Part One of Long Bondlock Prompt Fills

Prompt: Mycroft's minions alert him that John is stealthily entering MI6. John and James covered each other's asses once and have been friends ever since. Mycroft calls upon brother Q to find out what they're up to. Bondlock crossover. - Sunny

Or in which John is a BAMF and Mycroft likes to snoop (more than usual).br /
Established Johnlock and eventual 00Q.

It started with Bond asking for a favour.

Double-O agents usually made it a point to stay away from Q-Branch, because the boffins tended to get antsy when there was a person with a licence to kill in the room. Unless, of course, you were 006 or 007, who lived to see the little techies cower in fear.

When Boothroyd was in charge, it was honestly too easy to pick on the Minions. Major Boothroyd was a genius, he wouldn't have been promoted to Quartermaster if he wasn't, but he was blind as a bat when it came to how scared the minions were of double-o agents.

Then, when MI6 got a new Quartermaster – who had made his files so untraceable that no one could seem to find his real name or age – Bond and Alec had a lot more trouble sneaking into Q-Branch.

The first time Bond and Alec tried to mess with the techies of Q-Branch had been after they had gotten back from a particularly taxing assignment in northern Russia. The pair had been stuck in Medical for the majority of the morning, dealing with their complaints.

Yes, he would take better care of himself.

Of course, he would try harder not to get shot.

No, it wasn't his fault that the bomb had detonated prematurely.

Then, M had demanded that they give a report of the mission, and had told them to stay in Medical until cleared to leave.

It was really too easy to just lift M's card from his belt and sneak out of Medical. Alec and Bond agreed that M was only tempting them by making it that simple.

They weren't, however, expecting ten different types of guns to pop out of the walls and aim themselves at them when they tried to use M's card to enter Q-Branch.

The youngest Quartermaster in history himself opened the door, a pleasant smile on his face. "How can I help you gentlemen today?"

Alec glared at the man – boy, really – and said, "Well, directing the guns away from us would be nice."

"Ah, I see. Perhaps if you stop pretending to be someone you're not, I'll put away the weapons. It's the twenty-first century, agents, and we have cameras that verify identities now." Q then began to step away from the door with the intent to close it, and Bond quickly stuck his foot in before Q could close him out.

The younger boy in the cardigan glared at the two men, and Bond grinned. "Come now, Q, don't make us pull age rank on you."

"I'm afraid if you did that, I'd have to pull actual rank – seeing as I am Quartermaster, I outrank both of you. And I'd like you to leave my workers alone." He pointedly nudged the agent's foot out of the way, and shut the door.

A disembodied voice came through the intercom over their heads, "And please return the card to M soon. He might need it." Q sounded too smug for his own good.

Bond swore he'd get revenge.

Four months later, at Baker Street, Sherlock was being no less of a pain than normal. John had just returned from the clinic – after being vomited on twice, having pus fly onto his face, and administering a rather unpleasant prostate exam – it was safe to say that he was not in a good mood.

Then, he came home to find that his roommate, who was also his boyfriend, had burnt his favourite jumper in an experiment, and was attempting to put the small fire out with his second favourite.

After a long monologue from Sherlock about how he shouldn't get so sentimental about things such as jumpers, John was reaching the end of his fuse – and it was only noon.

Then, Sherlock had cancelled their date that they had been planning for a week. John had finally saved up enough money to treat Sherlock to a fancy restaurant, and the man had actually turned the cab around to go to a crime scene.

John was hurt. He had had enough.

"No, Sherlock."

"What'd you mean, no?" Sherlock asked, seeming absolutely confused as to why John was upset.

"I mean that I have been looking forward to having dinner with my boyfriend all week, and I won't let it-"

"But John," Sherlock whined. "It's a triple homicide. Triple! Surely you must know what that mea-"

"Of course I know what it means, Sherlock, I'm not an idiot – despite what you may think. Now, I am going to go out and enjoy a nice dinner. I'd like for you to join m-"

"No," Sherlock immediately answered. The idea of missing out on a murder case for a simple meal? Preposterous.

John sighed.

