Q looked down at the broken glass on the floor of his workshop. He had smashed it after Bond had left, taking the Aston and leaving with her. He stood there staring at the cracked pieces, feeling like it was his heart that was shattered instead of the glass. He had no idea how long he stood there staring.
“Ashcroft,” A voice said from next to him. “Let me take you home.”
Frowning he looked to the side and saw his brother there. Pressing his lips together he wanted to ask why Sherlock was there, but the words just didn’t come.
“M called Mycroft, who called me. Now don’t be stubborn. Let me take you home.”
Q whirled around and glared at Sherlock.
“I am not being stubborn you wanker!” Q shouted as his hands shook. “How, how could the bastard do this. Drive off in the car I was building for us and he takes her.” Q kept shouting as Sherlock stood there watching him, emotionless and it pissed Q off even more. “And why did our dear brother send YOU!. What do you know of it? You emotionally stunted son of a bitch who won’t even return my calls.” Q kept going, cursing and swearing at Sherlock as moisture pricked the sides of his eyes. He was still going when arms came around him and held him.
Q was confused. Sherlock rarely showed affection and most of the time the only emotions he had were disdain. But here and now was the Sherlock of his youth. The older brother that would hold him and let him cry when the bullies got at him. The Sherlock there when their mother died and father shipped them off to boarding school.
“I’m here, Ash. I’m here.” Q sagged in his brother’s arms and finally let himself cry. He was stronger than this, normally, but Bond had brought him to his knees. Looking down at the glass again he felt as shattered as it was. He knew that when he put himself back together, he was never going to be the same.