MI5 Meet MI6

Q was sitting in Angelo's, sipping Earl Grey, waiting for John to arrive. The other man had called him to invite the boy here, asking him to come alone, stating he had something important to tell him. 'Fabulous news' had been his exact words.

It was not an unusual thing either. After their initial hostility following Sherlock's presumed death, they gradually started becoming friends, with the Christmas party two weeks ago just strengthening the bond further. It made sense: they had something in common after all – Sherlock. John could tell a couple of entertaining stories about their adventures together which Q hadn't heard before (he sadly didn't have much time to read the blog), while Q could tell him all about what it had been like growing up with the two elder Holmes men as somewhat clumsy but undeniably loving guardians. While John didn't appear to have entirely understood Q's subtle – neither, in the end, his not so subtle – hints about Sherlock being alive, he had become a bit less depressed since the teenager had talked to him about it. He didn't know but maybe he hoped. That was enough for now. Maybe even better. Less dangerous for him than knowing for sure.

The other topic they could have curious conversations about was, of course, James Bond. It was as if they were talking about two different persons when they shared stories about the spy. It was very entertaining and all the new information had given Q priceless ammunition to tease the older man with at the right time; sometime in the near future. For example, the man's well-concealed arachnophobia. So, the great and perfect James Bond had his own illogical fear after all: he was afraid of spiders of all things! John had confessed to the boy that the then young Bond had run screaming murder from their dormitory once when they had been soldiers together, just because he had found not one, not two but three giant spiders on his pillow. And he had had the nerve to tease Q about his fear of flying? Airplanes had killed people. Spiders – at least the types that could be found in England – hadn't.

While he was waiting in the restaurant, Q wondered what the 'fabulous' news could be now and whether it had something to do with either Sherlock or Bond, or if it was something totally different the man wanted to share with his ('presumably deceased but possibly alive') best friend's little brother.

Finally, John arrived with a cheerful greeting, accompanied by a woman who seemed…

"Benedict, let me introduce you to my girlfriend: Mary Morstan."

"Your… girlfriend?" – Q was dumbfounded. He could have sworn…

"Yes, Mary: this is Sherlock's little brother, Benedict Holmes."

"Holmes? Him?" – Mary seemed equally surprised but both quickly covered it up professionally as Q stood up and she offered him her hand to shake.

"It's nice to meet you, Miss Morstan."

"Call me Mary, please."

All three of them sat down and John added.

"He prefers to be called-"

"Benedict will be just fine, thanks."

"Bene… But I thought…" – John looked confused at his two companions who were eyeing each other rather funnily. – "Is something wrong? Do you maybe know each other?" – He asked, looking from one of them to the other, somewhat suspicious.

"Oh, no, dear, I'm sure I've never met that charming young man before."

"No, John, really, we haven't ever met." – They were being honest: they had never actually met and talked before after all.

The matter was settled and when the waiter arrived, they ordered their dinners. John seemed to have forgotten his initial wariness and chatted away with both of them happily for the remainder of their meal, answering Q's questions about when and how they had met with simple honesty, never expecting any ulterior motive behind the inquiries. Mary Morstan was not that easily fooled of course. She was giving Q a not-so-well-concealed scrutinizing look all the time, making the boy want to fidget in his seat.

When they finished eating, John excused himself to go to the restroom, leaving the two others alone at the table. They soon engaged in a staring contest that lasted a few seconds, after which Q finally decided to speak up.

"MI5, I assume? Secret agent."

"MI6 if I presume correctly. The Quartermaster, right? I never would have thought you're a Holmes. What a coincidence! No wonder nobody knows your name or where you came from. But I've seen you in the Thames House a couple of times, mostly in the company of Mr. Gareth Mallory. Your leader, right?"

The teenager nodded.

"We need to take our psych evals there. To avoid conflict of interest with our subordinates, or something like that."

