I have two prompts. Sorry if that's too much. First: James thinks that a name like Sherrinford its no wonder that Q didn't tell him his name earlier. - waywardconsultingtimelady
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Ehehehe I had a LOT of fun. Jen.
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“... Sherrinford.”
Q let out a quiet, genuine whimper. “Oh fuck.”
“You’re genuinely called…”
“... Sherrinford,” Q completed. “Close the door. Now. If anybody else hears you I’ll have to kill them. I’m already debating killing you. Don’t push me.”
Bond closed the door. Q looked at him like a complete maniac. “Don’t kill me, please,” Bond asked, with amused politeness. “M would probably be annoyed.”
“It’d be very satisfying for me, however,” Q griped back. “How the fuck. I’m assuming Sherlock? It’s always Sherlock…”
“... yes,” Bond admitted. Lying would only end badly. “Sorry. But seriously?!” Q’s expression was mutinous. “Well, yes. It’s humiliating. Horrific. If you thought Mycroft and Sherlock were bad enough… and anyway, why.”
“Apparently you were supposed to call him last night,” Bond told him apologetically. “His vengeance was telling me.”
Weirdly, that seemed to have a rather positive effect on Q; he immediately brightened, turning his attention to his computer. “I warned him,” Q commented absentmindedly. “I told him, if he ever decided to tell you my name, I’d make him regret it.”
Bond wondered whether he had enough time to warn Sherlock what was coming, and decided - on balance - that it would be best not to get involved.
“What are you doing to him?” Bond asked, curious and a fair bit wary.
Q glanced up, and grinned, all teeth. “I’m making his life a living hell,” he said happily. “I’ve wanted a good excuse for ages, so thank you. He has very unique tastes in pornography. I’m sending all of it to John Watson’s phone.” As though on cue, Q’s phone started ringing; Q held it to his ear and smiled a terrifying smile. “You started it,” he told Sherlock simply, and hung up. It started ringing again a moment later. “Yes. And Mycroft’s.”
“And Mycroft’s?!” Bond echoed. “Ouch.”
Q was a surprisingly malevolent figure when he made an effort, Bond mused.
“And if you ever, ever, even think about calling me Sherrinford,” Q told him, with terrifying intensity. “I will make this look feeble.”
Bond believed him.
“I promise.”
“Good,” Q said, suddenly looking young and sweet again. “Glad we have that sorted.”
His phone started ringing again, and Q’s eyes had never looked so bright. “Nope,” he told Sherlock happily. “You’re fucked. Enjoy.”
Bond made a very strong mental note to never, ever annoy Q.