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. I receive no compensation, I make no profit.
Chapter 7 - Brother Mine that Entertain'd Ambition
It was exactly one month to the day after the events at Skyfall when Moneypenny summoned me to Mallory's office in the late afternoon. I still was having a hard time thinking of Mallory as M. Technically the title went with the job so I supposed that I'd get used to it eventually.
Bond had wandered back into HQ some 65 hours after he'd disappeared from Skyfall. The betting pool about his time of return had ranged from as early as 24 to as late as three weeks. Fred from accounting had won with a lucky guess. Since I had inside information I refrained from participating. I'd also heard rumors that certain members of the Medical branch were somewhat put out that they'd not had a chance to patch him up after he'd finally made it down for a physical. There were at least two nurses and one doctor that were just dying to get their hands on 007 more than just superficially. They were mightily disappointed. Dr. Watson does good work. Bond had been systematically working on getting himself recertified for field duty ever since.
Over the last month I'd been up to my ears riding herd on 006's operations in Brazil. Drug dealers and money laundering meant that my team was getting quite adept at hacking into various banks and other financial institutions. On the down side the location also meant that there was limited CCTV coverage and the floor plans of many of the compounds and buildings 006 needed to get into were not digitized. Thus a lot of time and processing power was spent fiddling with satellite imagery to get something usable. I had to admit Bond's initial observation about fieldwork was correct. There were times when there was no good substitute for on-site human intelligence.
When I reached M's outer office Moneypenny indicated silently that M was not alone. She had a concerned look on her face so I wondered just who we'd managed to annoy and how well connected they were. She hit the intercom and said, "He's here sir," as she buzzed me in.
I was shocked to see Mycroft rise from one of M's visitor chairs as I entered. M was already standing. He nodded at Mycroft and left us in sole possession of his office, shutting the door behind him. That plus Mycroft's demeanor told me that whatever-it-was was not good news.
Mycroft started to speak but I held up my hand to stop him. I reached over M's desk and flipped the switch engaging the ECM and ensuring that the room was secure from both internal and external oversight. The fact that Mycroft had forgotten this precaution was troubling. There was only one person who could upset him to the point he'd forget security precautions. "What's wrong with Sherlock?" I asked.
Sherlock had been playing a cat and mouse game with the consulting criminal James Moriarty for years. The game had heated up considerably after Moriarty was acquitted for stealing the crown jewels. The latest round had been fought in the press. Sherlock was being pilloried as a fraud and Moriarty was being portrayed as some actor hired to play the bad guy part. It had been a slow news month and the furor was showing no sign of slowing down just yet. I suspected that whatever had Mycroft in such a state was related in some manner.
"Sherlock committed suicide by jumping off the roof of Saint Bart's Hospital earlier this afternoon."
It hit me like a ton of bricks. First M, now Sherlock. I hadn't realized he was that upset by the publicity. I would have, could have leaked some rather damning information about Moriarty if I had known. Hell, I could have hacked… I looked at Mycroft and suddenly all the pieces fell together.
"You!" I couldn't think of a word vile enough. "You orchestrated the start of this. Moriarty's release, the trial, the acquittal." I was livid. "You were using Sherlock as bait to get the whole enterprise all at once!"
Mycroft at least had the decency to look chagrined. "Yes," he admitted.
"All for the sake of your dratted ambition!"
"Yes, I…"
I cut him off. "You play your games. Organize everyone and everything to fit. Never taking into account the very real people caught up in your grand schemes. At least around here we consider things like collateral damage and try to minimize it."
He took a breath and I cut him off again. "Damn it this was Sherlock, Mycroft. Sherlock whom Mummy specifically charged you to care for and protect!"
The old emotionally overwhelmed feeling was creeping through my anger. I didn't have much time before I would need to find a place to hide. I reached over and cut the privacy mode then stalked to the door. I turned the handle. "I have had enough of your meddling. If I catch you at it after today I swear I will slag everything electronic that touches you." I opened the door and continued "And that goes for meddling with anyone or anything else belonging to MI6!"
I stormed past M and Moneypenny who obviously had heard everything after I'd cut the privacy mode. They knew who Mycroft was. They knew his importance and his influence. They both looked absolutely stunned at my audacity. I didn't pause but kept going at speed all the way back to Q branch. Once there I handed over all oversight to Shirley who had taken over as R last week. I told her that I was taking some time off. She gave me a look but didn't argue. I then went to find a place to hide.
