Sherlock: Responsibility

By: Shadow Chaser

Author's Notes:

Companion piece to "Legwork," "Skyfall," "Resurrection," and "Perceptions" 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:

One would have thought it would be cruel to bar a member of the immediate family from the festivities of Christmastime, but Q was not put off by the lack of an invitation. He knew that it was still part of the punishment that had been handed down to him for his clandestine actions against Charles Augustus Magnussen. Still, there was a part of him that wished he could see his older brother Sherlock, having recently been released from the hospital after spending months recovering from a nearly mortal gunshot wound.

He had only been allowed to visit once and that had been in the immediate aftermath when Mycroft had told him that Sherlock had crashed several times in the operating room and his health was precarious. Afterwards, it was only through infrequent text messages from Mycroft and at least 002's kindness in texting him more frequent updates that he knew Sherlock was well on his way to recovery. There had been a minor incident involving Sherlock escaping the hospital ward for whatever reason, but he had been returned soon afterwards, having been found in 221b Baker Street in the company of his close friends John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson.

Q knew it was like his older brother to detest hospitals, the last time he had been in one was when he had nearly overdosed on heroin and it was only by the grace of one of his homeless network bringing him to St. Bart's that he had not died that day.

"Happy Christmas, sir," Anthea's voice spoke up from the edge of the kitchenette and he turned in his sofa to see her bringing over another hot mug of freshly brewed Earl Grey. She set it down and poured the tea with an expert touch before pouring herself some and took the plush love seat next to the fireplace, sipping on it as she re-gathered the blankets around herself.

"The same to you, 002," he lifted his cup and sipped it, savoring the mild Bergamot flavor and tang that echoed in the aftertaste of the tea.

There was no need for Anthea to spend her Christmas with him, especially since he knew Mycroft did not know the concept of holidays and time-off, preferring to work 24/7. But he also knew that she had specifically decided to spend the holiday with him because of Mycroft. Q got the feeling that Anthea was still a little angry at Mycroft for putting MI6's Quartermaster, and his own brother to boot, on a one-year suspension just because he had tried to save his elder brother's life.

He knew Anthea's history and understood on some level that she was angry at Mycroft for easily dismissing the familial bond the Holmes brothers shared. He was touched, but at the same time refused to say anything about it if only because of that – the familial bond. He was sure that Anthea knew that any sign of sentimentality, any sign of public, open familial affection was dangerous to the three of them – that they could each be used against the other. Magnussen had proved that nine months ago and two months after that with Sherlock's injury in his office.

Mycroft had expressed that he hoped Sherlock had learned his lesson and dropped the matter, but Q figured his brother would not – continued to do things in his own clandestine way. He mentally shrugged to himself, that was not his concern, after all, he was suspended from MI6 and thus could claim no access to any information or knowledge about his brother's actions.

"Ah, I am to tell R that your brother hereby declines the clandestine operation that would have ended with him dead in six months," Anthea sounded distinctly pleased as she tapped away on her phone.

"R's an idiot for suggesting it in the first place to M," Q groused as he puzzled the letters he had with putting a word together for Scrabble. He could almost see Sherlock's smug grin from the reflection of his phone's screen.

"Sherlock was an effective asset in two years of operational duty," Anthea commented quietly and Q frowned.

"He was, wasn't he," he agreed as he continued to half-puzzle out a word, "but I think with two of us in the government, well, one at least running it, it's enough don't you think?"

"An unhappy asset is a dangerous asset," Anthea sounded distracted as Q glanced up to see her concentrating on her phone, but he also knew that her distracted air was only a facade. She understood perfectly what Sherlock had been during his two years in hiding and pretending to be dead to his friends. Her words were innocuous enough, but one could make leaps and bounds with those words.

"And no I do not have a new gadget as your present," the cameras in his flat were constantly recording his movement, he knew that as well as Mycroft. His one year of suspension of duty from MI6 did not mean he was not being watched by both MI6 and Mycroft. Hopefully, when, not if, he was reinstated as Quartermaster in three months time, he would be able to go into the servers and delete the videos, or at least bury them under several layers of hexi-decimal encryption.

"You say the sweetest things," Anthea grinned before a frown graced her pretty features at the same time Q's phone rang.

He stared at the phone for a second, wondering why M of all people was calling him on Christmas. Sliding his thumb across to answer the call he placed it against his ear, "What can I do for you, M?"

"There's been a development in the Magnussen situation," M sounded worried and Q sat up on his sofa, shooting a quick look at Anthea's whose frown had deepened as she stared at her phone, all typing halted. Anthea almost never halted on her typing, constantly keeping up her job as Mycroft's personal assistant and fielding intelligence information for Mycroft from MI6 and other international agencies.

"You are needed back at MI6, your suspension lifted and your status as Quartermaster reinstated effective immediately," M's tone turned more businesslike, but Q could still hear the worry in them.

"Sir, what happened?" Q asked, wondering what prompted this drastic turn of action.

"A car should arrive in the next few minutes. You will be preparing a file for a classified mission, insertion into enemy territory for six months."

"Sir-" something ugly that Q did not want to name as fear was souring the taste in his mouth, but he could not help but think it was fear.

"Charles Augustus Magnussen is dead, Q," M interrupted him quietly, sounding for all purposes defeated and tired, "shot in the head by Sherlock Holmes..."

Q did not even realize that M was still talking as the phone fell lifelessly out of his hands. His brother was a murderer. His brother, shot and killed Magnussen.

Oh Sherlock...what have you done...

~END~