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The drive back to London consisted of Q's soft voice in Bond's ear, giving him directions to the final destination of the SUV, pestering him about his passenger. Bond didn't need Q having any emotional attachment to this case. He wasn't sure how long that was going to last, however, since Q's family was involved. Bond often wondered why Mycroft never told anyone about Quinn, their long lost step-brother, then again, Bond just recently learned that Mycroft and Sherlock were brothers. James Bond never dug into family history, his own being a mystery to himself.

Quinn was smart and he had access to all the latest technology. Bond knew that it was a matter of time before the doe-eyed boy would find out the truth about his family. What he would do with that information bothered Bond the most. Would he take it and turn on his brothers, or would he embrace it, and accept the fact that his family works for the British Government and he does too? Only time wou;d tell.

Sherlock's soft snores brought James Bond out of his reverie about Q and into another. James wasn't one to reminisce, but he would admit to missing the old Sherlock. The one before the drugs and violence took over, making him the cold calculating man in the passenger seat. A recognizable softness had crept into Sherlock's eyes that was there back in the days they would work together. His mind always sharp and always calculating, even when the drugs had their way with him. This was always surprising to James, since he had no idea Sherlock had been using; he should have been the first one to notice, to see the signs, to witness Sherlock shooting up, or snorting, or smoking, or whatever it was that he did to get high. They had been flatmates at one point, forced to live with each other because of Mycroft's insistence and a hit that MI6 had put on someone named Moriarty. Mycroft was certain that Jim Moriarty had it in for his brother, but for what reason, James never knew, nor did he push the issue; Mycroft never talked about personal life.

James pulled the car to the curb four cars behind the SUV. He surveyed his surroundings. The neighborhood was middle to upper class and most of the flats were secured by some sort of professional security agency. The streetlights were just bright enough for James to see what was going on, however, the one lamp above the SUV was out.

"Convenient," the agent muttered under his breath.

"What is?" Sherlock's voice rumbled throughout the car as he sat up and looked around. "Hmm...must've fallen asleep. How long was I out and where are we?"

"Thirty minutes, and we are in the Greenwich area."

Sherlock said nothing as he and James watched two men step out of the SUV and walk to the rear. Their view of them was hidden by the cars in front of them, but they could see the doors opening. One of the men backed up onto the sidewalk, briefly glanced around the area, then nodded as he pulled a gun from inside his jacket and pointed to whomever was in front of him. He started backing up slowly, glancing around. A small figure then followed the man onto the sidewalk.

"John..." Sherlock whispered. James could see him tensing in the passenger seat.

"Easy Sherlock," the agent whispered back. "We don't want to jump the gun."

They watched as the taller figure pushed John in his back with the gun in his hand. John didn't fight back.

"Moran." James and Sherlock whispered at the same time.

"Q, I need a blueprint of the building Moran is going into, immediately." James ordered.

"You should have a copy in ten seconds."

James and Sherlock held their breaths until the men were inside the building.

"Do you have a cell on you?" James whispered as he brought his out.

"Yes," Sherlock reached inside his jacket and brought out his cell, only to find that it was dead. He cursed under his breath.

"It's fine," James handed over his cell to Sherlock. "Take that blueprint to heart."

James glanced around. The only thing that had changed was a dim light had been turned on on the top floor. A curtain was thrown to the side as a silhouette looked out. James held his breath as lights appeared in the rear view.

"Slowly slide down in your seat." James said through gritted teeth.

Sherlock hummed his agreement as he did as he was told. James reached under his seat for a gun, as he watched a dark colored SUV, similar to the one four cars ahead, drive past and park further ahead, across the street. James checked to make sure the gun was loaded. Sherlock reached inside his own jacket pocket for his gun and checked it. Only one bullet fired.

They watched silently as three men in dark coats exited the SUV, crossed the street and entered the building.

"There is a fire escape that leads up to the second floor. I don't think the front door is very secure, and I don't see any heat signatures indicating anyone staged at the door." Q informed Bond.

"Thanks Q." James whispered, then to nodded in the direction of the building as he spoke to Sherlock. "Front door."

Sherlock nodded, opened his door, glanced around, then nodded at James to follow. Ducking in and out of shadows, they made their way to the door of the building. James turned the knob slowly and pushed the door in. The faint smell of musty furniture and stale urine wafted out to them as James stepped inside the door into an unknown room. He swept the room with his gun twice and signaled for Sherlock to enter. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light streaming in from a street light in one window and the moon in another, they found themselves in an abandoned living area. Ahead of them was a flight of stairs with a landing and a street light in the back alley streaming amber light onto the staircase. Stepping lightly, they made their way to the stair case and stopped when they heard a man yelling. Then a gunshot, stopping them both halfway up the stairs. Another gunshot and the sounds of a struggle. Then silence.

James and Sherlock looked at each other and started up the stairs again, only to be stopped by a wail of pain and a curse.

"John..." Sherlock said under his breath. James placed a hand on his arm to stop him from running blindly up the stairs. They listened for a second more, then James moved forward, gun at the ready. Pausing at the landing, they heard voices coming from behind one of two doors on the second floor. James tested the next set of stairs and made his way up to the second floor and to his right, hiding in the shadows. Sherlock saw him give the signal to follow. They hid in the shadows, waiting for a moment to strike.

"Q...how many are upright in that room?"

"Three."

James frowned.

"Moriarty was a clever bastard." Moran's voice could be heard loud and clear. "I'm glad I took your advice."

"What should we do about him?" Another male voice with a heavy Irish accent spoke.

"John Watson has served his purpose."