"Oh, and how do you manage to survive it with Doctor Langley? We try to avoid him at all costs. He's a maniac."

"I don't know; I've never actually met him. I just send a nice warning e-mail ahead each time, stating we need the signed documents to wait for us as soon as we arrive. He wouldn't say no to the Head and the Quartermaster of MI6."

"It's lucky then that there's no presumed 'conflict of interest' this way… We should learn to do the same."

"Don't worry, your Head does the same with our psychiatrists. It's an unspoken agreement that we let it slide mutually; we're not hypocrites after all. So, did my dear brother Mycroft engage you?"

"Well…" – She seemed uncomfortable.

"Come on! I know my brother wanted someone to tail Doctor Watson all the time to keep him safe. I just didn't think he wanted to make it a honeypot mission… I don't think it's fair on John, to tell you the truth. He's rather emotionally vulnerable right now after losing Sherlock. They were best friends."

"Never in a million years would I do anything like that to him!" – Now she actually looked scandalized. – "It's not like that at all! A love him, I swear! Yes, he was to be a simple mission at first, and yes, I was employed by your brother. It was just guarding him from afar, nothing serious. But I fell in love with him. Not very professional behavior on my part, I know, but still… I couldn't help it. He's the most honest and kind-hearted person I've ever met."

"So he doesn't know about you being an agent at all then? Hmmm. I actually might be able to relate…" – Thinking of Annabel who had also been only meant to be a 'simple mission' at first but had become so much more. – "And it's my experience that a covert personality can't be kept up for long in a real relationship. It's totally different from a simple undercover mission when you really love the 'mark' and you have to live your life in secret."

Mary looked mildly interested but wisely didn't comment on it in any way. At that moment John returned and sat down, looking at them with calculating eyes. They both smiled back at him sweetly, playing innocent.

"Did you talk about me while I was away?"

"No!" – The two of them hurried to assure him just a tad bit too quickly for it to sound convincingly genuine.

Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q

"John has an MI5 agent for a girlfriend!" – Was all the greeting Q entered Holmes Manor with two hours later, confronting Mycroft while the older Holmes was having his late dinner. His brother was always in the most agreeable state when he had ample food in front of him.

Mycroft looked up from his meal at the teenager, absolutely calm and not bothered by the revealed news at all.

"A good evening to you too, little brother. I trust you're talking about Agent Mary Morstan."

"Is that even her real name?"

"Well, as real as in any other agent's case who don't have a number as codename…"

"Jesus. Myc, we've wanted to get John far away from this life, not into it! We're supposed to protect him! Sherlock would get a heart attack if he knew!"

"Sherlock doesn't have to know about it. Let him just concentrate on his task. There's no reason to worry him over it anyway; you can't do anything against love, brother dear. The heart is a funny thing."

"Heart and love; oh, come on, as if you knew anything about these things! And you made her follow John as a bodyguard."

"That was something we both agreed upon, wasn't it? That he needed protection."

"Right: protection! Is that your idea of it though? I don't know much about MI5's ways of getting assignments done but it's certainly not how our agents do their jobs!"

"Isn't it?"

"No! Well… Not all the time at least." – Except for when you're called James Bond but that was another matter altogether.

Mycroft took a spoonful of soup and swallowed slowly before continuing.

"There's nothing wrong with MI5's methods. They are as good on their homeland operations as MI6 is abroad. And Agent Mary Morstan really loves John."

"How could you be sure of that? You wouldn't recognize love if it bit you in the nose!"

"Well, she's certainly not with him on my orders, if that's what you believe." – Mycroft answered, sounding a bit resentful.

"I really don't know what to believe anymore. But one thing's for sure: she's an agent. Even if she really does love him; how could it work? She can't even tell him about what she does; about her past. Anything. Trust me: I know that a relationship like that is condemned to fail."

"And just how would you know that? You don't know any more about love than I do, brother dear. You were raised by me after all."

