"Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive." ~Sir Walter Scott~
James Bond sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was stopped at a traffic signal and he looked over at John. James hated that he had taken this case. Nothing was ever easy when it came to John Watson, especially after being tagged in Afghanistan.
James had been sent to Afghanistan on an under cover mission after data and encrypted information had revealed that someone had sold a prototype of a specialized weapon to arms dealers in the Middle East. With the help of computer and weapons specialists, they found the source of the weapons deals and James brought that source down. He had been assigned to John's unit and on their way back to base camp, they were attacked. John was shot in the shoulder as he was attending to another wounded soldier. James had seen the other guy as soon as he appeared over the dune, but couldn't react fast enough with the sand and dirt blowing in his face. He shot the guy as he ran toward his position and caught him in the shoulder. The other guy only slowed a beat. As much as he didn't want to, James had to let him go. He came up on the position where the guy shot from and found something shiny sticking out of the sand. He reached down and unburied the object, finding that it was a small, silver ammo box. James heard his name being called as he looked in the box. The ammo was part of the specialized weapons that James had been sent to destroy. He swore under his breath as he realized they had destroyed only part of the spider's web there in Afghanistan; that the rest lay in wait somewhere else, ready to wrap itself around it's prey.
James ran back to the mobile unit.
"We have to get out of here and we have to get that bullet out of John's shoulder now!" James yelled at one of the soldiers helping John. "Go tell the Captain! I'll help John."
"I'm fine, I've got this!" John yelled back.
"No! You're bleeding profusely. This soldier is going to be okay. You've done good work here!" James helped John place the soldier on a stretcher and they loaded him onto one of the vehicles.
As soon as they took off, James started unbuttoning and unfastening Johns uniform.
"Hey," John tried to fight James off, but suddenly became dizzy and light-headed. "Oh...I need to sit..."
As soon as John sat down, James made fast work at getting the other's fatigues and under armour off. John moaned as James found some gauze and cotton and tools and started working on John's shoulder.
"Ow...wot the hell..." John's words were slurred and he was swaying.
"Stay with me John," James said breathlessly, working to get the bullet out without doing any major damage. With the vehicle moving and jerking, it was a slow process.
"I have to get this out or they will find our location. The bullet in your shoulder has a specialized tracking system embedded in it."
"It...it feels like I have...the whole gun jammed in my shoulder...jeezus..." John squeezed his eyes shut.
"Almost have it," James finally pulled out the bullet and tossed it through the window out to the dessert.
XXX
"Mmm..." John's groans brought James from his reverie and he looked at the dashboard clock. He only lost two minutes.
"Where are we?" John asked through gritted teeth. A pain shot like white lightning through his body.
"Close to getting help for you." James said as he turned his attention to the street ahead of him.
"Why is it every time you and I meet, I'm always in serious pain?"
"Most people I meet end up in pain."
John furrowed his brow at James, watching his profile in the streetlights. The pain became overbearing and he closed his eyes to try to shut it out.
James drove around the Baker street block, making sure no one had followed them. He finally parked, got out and opened John's side to help him out of the car.
"If...I wasn't in so much pain," John started between grunts. "I would fight you to...take-"
The door opened before James could reach it. He started for his gun.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson's sweet voice made James reconsider his decision about the gun. "What happened to John?"
"Mrs. Hudson, James Bond," John grunted an introduction.
"We were in a little situation." James nodded and smirked.
"I swear, I leave for vacation and you get yourself in a bind." Mrs Hudson shook her head and gestured for them to follow her.
"I haven't changed anything since you moved out, John," Mrs Hudson explained as she ascended the stairs to the flat. "Sherlock's brother had to come in and take care of most of his items. He also paid me three years of rent. I was so shocked. I was speechless. I will admit, I had a very hard time going in here the first year, but Mycroft asked me to enter the flat to make sure nothing had been disturbed, since it hadn't been entered in about a year."
The elder woman stopped and opened the door.
"Here you go boys."