The cocking of a gun could be heard and Sherlock leaped at the door and was inside the room before James could stop him. He heard a gunshot as Moran and another man burst through the door, knocking James off balance. They took the stairs two at a time. Bond orientated himself and leaped over the railing and down the first flight. Moran and the other were already in the second S.U.V and down the street. Bond read the license to Q as he turned and walked back into the building.

Wiping his brow, he saw Sherlock pacing the room around three bodies on the floor. In the middle of the room, John was laying on his stomach, topless and bleeding. He stepped closer and saw that Sherlock had dressed the wound. It was located right below the shoulder blade. Bond started to look around the body for the initial reason he was after John Watson.

"Looking for this?" Bond hadn't noticed that Sherlock had stopped pacing and was holding a small plastic bottle with a microchip inside. The fiery anger in Sherlock's bright green eyes was unmistakable, even in the dim light.

"Listen, Sherlock, I-"

"NO! You listen!" Sherlock drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. "That is my friend laying on that table. He was hunted because of a chip that was placed in his back. Hunted by you, hunted by Moran, hunted by God know who else. I faked my death so that maniac wouldn't find him. I faked my death for queen and country..." Sherlock started to laugh maniacally, as he twirled and found himself facing John. "I failed you John..."

"Sherlock..." his voice was weak, and John started moving and groaning. "Oh, that sodding hurts."

"John, don't move too much." James stepped to the other side of John. "We don't know the extent of your injuries."

"We? Who are-" John looked at James and an alarm went off in his head. "James Bond?"

"So you remember?"

"Vaguely and unfortunately." John groaned. "I think a couple of my ribs are busted."

"How do you two know each other?" Sherlock said before he could stop himself.

"I...am dreaming." John turned his head toward Sherlock. "I only hear your voice in dreams."

He started when he laid eyes upon Sherlock. "You have blond hair?"

"John, I-"

"You are hallucinating, the pain is making you hallucinate." James grabbed one of his arm. "But we need to get out of here. Gun fire carries is a quiet neighborhood like this. Can you sit up?"

"I-I'll try." John winced as he tried to lift himself and sit up. "Yep, definitely broke a rib."

"Hey! Find something to wrap his midsection. I'll make sure this wound gets dressed properly." He tapped his earpiece. "Q, I need directions to John Watson's flat."

"Nice of you to check in." Q paused in his sarcasm. "Did you say John Watson?"

James gritted his teeth. "Yes, Q, I need those directions."

"But isn't he-"

"Q, stop asking questions." James walked out of the room and found a bathroom at the end of the hall. The plumbing had been destroyed and there was a large hole were the toilet should have been. He tested the floor and stepped lightly to the medicine cabinet. There were only a few items left and bandages were one of them.

"Yes. There are two addresses 221B Baker St. and 509 Paddington Lane." Q told him as he navigated back to the room John and Sherlock were in. John was staring at Sherlock and Sherlock was pacing.

"Great, send both." James paused to calm his frustration. "Sherlock! Wrap him up! Now!"

"You...really are...alive...you..." John started to waver and James caught him and lifted his arms. Sherlock shed his jacket and gently wrapped it around John's midsection.

"You aren't Sherlock Holmes. You have blonde hair. You are too bulky to be Sherlock Holmes." John's speech was slurred.

It took all of Sherlock's will power not to recall the sleepless nights and the seven percent solution that he used to keep his pain at bay. But being without someone whom you are used to having beside you all the time, was a hard adjustment that Sherlock never thought he would have to go through.

James grabbed at where his phone should be, and a surge of panic washed over him.

"I forgot to give it back to you." Sherlock was standing with the phone in hand. Bond frowned at him as he took the phone and entered his code.

"Baker street is closer, we'll stay there for the night."

"No."

It was simultaneous and sudden.

John frowned at Sherlock then turned to James. "I haven't been back there for a while. I dunno if I can spend a night there."

Sherlock bit his thumb and turned away.

James walked around the metal table that John was sitting on to talk to him face to face.

"Listen to me John, I need you to reach beyond all that mental pain that you are hiding in that little brain of yours and focus on the here and now. This physical pain you are feeling could've been ten times worse, or you could be dead right now, if we hadn't been following you."

"I wish I was dead."

James ignored him and moved on.

"I need you to be strong. There is something that is keeping you here. Someone or something special that wants you here, living and breathing and that loves you. Draw on that John Watson."

Sherlock turned wet eyes to John who looked up at James like he was crazy. A change came over his face, as if a revelation had hit him.

"Mary."

'Shit,' James muttered under his breath. "Can she meet us at Baker Street? And does she know where you are?"

"How long have I been gone?"

"Two days, 10 hours and 43 minutes." Sherlock said as he looked at his watch.

"Two days." John said as he looked at Sherlock. "It took two days to get me out of that flat. I can't go back."

James ran his hand over his face, when a sound outside the empty house grabbed his attention.

"Sirens! We need to get out of here." James grabbed John's shirt as Sherlock helped John off the table. They dressed him, and swiftly descended the stairs. James gauged the sirens were far enough away that they could make a clean get away without anyone seeing them.

"Take this," the agent threw his earpiece to Sherlock. "Q will give you directions to find Moran. We need him alive, Sherlock."

"This...yes this is a good idea." Sherlock tossed the earpiece into the air, then clipped it over his ear.

Bond watched Sherlock as he stepped into the SUV that they followed to the scene. James dragged John to the car they arrived in and took off in the direction of Baker street.

"Hello, Quinn," Sherlock said as he started the vehicle. Q didn't respond right away and the former detective could the clacking of fingers on a keyboard.

"Who is this? Mycroft is the only one that calls me Quinn, that knows my real name-"

"I'm sorry we have to meet like this, but I am Mycroft's younger brother, and your step-brother."