"Not for long! I…" – He had never told his brothers about Annabel and he wasn't about to do it now either. He knew they wouldn't take it good; they were both totally uninterested in romantic love (or any other kind of love for that matter) and that was what they expected him to be like as well. – "I just know and period."

Mycroft eyed him suspiciously.

"Is there something you would like to talk about?"

"Well, yes: getting Agent Morstan away from John before it becomes too late!"

"That's not quite what I had in mind."

"I don't care; that's the only thing I want to talk about right now. She's going to break his heart and then he'll really do something stupid. There's only so much I can do for him with all my other responsibilities. The last time I had to bring him back from the brink of total self-destruction. He won't survive another blow, and then Sherlock won't survive either, and then we won't be able to live with the knowledge that we might have been able to stop the catastrophe, and… well, you get the picture. England would most probably fall." – He concluded nearly out of breath.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating just a tiny bit? You're basically saying the fate of England is dependent on John Watson's happiness."

"That's not what I'm saying!" – He thought for a bit. – "Ah, well, all right, it may be just what I'm saying… Whatever, it's still true. So, you're saying you refuse to put a stop to it?"

"Of course I refuse. I'm not God, I surely won't interfere in this matter."

"Typical. Never ever have you had any reservations about meddling in other people's lives until now! Just my luck you would develop a conscience exactly now, at the worst of times. But I can promise you this: I am going to keep an eye on her! And I can be persistent if I want to be!"

"Of that I have no doubt, little brother. Absolutely no doubt whatsoever."

"Pff… Have a nice evening!" – With that the angered teenager stomped out of the house, resigning himself to have to fit another self-appointed duty onto his ever growing to-do-list.

Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q

Right after he had arrived at his apartment and had greeted and fed his two impatient kittens, the boy dialed the number of just the right person he needed to talk to right now.

- Hallo?

- Hi, Anthea. Benedict Holmes here.

- Benedict? Are you all right? Does Mycroft need something? Or Alec…?

- I am fine and Mycroft and Alec are all right as well. So, I guess it worked out with 006, hmm?

- Well… He's not that bad. We'll have to see. Hey, I meant to ask the last time, I was just too surprised to do it: how do you have my number? I can't remember having given it to you.

- How could I NOT have your number?

- Right… You're a Holmes after all.

- That I am. There's something I would like to ask you; off the record of course.

- Does this mean even Mycroft can't know about it?

- Especially Mycroft can't.

- Oh… All right then: spill.

- Okay. First of all you should know this is a secure line so you can tell me anything. My guarantee. Listen: You have been Mycroft's personal assistant for many-many years now, right?

- Of course; you know that very well. I was there when you were still a child and lived in Holmes Manor. I was at your funeral. What's the big secret about it?

- Nothing at all. But you don't really advertise your still standing agent-status, do you?

- What are you talking about!? – She made a bad job of covering up her bafflement about the boy knowing her well-kept secret.

- I'm talking about you being first and most importantly an MI5 agent.

- I don't know what you mean with these insinuations, but I can assure you that I am not-

- Ah, come on, Anthea, please, don't insult my intelligence. I've known it all this time, I just never told anyone or mentioned it even to you. You just said I'm a Holmes, remember? But I don't care about it: in my eyes, you're the one who was there for me through my childhood when I was sad and Mycroft and Sherlock both dismissed my problems as silly depression and all my wishes being just stupid childhood dreams; like my desire to have friends for example… They only ever said I'd eventually outgrow it; you were the one who talked to me about it and comforted me. Anyway, it's important now because even thought I know you don't do active assignments anymore, I still assume you know the other agents in your organization, don't you? – She sighed resigned, and stopped denying something that was a fact.

- I know most of them, though I'm sure not all the newer ones. I don't spend much time in our Headquarters. Being the personal assistant to your brother is a long-term assignment for me and it doesn't require briefing with my boss very often.

