A/N: This is a mini-sequel for Where Pathways Meet, my other story. But you don't have to read it for this fic, as this don't need much background. It is an AU, so if you're confused from conflicting facts in this fic, you can check that story out-but not mandatory.

There are just several facts you should know, just in case: Relationships are established, Sherlock/John and Mycroft/Lestrade. This is an omegaverse fic, where the Holmes family is an aristocrat and the Watsons are their retainer. All the characters are slightly younger in this AU. Sherlock and John in their 20s, Mycroft and Lestrade in their 30s.

Hope you enjoy this!

Draught of Lust

thé au lait

~oOo~

John sighed. He looked at the calendar. It has been three months. Three. Bloody. Months.

He was tired. John was tired. He was tired of waiting.
Waiting for his friend, his bondmate, his lover, Sherlock Holmes.

Everything was going well, if one consider homicide cases and kidnapping as a well-being. Sherlock did, and John always managed to agree with his alpha on anything. Until Mycroft sent Sherlock for some case abroad.

John supposed that Mycroft was just jealous of them; Lestrade was busy these days, and John knew when the smug alpha was sexually frustrated.
So, with his undignified use of authority and his perfect work, Mycroft pushed his brother into a temporary exile. John was sure this case had something to do with perfectly minimal issues, nothing significant-but Mycroft passionately emphasised its importance.

Sly bastard.

As a result, John was lack of a good shag for three months. His heat was approaching, and he had no intention to suppress it. Last week, John received the news that Sherlock was going to be back soon, and John knew Sherlock was going to perform out the usual 'post-case shag'.

This time, perhaps more intense than usual. John never failed to appreciate a good, rough shag, and he was building up his expectation. He also carefully prepared for their reunion, as the 'post-case shag' go on for a considerable amount of time. John shopped for groceries, cleaned their flat, did the laundry and ran all the chores to cover for at least a week.

Yes, Sherlock was capable of shagging John for a week.

Sherlock was going to be back tomorrow. John sighed yet again. Somehow his pheromones knew when his alpha was going to be back, so his body was already building up for proper sex. He felt his body warmer than usual, his glands already moist.
This morning, John almost gave into his primal instincts, but he was able to hold himself thanks to the presence of Mrs. Hudson.

So, long story short, John was sexually frustrated, and a good shag was coming.

~oOo~

John slowly paced the living room. He already called the clinic and told them he was going to be off for at least a week. He also added that Sherlock was coming back tomorrow; Sarah was good at picking up things, and she never failed to read untold contexts. Especially this time.
So he had nothing to do today, and John was sure he was going to have a peaceful day for at least today. Until there was something unexpected.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Hudson pushed her face through the crack of the door.

"John? You have a guest."

A guest? I was never expecting one.

John crooked his eyebrows, and Mrs. Hudson took the hint.

"Who is it?"
"Well... She told me you're going to recognise her."
"It's a 'she'?"
"Yes. A fine young woman. She said she was one of Sherlock's previous clients..."

A client? Previous?

"Alpha? Beta? Omega?"
"A beta. Should I send her back, dear?"

John thought for a moment. He was careful with Sherlock's clients, as he knew they were potential brokers for more clients. Sherlock really didn't need the money, but he needed interesting cases. And John never failed to meet Sherlock's needs.

"No. Please, send her in."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, then her face disappeared through the door. Soon, he heard voices from the stairs.
It was familiar, and considering that she is a previous client, not so surprising- but, it was something different.

John knew the voice. 'She' was not a client. Nor a beta.

She was-

"Hello, John."

Irene Adler.

John, gaping, stared at the dashing alpha female.

~oOo~

John made tea. I made tea for the bloody Irene Adler. Great.
He muttered to himself, but he somehow managed through the process. And here they were, sitting at his living room. Having a bloody tea time.

Irene Adler was quiet, sipping on her tea.
John tried to break the awkward silence as he never liked it; so he tried to be polite and tried to come up with something.

"...Hmm. How are you doing?"

Adler smiled, tea cup on her lips.

"Your heat is coming, John. Waiting for Sherlock?"

John never expected that question, so he choked on his tea for a little.

"-What, What?"
"Your pheromones are thick, sweetheart. That Holmes boy must have shagged you before it got so thick, so it means that he must be away for now. Case? Far away?"

John dazed at her for a moment. He hesitated, but finally spoke.

"...Actually, yes. In Italy."
"Ooh. How long?"
"Three months."
"A bummer."

She sipped on her tea. John knew Irene Adler was just as good as Sherlock, so he wasn't surprised- instead, he was embarrassed.

"Your face is red."

Adler said with a smirk. John frowned.

"By the way, what are you doing here? You should be in Hong Kong."
"Wanted to drop by, see how my favourite omega is doing."
"I'm your favourite omega?"
"With your fascinating scent, yes, dear. How can't I?"

She smiled. John chuckled.

"Okay, okay. Can't say I'm not flattered. I'm the favourite omega of Irene Adler."
"Of course. Also, I had something to give you..."

