Title: Brothers Three
Summary: The lives of three brothers intertwine in a variety of ways. When R suddenly becomes Q due to an explosion at MI6 he is forced to turn to his half-brother for help. But Sherlock Holmes has his own problems to deal with. The confluence of the lives of the three Holmes brothers through the events of Skyfall, the Reichenbach Fall and beyond in the alternating points of view of Q and John Watson.
Parings: Mostly friendship unless you happen to want to read anything in between the lines. Lestrade/OC in passing.
Warnings: Spoilers for Skyfall and Sherlock Season 2. Language. Some violence. Potential OoC moments. Shakespeare quotations taken out of context and mangled mostly as chapter titles. A dictionary might prove useful as both Q and John tend to use obscure words. Unbeta'd and not Brit picked. I apologize in advance for any anachronisms, grammar errors and/or typos. Author's notes, if any, will appear at the end of each chapter.
Standard Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to their respective owners. I am merely playing with them for my own as well as your amusement.
Chapter 3 – Nothing We Can Call Our Own But Death
It had been a grueling 72 hours but Q branch was shaping up nicely due to the heroic efforts of the survivors and an ample supply of caffeine and sugar. M had looked at me a little strangely when my first request upon being formally named head of the branch was for coffee, tea, energy drinks and a variety of sugary junk food. I know my people. Provide them with their stimulants of choice and they will work like fiends, collapse for three to four hours then get up and do it all over again. My biggest challenge as a manager was attempting to schedule the collapses so that not all of us were out of commission at any one time.
I looked around our new digs. The old World War II bunkers had been effectively transformed. One end was a sophisticated communications suite while the other housed the R&D labs. The hackers were in the middle and the servers were next door. Bullet resistant glass, security doors and electronic security measures were still in progress but all in all the Q branch of MI6 was once again pretty much in business.
The MI6 as a whole had only lost eight people when the top floor had blown, the old Q among them. Their names would be added to the wall honoring all those who had died in the line of duty. It hadn't surprised me that one of the first things that had been moved from the old building had been the wall. It hadn't been an official move either. Just agents and staff carrying a name plate back in addition to whatever they had been tasked to get. I'd even seen M carrying in a plaque or two herself although I pretended not to notice. The corridor leading to the executive section was now adorned with most of the names. I suspected the rest would arrive and be placed in a day or two well before the new names were added.
Q branch had its own memorial for our fallen. It was housed in an old steamer trunk that sat in a corner. It contained a piece of tech or gear that the departed had been instrumental in developing. There had been a big discussion about what to put in for the old Q. We finally decided on one of his exploding pens because, as Shirley remarked, the Aston Martin wouldn't fit. I wonder where that car ended up anyway. Like the wall, the trunk had been one of the first things salvaged. Most of the rest of MI6 considered it strange but the members of Q branch had a tendency to touch, sit on or root around in the memorial when under great stress. We had all, myself included, spent some time with the trunk over the last three days.
I was working with Eve Moneypenny when I caught movement in the corridor out of the corner of my eye. Eve had just been assigned to assist the MP chair of the Intelligence and Security Committee, Gareth Mallory, who had decided that MI6 needed a bit more hands on oversight. Since her new role was PA cum bodyguard I had decided that one of the smaller palm lock firearms would be appropriate. It was technically a low level staffer's task to program the gun but most everyone who could actually do it was currently either off site or sacked out in a storage room that we'd converted into an impromptu dorm. I took a quick look up and was just in time to see Tanner striding down the corridor followed by…good God, was that Bond? But he was officially dead! M had disposed of all his effects. There was even a plaque on the bloody wall.
Eve caught my movement and looked too. She made a sound that was a cross between a squeek and the sound made when someone punches you in the gut. Oh yes I remembered, she was the one who shot Bond outside of Istanbul. Must be a bit of a shock to have someone come back from the dead on you. I turned to her. Her eyes were wide and she looked a bit green.
"How the hell am I going to face him?" she muttered half to herself.
"Does he know who shot him?" I countered.
She focused on me. "Oh yes," she murmered softly and then seemed to rally continuing in a more normal tone, "I guess I'd better say something at an appropriate time then."
When, I wondered, would be an appropriate time to tell someone that you are sorry you killed them? I didn't know what to say so I went back to fiddling around with Eve's equipment. Once I had ensured that it was properly programed I sent her off to the range to practice.
A day and a half after I'd first seen Bond in the hall M herself came into Q branch. I was out on the floor helping George with a bit of gear he had in development. With a jerk of her head she indicated that I should follow. Not pausing she strode straight into my office, a glassed in affair off the main room that didn't even have a door yet.
"I'm reinstating 007 tomorrow and sending him to Shanghai," she said without preamble.
I kept my face straight. I'd suspected as much when I saw the results from the bullet fragment analysis. The bullet casings were depleted uranium. There are only two or three operatives worldwide that use that type of ammunition. It was sort of a calling card for them. A personalized touch saying this kill was one of mine. One of those who did was known only as Patrice. We'd flagged him as potentially the operative who had escaped Bond in Istanbul. After that fiasco we'd tracked Patrice as best we could under the circumstances. Thanks to the cousins we knew his next job was in Shanghai.