- I know, otherwise we'd have met in Thames House and my secret would have been blown much earlier... Well, but your knowledge will do, because the one I'm looking for most probably isn't a new agent either. The name I was given is Mary Morstan. Can you tell me anything about her?

- Yes. I can. A lot, actually…

- Great. Can we meet sometime? I don't want to discuss it over the phone; it's much more comfortable over a tea. Sorry: coffee for you.

- I can be there in half an hour if you'll just give me your new address.

- Fantastic. I trust it's no problem for you to come discreetly?

- Of course it isn't. I'll even bring you a housewarming gift.

- There's really no need for that... Just bring yourself. See you in half an hour then at…

He finished with giving her the address to his new apartment and then promptly started picking up thrown away clothes and cat toys from the floor to make his new home a bit more presentable. He could do nothing about the bareness of it though. Well, Anthea would just have to deal with it.

Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q

As it turned out, Anthea had been really able to give him lots of useful information (along with a few unnecessary home decorating tips…) that had helped him with further investigations as well. By morning next day, Q already possessed a complete file on the agent with the codename 'Mary Elizabeth Morstan'. (That had actually originally been the name of a stillborn child which – in Q's humble opinion – made it a creepy choice on her part, even though he had to admit it was ingenious from a spy's point of view.)

What John had said during their dinner was right of course: right now she officially worked as a nurse in the same hospital where John practiced as a doctor. That was due to Mycroft's incessant meddling with the purpose to get someone in there as a permanent staff member, to look out for the doctor around the clock on location. Thus far it was all right.

It was her previous personality that mattered now: like any other agent, she was a trained assassin – a very successful one at that. Had she not wanted to leave that profession behind, she might even have been a suitable candidate for a future Double-O position, with all the 'completed' marks in her records. As it was, Q had learnt that after a particularly grueling and nearly failed mission she had requested a long-term 'peaceful' assignment, not unlike the one Anthea had with Mycroft. And that had started the chain of current events.

Name changed and look altered, she now was the epitome of the perfect girlfriend for John Watson: beautiful, kind, independent and smart. The question was: how honest was this on her part? Agents could act masterfully and deceive almost everyone; the teenager knew that probably better than anyone else, aside maybe from a select few equally high-ranking MI5 and MI6 members.

Could she be hiding perfidious intentions under her innocent façade or had she really changed that much in such a little time? Did she really love Doctor Watson or was she looking for a secure way to leave the world of espionage behind for good, using the only means she had found: her new boyfriend?

There was no telling, since he hadn't known her long enough to make his own deductions about her. Besides, it was more Sherlock's field of expertise anyway.

Sherlock… He would flip out if he knew, that was definite. He was worried about the doctor all the time as it was already, going on Q's nerves with his never-ending questions about whether or not his two brothers were doing their best keeping the man safe and also making sure he wouldn't go crazy with grief and depression.

Q already had to sugarcoat the facts most of the time when talking to him, especially the state that John had been in prior to their TALK, just before Christmas last year, which had changed things at least a bit into the better direction. The boy noted with relief, saying a silent thanks for small miracles, that he still – being one of the two people in the whole world with this talent – possessed the ability to lie to Sherlock and successfully make him believe what he wanted him to.

Not that he was proud of it, mind you, but since he honestly believed Sherlock's life could depend on his ability to properly concentrate on his task, he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed about not wanting to make him worry even more about his friend, for whom he couldn't do anything anyway in the current state of things.

No: it was up to Mycroft and him to keep things afloat here in London while Sherlock was making order to things elsewhere. And if Mycroft insisted on being daft about this particular problem then the teenager himself had to do his best. Completely alone… just great. And he would do it, even if it was the last thing he would be doing and even if it meant extra working hours and even less sleeping than before!

Having gathered all the available facts and decided on a course of action, he quickly sent the previously prepared and at least ten times carefully overviewed e-mail to the intended recipient.