She turned and picked up her purse.

Irene Adler was wearing a white two-piece, a perfectly tailored masterpiece. It looked professional and devilishly attractive at the same time. Her purse was a black one, matching her clothing. Not so big, yet comfortable for carrying things.

She reached in, then pulled out a bottle.

"...What is it?"
"A present for you, my dear."
"-Anesthetic?"
"No, no. I'm not going to be harsh on you, John. You're not going to steal something from as Sherlock did last time. I'm here as a guest, just to manage a smalltalk, see how things are going. I missed your scent, too."

Irene Adler laughed, then pushed the small glass bottle into John's hands.

"I wasn't intending to give you this, but you're seemingly frustrated, love. It's just a love potion. When is he going to be back?"
"Tomorrow."
"With your looks and your scent, you won't be needing this... But just to flame up your sheets, you can receive help from it."

John hesitated. What?

"...So, this is some kind of aphrodisiac or something? Because, if it is, I won't be needing it... Sherlock would be jumping my bones the instant he comes back."

They never have been apart this long since they bonded. The last time they were apart for a long time was for a month; and John had a hard time walking for another month after the case was finished. So John knew that they had no trouble in that way. If they had one, it could be of John's fatigue and Sherlock's endless yearning.

Adler laughed again. John failed to tell if she was deceiving or not.

"No, dear. No. As I've told you, just to spark something up. I'm sure you won't need a help, but just to make sex more interesting. I've been using it back in the days, and it never failed; everybody loved it."

John looked at the bottle.

"You're never going to regret when you use it."

~oOo~

After exchanging words for a while, Adler soon departed the flat. Her steps lingered, her eyes hesitating; but Adler walked out, hailed a cab then disappeared into the crowd.

Peace came back, and John retired to his armchair.

He looked at the opposite armchair. Sherlock's. He missed Sherlock. He missed Sherlock's deductions, his rambling, his quirks.
John missed Sherlock's violin. His white, long fingers dancing along the strings, beautiful melodies swirling around the flat... Oh, what works that those talented, delicate fingers did!
It moved along the strings like an angel dancing... It slid upon John's skin, pressing every sensitive spots with gentle pleasure... Digging into John's prostate, while his low baritone whispered into his ears with words of love and want and sex and...

John woke from his daydream, recognising his glands were already soaking wet. Oh, great. I ruined my favourite trousers.

John muttered under his breath, and he quickly stood up to cleanse and change into something else. But his face was already burning red, his thoughts still lingering upon his lover.
John knew he missed the intimacy. The touch. He loved it, as much as he loved Sherlock.

And, something which would spark it up? God, YES.

John decided to give the bottle a try.

- Drink it before you go to bed, and it would kick in during your lunch time.

He decided to give Irene Adler a bit of trust. Until he realised it was a big mistake.

~oOo~

Sherlock wasn't going to arrive at Heathrow until three, so John was having a long lunch. He watched the telly, savoured the alfredo he made himself, and finished the obituaries on the papers. John just had to do something with his anticipation, and distracting himself was one of the solutions.
But his strength was wearing off; and John knew the draught Adler gave him was going to kick in no further.

Last night, just before he lay down, he took the draught-potion-whatever Adler gave him. Surprisingly enough, it tasted quite smooth and sweet. Gentle, even. John felt good, and he finished up the bottle.
He wasn't so sure about the maximum dosage, but he supposed the bottle would be a one-time dosage. Anyway, Adler said nothing about the dosage-and really, the taste was good.

John took a glance at the clock. It was just over one. John slowly stood up from the chair, cleaned up the table, then reached for the coat.
His trip to the Heathrow won't take longer than an hour, but he just couldn't wait anymore.

He decided to go to the airport early and wait for Sherlock-which, in fact, did not go as he planned.

~oOo~

"Hullo, Mrs. Hudson."
"Hello, John. Oh, Sherlock is going to be back today, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is."

A little pause.

"I think I'm going to spend the night at my sister's house. It's good to catch things up with her sometimes."

Then a wink.

Mrs. Hudson was a sharp-sighted lady-one time, when Mycroft stopped by, she even asked for sound proof walls. John was still recovering from the incident, but it was sweet in some way... Privacy, she meant. Perhaps.

Anyway, John blushed for a little, then saluted Mrs. Hudson with a peck on her cheeks. He stepped out of the flat, and strode out on the streets. The day was clear, and the air was sweet.
John felt good, until he realised something strange. People were turning looks at him. John paused in his way, then studied himself-but nothing was wrong with him. Is there something on my face? He scrutinized his reflection on a show window of a clothing store.

Usual John Watson, staring back at him.

And it left only one plausible explanation. Oh god, what have Sherlock done now?

People, who were staring at him, was now slowly approaching him. John stepped back. He studied the people. Nothing in particular, just usual passerby, seemingly no criminals... but these days, criminals came in various faces. No one knew who is a convict or not.
So, when one man stepped forward and reached out, John launched.