Sherlock's voice was almost chiding. "The work comes first, John, you know that."

"I do, don't I?" John muttered to himself. He really didn't know why he expected anything different.

The cab stopped, and Sherlock was halfway out the door before John had worked off his seat belt.

John paused. Tonight was his night off, damn it, and he wanted to relax after having a terrible day at work. He didn't want to be chasing his mad lover across London. He stayed in the cab.

Sherlock finally noticed that his partner was not by his side, and turned to see John still in the car, looking thoroughly put-out.

"Are you coming?" He asked, wondering what was up with John tonight. He couldn't possibly still be upset about the dinner could he? Not when there was a double murder-suicide baffling the police. Obviously they needed him, as they thought it was a triple homicide.

Idiots.

John shook his head, "Erm, no, Sherlock. You go ahead. I'm not really in the mood tonight."

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue that John was always in the mood for action, but Lestrade called for him before he could.

"Alright, then." Sherlock strode off.

"Where to, sir?" The cabbie asked. "Do you still want to go to the restaurant?"

John felt the reservation tickets in his pocket, and wondered who he could invite to split a dinner with him. The first person that came to mind brought a smile to his face.

It had been a long time since he had caught up with his old friend James, hadn't it?

"Actually no, I've got a new address for you."

James Bond was having a great day.

He had just gotten back from the shooting range, and had successfully avoided reporting to Medical after his assignment in Belize. He had bet Alec fifty quid that he could get the mission done in under three weeks, and had arrived home in the nick of time to collect his money.

He still had to return his equipment – or what was left of it – back to his Quartermaster. Bond felt his heart pick up when he thought of Q.

The young man was the only person in the world that had held Bond's attention for more than a few weeks. Bond wasn't quite sure what it was about the Quartermaster that he liked, all he knew was that he did. The man was certainly attractive enough to capture Bond's eyes, with his unruly dark hair and brown eyes that were useless without his glasses.

The boy was only about three centimeters shorter than Bond, but was in desperate need of adding a few kilograms to his small frame. Maybe it was the way he flushed and squirmed at Bond's attention that made the older man feel a sort of protectiveness towards him. Or was it possessiveness? Bond wasn't quite sure.

Bond had just put his rifle back into his locker when his phone rang. Hardly anyone ever actually called Bond anymore, as most the people he talked to worked in the same building, and when he was in the field, he always had an earpiece.

The caller ID read: John Watson.

"Good God," Bond breathed. He had almost forgotten about John!

With a grin, he answered the call, "Do my eyes deceive me, or is the man that I owe my life to actually calling me?"

Bond felt his body automatically relax when he heard the familiar laughter from the other side of the line. "You do owe me your life, you lug, and I can never forget it because I owe you mine as well." John paused as Bond chuckled. "Is now a good time, or are you up to your neck in blood and bullets?"

John was one of the few people alive outside of MI6 to know about Bond's actual job. Bond had forgotten how soothing it was to talk to someone not related to his work. "Now is a great time, actually. I've just gotten back, and have a few days off before my next assignment."

"Perfect." John seemed relieved. "Well my date just cancelled on me, and I just happen to have two non-refundable reservations to La Fontaine de Jouvence. I believe I promised you a dinner if you lived while you were bleeding out in my arms." He paused. "Or was it me bleeding? I can't exactly remember."

James let out a whistle. "Only an idiot would pass up a chance to eat at that place." He heard John let out a bitter laugh, and winced at his mistake. The man had just gotten stood-up, after all. "And as to who was bleeding, I think we both contributed there."

John chuckled. "You're just lucky that I'm a doctor and knew what the hell I was doing. You always were too stubborn to die, weren't you James?"

Bond laughed loudly, ignoring the curious looks from the others in the shooting range. "You don't know the half of it. I'd love to tell you the rest over dinner, John. What time is the reservation for?"

There was a shuffling on the other line, then John said, "Not 'till seven, actually."

Bond grinned. "Well, we don't want that time to go to waste, do we? Why don't you come over here and reclaim your title as a crack shot. Or are you too out of practice?"

