… not as bad as I thought it would. But I passed out each time by takeoff. And you know what? No one laughed at me or made fun at me. Not Myc, not Sher. They didn't say it was childish and ridiculous. Only one person had ever told me that… but that doesn't matter anymore either because I can fight the fear. I know now that I can."
The flowers looked very pretty and brightened the whole scenario perfectly. Even the boy's mood was gradually improving.
"Imagine what! Mycroft has a girlfriend! And me too… Sherlock still doesn't know; I think he'll flip out when he finds out."
He chuckled at the mental imagine of Sherlock fainting at the news, or better yet: running away screaming.
"I don't think he'll ever be interested in romance, to tell you the truth; he says his head hurts just thinking about it… But since he doesn't miss it, I guess it's all right. If he has cases to investigate with John Watson on his side and DI Lestrade to annoy, he's good."
The boy had finished with the flowers and had sat down cross-legged onto the ground in front of the headstone.
"I work in MI6. I'm the Quartermaster. The youngest ever. I guess it must sound pretty dangerous, but don't worry: I have lots of people to look out for me. You don't mind if I love some of them like parents and siblings…? I can't help it… they raised me and have been there for me these last five years. That doesn't mean I don't love the two of you and Myc and Sher! Well, I hope you understand. And I hope you're not sad I'm not 'normal'. I know you wanted me to be, but… I'm not. None of us are. I'm sure you'd be all right with it. You wanted to teach me to be normal but you were never mad that I wasn't. But if it helps: I'm not a psychopath. At least I don't think I am. I'm sure some people would disagree…"
He chuckled a bit then stood up and wiped the dirt off his jeans.
"We're trying to be good people, all three of us. It is not always easy but we're doing our best. It's all anyone can expect, right? I hope you can be proud of us. And we love each other and we're always there to help if any of us needs it. Not that we would ever admit it, mind you. You won't tell them I said it, will you?"
The youngest Holmes took two steps towards the exit before turning around, facing the tombs once again.
"Please, forgive me that I didn't come sooner… it's not easy to explain because it's a very long and stupid story; one that I'm sure you wouldn't want to hear. It's okay now anyway. I promise I'll try to come regularly from now on. I love you two. Bye, Mom and Dad.
Epilogue
After a memorable evening spent arguing over why they hadn't told Sherlock about Mary Morstan and why they had let him make a fool of himself in front of John just to get punched in the face for his effort ("We didn't tell you to try to surprise John! You've got as much sense of emotions as a teapot!" – "Should I remind you little brother how I had to find out about you being alive?" – "That's completely different" – "No, it's not." – "It really isn't, Benedict…" – "Oh, shut up, Myc, I can't believe you're taking his side!" – "I'm not taking anyone's side; it was just an observation." – "You know what, Mycroft? Do indeed shut up." – "Now who's taking whose side?" – "SHUT UP!") and after Sherlock's near heart attack upon learning that Anthea and 006 were a happy couple now ("I leave just for a few months and the world gets turned upside down! Next you'll tell me you're both in love!" – the other two blushed deep red like a tomato and tried to change the topic swiftly), Mycroft, Sherlock and Q entered MI6 together in the early morning of the following day.
As they were strolling towards M's office, ignoring everyone around them, people gave them startled stares. It was not every day they saw Mycroft Holmes inside MI6 (as a matter of fact, it had only happened once and it still lived vividly in everyone's memory), and it was an even rarer occurrence to see a dead man walking among them in absolute calmness. Unless that dead man happened to be James Bond, but that was a different story altogether because the man just couldn't even die normally and by now, nobody expected him to.
By the time they had arrived to M, all of the Double-O agents were standing around them, along with a few more daring Q-Branch employees (R among them of course). Moneypenny and Tanner had joined the little committee halfway. That was the scene M found in front of his office door as he was about to enter to begin his day's work.
As it was, he gave up on his plan immediately and gaped.
"Sherlock Holmes? You're dead."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"And you're the leader of MI6? I didn't think they employ crazy people who see ghosts."
"Sherlock, behave!" – Hissed Mycroft like a snake. – "We've talked about this. Excuse the behavior of our middle brother, Mister Mallory, he's still a bit… well, he's still Sherlock. Not much of a change there. Anyway, we've come to talk to you about something very important. Perhaps it's not even bad everyone is here. It concerns you all after all."
M had trouble finding his voice and nobody seemed to want to help him out. Finally he managed to get out:
"Wha- What would you like to talk about?"
"We'd like to talk about an organization called Spectre." – Clarified Sherlock and the effect was immediate: the agents stood up taller, Bond muttered 'damn' under his breath, Moneypenny and Tanner paled. The Q-Branch employees looked a bit uncertain but didn't utter a word.
Everyone stared at the brothers questioningly.
The three Holmes men projected the power of a whole army, looking invincible together. It was no question for a second that Q didn't belong to MI6 right now but to his brothers. At that precise moment he wasn't their youngest ever, geeky and genius Quartermaster. He wasn't a 'boy', a 'teenager' or a friend of any of them. Right now, he was a Holmes man, just like the other two. Dangerous. Powerful. Maybe even slightly crazy.
And something had happened. These three men had done something very important and everyone else was about to learn of it now.
Seeing that no one else was about to answer, Q stepped forward and handed M a thick folder.
"Spectre is done with. It's over."