John groaned and shut his eyes. The last time he had stepped foot in the flat, he had a nervous breakdown and ended up breaking a window. He smirked internally thinking about Mycroft and his squinty face turning his nose up at the window.
"Just put me on the couch," John paused and gritted his teeth. "I can't do any more stairs."
James guided him to the couch and helped him to sit.
In the meantime, Mrs Hudson had fetched some medical tape and pain killers and was at James's side as he helped John take off his shirt.
"I'll put on the kettle," Mrs. Hudson turned and walked to the kitchen.
John took the three pain killers and drank the rest of the water that Mrs. Hudson brought.
"Do you remember anything that happened to you?" James asked as he took the old gauze off the wound, daubed alcohol on it, and redressed with the fresh gauze.
"The last thing I remember is a sleek black car pulling up alongside me." John hissed as James applied the alcohol. "That's usually Mycroft. I got in thinking nothing of it and the next thing I know I have a cloth over my face and everything is black."
John stopped as James signaled him to lift his arms and he untied the jacket that Sherlock had tied around his ribs.
"The pain was making me hallucinate wasn't it?" John asked between grunts.
James furrowed his brow at the injured man as he wrapped his ribs.
"That wasn't Sherlock at that house was it? I mean, that man had blond hair and glasses and was a lot bulkier than Sherlock, but I would recognize those eyes anywhere."
James stayed silent. He didn't want to fuel any more of John's mental anguish. Sherlock would reveal himself in his own way, on his own time.
"Am I daft? To miss someone so much that it hurts?" John closed his eyes and groaned as James finished wrapping and drew in a deep breath.
"No, you aren't daft." Was all that James said as he stood. Before he could walk away, Johns hand wrapped around his wrist. James looked down at John.
"Thank you. Thank you for saving my life."
James nodded and tried to walk away again, but John still had a grip on his wrist.
"John," James's voice had a warning edge to it.
"I-...there was something else I wanted to say to you," Johns eyes closed, and he he started to sway to the left. "I can't remember."
"John, lie down." James grabbed his feet as John's head drifted to the small pillow on the couch.
"Oh, he's out." Mrs. Hudson said as she set a tray with tea on the side table.
"Pain killers took effect." James smiled a small smile at Mrs. Hudson.
"Yes, poor dear." The elder woman started pouring the tea and James excused himself to go out to the car and grab Sherlock's phone. He hoped that there would be a charger in the flat, maybe even the car. He opened the glove compartment. Nothing there but registration and other paperwork for the car. He glanced at the registration. Molly Hooper was the name there and James wondered if Sherlock was into stealing cars now.
"Mrs. Hudson," James started when he was in the flat again. "Do you know a Molly Hooper?"
"Oh, sweet, sweet woman. Works at St. Barts, where Sherlock used to go to do...what ever it was he did."
"Thank you." James said, then held up Sherlock's dead phone. "Do you mind if I look in Sherlock's room for a charger?"
"Oh no. Of course dear. It's down the hall. He might still have something in there since I've never stepped in there to clean. Too many memories, etc."
James nodded and walked down the hall. The door wasn't shut all the way and James pushed the door open to a nondescript room. A periodic chart hung on the wall to his right, a bookshelf on the wall facing him, and on the far wall was a chest of drawers. On that chest of drawers was a picture and James walked around the bed to get a closer look. He immediately recognized a young Mycroft; probably in his early twenties, which would make Sherlock in his teens. James hadn't realized the similarities in Sherlock and Quinn, until he saw that picture.
James cursed himself for getting distracted.
Sleep was in order, and very soon.
He checked Sherlock's side table for a charger and was greeted with the wonderful sight of one in the top drawer. Reaching behind the side table he found an outlet and plugged in the charger, and was about to plug in the phone, when he heard a noise from the rooms outside Sherlock's room. He paused and thinking it was probably Mrs. Hudson, James plugged in Sherlock's phone, watching it come to life. All the while, keeping his senses honed in on the rooms outside.
