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Stood Up, Followed the Coat, and Kidnapped
Greg Lestrade wasn’t as terrible at his job as most people would like to think. That’s how he managed to be hiding behind a small pillar in the warehouse, looking at the man who had stood him up—not for the first time—and his brother. Along with a young man who was tied up.
“Is this really necessary?” The man who was tied up asked, shifting in his bindings.
“Yes it is, until you say yes.” Mycroft snapped at the man.
“Fuck you, Myc. The answer is no. Put on a couple of pounds recently? And you stood up your boyfriend to talk to me?” The young man asked looking Mycroft up and down. “Should I be flattered at your attention? All these years I’m dead to you and suddenly I’m a priority?”
“You killed yourself, we had no part in it.” Sherlock snapped.
“Yes, well, it was rather good wasn’t it? I fooled both of you. Smoking, Sherlock? I can smell it from here. You and the mister not getting along? No…” The man looked Sherlock up and down slowly. “Not your man, you wish he was though. Brilliant. Still scaring everyone away?”
“Enough with the scathing tone, Ford.”
“If you’re going to use my first name, Mycroft, do say the full thing, although I’d much prefer it if you’d called me by my middle name, as that’s the name on my—mostly empty and impossible to get ahold of—file. While you’re at it, be a love and ignore this.” The young man stood up, and Greg could only see his back and where his hands were tied, but watched in awe as the man (whose hands were very tightly bound) managed to fold himself in an odd shape and put his hands in front of him, pulling a blade free from seemingly nowhere and cutting himself loose. “Much better.”
“Quinton?” Mycroft asked after a moment.
“Yes?” The man asked, sitting down again, putting the knife into the belt that held his trousers up. “Wait, are you getting sentimental? Now, now, Mycroft, that isn’t like you at all. Last time we met you were absolutely cold to me. Has your new boyfriend softened you up that much?”
“Quinton…I— You broke my heart.” Lestrade had never heard Mycroft’s voice so broken, so vulnerable. Who was Quinton? An old boyfriend? Lestrade would never put it past Mycroft to ‘kidnap’ old lovers. Lestrade’s heart stung. Mycroft had spent his night talking to an ex rather than meeting him for an anniversary. It hurt.
“I broke your heart?” Quinton demanded. “Don’t make me laugh. I thought you didn’t have one.” He scoffed. Lestrade was angry at the unknown man. He hated that he was treating Mycroft so poorly. “You gave me no choice. I had to go.”
“Not the way you did!” Sherlock snapped, furious. Greg winced, it must have been a messy break-up if Sherlock was so furious about it.
John stood behind a stack of pallets and looked through a slot in one of them. He’d followed Sherlock’s billowing coat, as usual. The man had answered a phone call from Mycroft of all people, smoked an entire pack of cigarettes and gotten into Mycroft’s car willingly when he’d arrived. Something wasn’t right to say the least, and John was going to be there for Sherlock…gun and all.
“What? You’d come after me otherwise. I made one damn mistake and within three hours you two have me hogtied and in the back of the damn car. If I hadn’t known by the damn smell of his favorite chocolate and your favorite cigarettes I would have killed you both.” John’s eyes widened when the young man turned slightly. He could have been Sherlock’s clone…though younger and shorter, with piercing green eyes, rather than icy blue.
“Why did you do it? Why did you go?”
“You wanted to chain me down.” Quinton glared at Mycroft. “You wanted me to be some sort of kept boy. I was sick of it. Then I got a job offer, and so I disappeared, can’t fault me for that. It’s better than your other track records with people trying to get away.” Mycroft stiffened and glared at the young man.
“How dare you?”
“Look, Myc… I’m sorry, alright? That was too far. But I’m pissed off. I did what I did to get out, to be my own man, to live. So not be the small, helpless one. I’m not an idiot, in fact I’m probably smarter than both of you in a lot of ways. I got sick and tired of not being allowed to do anything—”
“So you killed yourself?” Sherlock demanded.
“You’re one to talk.” Quinton snapped back, his voice dry. “A bit obvious though. You obviously didn’t learn from me on how to make a death convincing. I saw the footage and knew it was a lie.”