"You'd be surprised," John said. James was really looking forward to the story behind that. "But, won't people notice if a civilian just walks into MI6? You must have some sort of security cameras?"

"You're hardly a civilian, Captain," James snorted at the thought. "But don't worry, I happen to know a guy who's very skilled with technology."

It had been six months since Sherrinford Quentin Holmes had been promoted to the Quartermaster's position, five since the old M died at Skyfall, and four since agents James Bond and Alec Trevelyan had made it their personal mission to break into the Q-Branch as often as they could and terrify his minions.

It was a genuine coincidence that the Quartermaster's nickname was 'Q', as that was what everyone – except for Mycroft, damn him – had been calling Quentin since he was eight.

The 'alert' window on his computer flashed, and Q swore. He quickly pulled up the video feed to the hallway that the intruder was in, and nearly snarled when he saw that it was Bond.

Well, at least he doesn't have his partner in crime today. Q thought bitterly.

Q hated to say that, like most people of MI6, he had developed a small crush on the blue-eyed agent. Bond would often sneak into Q-Branch (although it didn't exactly count as sneaking when Q knew he was coming) and terrorise the minions. Then, once the agent knew he was caught, he'd stride confidently up to Q and flirt like his life depended on it.

Thankfully, Q had grown out of his blushing and stuttering phase, but that didn't mean that he wasn't affected by the older man's advances. After Bond had made Q forget about why he was angry in the first place, he'd strut out of the room leaving a significantly flustered Quartermaster behind.

This time, however, Q was not in the mood to be toyed with. He had finally thought that he had gotten over his little crush during the three weeks Bond had been gone for an assignment in Belize, but seeing the man walking confidently down a hallway while trying to break into Q-Branch still made Q's stomach flutter.

And damned if he was going to let Bond get the upper-hand on him again.

So, when 007 finally found his way past the techies cowering in their chairs and into Q's office, the younger man simply said, "Just drop the equipment on the desk, Agent. I'm not sure how much of it will actually be salvageable, but I'll do my best." He pointedly did not look up from the small project in front of him.

Q heard Bond gently set the ruined tech on his desk, but was surprised when the man did not immediately leave. Instead, he came to stand in front of Q, waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

Well. This was very much unlike Bond indeed.

Q finally looked up at the handsome agent, his face suspicious. "Can I help you, 007?"

"Come now, boffin, aren't we past the formalities? I'll even let you call me James if you're good."

Q felt his neck flush at the nickname, and glared at the blond man. "Bond," he stressed, "Why are you here?"

Bond, Q noticed, actually looked... embarrassed? Interested, Q took his hands off of the tangle of wires in front of him and gave Bond his full attention.

Bond cleared his throat awkwardly, and Q was intrigued.

"Erm, well, I actually need a small favour," He admitted.

Q's eyebrows shot up until they were almost hidden by his hair. "And you think of all the people willing to do you a favour, I am on that list?"

Q delighted to see Bond blush. He desperately wished that he had a camera.

"Well, no, but -" Bond cut himself off, and scratched the back of his neck. Q had a distinct feeling that this conversation was not going how Bond was expecting it to.

Q couldn't hide his grin. "What do I get in return, Bond, if I do this for you?"

Bond bit his lip – an action that immediately distracted Q – and said, "I'll bring back one item completely unharmed from every mission for the next three months."

Q's eyes widened. Just how much did Bond want this favour?

"Don't make promises you can't keep, agent," Q said.

Bond shifted from foot to foot. John was going to be here in under ten minutes, and Bond would hate to see the man get arrested for trying to break into MI6. "I'll try my hardest to bring back the equipment unscathed." He paused, before taking a shot in the dark, "And I'll take you out on a date this weekend."

Q jolted in his chair, his head snapping up to look at the blue-eyed man. The agent appeared slightly nervous, but otherwise seemed genuine.

"And what makes you so sure I'd want to go on a date with you, 007?"

An audible growl came from Bond's throat, and the man stalked toward him, his previous nervousness gone. This was Bond in his element now, a hunter, and Q was his prey.