James almost dropped the phone when he saw there was a text from his own phone. He never texts and he knew right away this one was from Sherlock.
'Sweep the flat. You and/or John bugged.' Was all it said.
'Crap,' James said under his breath and ran out only to find John sleeping peacefully and nothing disturbed.
He swept the room with his eyes.
Still, nothing disturbed, and yet, something wasn't right. He reached for his gun inside his jacket and backed up until the backs of his knees were against the couch where John was sound asleep. He knew better than to back himself into a corner, but he was determined to keep John safe. He got this man into this, he was going to get him out, alive. Sweeping the gun over the room, he knelt to where he had tossed the jacket that Sherlock had wrapped around John and dug in the pockets, twice. He checked John's shirt, and patted John's trousers carefully, only disturbing him slightly.
'Dammit,' James said under his breath. 'Think! Where the hell could they have-'
James patted himself down. Located underneath the lapel of his jacket was a microchip the same size as the one that was in John's back. He swore under his breath and threw the chip down and lifted his leg, but thought twice about smashing it. Picking it up, he placed it back under his lapel. John shifted as James carefully walked over to the windows at the front of the room. He parted the sheer curtains with his gun. The only thing moving was a man walking his dog. Craning his neck, he thought he saw the tail lights of a black SUV turn from Baker street. He looked up at the building across the street. It showed signs of an explosion in the last few years and it looked like the flats had been recently let. Except for one; up two floors from the window that James was looking out and to the left.
Craning his neck, he thought he saw the tail lights of a black SUV turn from Baker street. A movement on the street caught James's attention. It was the dog he had seen earlier and it was barking at-
James heard the door downstairs open and cursed at himself for the distractions.
Sleep was needed. And soon.
He heard Mrs. Hudson stop whomever it was on the stairs.
James threw a glance at John and rushed down the hall to Sherlock's room. He sent a text, then unplugged the charger and threw it and the phone into his jacket pocket.
"James! John!"
"Shut up old woman!"
James heard them shouting as they entered the flat and he entered the hall.
"Well, isn't that sweet," Sebastian Moran said as he walked to the center of the flat. "Little John sleeping peacefully. I know your weaknesses Sherlock! I should have pulled the trigger on all three of them when I had the chance."
James heard Mrs. Hudson gasp as a gun was cocked.
"Moriarty was a fake." James said, aiming his gun at Moran's head.
Both men turned their guns on James.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Hudson started. Moran's henchman had his hand over Mrs. Hudson's mouth and his gun pointed at her head.
James kept his gun pointed at Moran.
"No? I know what will bring Sherlock out of the shadows!" Moran stepped backwards and pressed the gun to John's head. "Check. Your move, Sherlock!"
"Sherlock isn't here, Moran." James could hear Mrs. Hudson's muffled protests. Sherlock Holmes is dead."
"Ha! Don't play games with me, James Bond. I saw him. Saw him with my own two eyes I did! He faked his death, somehow that bastard. Lucky I didn't put a bullet into his brainpan on his way down to that bloody sidewalk." Moran tapped his head with his gun.
"Now, on the count of three, Bryant and I will shoot if Sherlock doesn't reveal himself. Three-"
"Are you sure that was Sherlock Holmes you saw at the warehouse, Moran?" James glanced at John, making sure he was, hopefully, still asleep. Moran glanced at him as well.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"The man you saw had blond hair and glasses. Sherlock has dark hair, is a lot skinnier and doesn't wear glasses. That's the man that Moriarty has you chasing all over creation, isn't it?"
The movement was subtle, but Moran twitched slightly at the mention of his bosses name. Bond would have missed it if he wasn't completely honed in on Moran.
"Two." Bond heard Bryant cock his gun and more of the elder woman's muffled protests.
"It was Sherlock." Moran hissed, his frustration was starting to show. "The eyes, I know those cruel eyes anywhere. The eyes that watched my boss die are the same eyes that are going to watch his best friend die."
Moran let out a laugh that sent a chill up James' spine.
"One!" He yelled as he pointed his gun at John.