“Why? It’s not just because you were tired of Mycroft’s pestering. You’ve been dealing with that your whole life.”
“You think I could have loved ones where I work? If I’m dead, they’ve got no one to go after.”
“Tell her you’re alive. Tell them both. They mourned you.” Mycroft insisted. Quinton jumped and froze, his eyes going wide as he felt something vibrate in his arm, seven times.
“Fuck.”
“What?” Sherlock asked.
“You’ve got ten seconds before you die.” Q shrugged.
“What?” Mycroft demanded. John’s eyes widened when he saw a man step out of the shadows, pressing a gun to the back of Sherlock’s head.
“Don’t James I’m fine—”
“Put the gun down or I will kill you.” John snapped, stepping out, gun trained on the man behind Sherlock.
“I assume this man is your pet?” Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow at the man behind Sherlock who still hadn’t lowered his gun. He was dressed flawlessly, and his blue eyes were as sharp as steel, intimidating and captivating.
“And Sherlock’s blogger is here too, lovely, is it a party?” Quinton rolled his eyes. “James, stand down. I’m alright.”
“You were kidnapped.”
“Ha! Please. If I were kidnapped I’d already be out. They couldn’t keep me here.”
“Well you’ve had plenty of practice running away.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.
“Learned from the best, brother.” Quinton challenged.
“Brother?” James asked.
“Brothers…unfortunately.” Q frowned. “Gun down, 007.” James lowered his gun and John lowered his.
“What in the hell is going on?” John demanded.
“John, this is my younger brother, Sherrinford Quinton Holmes…who—until quite recently—we believed to be dead.”
“There’s three of you?” John asked with wide eyes.
“Pleasure to meet you, John, I’m a huge fan of your blog, and of you. It’s nice to know someone’s looking out for my brother.” Q said, holding out his hand. John shook it. “If it helps, I’m the sane one. Well, sanest out of an insane bunch, not much to look up to, but, you know.”
“Someone else is here.” James commented, his ears catching a sound that the others’ didn’t. “Q…” James grabbed Q’s arm and pulled him back, behind him, his gun pointed towards a concrete pillar.
“Um, don’t kill me.” Lestrade said, coming around the corner, his hands up.
“Ooh! And the goldfish is here.” Sherlock teased Mycroft, his eyes glittering with mirth.
“My name’s Greg.”
“You’re my older brother’s boyfriend, pleasure to meet you.” Q smiled warmly at the man. “I’m sorry I interrupted your date. I made a bit of an error and Myc found out about me. Not my best day.”
“Q, what’s going on?” James asked, lowing his gun.
“Okay, Mycroft—as you know—is the British government and my eldest brother. Greg Lestrade is a DI at NSY in London and is my eldest brother’s boyfriend—sorry, partner.” He corrected at the look on Mycroft’s face. “This one is my other older brother, Sherlock Holmes. He’s a consulting detective who works with Greg most of the time to solve crimes in London and around the world. This is Captain John Watson—crack shot, don’t test him—” Q warned, “and he is my brother’s flatmate and his assistant and his “unrequited” love interest, who insists he isn’t gay, but he is a bit for my brother, judging by the body language and the fact that he killed a man for him when they first met.”
“What—? I—” John shook his head, surrendering. How do you fight a Holmes?
“I thought you’d been kidnapped.” James whispered.
“Great response time by the way.” Q smiled appreciatively. “But it’s just my idiot brothers.”
“Sherlock? Explain?” John asked, nodding to James and Q.
“Quinton is my little brother, the youngest Holmes. Mycroft bothered him for years to work for him because he is an exceptional hacker and engineer—the best in the world, no doubt. Quinton refused and was taken in by MI6 at the age of twenty-two, at which time he faked his own death to such an excruciating degree that even Mycroft and I believed him. He took his job with MI6 and buried himself underground. We found out he was alive today when he hacked Mycroft.”
“I needed some information, it wasn’t like I was going to call him.”
“And him?” Lestrade asked, pointing to James. Sherlock looked him up and down.
