His apartment was dark when he returned. Not that he had been expecting anything else.

Bond shirked off his jacket and shoes and deposited himself on the sofa in his front room. He tipped over the tumbler on the coffee table in front and poured himself a Scotch, swirling it once before downing it in one smooth gulp.

He lay back, pulled the gun out of his holster and the car keys from his pocket. He smiled. Q’s levelled threat about his “special drawer” had had the desired effect. He leaned forward again, to pour himself another measure when he heard a muffled sound from the direction of his bedroom…

Something like that @shoshililly?

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