I ended up in the server farm behind a rack snuggled up to one of the main router hubs. I don't know just how long I sat there but eventually I heard a voice. A male voice. Bond.
"Q? I know you are there." A pause. "Eve sent me. She told me what happened." Another pause then he continued, "R gave me a tracking unit. You'll be pleased to know that the experimental locator chip you had implanted works quite well."
I must have made some sound because I heard him sigh. There was movement and I guessed that he was sitting down on the floor. A moment or two later he started talking. He told me humorous anecdotes about missions that had never made it into the reports, the most recent office gossip and then critiqued a good portion of the staff's fashion sense right down to the tailoring of Tanner's suits.
I let Bond's voice wash over me in the same manner that the server exhaust fans were blowing warm air. When I was younger Sherlock had been unusually good at finding me and talking me out of my hidey-holes. I suspected that Bond, with a little additional practice, would be just as good. Eventually the need to hide and pull into myself lessened enough so my thoughts became coherent again.
Bond was beginning to sound hoarse as well as a bit frustrated. Ah, sweet irony. 007, the agent that was able to charm the pants off anyone male or female, on mission or off, was a bit disgruntled at having trouble coaxing one skinny Quartermaster from out from behind a server rack. With that random thought something mentally clicked. I could function with other people now. A half chuckle, half sob escaped me as I stood up and edged carefully out from behind the equipment.
Bond was sitting relaxed with his back against the wall. He had stopped talking when he had heard me start to move. When he saw me he slowly got up watching my reactions closely. I must have looked a bit skittish because he kept his body language relaxed and his voice low.
"There comes a time in this business," he said softly, "when you get to the end of your rope physically or mentally or both. You have a choice then. You can completely and irrevocably go off the deep end or anesthetize yourself until you regain enough equilibrium to cope." He thought for a moment and said reflectively, "It's the reason why most of the field agents drink." He continued, "You right now are beating yourself up with what if's and should haves. That's neither productive nor good for you. You need to stop."
I couldn't trust my voice so I just stood there looking at him.
He stared back at me then came to a sudden decision. "Right then," he said half to himself. "I am going to take you and feed you and then we are going to get royally pissed." It sounded like a good idea to me so I didn't object when he took me by the elbow and steered me firmly out of the server room.
I came back to consciousness gradually. I was lying on a couch with my head in someone's lap and with what felt like a blanket tightly wrapped around me. I cracked opened my eyes to a blurry vision of a seriously posh living room. Judging by the light coming in the windows it was morning. I felt warm and safe. I was so tired. I didn't want to move. Then my memory kicked in. Mycroft, Sherlock, the server room, Chinese takeaway, far too many glasses of Scotch. I must have twitched because the thigh under my head shifted a bit and a hand came to rest on my shoulder.
"Shh Q," Bond's voice said from somewhere above me, "go back to sleep. You need it. I've got you safe."
For some reason this reassured and comforted me. I closed my eyes again and slept.
When I woke again I was still lying on the couch, my head was on a pillow and I was still swaddled in a blanket. I managed to untangle myself and sit up. I was a bit surprised, given the amount of alcohol I had drunk, that I wasn't hung over. I guess I'd had enough water to go with the alcohol to avoid that particular fate. I looked around for my glasses, found them on the coffee table and put them on. The contents of Bond's flat came into focus.
I pondered the events of last night. Bond had been right. Alcohol had disconnected my self-recrimination feedback loop. That plus the fact that I had spent quite a bit of time telling Bond Sherlock stories had given me a fragile equilibrium. I wondered idly if that was one of the reasons many human societies had developed the concept of the wake. So now what? A mug appeared in my peripheral vision. Tea, Earl Grey by the smell. I grabbed at it greedily.
"I've just confirmed that bit of office gossip," Bond remarked casually as he walked around the sofa and plopped down into a chair with his own mug.
"What gossip?" I asked attempting to take a sip of tea at the same time.
"That it's worth your life to get between the Quartermaster and his tea," he replied.
I shot him a look.
"Better?" he inquired.
"Yes, thanks."
"You are quick on the turn around," he commented.