Tomorrow, it would be time to meet Miss Mary Elizabeth Morstan in private and have the famous 'if you break his heart I'll break your neck'-talk with her, secret service-style.

Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q

The next day, Q arrived thirty minutes before their agreed meeting time and promptly collided with Agent Morstan in the door of the café he had named as the place for their meeting.

"Quartermaster."

"Agent Morstan."

She led the way into the coffee shop and they took a seat in the far end of the room, with the agent sitting down by the wall, thus leaving Q to take the chair opposite her.

Once seated, Q felt that – since he had been the one initiating the meeting – it was up to him to begin the conversation.

"Agent Morstan-"

"Mary. Please. I'm not an active agent anymore."

"Mary then. I asked for you to come today because there are a few things I would like to talk with you about, if it's all right with you."

"Of course, Quartermaster. I have expected it."

"Well, that's good. I won't beat around the bush then: I would like to make sure you really love and respect Doctor Watson and you're not only on a honeypot mission on orders of my overly infuriating brother, Mycroft. Or anyone else's orders. Or on your own accord for whatever reason."

The woman nodded appreciatively.

"You know, I'm actually glad you care about him enough to go to these lengths. He misses your brother Sherlock very much, and he needs your family to keep in touch, even if he doesn't say so." – She sighed. – "Sometimes I'm worried about him. He's still grieving. I can honestly say that I really love him, even though I might not be enough for him to be happy. But I'll do my best, because he deserves the best. Mr. Holmes – the oldest – had never asked me to fall in love with John; it just happened. I don't know how I could prove this to you, but it's true. Tell me what would make you believe it?"

"Just be honest and you can leave the judgment up to me. Answer me this please: why do you think it is good for Doctor Watson to be in love with someone who has to lie to him about her job all the time?"

"I don't lie to him about my job: I am a nurse in the same hospital he works in. He has never asked me how I came to work there."

"Well, he might as sometime in the future. And you're also an assassin."

"No, I'm not. Not anymore. I quit."

"For now."

She shook her head.

"For good."

Q took a sip of his tea. English Breakfast. The café was out of Earl Grey. Just his luck. And on a day like that…

"We have a saying in MI6. Well, more like a motto: 'Once an agent, always an agent'. You can't quit. It's too deep in you. Even now: you're an agent."

"What do you mean?" – She looked confused. – "I'm just a guest here, innocently drinking my coffee, like everyone else. Just like you."

"I am certainly not just a guest. I am the Quartermaster of MI6: I could name at least twelve different ways to leave the café if the situation called for it. I could have an armed group come to our rescue in less than two minutes, and I could hack the security cameras in ten seconds. I could activate three different self-defense gadgets on my person in the blink of an eye. And you're an agent of MI5. You're an agent when you come half an hour early to the meeting point to have time to assess the situation and take a careful note of your surroundings before your opponent arrives. Unfortunately for you: I did the same thing. This way none of us had time to do it properly and now we're both a bit irritated about that. However, admittedly, I'm at advantage here, since it was me who had suggested this place as a meeting point. Obviously, I've known it already. That was intentional, by the way. Sorry about that."

"It's okay, I would have done the same." – She admitted reluctantly.

"Anyway, you're an agent when you (possibly unconsciously) choose a table in the corner of the room and sit down by the wall, facing forward so that you can keep an eye on costumers coming and going and that, at the same time, nobody is able to creep up on you from behind. You do it even now of course: look around all the time, pay attention to every detail." – She didn't seem to be able to say anything to that but made an effort to pointedly fix her eyes down onto the table. – "I purposely let you lead the way when we came in. Quite vexingly it has left me to have to use the framed photo behind you as a mirror for my own observations. Oh, and you're very obviously right-handed."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, it's easy: you always make sure to leave your right hand free and able to move, should it become needed to draw your perfectly concealed pistol." – She blushed and took a sip form her own tea; deliberately using her right hand as if demonstrating: she could and would change. – "It's okay. You were trained that way; I should know. But it's foolish of you to assume you could ever leave all that behind. It's like breathing for you: it's part of your very being."