Q let out a rather feminine squeal, and tried to bolt, but a strong arm wrapped itself around his waist and hauled him off his feet.

Teeth nipped at his ear, "You're treading on thin ice, Quartermaster." Bond's voice was warm on the side of his neck, and Q felt his eyes flutter.

Q still found it in him to tease, "Am I?"

The man began to suckle a mark into his Quartermaster's neck, and Q's mouth fell open in a silent moan. "You want this every bit as much as I do, Q, which is admittedly quite a lot." Bond nipped at the sensitive skin under the mark he had just made, and Q felt himself gasp.

Q found the willpower to speak, albeit shakily, "I'll do it, on one condition."

"Anything," Bond whispered.

Q grinned. "Apologise to Sarah. She's the best minion I've got, and you and Alec made her cry the other day."

Bond froze what he was doing. "Apologise?" His voice was incredulous. "Me?"

Q simply held his ground, his arms crossed. It was a little hard to take the young man seriously with the love bite on his neck and rumpled hair, but knew that Q would not relent.

"Fine," Bond snarled, and strode out of the Quartermaster's office – half mast and all.

Mycroft Holmes worried about his two younger brothers – constantly.

He had eyes on his siblings at all times, although admittedly it was much easier to spy on Sherlock than Quentin. His youngest brother had a nasty habit of using a small hand-held device to disrupt the CCTV signals – a device which Mycroft had paid heavily for in obtaining one for his own use.

It was no secret that all of the Holmes boys were geniuses, however Sherlock got most of the attention because of the press. Just as well, Mycroft preferred to be behind the curtain pulling the strings, and Quentin basically had to erase his former identity to keep his family safe.

Still, Mycroft did his best to protect his younger brothers when he could, and that immunity also stretched to their partners. As Q was currently unattached, this meant that John Watson had become one of Mycroft's top priorities.

Even if Sherlock didn't show it, Mycroft could tell that Sherlock cared deeply for the army doctor, and Mycroft lived to keep his brothers safe. So, it was only natural that Mycroft had John under constant supervision. He received status reports of the doctors whereabouts every hour or so, and always got text alerts when the good doctor went anywhere or did anything out of the ordinary.

Overkill, some might say, but none of the Holmes brothers ever did anything halfway.

His cellphone vibrated in his pocket, a small buzz, and then three longer ones – Morse for J.

Routinely, Mycroft extracted his phone from where it was in his pocket, and glanced at the screen.

13:14 UTC
Status Report of Dr. John H. Watson
In transit to crime scene with Sherlock Holmes.

Placing the thought in the back of his mind, Mycroft continued to read the paper and sip at his tea.

Only a few minutes later did the phone vibrate a 'J' again, and Mycroft looked at his phone with more interest.

13:18 UTC
Update on Status Report of Dr. John H. Watson
Sherlock Holmes presently at crime scene of possible triple homicide
JW currently in cab leaving scene

Well, that was all fine. The doctor must have been tired after such a stressful day at work – which Mycroft would never admit to knowing about – and had simply opted out of seeing a crime scene tonight. Idly, Mycroft wondered if Sherlock would make it home in time for his date with the doctor.

Then, only two minutes later, another alert sounded.

"My my, doctor, aren't we busy today?" Mycroft said, his voice ever-so-slightly surprised.

13:20 UTC
Update on Status Report of Dr. John H. Watson
JW making phone call to (number withheld)

Well, that couldn't be right. Mycroft practically wasthe British government, how could a simple phone number be withheld from him? His clearance was higher than, well, everything.

Suspicious indeed, Doctor.

He quickly phoned for Anthea – or whichever name she was going by these days. The woman strode into the room, her eyes never once lifting from her phone. "Yes sir?"

"Get me live footage of Dr. Watson," he demanded, and his assistant nodded, typing something on her phone for a few seconds before the CCTV image of one Dr. Watson sitting at an outdoor cafe popped up on the big screen.

The doctor did indeed have his phone up to his ear, and seemed to be talking quite animatedly to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I want the audio to this phone call," Mycroft stated, and waited for the affirmation. When it never came, he looked away from the television screen and towards his PA. The woman had an uncharacteristic frown on her face, and her fingers actually stumbled over her keypad.