“Double-O, MI6, works for my youngest brother. Ex-navy. Crack shot, excellent in hand-to-hand combat, he has a protective streak a mile wide, loves alcohol, and is the highest ranking Double-O alive.”
“To have ever lived, actually.” Mycroft corrected.
“Oh, yes…they don’t often make it so close to retirement.”
“I’ve still got a few years.”
“Few make it that close.” Sherlock shrugged. “And…no…” Sherlock looked between Q and James.
“Ow! What’d I do?” Q snapped when he’d been suddenly hit by an umbrella.
“You got married without telling us?”
“I was dead, sorry but most dead people don’t send out invitations.” Q grumbled, rubbing his head and taking James’ hand, curling close to his side. “Protect me from them, won’t you?” James chuckled and held his hand tightly.
“I’ll protect you, darling.”
“An agent, Quinton? You married an agent?!” Sherlock snapped. “You realize what he’s done don’t you?”
“I’m the Quartermaster, I’ve read his file. I know more than you do and I love him, so back off.”
“But—”
“Don’t get pissy with me because I can actually be with the man I love. You’re too much of a coward to talk to yours.” Sherlock looked furious.
“He has a point, brother mine.” Mycroft commented. “Sorry I’m late, Gregory, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He smiled, taking Lestrade’s hand.
“Well, I suppose it was important…you’re brother coming back from the dead and all.”
“Well, I am pretty irreplaceable.” Q chuckled.
“We’ll finish this, later, brother mine.”
“I know…” Q sighed and rolled his eyes as his eldest brother left with Lestrade. John managed to lead Sherlock out of the warehouse as well.
“You lived with them?”
“Yeah...”
“My condolences.” James frowned.
“They aren’t that bad…they’re just pissed at me. I was always the favorite.”
“Mm, I can see why.” James smiled kissing Q lovingly. “Never do that to me again.”
“I’ll try, nice to know I have a hero coming after me though.” Q smiled, keeping his arms around James.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I have a chip that tells me when a Double-o is approaching, it vibrates in my forearm. Makes it impossible for you lot to startle me.”
“Clever.”
“I can be that sometimes.” Q chuckled then he frowned. “That arse!”
“What?”
“I bet you Sherlock calls Mummy and tells her I’m alive. That absolute prick. I’ll kill him.”
“Why? Isn’t it good that you’re mother knows you’re alive?”
“No! She’ll scold me! Then she’ll invite us to Christmas dinner…” Q shivered.
“What’s wrong with Christmas dinner?”
“Did you not just see my family? Christmas dinner is a warzone.”
“You love Christmas.”
“Yes. And?”
“You got that love from somewhere.”
“Childhood. It only became a warzone after…well, the other two had a falling out, needless to say. It’s just not—” James’ phone rand and he looked at it, his eyebrows pulling together before he answered it.
“Hello?”
“Is this James Bond?”
“Yes, may I ask who this is?” James asked.
“I believe I am your mother-in-law, according to my two elder sons.”
“Oh erm…they said something?” James asked, a little shaken.
“Sherlock called—mid temper-tantrum—to tell me my baby was still alive and that he’d married. Then Myc called as smug as can be and told me all about you Mr. Bond and your job, and he gave me your phone number.”
“Did they?”
“Well, Quinton wouldn’t have answered if I called… I would love to see both of you, tomorrow at my house for dinner, Ford knows the way. I suggest you aren’t late.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Call me Mummy, dear, after all, we’re family. Speaking of should I be expecting grandchildren?” James spluttered for a moment, looking quite like a fish out of water before Q snatched the phone away and pressed it to his ear.
“Tomorrow, six sharp, got it. ‘Bye Mummy.”
“Ford—” Q hung up.
“That’s how you deal with Mummy. Are you alright? You look a bit pale.”
“I think I’m a bit frightened of your mother.”
“Don’t worry…it’s me she’s cross with not you. If anyone will die first it will be me…just do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Charm the hell out of her and bring your gun.”
“For her?”
“No, for me if it gets bad I need an escape route.”