Bondlock Prompt: Q is the Holmes’s previously unknown half-brother. (I’ve never seen it played like this before and I think there’s a lot of ways this could go.) - anon
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Hope you enjoy my dear!! Jen.
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Q knocked on the door with a feeling of undeniable trepidation.
“Come in.”
The door opened on oiled hinges; the Diogenes was a wonderful place to think, but Q preferred the busyness of his branch with all the tapping and swearing and throwing and shouting and occasional eerie quiet as everybody got back to work, punctuated by minor explosions.
Mycroft Holmes, and his brother Sherlock, were sat on either side of a large wooden desk. It wasn’t Q’s first visit to Mycroft’s office, but the first with both Holmes siblings and the first which was a personal, non-work summons.
“Ah, Q,” Mycroft said, as though it was in any way a surprise, “do take a seat. This is my brother, Sherlock.”
Sherlock stared at him, looking nothing short of hostile.
Q sat.
“Well, the reason you’ve been brought here is that, with the broad roll-out of your SmartBlood system, the different blood profiles are documented and cross-checked,” Mycroft explained, “and in this, as you know, there were some… irregularities which required further consideration.”
Q waited a moment. Mycroft watched him. “… and?”
“Well, to cut a longer story short, it has become evident that we are related. I went ahead and cross-checked Sherlock’s blood sample, and indeed parental samples, and it would appear that you are our half-brother.”
The moment hung heavily. “I’m what now?”
“How?” Sherlock asked roughly, cutting over Q’s voice. “How?”
“You were in rehab, myself at work, and mummy had an affair,” Mycroft told Sherlock succinctly. “Q was the result.”
Q blinked. “I’m your…”
“Another sibling,” Sherlock said, voice undeniably cold. “Well done, Mycroft. Will there be another next year? How many more sibling-shaped skeletons are going to tumble out of closets?”
“Erm, I’m not trying to interfere in a family drama here, but… I have a family?”
“Sort of,” Sherlock cut in, unkindly.
“Yes,” Mycroft corrected, with an expression that was far more frightening than Sherlock’s by virtue of being gentle. “You grew up in the care system, I understand?”
Q nodded slowly, feeling like his world was tilting on its axis. “I never really had a single home, I thought I was an orphan,” he murmured. “So are… are my parents alive?”
“They are not your parents.”
“Our mother is alive, but I do not know if she has any wish to see you,” Mycroft told Q, shooting Sherlock a warning glare. “I can, of course, enquire on your behalf.”
“Please,” Q supplemented softly. “I’m not… I don’t want to cause any problems. I just want to… if she’ll…”
“I’ll ask.”
Sherlock, quit abruptly, slammed his way out of the room, leaving Q to flinch slightly and Mycroft roll his eyes.
“Ignore him,” Mycroft recommended. “He has no emotional capacity for news of this nature. I can appreciate that this is of… substantial emotional significance to you.”
“Just a bit,” Q agreed. “I’d given up on the idea of ever finding anything that approached a family, and it’s just… I don’t mean to be forward.”
“Unlike Sherlock, I don’t take your existence to be a personal affront,” Mycroft pointed out, “just… a surprise. I will do what I can for you. Beyond that, it would be… I think, potentially positive to spend a little time together, if you are willing.”
Q’s gaze shot up. “Are you?”
Mycroft’s smile was unusually, wonderfully genuine. “Yes.”
“Thank you, Mr Holmes.”
“I think, under the circumstances,” Mycroft told him, still looking more friendly than Q had imagined he could look, “you can call me Mycroft.”
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