I'm back! For this chapter (and the rest of the story), I am invoking my dramatic license and raising Judy Dench's M from the dead. I hop your all okay with that.

This is a long one, so get ready.

Disclaimer: I do not own James Bond and Sherlock.

"Sherlock, the car's here!" John yelled as he looked out the window. He grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it.

Sherlock wandered in from his room, wearing a blue, long-sleeved shirt and black pants. The buttons traveling up his chest wear nearly popping at the seams.

He looked around the room. "Do you know where my charger's gotten too?"

John looked at him. "Charger? What do you need your charger for? We're leaving."

Sherlock gave him a quizzical look. "Leaving? For where?"

John sighed. He knew Sherlock was playing dumb because he didn't want to go. "For MI6."

Yesterday, Mycroft had stopped by to deliver some news. Sherlock, who had just finished up a case early that morning, was already in bed. So Mycroft had to deliver the news to John.

"He's wanted at MI6," he had said. "Actually, you're both wanted."

John had frowned, wrinkled his brow, and had clutched his mug of tea tighter. "What for?"

"She didn't say." Mycroft said, studying the end of his umbrella. "But then again, I didn't ask."

John thought it was strange that he didn't know what was going on. "Who's this 'she'?"

"M." Mycroft pressed his lips together. "She's the director of MI6."

"And she needs our help?"

"Yes."

'With what?"

"I don't know," he said again, looking at the other end of his umbrella. "She's sending a car for you tomorrow morning. Be a good lad and make sure Sherlock is ready on time, would you?" Mycroft gave John one of his cool, frosted smiles. "I'll show myself out."

That had been yesterday morning. When John had told Sherlock, he had groaned and muttered something about "doing Mycroft a favor." Now, it appeared that he was just avoiding it all together.

"Sherlock, you need to go. Mycroft's expecting you to show up." John paused. "Besides, the case could be something obnoxiously simple. The solution could be something that they didn't catch."

Sherlock starred at the floor, thinking it over. John knew how much Sherlock liked to prove people wrong, especially when it involved something "obvious." Sherlock smirked, imagining the reaction when he pointed out how obvious something was. John shifted his position.

Sherlock suddenly sprang to life and bounded over to the closet to grab his coat. "Come along John!" he yelled, coat swirling about as the detective traveled across the room. "We don't want to keep M waiting!"

The car that took them to MI6 was black and nondescript; it was very similar to Mycroft's. Heck, John thought. It could very well be Mycroft's car. The car wove through traffic and ended up going down a tunnel to what seemed to be an underground parking garage. Except that it wasn't. It was far more than that.

When MI6 had gotten attacked, there had been some major speculation on the media's part of where it had been relocated to. Of course, the new location had never been revealed. As the car went further underground and stopped in a concrete cavern, John realized where he was.

After going through security, much to Sherlock's annoyance, ("Yes, that's knife! It's for a case; a man's life depends on it!) a young African woman escorted them to M's office. The office had glass walls on three sides, and had very few furnishings. The only things there were a desk with a glass top, three black chairs, a file cabinet, a floor lamp, and some potted plants. The only notable and seemingly out of place item on the desk was a china figure of an English Bulldog draped in the United Kingdom's flag.

M herself was a bit surprising. John hadn't known what to expect, but he hadn't been expecting this.

She was old, upwards of fifty, if John was correct. She was short, and petite, but carried herself with such authority and conviction, that John felt a bit intimidated by her. Her eyes were dark and hard, and her face was lined with wrinkles.

"Gentlemen," she said, standing in front of them. "Thank you for coming. Please," she gestured to her desk and the two chairs in front of it. "Have a seat."

"The case I have requested you for is very . . . unnerving." M said once they were settled. "The man we are looking for has severely wounded three agents in the past two months and has kidnapped a fourth. I have put all of my top agents on his trail-"

"Wrong."

M looked at Sherlock. "I beg your pardon?"

"You haven't sent your top agent after him because you're fond of him and because you know that he'll go anyway, even if you told him that it's too dangerous for him to go alone. Not only that, but you lost track of this man, and you haven't told anyone yet for fear of embarrassment."

There was a pause. John closed his eyes out of annoyance, embarrassment, and frustration.

M did not deny these truths. Nor did she ask for an explanation of how Sherlock had come to those conclusions. She simply sighed and said "You're right, Sherlock. I have lost track of him and it's too dangerous to send Bond out there alone. That's why I need your help."

"Wait, how do you know his name?" John asked.

"Mycroft recommended that I talk to you two."

Sherlock frowned disapprovingly.

"I encourage you to hear me out before you make your decision. I'm going to introduce you to the other members of the group involved, and then give a better explanation of the matter at hand."

M stood up and straightened her jacket. "Well, are you ready?"

In the next chapter, you'll meet Q's girlfriend, and Sherlock and John meet Q and Bond. I hope to hear from you guys in the meantime!