Given those facts I'd taken the precaution of hacking into Bond's records. The most recent battery of tests was an unmitigated disaster. His marksmanship was atrocious, physically he was a mess and psychologically he was worse. Looking at the internal surveillance tapes I could clearly see his balance was off. His distinctive prowl like walk now had a slight limp. The only thing that had any upside at all, and I doubted that anyone else would have noticed it, was that his marksmanship improved the more annoyed he became.
"I want you to outfit him with a standard kit," she continued. "Let me know how you want to run the handoff. I don't really care where you do it as long as it's not here."
That was interesting. M didn't want Bond running around in-house with a weapon but she didn't want him obtaining his own when he reached Shanghai. She must be going for plausible deniability with Mallory if the whole thing went tits up then. That in turn meant that this particular conversation may not have ever happened. I'd need to check the common area surveillance footage and wipe any entry logs to remove traces of M's visit. Government internal politics. I'll never understand how Mycroft stands the sheer pettiness of it. Code at least doesn't play power games or try to cut your funding.
"National Gallery." I'd used it before when I had been R and I knew just the room. "I'll bring up the recognition phrases shortly." I needed to see if they had changed the painting since the last time I'd used that room.
M made a sound that I took as approval. She turned to go and then turned back. "I'm thinking of sending Moneypenny as part of the backup team."
She was asking me for my assessment. Interesting. The bombing must have shaken her up more than I had thought. She would have never asked anyone else's opinion of a personnel assignment before. Remembering how fast Eve had recovered from first seeing Bond I replied, "She's stable. She'll do fine."
M nodded then walked out of Q branch just as quickly as she had entered.
Time to get busy. I needed to pack up and send Dr. Watson's laptop back to him. In the three days I'd had it I'd added an extra firewall, upgraded virus protection, and installed an interesting little routing routine that would bounce e-mails labeled "private" all over everywhere before finally delivering them to their destination. I'd also put in a satellite uplink as well as a backdoor. If the computer was on I'd be able to access it. Everything, of course, was hidden down in the base code of the operating system for safety's sake. I didn't think the good Doctor would notice any of the upgrades I made even if I'd left them out in the open, but Sherlock certainly would.
Several hours later I walked into the National Gallery. The contact was to occur on a bench in room 34 directly in front of Turner's The "Fighting Temeraire" Tugged to Her Last Berth to be Broken Up. This particular bench was situated so that not only did it have a good view of a painting but also you could see at least two convex mirrors. The mirrors gave decent view of anyone approaching. Two minutes past the appointed time I entered. 007 was in place. His tradecraft was still good. He spotted me immediately and quickly dismissed me as harmless. I wandered over and sat down on the bench next to him. He didn't acknowledge me. My open then.
"It always makes me feel a bit melancholy. Grand old war ship. being ignominiously hauled away to scrap.. The inevitability of time, don't you think? What do you see?"
"A bloody big ship. Excuse me."
His demeanor said he thought I was a civilian. Well time to disabuse him of that particular notion. "007. I'm your new Quartermaster."
He half turned to look at me but the only part of him that reacted in surprise was his eyes. They widened slightly. "You must be joking."
Oh dear. I had so hoped that he wouldn't go there. I took a page from Sherlock's skill set and deduced that he was going to question my competence shortly. Hmph. Better to get it over with quickly. "Why, because I'm not wearing a lab coat?"
"Because you still have spots."
Well at least that was original. "My complexion is hardly relevant."
"Your competence is," came the quick reply.
There it was. From his tone he was wary as opposed to completely dismissive. I could work with that. "Age is no guarantee of efficiency."
"And youth is no guarantee of innovation."
Nice return. I was beginning to enjoy myself. "Well, I'll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field." Let's see what you do with that Mr. Bond.
"Oh, so why do you need me?" He actually seemed amused.
"Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled."
"Or not pulled. It's hard to know which in your pajamas."
Point Bond. There was no real response to that. He was right.
"Q," he nodded slightly at me.
"007," I responded and extended my hand. We shook. I gave him the documents, the Walther, the radio and admonished him about bringing the gear back in one piece. Not that I had much hope. 00's were notoriously hard on equipment. As I left I heard him grumble something about a brave new world. If he survives I think I'm going to have a very good time working with him.
Author's Note: In Skyfall M tells Bond that the reason he's getting his equipment off site is that Q is "not set up yet". I made the assumption for the purposes of this fiction that she was lying. Reference to "the cousins" is to the CIA. Chapter title derived from Richard III, Act III, Scene 2.
Its nice to know that folks are enjoying this enough to follow/favorite it. This is the first time I've ever attempted to write first person quasi stream of conciousness so let me know how you like it. As always please read and review.
*Edited to fix a typo. Many thanks to MorganRose over at AO3 who spotted it.*