"I... I can't, sir." She said, frowning. "The number he is calling is completely secure." He had hired Anthea because she was one of the best at what she did – which was getting information quickly.

Mycroft only knew one person that could efficiently secure a simple phone call, and that person happened to be working in the building right across from the cafe where John was sitting.

"Dearest John," Mycroft muttered, staring at the screen. "What are you up to?"

Finally, the doctor ended his phone call, and seemed content to just sit in his chair, occasionally glancing at the MI6 building.

"Should I have a car pick him up, sir?" His PA asked. She seemed flustered at the fact that she couldn't tap into the phone call, and was trying to make up for it.

"No, let's just watch our doctor for a while, and see what he's up to, shall we?"

John simply sat at the table, sipping at his coffee, seeming as if he were waiting for something. Finally, he got a text at the same time Mycroft did.

13:31 UTC
Update on Status Report of Dr. John H. Watson
JW received text message from (number withheld): (message withheld)

Mycroft watched in rapt attention as the seemingly ordinary doctor rose from his seat at the small cafe and began to make his way across the street to MI6. Mycroft lost him many times in the crowd, the man moving so stealthily and fluidly that if Mycroft weren't paying as much attention as he was, he probably wouldn't have seen the man at all.

Instead of walking to the front entrance, John slipped down a side alley – an alley in which the CCTV cameras decided to fail as soon as the doctor entered.

Mycroft snarled, "Get me eyes on him, now."

Anthea fumbled for a second, before footage from another camera was pulled up. This vantage point was from much farther away, but Mycroft watched silently as John glided up to an emergency exit and knocked twice.

The door was opened from the inside, but no alarms went off. John and the man that opened the door grinned, and John was quickly ushered inside.

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. Mycroft thought.

Perhaps it was time to give the youngest Holmes a call?

John and James smiled at each other for a solid five minutes as they walked down the deserted hallways.

"You do realise you just helped me break into a government facility, right?" John asked.

James shrugged, seemingly unperturbed. "I had help – he wants to meet you by the way."

"Who exactly?"

James gave John a wolfish grin. "My Quartermaster, and now, thanks to you, my date this weekend."

"Thanks to me?" John asked.

"I had to sell myself out in order do sneak you in here. I hope you're happy," James teased.

"Stooping to prostitution, 007? Do lovers not fall willingly at your feet anymore?" John sighed, as if disappointed. "It's the wrinkles, isn't it?"

"You don't have much room to talk, Three Continents Watson. You're just as old as I am."

John elbowed James in the ribs, a shot quick enough that the agent didn't have time to deflect. James retaliated with a pop to the back of the short doctor's head, and laughed at his cry of protest.

John had missed this, being able to share banter with a person without his intelligence being insulted every five seconds. Thinking of Sherlock made his stomach clench, and he pushed the feeling back.

Finally, James gave a hand signal for John to be silent, and John immediately went into combat mode, eyes flickering around for any signs of danger. When there appeared to be none, John looked at James quizzically, only to find the man grinning at him.

"I wanted to see if you still had it." John glared. "Besides, this is how I sneak into Q-Branch."

"Can't you just use the door like a normal person?"

James snorted, "How long have you known me?" John only nodded in acceptance, and silently followed James as he moved down the hallway.

"And you said this is how you sneak in?" John clarified, his voice dubious.

James paused to look back at the army man, and said, "Yes. Q is always surprised when I show up."

"I doubt that," John said simply, and gestured towards the small camera hidden in one of the lights. "Honestly, James, you're a Double-O. How could you not have noticed that?"

John was more happy than he should have been to see James freeze up, staring at the camera with a slack jaw. James had used this route in a thousand times, and had never noticed that he was being watched. He had thought himself so clever!

James snarled, the sound low and terrifying. John had thought he heard James muttering about 'childish boffins' under his breath, but he couldn't be sure.

James tore down the hallway and entered Q-Branch loudly, the doctor by his side. James ignored the minions in favor of storming into Q's office. "Q!" He yelled.