"Genetic sociopathic tendencies." It was as good an excuse as any. What had really happened was that I had at some time last night decided what I needed and wanted to do about the whole affair. It wasn't going to be pretty and I might lose my job but one way or another Sherlock would be avenged.
"By the by," he took a sip of what I could now smell was coffee, "M has barred Mr. Holmes from the MI6 offices. Moneypenny has offered to shoot him if he trespasses without your leave."
"While I appreciate the sentiment how in heavens name did he manage to justify that?"
"Something about protecting the stability of Her Majesty's vital assets I believe," Bond's tone was dry but he had a slight smile on his face.
"For that matter, why did you haul me here and ply me with alcohol rather than dumping me on medical or the psyc boys and then sit around on your ass most of the day waiting for me to wake up?" I very carefully didn't mention that I'd woken up the first time with my head in his lap. I still didn't know quite what to make of the fact that one of the deadliest MI6 agents ever, James bloody Bond, had let me sleep on him.
"I was protecting the stability of Her Majesty's vital assets," he deadpanned.
I made it into work the next day. As usual the office rumor mill had been active and most everyone was treating me like I was made of glass. I guess suicide in the family even if they didn't know the particulars was grounds for overly solicitous behavior. They meant well. Actually I much preferred the behavior of the impromptu conspiracy between Moneypenny, the 00's led by Bond and the rest of Q branch. Collectively they had decided that if I wanted to work then they'd let me work but that they were going to make sure that I ate regularly and got what they perceived as a decent amount of sleep.
I had started on my revenge project immediately. I delegated anything that didn't really need my personal input and put off anything that was not pressing. Of course Mycroft had snagged and segregated all the CCTV footage of the incident. It took me two days to deduce its location then hack the appropriate system and retrieve it. I left all his copies in a corrupted mess. He'd get the message.
It took me another day to enhance the files enough so I could attempt to reconstruct the conversation that had occurred on the rooftop. It was slow going. Reading lips is not something I do often or well. Surprisingly Bond was a help there. He caught me laboriously working on it and proceeded to finish up the transcript in less than an hour. He didn't make any comment about the morbidity of my task. I suspect that he'd guessed that I was looking for reasons. By the time we got done with the transcript I had them.
As Bond was reading it over for typo's he looked up at me suddenly and said, "Do you happen to have another camera angle, one just before the phone call?"
I looked through the files. "Yes, but it's a real long shot. I couldn't enhance it enough to be able to get anything much."
"Let me see it."
Bond watched the long view carefully through to the end. I couldn't tell what exactly he was looking at. But then, Bond was a 00. His life often hung on his ability to read the minutia of body language in precarious situations. It was highly possible that he was seeing something that I had completely missed. His next question confirmed it.
"How good is the security around your brother Mycroft?" he asked.
Oh ho. Bond had managed to figure out the family relationship. I wondered how he'd done it. M and Moneypenny knew of course. I knew it wasn't in the electronic records. I hadn't mentioned him by name even while drunk. He must have just put the timing of Mycroft's visit, my reactions and the Sherlock tales together. Well, he was a spy after all.
"As good if not better than M's and his PA was one of us before she joined the dark side."
"How good was she?"
"Just shy of 00 status if I remember the file correctly."
He looked at me, handed me the transcript and left Q branch without another word. I wondered what the hell that had been all about but I needed to switch gears and do some prep work on some specialized equipment for 004 who was going out early next week.
I found out what Bond had been worried about three hours later when Moneypenny hand delivered a memo reminding everyone that security protocols for branch head required the use of MI6 cars and drivers for transport to and from work. Since I was the only branch head that wasn't doing so already this memo was clearly aimed directly at me.
"So Bond thinks I'm a target," I gave her my best glare.
She stared back her face a study in innocence. "It is long standing protocol," she replied.
I gave up and resigned myself to using a driver for at least a week.
Over the next three days I ended up going over all the camera angles again looking for whatever had set Bond off. I didn't find it but I did find some rather interesting holes in the coverage all involving a delivery truck and some overly scruffy workers. A suspicion had begun to take hold in my brain but I'd need to confirm it.
I was pulling outlying CCTV footage of the truck both before and after the event when Moneypenny and Bond walked in followed by Tanner.
Tanner started, "You are staying in a safe house or here tonight. 007 missed a sniper by about 5 minutes. He was setting up to take a shot at you in your flat."
What?! I was a little taken aback. Was this MI6 related or was it more personal?
