A Bloody Big Secret Bond / Sherlock Bondlock

A Bloody Big Secret - Chapter 1

James Bond gazed out of the pub window beyond his sombre reflection and assessed the London morning without her. The usual grey, rainy street scene interspersed with red double decker buses wheezing to a halt and umbrella-wielding jaywalkers dashing for the black cabs that were queued in an orderly British fashion. All bustling, normal and familiar, but somehow noticeably emptier without M.

Mallory was right of course, Bond admitted graciously. Still lots to be done. He was the best possible replacement for M and fully supportive of Agent 007 maintaining an active role within MI6. Mallory and Q had both been wise to dismiss Eve Moneypenny's suggestion that Bond take a few weeks off after the bloodbath at Skyfall. Both insightful enough to keep Bond busy with fieldwork to fend off any stray demons that could infiltrate the barren spaces proliferating within him since the previous M had died.

"Ah, there you are." The sodden Quartermaster materialised out of nowhere and invaded Bond's private drinking and thinking space. "Good morning 007."

"What are you doing here?" Bond groaned as he eyed Q's familiar brown cardigan, drenched and suspiciously looking like it might be covering blue and white flannel pyjamas. Dripping spectacles and green corduroy slippers completed Q's soggy attire. "Couldn't you have got dressed before coming out in the rain?"

"No time to waste on such frivolities," Q sat down at the rustic pine table. "I need your help."

"A beer first?" Bond gestured genially to the list of ales on tap at bar. "The bartender recommended the Skull Splitter."

Q winced. "It's 8.52am and I've been drinking Earl Grey all night... and looking for you since dawn."

"I came out for morning coffee before work," Bond shrugged. "Got sidetracked here by the promise of a hearty English breakfast."

"More heart disease than hearty," Q shuddered at the remnants of black pudding on Bond's greasy plate and tumbler of Martini alongside.

"Man can't survive on Earl Grey alone," Bond eyed Q's slender frame in his sodden clothes. His usually luxuriant brown hair scraggly and reminiscent of a recently bathed feline.

"My tea consumption is supplemented with toast and Marmite," Q grinned.

Infant memories of spreadable yeast extract sandwiches made Bond nauseously swallow the involuntary salivary influx. "What can I do for you, Q?"

"My brother's parten... erm... best friend's wife has been abducted." Q interlaced his slender fingers apprehensively. "I need your help to find her."

"Tell me about the victim," Bond was mostly surprised to learn that Q had a brother.

"Pregnant female called Mary Watson," Q shifted anxiously on the wooden stool. "Snatched in broad daylight on Baker Street."

"A kidnapping? Any ransom?" Bond speculated. "Has your brother called the police?"

"My brother is the police," Q gestured abstractly. "Well sort of."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's complicated," Q sighed. "Have you heard of Doctor John Watson, or his wife Mary?"

"If you mean Captain John Watson, the army doctor, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, then yes, of course I've heard of him," Bond bristled. "Sidekick to that dangerous, alleged-genius Sherlock Holmes. But we're not talking about that John Watson are we? Because that would mean..."

Q lowered his eyelashes in embarrassment.

"Sherlock Holmes is your brother?!" James Bond gawped at his Quartermaster in realisation. "That's a bloody big secret you've been keeping Q."

"No secret," Q quipped nervously. "It just never came up in conversation."

"But Sherlock Holmes is a psychopath!" Bond had read all about the cold-blooded killing of Charles Augustus Magnussen at Appledore and Sherlock's subsequent four minutes in exile on an aeroplane. It all happened whilst Bond was up in Scotland at Skyfall.

"Sherlock prefers to call himself a high-functioning sociopath."

"How did you get security clearance for MI6 with a brother like that?" Bond groaned. "Oh God, don't tell me. Even bigger brother Mycroft bloody Holmes had a quiet word in dear old M's ear?"

"My promising career in espionage has nothing to with my two older siblings," Q pouted. Neither Sherlock nor Mycroft know where I work."

"Don't be naive Q! Of course they'll know. One is the world's only consulting detective and the other literally is the British Government!"

"You underestimate the lengths I go to ensure they don't find out," Q chuckled.

Intrigued, Bond arched an inquiring eyebrow and wondered what other secrets Q might be hiding.

"I'll tell you about it some other time," Q fumbled with his glasses dismissively. "But in the meantime we better find Mary Watson before Sherlock and John do any more damage in this city. They've lost it. Both been rampaging through the criminal underworld overnight."

"Do you have any idea who might have kidnapped Doctor Watson's wife?" Bond started joining the dots and slowly his blue eyes brightened. He caressed the black file lying alongside his plate. "Oh God, you don't actually think it's... Him?"

"Moriarty." Q nodded. "Thought you might be interested."