John finally caught up to see James glaring at a man – more like a boy – with unruly brown hair and thick glasses. The boy was handsome, but looked so much like Sherlock that it was uncanny.

"Hello, 007." The boy said, a pleased smile on his lips. "Is this your old friend?"

James ignored his question, and hissed, "I've been using that hallway for months, Q, and you've known this whole time?"

The boy just shrugged. "It was fun to watch you." John snickered, drawing Q's attention back to him. "And you must be Captain John. It's a pleasure to meet the man I just broke the law for."

James was still seething. "I swear to-"

The sound of a phone ringing made everyone pause, and Q fished his mobile out of the pocket of his cardigan. The boy frowned. "What could he possibly want?" Q looked up at the two men in the room apologetically, and answered his phone, "Brother dear, have you decided to start a war without me?"

There was a pause in which James and John looked at each other and shrugged, neither of them quite knowing what was happening.

Q frowned, "A security breach?" His gaze flickered to John, but he still said, "Impossible." The voice at the other end of the line began to argue, but Q cut him off, "And please tell me you aren't trying to keep tabs on me again. You know what happened last time."

The voice seemed impatient.

"Mycroft, really. I'm afraid I don't even know a Dr. Watson-"

Both MI6 workers instantly noticed when John's face instantly drained of all colour, and looked at him curiously. He simply held his hand out for the phone, his face grim.

Q reluctantly handed over his phone over to the newcomer, who seemed to know what he was doing.

John brought the phone to his ear, and sure enough, Mycroft Holmes' voice was ranting on the other end of the line. "Listen closely, Mycroft, because I'm only going to sat this once. Leave me alone. Who I spend my time with is none of your business."

Mycroft started to speak, but John kept going, "If I even get a hint that you're watching me, Sherlock and I will break into your fancy office in that bloody club that you like so much, and shag on every possible surface. Have a nice day."

John hung up the phone, and looked up to see both James and Q staring at him, quite baffled. "So," he said awkwardly, "You're a Holmes then. I mean, there are three of you?"

Q nodded slowly, glancing at Bond. "I'm a Holmes," he said nervously. How did this man know Mycroft, and why did he threaten to shag Sherlock? Just who did he let into MI6?

Q kept a polite facade, "And you are?"

John barked out a laugh. "John Watson. I'm Sherlock's b-"

"Oh my god," Q breathed, cutting him off. "Captain John. Dr. Watson. I should have known." Of course! How did he not see it before? He knew that Sherlock was in a relationship with his flatmate, but didn't realise that John Watson was also a captain and a doctor.

James cleared his throat. "Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on?"

Q gestured to John, and said, "This is John Watson, who is currently dating my brother Sherlock. John was being kept under surveillance by my eldest brother Mycroft, who saw him come into MI6."

James nodded slowly. "Right. My turn. This is John Watson, who saved my life a few years back when we were partnered up for an assignment. John was in the army while I was in the navy, but we were the only people available at the time with the right 'qualifications'." James paused, before adding, "He's a crack shot."

John rubbed his forehead. "Oh God, there's three of you."

"I'm probably the most tame of the Holmes siblings," Q said, unhelpfully.

"You just let a random person into a secure government building," John pointed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Finally, Bond's brain caught up. "Wait, Sherlock Holmes? The detective with the hat? He's your brother?"

Q groaned. "Yes."

"Then who's Mycroft?"

Q and John answered simultaneously, "The most dangerous man you will ever meet."

"Christ, I need a drink," John muttered. "Can we go to the range, James? I really need to shoot something right about now."

James nodded, still slightly confused. He planned to have John tell him everything over dinner, but for now he could let the man just fire away.

The two blond men began to walk to the door, until John paused and turned suddenly. "Sorry, just one question?"

Q nodded.

"Do you know that the Earth goes 'round the Sun?"

As always, if anyone wants to take a fill and turn it into a fully-fleshed story, just send me a head's up and I'll put a link to your story at the end of the chapter :)

Leave a prompt in the comments if you want more. Each fill will be around 5,000 words.