#bondson

The ginger haired woman stared at her window. All was white and it did nothing to help her from reminiscing about the past. Both her tenants were gone. One dead, and the other lived happily with his spouse, leaving her alone in her gloomy thoughts. The thunder soared and suddenly the mood got worse from the storm.

It only needed a knock for her eyes to light up.

Fandom: Moriarty the Patriot Rated T(een) Relationship: James Bonde/Miss Hudson, James Bonde & MI6

“You idiot, you had a date tonight.” James did have a date tonight. He chuckled. “Yeah, in about an hour, just enough time to change after– after work,” he agreed, glancing around at the scattering nobles that shared their box. He felt light-headed. He pulled his fingers from his shoulder and blinked when he realized they were covered in viscous scarlet. -- Written for the 2023 Yuumori Secret Santa Exchange!

I have *really* missed writing in the Bond fandom. I’m looking forward to it coming back to life with the new movie in 2019 and am always ALWAYS down for crossover ships like this one! Hope you like it. 

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He didn’t typically frequent pubs, but when his fridge was empty of beer and the scotch bottle he didn’t quite remember finishing the night before turned up empty, John pulled on his jacket and walked down to the local pub. It wasn’t crowded quite yet. The fall weather had come on early this year, and though the wind was chilly the sun was still out at half 6, and most people didn’t seem to have an interest in getting pissed quite yet. 

John had just ordered a second whiskey when he heard someone sit a few stools down from him and clear their throat gently. He hadn’t been recognized since a few months after Sherlock’s death, and he didn’t relish it happening now. He turned, bracing himself, and was surprised to see a familiar pair of blue eyes looking back at him, crinkling at the sides with a fond half-smile. 

“James? The hell?” Happiness bubbled up in John’s chest as he hopped off his bar stool and approached James, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“John,” James said, face pressed against John’s ear. “Been a while. But I knew it was you.” 

John pulled back. “What’re you doing here, hm? Not serving her majesty anymore, I suppose.” 

James tilted his head and smiled. “I keep myself busy. And her majesty needs all sorts of servants, doesn’t she?” 

John hummed pleasantly and nodded. Bond was the same, wasn’t he? Cryptic, guarded, and yet somehow capable of making John feel entirely at ease. It probably didn’t hurt that the majority of their time together was spent passing a bottle of whiskey between the two of them in secret, hoping their commanding officers didn’t catch them. John turned and looked at his drink, then looked back to James. “Whiskey?” he asked, signalling the bartender. 

“Whiskey,” James said, pursing his lips and turning to look behind the bar. He threw back his first one quickly and then ordered a double. “Not fair if you’re ahead of me, is it?” he teased. 

Warmth was blooming in John’s chest as he angled himself toward James, their knees bumping. “You were the only one who could match me drink for drink back then,” he said, smiling at the memory. “So we should probably keep pace tonight, if you’re game.” 

“More than game,” Bond said, eyebrows raised. He clinked his glass against John’s. “To old friends,” he said. 

“Old friends,” John responded. They locked eyes before taking their sips. “So, what brings you here?” John asked, trying to sound casual. He hoped that James lived nearby, but he didn’t want to come right out and ask. 

“Business,” James said. “I had something to do in the neighborhood and thought I’d have a few drinks when I was done.” 

John frowned into his drink. “Odd place for business. There’s mostly flats out this way, right? Not much else.” 

“Client. He lives out here, insisted on meeting at his place,” James offered. 

“Right, right,” John said, not wanting to press James much further. No need to push away a friend when he hadn’t properly spoken to anyone in over a week outside of work. “Lucky that we ran into each other then.” 

Bond nodded. “How about you? You live around here, I suppose?” 

“Yeah, just moved here about a month ago. It’s closer to work than where I was staying before.” John felt the familiar tightness in his chest and took a deep swallow of whiskey. “Was a bit more central there, but I couldn’t afford the flat on my own.” He couldn’t tell what Bond knew, if anything, and he paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue. 

“Holmes?” Bond asked, voice more casual than John would’ve liked. He grimaced and turned away, signalling the bartender to refill his and James’ whiskeys. 

“Yes,” he said. “He’d been gone a few months. It was time to move. Move on. You know.” John shrugged. 

“Keep moving or you die,” James said. It sounded like a sort of toast, and so John half-heartedly clinked their glasses together, eliciting a chuckle from James. “Dark thought to cheers to, Watson,” he said. John looked up and saw mischief in his eyes. He needed this. Needed something. 

“We always did like to drink to things that were a bit wrong,” John said. “Men who were almost dead but who I’d hopefully saved. That scorpion that had a nest just outside your barracks who you swore was going to kill you one day. God, we were full of piss.” 

Bond laughed. “Still are,” he said. He swirled his whiskey and looked at John with a questioning heat behind his eyes. He looked to the door quickly and then back to John. “You live near here, you were saying,” he said. 

John nodded and threw back his whiskey. “Very near. Come up,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t even gone near a man since he’d lived with Sherlock, not wanting to let on that he could be interested lest it upset the delicate balance they had with one another. He’d missed it. Had missed Bond in particular. 

“Need to make a quick call,” James said, pulling out his phone. “Tie up the business I was doing earlier if you know what I mean. Then we’ll head to yours.” He smiled slyly at John and then took the last sip of his whiskey, swiping his thumb over the rim of the glass and licking the final drop away. 

John pulled out his wallet to pay, watching as James stepped outside to make his phone call. He’d picked a good night to go to the pub, he supposed. 

---

Outside, James listened as the phone rang through just once before being picked up. 

“I’ll have the surveillance equipment installed by morning,” James said before Mycroft--fuck if Bond would think of him as M--could speak. 

“We do appreciate your service, 007,” Mycroft said. “A text will suffice in the morning.” 

Bond ended the call with a quick press of his thumb and an irritated huff. He hadn’t been given a reason that Mycroft would need to keep tabs on John, but it certainly seemed important enough. Before he could question it further, John was pushing open the door of the pub to join him. 

“Ready?” John asked.