She shook her head desperately.

"I want it to stop. I love John, I want to be with him and I want to live a normal life."

"The last time I heard this from an agent, he was running away abroad with his new girlfriend to begin a 'normal' life, as far away from espionage as possible. He couldn't take it for long and came back pretty soon, particularly begging to be accepted back into service. He simply missed the action and this life too much. Face it, Mary: there's no normal for people like us. It's just wishful thinking, nothing more. The sooner you accept it, the better for everyone."

"I won't go back. I don't miss it, I swear."

"Never say never. Besides, even if you don't want to go back, your past can still come back to haunt you. What will you tell John about what you did before working in the hospital when he'll finally ask? What will you tell him about your family and previous friends? And about the nightmares I'm sure you have?"

She closed her eyes and looked close to tears.

"You really know everything about us, don't you? MI6 is lucky to have you, I really mean it. Nobody in MI5 knows us that well. They just don't take the time to pay enough attention to notice things like that. We're just objects after all. Just blunt instruments."

"I'm pretty alone with that by us as well, except for M and our Chief of Staff. They understand. But most people say it's overdoing it. You can't imagine what I got from your version of 'Quartermaster' when there was talk about merging us. She sent me an e-mail basically declaring in a very demanding way she wouldn't tolerate treating agents like Easter Eggs about to break and that since she would be the senior in age of us both I'd have to do what she says. She promised she would teach me the real way of treating spies." – He laughed at the memory of his long reply e-mail he had sent her along with the hilarious attachment: the most annoying version of the children's song about Humpty Dumpty he had been able to find on YouTube. It was set so that she wouldn't be able to shut it and thus would have to listen to it play over and over again. A breaking egg for her enjoyment… She still hadn't reacted in any way to it; she was most probably still in shock.

"Believe me; I can very well imagine it." – Continued Mary.

"But I didn't care about her because I like knowing the people I work with and in my opinion agents are sovereign persons, not disposable weapons."

"If you worked by us, I might not have wanted to leave it all behind. But as it is: I requested a long-term assignment away from it all, and your brother has given it to me. Then I fell in love with John and since I knew that it would interfere with my cool professionalism, I quit from active service for ever. I chose John over my career. You can check it all."

"I did."

"Of course you did." – Did she really sound appreciative? – "You're a good friend and a good brother. I feel honored having to prove myself to you, Quartermaster. And I will, you'll see."

"All right, I guess we really will see. I am, of course, in no position, nor do I honestly wish to tell either of you whom you can date or not. I would just like to make it clear: Mycroft and I have made a promise to ourselves to always look out for Doctor Watson and to not let any harm befall him. If you really love him and have his best interests in mind, we'll be good friends and we'll be also grateful for your help keeping him safe. In the case: welcome to the club. Should you play a foul game though… well, then you'd have to experience the Holmes way of revenge. And I can assure you: being an ex-assassin wouldn't do you any good against us."

"I don't expect anything less. So, are you going to tell John about who I really am? Or will you give me a deadline so that I can tell him myself before you step in?"

"I will not do either thing. You may decide what and when you tell him, and I won't interfere. I just want you to hold his feelings and safety always in priority. Whatever you decide to do, it is your responsibility and you'll have to live with the consequences. We will do our best to keep him physically safe – like we have done ever since Sherlock's suicide – but we can't make him happy, that's painfully obvious. We're busy, tired, and also not what he needs right now. So, it is up to you from now on, so either do it properly or better not at all. There's no in between so I suggest you do not worsen things!"

"I understand. I will do my best. This is my promise to you, Quartermaster, as much as it is to him."

"Thank you. That ought to be enough for me now. And please, when we're not in professional environment or company, call me Benedict."

This was the beginning of a very strange friendship based on companionship and mutual respect.

The end