Sherlock: Perceptions

By: Shadow Chaser

Author's Notes:

Companion piece to "Skyfall" and "Resurrection" this continues to explore the crossover of the most recent James Bond movie "Skyfall" and BBC's "Sherlock." Sherlock and all characters do not belong to me, they belong to BBC, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. James Bond and all characters do not belong to me, they belong to the Broccoli family, MGM, and Ian Fleming. I am only writing this for fan purposes and not for profit.

Story:

Perception was always key; a cultivation of misconceptions, misdirections, even of mistaken skills and reactions. That was the first rule of being a Holmes. It had not been taught by their parents, but rather had been observed and filed away by each of the three Holmes brothers when their parents introduced them into the world. It had been an effort to make each of their brilliant sons become more sociable – which evidently went well from a certain point of view.

People forgot that with perception, there was always the shade of truth in them. And in that truth, a sentimentality that bound the brothers together.

Mycroft Holmes cultivated the air of being a 'minor' government official within the British government and one who rather armchair an operation than get his hands dirty. The middle brother, Sherlock, cultivated the air of a psychopathic – or high-functioning sociopath as he insisted – consulting detective who really did not know how to relate to victims, friends, or the people around him. Brain work was always at the forefront. The youngest of the Holmes brother, known to a select few as the Quartermaster of MI6; known to only his immediate family by his real name instead of his single-letter codename, cultivated the air of an almost-normalcy of the three brothers, yet did not really care for any of them, buried in his technological wonders.

How very wrong was the perception for each brother; yet at the same time, how very right.

Because while Mycroft detested legwork and hated diets; Sherlock was the unruly physical one, the two were willing to trade the perceptions of what others though of when one of them was in trouble. And Q...Q was willing to detest legwork and become a high-functioning sociopath when the time came. After all, the greatest perception was that the Holmes brothers were willing to do anything to make sure that none of them would be a hindrance or pressure point to the other.

This was not the first time Charles Augustus Magnussen threatened the Holmes brothers, nor was it the last. But it would be eight months later on Christmas Day that Magnussen would finally realize the fatal error of angering Sherlock Holmes past the breaking point.

It hurt.

Q knew it was coming, but it still hurt when the order finally came down. But he never let it show on his face, keeping a stoic expression as he stood in M's office, back ramrod-straight, hands clasped behind his back, a neutral, if a hint of a pleasant smile on his face. He knew he was going to get caught, especially when Sherlock first approached him to help solve the latest long-term case he was working on, but caught so soon and by Mycroft himself...that was something that Q had thought he could at least hide for some time.

"-the use of MI6's resources for personal gain is clearly stated, so please, tell me why in God's name would you do something like this Q?" M's voice had not risen in his tirade, but Q knew he was furious underneath it all. Mycroft's flat, steely-eyed gaze on him at M's left-hand side did not help the whole thing.

"We've established a connection between Magnussen and Moriarty last Christmas-"

"You have been told, repeatedly, that Magnussen was off limits-"

"He has connections to Moriarty, Mycroft!"

"And he will be exploited when the time is right," Mycroft stared at him, his gaze tall and imperious, his tone quiet and deadly. The implication that this was not the first time that Q had broken Mycroft's vow to go off and do his own thing was clear, but this time Q did not care. He had already broken his vow many times, the most recent one resulted in Sherlock's two-year crusade against what remained of Moriarty's criminal network. M and eventually Mycroft had eventually let it slide as it gave the British government as well as its allies in the CIA, Mossad and other intelligence agencies a lot of valuable information.

But it seemed that this time both M and Mycroft were not going to let things slide so easily regarding Magnussen – Moriarty connection or not.

Q gritted his teeth silently as he stared at Mycroft – currently the bane of his existence. It was he who had first discovered the connection, having finally broken into the files that Sherlock had extracted from Serbia. He had sent the information up to his superiors while also discreetly informing Sherlock of the connection between Magnussen and Moriarty. Sherlock had then turned it into a long-term case, believing it to be the final extension of dismantling Moriarty's criminal network. He knew it had been against protocol, especially since Sherlock returned to his 'civilian' life, but Q was never really one to follow the protocol to the letter. He would have thought that Mycroft would have known that – especially since each one of them used resources to the fullest, but it seemed now that he had crossed some invisible line that Mycroft had drawn in the sand.

"My job," he swallowed past the painful angry lump in his throat, "is to ensure the safety of the country and government. Magnussen knows too much and knows where to place the pressure on parts of the government."

"Which he has not used since acquiring the information," Mycroft continued in his steady quiet tone, "he is smart enough to know where he can use such information and where he can't use it to bring suspicion upon himself."

"And if he compromises our assets?" he shot a quick look at M who frowned, but otherwise showed no other outward expression. And that was the rub of it – Magnussen had already compromised a lot of their missions and the latest one had nearly cost the life of a double-o. Said double-o was recovering from multiple gunshot wounds and would be regulated to analyst work afterwards, if she wanted to return to MI6 at all. The other double-o that had rescued her was still laid up in Barts and it was only because Q had given the relevant information through back channels over M's explicit orders for Bond to rescue his colleague.

