The reappearance of the black car the next day wasn't completely unexpected. John was already most of the way to the Tube station, Oyster card practically in hand, but the car was pulled up alongside the kerb and Mycroft Holmes was smiling politely from the other side of the back seat and it was easier on his leg than walking another six blocks to work, anyway. John got in.

"Was going to call you, actually," he said as he shut the door behind himself and turned to face the other alpha more fully. "Thought you might know about the ten thousand pounds that suddenly showed up in my bank account last night."

"We never did discuss an exact amount - you'll get another twenty thousand once you've seen my brother safely through his next heat, and additional funds for each subsequent heat you help with. He should be due soon, or so I understand."

John repressed an eyeroll - an alarming habit he seemed to have picked up from Sherlock, he realized. "I'm not complaining about the amount. More worried that you paid me already at all. Have you never done this before?"

Mycroft managed to look offended. "I've assured myself you're an honorable man, Doctor Watson-"

"No, not that either," John interrupted. "Look - have you ever even met your brother? He uses my computer constantly, even when his own is two steps away. I can't have mysterious transfers into my account - he cracked my laptop password in less than an hour, and it wasn't at all obvious. I don't expect my bank account to fare much better."

Mycroft frowned. "I can arrange for a separate trust, if you'd prefer."

"I don't really care about the money," John said. "The more important point is that I'm not going to be spending your brother's heat with him."

There was a long, accusatory silence following that pronouncement. John knew, intellectually, that silence was an interrogation tactic - hell, he'd used it himself plenty - but this time he was the one who cracked first. "He's probably got a week or two left."

His somewhat-employer merely blinked at him.

"Until his heat, I mean," John clarified. "He's still getting some benefit just from living with me, hormones around the flat and all that. Not as good as sharing a heat with someone, but it should help regulate the heats eventually. I'm not for sale, though, and I'm not going to take money for sleeping with anyone. Assignment or not."

Mycroft cocked his head to the side slightly, assessing him. Something sharp was building in the air, a primal alpha stand-off, but hell if John was going to back down. The elder Holmes wasn't the first one to try to intimidate him.

Eventually Mycroft nodded, breaking the tension. "A compromise, then - your earnings in a trust for your sister, for next time she needs . . . assistance. Rehab is expensive, and she's more likely to stay if it's the best facility Britain can offer."

John blew out a long breath. Having Harry more or less taken care of would be a fucking huge weight off his shoulders, to be honest. "Yeah, okay."

"But you have no intention of pursuing a romantic relationship with my brother?"

"Not unless he changes his mind on the virtues of bonding. I'll be his flatmate, nothing more. I mean, he is bloody gorgeous, but I can hardly see him settling into a domestic life of cooking supper and cleaning up after me and bearing my children." John shuddered. "No thanks."

"Very well then." Mycroft withdrew a slim file from the briefcase on the seat between them and passed it to John. "That gives us more options with this."

John took the file and flipped through it. A dossier. The first page included a picture of a pretty blonde woman, slender but not overly thin, probably about John's own age. He skimmed the text. Mary Morstan.

"Our best guess is that she's American, although beyond that our sources peter out. She passes well for a London native. And she's been asking about you."

"Me?" John took another look at the picture. Shot from mid-range, far enough to see most of her torso but not her full figure. Reasonably fit, pale skin, makeup but not too much, hair done artfully in some complicated twist. Pretty but not remarkable. "Can't see why I'd interest anyone - I haven't been in the loop on anything useful in months. I doubt I'd have any information to extract, to be honest."

"We don't know." Mycroft looked peeved at having to admit that. "It could pertain to your activities in Afghanistan, it could be an attempt to get to Sherlock, or possibly through Sherlock to me. We don't even know whether she's aware of your history in MI6."

John closed the folder and let it rest in his lap. "So what are you suggesting I do? Now that I'm back in England, I rather assumed anything that came up would fall more in MI5 territory."

Mycroft nodded toward the file. "Just be aware. I expect she'll approach you sometime in the next few days - an ostensible chance meeting, most likely. If you're not courting my brother, then perhaps you can make a point of welcoming her attentions. For now."

"Yeah, okay." It would hardly be the first time John was required to flirt in service to his country, although he hadn't particularly expected to have those skills called upon again after leaving Kandahar. At least here he wasn't risking becoming the subject of an honor killing if the omega's family found out just exactly who their darling scion was spending his heats with. Flirting with women took an entirely different skillset - playing up his softer qualities, playing down the alpha ones - but hell, that's what he had left, wasn't it? Fluffy jumpers and a cane and a part-time job doing locum work in a second-rate clinic. Not exactly an omega's dream mate. For picking up women, though, it was perfect.

Oh - one more thing. "Mycroft?" John waited until he had the other alpha's full attention. "I feel like I should make something completely clear before we go any further: I don't work for you. I am not your employee, or your agent, or anything else. I'm accepting whatever reduced fee you wish to give me for living with your brother, but that's the extent of our transaction. If that's not adequate for you, tell me now and I'll get on with finding somewhere else to live."

Mycroft regarded him steadily for a long moment, then nodded. "You will alert me if anything changes."

"Not necessarily," John countered. Hell, I've been living with Sherlock for almost a month and a half now - I know how to deal with a Holmes. "I'll call if there's something I feel you need to know, but I'm not spying on Sherlock and I'm not going to manipulate him. Quite aside from everything else, I'm ready to get out of undercover work. You may buy my presence in the flat, the effect of my proximity on your brother's hormonal balance, but that's it. If and when I decide to leave is my own business."

"Already making plans to leave?"

John smiled grimly. "I always like to have an escape route." He glanced out the window and reached for the door handle. "Speaking of which, this is my stop. Good luck, Mycroft."

"You didn't take the Tube today," Sherlock announced from his sprawled position on the sofa.

"Yeah, had a run-in with your brother."

Sherlock sat up quickly. "What did he want?"

"What do you think?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and lay back down. "Obvious. You told him I'm not going to bond with you, I hope?"

"In slightly more colorful language, yes. Mostly I told him my life was none of his damn business."

A ghost of a smile hovered at the corners of Sherlock's lips. "I'd have loved to see that - Mycroft did always hate not getting his way. I bet you surprised him."

John ducked into the kitchen so Sherlock couldn't see his face. You have no idea.