As expected, the people followed him.
Okay, so Sherlock must have pissed off a lot of people this time.

John thought in despair, glancing back at the throng of people running after him.

However, as he ran, more and more people were added to the throng. It wasn't until the intersection which John thought something was strange.
When John ran across the sidewalk, two cars ran towards him then crashed into each other.

John tried to look back, but already the crowd following him was enormous. He was unable to stop, and John kept running. The crowd was unstoppable, running people over and crashing into trash cans-but never stopping.

It was as if they were high. ...High?

Then, John remembered the draught Adler gave him.

- Your love will come back.

She said, with a sly smirk.
That was the first hint.

And the second hint, was that, the crowd following him were all alphas. John knew it from the strong pheromones, as the wind was blowing from their direction.
Oh, dear god, what had she given me?

He kept running, but John knew his legs would give out soon, as he was running for some time. He found a spot where cabs were dwelling. He opened a door.
Dammit, the cabbie was an alpha.

Quickly dodging the cabbie's jump, John closed the door and jumped for another cab. The crowd was getting close, and he was in a hurry.
For John's sake, the second cab contained a beta cabbie.

"Heathrow Airport. Bring me there as fast as you can, then I'll double the fee."

John shouted in desperation, and the startled cabbie moved quickly. He saw the crowd, and their faces. The cabbie sent a curious glance, but John growled.

"Don't ask."

The cabbie didn't ask.

~oOo~

They arrived at the airport in a remarkable speed, so John gave the cabbie the promised fee. John jumped off the cab, then glanced at the clock. He took a detour as he ran from the crowd, so it took more than expected- it was almost three, and Sherlock was going to be here soon.

He let out a sigh in relief.

John felt content, until he spotted an alpha staring at him. Okay, so it goes on again. John breathed in deeply, and ran through the entrance. Sherlock was going to be flying in from Vienna(don't know why, but somehow Sherlock got to Vienna).

The flight was going to arrive on three o'clock sharp, and it was two to three now.

John glanced back. Already there were more than a dozen alphas staring back at him. Oh, bloody-

Suddenly, his mobile rang. John pulled it out. 'Unknown Caller'

Okay, so I'm sought out by a throng of lusty alphas, and somebody is calling me with their identity concealed. Great.

John was in despair, so he pushed the button and answered.

"Yes?"

[ How's it going, John?]

Elegant voice, flowing accent. Damn it, Mycroft.

"Damn it, Mycroft. You saw everything, didn't you?"
[ Apparently the dominatrix had been a great effect on you, John. ]
"You knew it, and you didn't give me a hand."
[ You seemed quite busy. ]
"Okay. I'm not in a mood for smalltalk. I'll be short, cause some women are already staring at me as if they're going to eat me- Send me a ride, right away, with a beta driver. You'll know where I'm at."
[ Of course. Good day, John. ]
"Bloody good day. You're a bastard, you know that, Mycroft?"
[ I'm not a bastard. I'm pure-born. ]
"Oh, shut up."

John hung up. He was sure Mycroft was going to keep their promise, as he knew Mycroft wasn't going to let John fall in trouble- Mycroft was never going to let a member of his family fall into wrong hands.

Especially when those hands were some strange throng of horny alphas.

John was running when he was talking, so he was able to escape a lot of alphas in his direction. Thank god John was a healthy man. He rummaged through his memory, then fished up his last conversation with Sherlock.

- Gate 14. Just been told.

Well, more of a text than a conversation. Sherlock sent it just before his departure from Vienna. John glanced at the directions. He turned right, then jumped onto a moving walk.

Gate 14 wasn't so far, and John gathered his remaining wits. Sherlock was coming, and he was going to protect him. John glanced back. A crowd of alphas were running in his direction. He took a deep breath, then started running.

~oOo~

When Sherlock disembarked from the flying object, he never suspected this kind of situation. He was never a person easily startled or bewildered-instead, he was the surprise or bewilderment for others.

This time, it was different.

He thought John, his John, was going to stand at the arrivals, waiting for him, with his warm smile and a hug. He was going to hug John, kiss him on the forehead then his mouth, perhaps a deep kiss. Then he was going to hang his arms around his omega, one hand stroking through that smooth blond curls, walk through the halls of the airport to the entrance.

Instead, a panting, disheveled John Watson was running towards him. Followed by a crowd of alphas, apparently aroused. Sherlock sought out the reason the instant John launched at him.

The scent, deep, lavish, intoxicating, the mixture of every fascination in the world.

"What-"
"Irene Adler."

When Sherlock opened his mouth, John answered at the moment. Sherlock instantly sought out the facts, clear as crystal to the consulting detective.

He pulled his omega close, arms hugging tightly around the shoulders. He glared furiously into the crowd, then growled low but no less than frightening.

"Mine."

A/N: I initially planned this to be a one-shot, but I failed miserably. Please tell me how you think, and let me know if you want more. ;)