The Villainess is Dead
For the first time in years, Q did not know how to feel. He usually had a strong grasp on his emotions, not that they were that hard to keep in check. Holmes family trait, as it were, not feeling. His brothers had forced him to master it at a very young age. It got him pretty far in life, all things considered. MI6 was in constant want of fresh recruits who could put their emotions and personal conflicts in the back seat so pure reason could take the lead. That on top of his sheer brilliance made him the ideal candidate, speaking modestly. But that was all going straight to hell. His brain was a maelstrom of hurt and betrayal and disbelief and fury and countless other feelings he couldn’t even begin to name. He had no idea what to feel and it was tearing his head apart.
“You have to admit, she’s an incredibly talented actress,” Moriarty purred as he circled the room. “A bona fide leading lady.”
If not for the consulting criminal’s words ringing in his ear, Q might have found solace in Molly’s tears, in the soft quivering of her lips, in her trembling hands that caused the Glock they held to shake on and off target from his forehead. She looked just as distraught as he was, but what were the odds that it was anything more than another act? That’s all any of it had ever been.
“I couldn’t have done a better job myself. Of all the-“
“Stop it, Jim, just stop it!” she demanded between sobs, her hands now barely able to hold the gun upright.
Her eyes were locked with Q’s and he bit his lip until his mouth filled with the coppery tang of blood. Her chest was heaving with the force of finding breaths in the midst of her apparent distress. Loose strands of hair flew this way and that out of her messy ponytail, framing her bloodshot eyes. Yes, it was incredibly convincing. Could he really be faulted in believing she actually loved him?
“Q, I swear, I never meant to take it this far,” she pleaded. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”
A cold chuckle escaped from Q’s bloodied lips, almost before he even noticed it had formed on his tongue.
“How could you ever have imagined a different outcome?”
This made her cry even harder, and Moriarty just kept pacing with that same smug grin plastered on his face. Q wished he could carve it off.
“It’s not too late.” Now she was just desperate. “You can still work with us, we can still be together. Please don’t make me do this.”
It was a wonder the poor thing was even still able to stand. She looked as if she might collapse at any second under the crushing weight of sorrow and guilt. That is, if this wasn’t just another show. ‘Pathetic’ and ‘mewling’ was a strong character choice for her. Seeing her like this, Q had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that sweet little Dr. Hooper had a hand in the single largest security breach in MI6 history and the murder of four Double-0s.
“Is this the same scene you put on for Sherlock? Did he fall for it?” he hissed bitterly.
“No, no, it’s not like that,” Molly practically wailed. “You have to believe me, it only started as a trick. I was ready to give up everything! I love you, Q, why can’t you see that?!”
Somewhere deep in a dark corner of his heart, Q wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that all those nights he spent with her wrapped in his arms had been more than a dream. He wanted to believe that she made the down payment on the flat they were going to move into together. He wanted to believe that every kiss wasn’t one lie after another. The urge to succumb to the desire was almost overwhelming. Almost.
“Tick tock, darling, we’re running out of time,” Moriarty chimed. “If the boy won’t join, then kill him. The agents will be here in a matter of seconds.”
“Please,” Molly begged. “Please, just come with us.”
Q took a deep but unsteady breath. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of running away with her. With Silva dead, he was the most qualified computer genius in the world to crush empires and crumble nations. She could have made him rich. She could have made him powerful. They could spend the rest of their days on a tropical island running the planet and falling in love all over again. It was tempting, but for a moment and nothing more. He walked forward until the muzzle of her still shaking pistol was pressed right between his eyes, causing her to shrink with fear.
“For queen and country.”
He closed his eyes and heard three gunshots. The noise caused him to flinch, and take mental note of his own body. There was no pain, but that was hardly ever a fair indicator for whether or not one has been shot. It was only after he realized that the coolness of metal on flesh from Molly’s pistol had disappeared that he brought himself to finally open his eyes. He immediately wished he had not.
Moriarty was already on the ground with a single red hole in the center of his forehead. The back of his skull was completely shattered, sending a spatter of blood and brain matter around him to form a dark cloud on the cement. Q, however, was more focused on Molly. Her eyes had gone wide, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks, but she had dropped her sidearm and stopped making noise. Both her hands were clutching her stomach, and though no more than four seconds had passed, they were completely coated in blood. Out of the corner of his eye he could see both Bond and Sherlock standing in the doorway, still with their guns trained on Molly, but for some reason, that didn’t concern him. For some reason, his first reaction was not to step away, or to run to his brother, or even wince. Without thinking, he took her in his arms right as he knees gave out and slowly steadied her to the floor without letting her out of his embrace. Despite everything, fear still seized his stomach.
“Molly, stay with me, Molly,” he rasped, sparing one hand to cup her face. “You’re going to be alright, just stay with me.”
She lied to him. She betrayed him. She took his heart in her hands and destroyed it all for the sake of wealth and power and infamy. But he still didn’t want her to die.
“I’m so sorry, Q. I love-“
That was all she managed to murmur before her chest stopped rising and her eyes stopped blinking. The most successful villainess in British history was dead.
Q didn’t realize he was crying until he saw one of his own tears splash on her face. Her brown eyes still stared up at him, bleak and empty instead of what was once warm and playful. In that moment, he didn’t care who or what she was. In that moment, she was still Molly Hooper, the girl from the morgue. The girl with the yellow flat. The girl with the pretty lips. The girl he loved.
“We have to go,” Bond said bluntly, putting a hand on Q’s shoulder, but he refused to budge.
“Let him mourn,” Sherlock snapped and swatted the agent away.
In the midst of his own despair, Q caught the hint of pain in his older brother’s voice. She had fooled him too, after all, made him her friend and made him believe she mattered. He felt the elder Holmes kneel down next to him and did not object when the detective gently swept her eyes shut. He should have been furious, but instead thought, to hell with it. Let the rest of the world curse her existence. They would grieve her memory, if no one else would.