"Your devotion to 007 and the others of the program is admirable, Q," Mycroft managed to hide most of the disdain in his voice, but Q caught the underlying warning in them. His older brother believed him to be too foolish, too close to the double-o's, enough to compromise his judgment and make him sentimental enough not to consider the consequences when it mattered. His brother and M believed the double-o's to be just that, blunt instruments.

It was something Q also believed them to be, but at the same time, he liked to ensure that said blunt instruments were able to be used more than once instead of thrown away and replaced. It was something he had learned over his years at MI6 as well as growing up in the Holmes household. Broken things were easily replaced, but making sure that they did not break the first time and could be used again and again was far more valuable.

"You pulled Bond from a very sensitive operation-"

"I'm not expecting you to thank me, Mycroft," Q had enough and allowed the anger that was growing in him, the hurt, show as he glared at his brother before sliding the same glare to M. "I await your further orders, sir."

M shook his head and sighed softly before sharing a quick look at Mycroft. He then folded his hands together as he sat forward. "You are hereby relieved of your duties, effective immediately. You will turn in your access pass as well as any technological devices upon your persons. A team has already been sent to your flat to remove any computers or devices deemed necessary. You will be confined to your flat for the duration of one year, permitted to leave only with an escort. You will be given a mobile for the purposes of communication, but any attempts to log-in to MI6 servers or any other intelligence agencies servers will be considered treason. Your probation period will end after a year and your case reviewed."

Q silently applauded himself for not flinching at words said by M and knew that this was the lightest punishment he was given. Probation with no access to intelligence information or technologies. As the Quartermaster of MI6 – or rather now ex-Quartermaster – the lack of technology and information at his disposal was like depriving a drug addict of his drugs. Light punishment, but harsh for him and he knew that Mycroft had a hand in it.

But it still hurt nonetheless.

He nodded silently, giving his brother and M a slight sardonic smile. At least Sherlock now knew that Magnussen was the next player on the field and if he guessed correctly, his brother would pick up the pieces that he had left for him. Mycroft may have been playing a very close game with the devil that was Magnussen by letting him run free, but Q and Sherlock would make sure that such a threat would be neutralized before anything could happen.

Two months later...

The knock on his door was expected and Q ignored it as he sipped his Earl Grey and texted the answer to Sherlock's latest attempt to outscore him in Scrabble.

[Deception]

A rueful smile appeared on his face as he saw his points go up past Sherlock's and knew that the next time Sherlock opened up Scrabble, he would see it. The knock came again and Q continued to ignore it, flipping to a browser window and started to skim the headlines on his phone.

He supposed it was perhaps some form of mercy that he had been allowed a mobile during his year-long probationary period. At least he was able to skim headlines and come up with his own information and conclusions of what was happening around the world. He knew he could easily text such analysis to M himself, having his number programmed in, but so far Q had resisted the urge to do so. He knew what kind of game was being played, even though he also knew that M would not punish him for texting him information. It was just a matter of pride that prevented Q from texting that; pride and lingering resentment for doing what he knew had been right.

"This is hardly-" Mycroft's muffled protest was cut off as the door opened and Q looked up from his browsing to a very interesting sight.

"Hello Bond, might I ask why you are holding that man at gunpoint?" he congratulated himself for keeping his composure at the sight of 007 holding a gun to Mycroft's head. It was only a second later that he quietly let loose the breath of relief at Anthea's appearance behind the two. The fact that 002 was there meant that at least someone wasn't going to get shot in the next ten seconds or so, but it was only that.

"Someone told me that this man was the key to finding you," Bond replied back with a simple smile full of teeth directed at Mycroft. Q had a feeling that it was Anthea who hinted to Bond that Mycroft knew where he had been confined. He supposed that being suddenly whisked away into a year-long confinement was enough to make 007 suspicious that he had been kidnapped or something. Q knew M well enough that he knew the man would have tried to dissuade the double-o from making contact with him; perhaps even explaining how his mission had not been authorized and that Q was being punished – but he supposed that 007 would have thought it suspicious.

The fact that Bond was here spoke volumes and Q was a little touched at the agent's concern for him.

"I am well," he tilted his head a little, letting Bond do a quick once-over to confirm his statement before clearing his throat lightly, "if you would kindly please let your hostage go."

"Not until I get answers from him," the double-o replied before frog-marching Mycroft deeper into the flat. Anthea followed behind him and Q could see a frown on her face. He knew that she would do anything to protect Mycroft, but did not seem to intercede on her boss' behalf at the moment which meant that Anthea fully approved of what Bond was doing to Mycroft. There had to be some satisfaction in Q to see his brother like this, but at the same time, he also did not want two angry double-o's potentially shooting up the place. Especially since both seemed angry at Mycroft, for different reasons.

He sighed and shook his head as he set his phone down and stood up. "Bond, please let him go. And Anthea, you're setting a bad example."