"It's a professional. There was information on your cover identity," Bond stated flatly.
"Someone took out a hit on your cover," Monneypenny chimed in.
"So I'm to break normal, well what passes for normal in my case, patterns until the sniper is caught? Don't you think if I don't show up at home at all for a week that it might tip him off that he's been spotted?"
"M thinks it would be safer than staying in your flat," said Moneypenny.
Hmph. Safer? I didn't think so. I had quite a bit of R&D security measures installed in my flat that I hadn't bothered to inform M about. I didn't bother to directly reply to Moneypenny's comment. It was time for a demonstration.
I calmly walked over to a cabinet and fished out one of the new polymer adhesive sheets that we were developing. I peeled off the backing and slapped it on the glass wall of the communications room. On the way back I snagged a 22 caliber bullet off a box on one of the firearms development desk. Good, it was a standard round. I then strolled over to the memorial trunk. It was a matter of moments to find what I was looking for. It was a simple handgun the representation of an R&D designer who had been instrumental in the development of some of our more unique ammunition. Since the ammunition itself would get unstable as it aged, the test gun had been the item placed in the trunk. As with all items in the trunk, we kept it in good working condition.
I quickly loaded the revolver, took aim and fired at the sheet on the window. The bullet imbedded itself in the polymer, the glass window behind it cracked in a spider web pattern but it did not break. R, who was running an op in communications, gave me a dirty look and went on with talking an agent through a tricky bit of mission. The rest of my staff just stared at me with varying degrees of shock and awe.
I looked at Tanner, Bond and Moneypenny. Tanner kept a straight face. Monneypenny looked surprised. Bond had a speculative look. "I have the thicker version on my flat windows," was all I said.
My demonstration and subsequent explanation of my flat's defenses forestalled any further discussion of relocation however I did end up with a surveillance detail. Watchers watching for watchers. That concession on my part made things a little difficult when I managed to solve the puzzle of the truck a day or so later. Oh Sherlock. Pulling the wool over everyone's eyes, mine and Mycroft included. He must have had an inside accomplice. Probably that girl, Molly wasn't it, at St. Bart's.
Opening communication with him was going to have to be seriously old school. Given the fact that he was attempting to protect his people as well as avoid notice Sherlock would be running with a high level of paranoia and leaving a minimal electronic footprint. A note with a phone number on it in a dead drop that I knew he'd check occasionally would be the only way. It was going to be impossible to place the note myself given how closely I was being guarded. Well there was no help for it. I'd need to take Bond into my confidence.
I was surprised at how easy it was to convince Bond. I suspected it was his way of returning the breadcrumb favor. He, on the other hand, said it was good to have a realistic training exercise from time to time. I had replied that if he really wanted a challenge he should try and get back into MI6 without triggering any of my new security measures. I should know better than to give any of the 00's, especially him, a challenge like that. I was subsequently informed by M that the cost of repairs to the security system was going to come out of my department's discretionary fund.
It took another week from the time Bond placed the note but the disposable mobile I'd purchased for just this purposed finally buzzed. I looked at the text. The message read:
011235813.
I smiled and texted back.
21345589.
Almost immediately I received.
Gross.
It was an old joke of ours from school. Something inside of me unknotted now that I knew for sure, rather than just suspecting, he wasn't dead.
Do you need assistance?
This reply took a little longer.
Potentially. I'll be in touch.
I smiled again. Typical Sherlock, not willing to admit he needed help. From experience I knew that I'd just have to wait. That was fine. Espionage was in many ways a waiting game and I had plenty of other things to do while I waited.
Author's Note: Chapter title derived from Tempest, Act V, Scene 1. The initial text is the start the Fibonacci sequence specifically: 0/1/1/2/3/5/8/13. Q's reply is then next 4 numbers 21/34/55/89. A gross is 144 items. 144 is the next number in the sequence.
The reason Sherlock is upset in chapter 6 will be revealed in the Epilogue. I'll also list the "shout outs" for the entire story in the Eplilogue author's notes. Luckily you only have 2 more chapters before you get there. I've completed writing this and am currently editing. The finished work will be 9 chapters and an Epilogue. This is the longest piece I've ever written in 1st person. Channeling Q and John has been an interesting experience to say the least. Please let me know how well I've done with it by leaving a review. Feel free to PM typos.