There was a slight hesitation in Bond's movements before he let Mycroft go, his gun lowered, but not holstered. Q watched with some interest as his brother shook his hand out and noted the stiffness in them. That wrist and hand was recently injured and he judged was not from Bond holding him hostage. Q's frown deepened and moved to the kitchenette, taking an icepack out of the freezer and tossed it at Mycroft who caught it with his other hand.

"What-"

"You tell me," he shot at his brother who only met his gaze with a frown of his own before placing the pack on his wrist, the same one Bond had been holding.

"Dr. Watson found Sherlock in a drug den this morning," Mycroft explained and Q resisted the urge to sigh loudly. That certainly explained why his brother had not returned his text messages in the past week. He thought him to be on a case, but Sherlock always had time to return his texts. Sherlock and drugs...well...that was a combination that he wished he did not have to visit, but now seemed resigned to do so again. It also explained why Mycroft's arm and wrist looked stiff – Bond must have exploited the recent injury that Sherlock must have given to Mycroft and used it to his advantage.

"I have a painkiller-"

"Sherlock's apparently investigating Magnussen," at Mycroft's words, Q fell silent, staring at his brother who had moved to stand by the small dining table, his injured hand rested on it with the ice pack on top.

"And?"

"And..." Mycroft stared at him with the same gaze that spoke volumes of disappointment, anger, and of irritation. The same gaze that said that he would not get involved, would not compromise the situation at all – and Q promptly ignored it. Ever since Sherlock had returned from the dead, Mycroft was smothering, as if he needed to ensure the safety of his little brothers with the utmost secrecy and security. It was Sherlock who died for crying out loud! Not him!

"Q..."

"Bond, meet Mycroft Holmes, my brother," he instead addressed Bond's non-inquiry with a toothy smile and saw the slight thinning of his brother's lips at the dropping of familial status. The only double-o agent who knew of their connection was Anthea, but if she was making no motion to intercede it meant that she was very angry at Mycroft.

"Two months ago, you were sent on a mission to rescue 002 here," he explained to Bond while glaring at Mycroft, "it was not an authorized mission as M told you, and rightly so. It was a mission that was related to information we had recovered from Serbia with Sherlock Holmes' help – my other brother. That information enabled connections to be drawn regarding Moriarty's criminal network and led us to Magnussen. Further inquiries and extrapolations uncovered the fact that Magnussen had information on Mycroft here, so I sent my findings to 002 to ensure that Magnussen could not use this to blackmail him. Magnussen was supposed to meet with 002, but instead sent a CIA operative to deal with 002. The information that could be concluded from that was that after dealing with 002, the operative would have dealt with my brother here and England would be none the wiser to what was happening."

"I received that tip from Felix Leitner in the CIA," Bond sound a little confused and Q nodded.

"Apparently my tracks were not covered as well as I thought they would be. Magnussen tipped my brother off with regards to this clandestine operation...and I was relieved of my duties," Q trailed off as the pieces clicked together and he stared at Mycroft. It suddenly made horrible sense, "...You clever bastard..."

Mycroft had the sense to look a little embarrassed as he tapped one of the legs of the table with his umbrella. "I'm sorry it had to come to this, brother."

The Holmes brothers always made sure to keep their distance from each other, to not let sentimentality compromise the integrity of each of their positions, be it in the government or otherwise. The fact that Magnussen had been the one to alert Mycroft, of all people, that it was Q who had authorized the mission meant that he knew that he was a Holmes...and that in of itself was dangerous. Q's 'punishment' was not only just that, a punishment, but also to keep him out of Magnussen's cross hairs and be potentially used as blackmail against Mycroft or Sherlock.

"And..." his older brother continued and Q grimaced.

"I shared Magnussen's information with Sherlock," even though he felt a little guilty at falling into such a trap, he did not feel cowed enough to let Sherlock know about Magnussen...and the information that he had on their older brother. It was Sherlock's long-term case after all and Q was only doing what he perceived as his duty to make sure his brother had information he could not easily access. "It is only my guess as to what he did with it since I've been relieved of my duties as Quartermaster."

"You have no idea what you have done," Mycroft looked disappointed, but Q refused to budge.

"I know that I prevented a bullet from reaching you," he shot back and saw his brother flinch a little at the remark. The fact that Anthea had refused analyst work after her month-long recovery and had insisted on returning to double-o status spoke volumes as to her devotion to Mycroft. Mycroft also knew of that, but was too proud to acknowledge it. Q, though, had no such reservations. He saw Bond shoot an unreadable look at his brother before seemingly come to his own conclusions as he finally holstered his gun.

"Well then," Mycroft looked like he had swallowed something sour as he shed the ice pack and straightened his jacket, "be it on your head with whatever happens after this, little brother." With that, he left, Anthea trailing behind him, leaving a slightly befuddled 007 and Q who only shook his head and stared at his phone as Sherlock texted back a new Scrabble word.

[Perception]

Even in his drug addled state, his brother still had his wits about him to text Scrabble words back.

It was a few hours later that Q received word that Sherlock had been shot in Magnussen's office.

~END~