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"Perfect matches can court and bond in the span of a day. The body knows what the mind resists. While it is true these matters should not be rushed, alphas and omegas don't like to be kept waiting once they've found their true mate."

…...

As John gathered a few changes of clothing he wondered what the hell he was doing. He was moving in, albeit temporarily, with an omega that wasn't interested in furthering the relationship.

Even if he had been scented.

John allowed himself a smile at the memory, of standing behind Sherlock and breathing in that sweet, tempting smell, of mixing his own scent with it where it was strongest.

He had realized almost immediately that he head done something, that something had shifted. He'd let their scents mingle closely for less than a minute before Sherlock's started changing very subtly. He'd backed off, made some tea, but when he'd returned the change was only stronger.

Sherlock smelled like them.

A few more questions to confirm his suspicions and...

Sherlock hadn't, at least, looked angry. Just annoyed that he hadn't noticed on his own, that he had to be told.

Then he'd looked a bit flustered as John's satisfaction grew and grew. He knew that he shouldn't feel this way, but he had to admit that he liked the idea that every alpha Sherlock saw in the next few days would know that he wasn't available.

He wasn't John's necessarily, but he also wasn't anyone else's, and that was almost good enough.

John was ready to leave Harry's house when he heard her and Clara return home. He didn't know where they had gone, but he'd been grateful that he hadn't had to explain himself upon his return. He had been hoping to leave again before his sister could say anything to ruin his good mood, but it appeared he would not have the luxury. He bit the bullet and walked to the front hall.

"And where were you last night?" Harry asked the second John stepped into her line of sight.

"I stayed with a friend," he explained quickly. "I'd been out later than I intended and was offered a couch to crash on."

"Mmhm," she said, sounding unconvinced. "And does this friend of yours go into heat every three months?"

John rolled his eyes, as though Harry was being ridiculous, and tried to push aside the image of Sherlock flushed and writhing while in the throws of his heat. He wasn't very successful. "His name is Sherlock and he's working through some issues right now. He asked me to stay with him for a few days while he sorts everything out."

"Please tell me he's at least a beta."

"Just be happy I'll be out of your hair for a few days. I'll try to find my own place while I'm there so I can unburden myself from you for good."

Clara's eyes were soft and worried. "You know it's no trouble, John. We're happy to give you a place to stay as long as you need."

John and Harry's eyes met and quickly looked away. Of course Clara would never understand why John living in Harry's territory might cause some unwanted tension. She was too kind to consider that Harry might be trying to find John a mate for purely selfish reasons.

"Don't worry," John said, putting on a smile. "I'm sure I'll come crawling back in a few days. Sherlock can be a bit...intense. I doubt I could manage living with him for too long."

Harry turned to Clara. "Fifty quid that this Sherlock bloke is an omega." She turned back to John. "What the hell kind of name is Sherlock?"

"It suits him, he's a posh bastard."

Harry snorted. "Tell me if he sets the dinner table with way more forks than could be possibly required in a single meal."

"Will do," John said with a smile that was more genuine. "I'll be seeing you soon. Call me if you need me," John said, walking past them and heading towards the door.

"Do you want a lift?" Clara asked, holding up the car keys.

The acceptance was on John's tongue until he saw Harry's posture. He was definitely not allowed to be in a car alone with her omega.

"I'm fine," he said. "I'll walk a bit and take the tube. It'll be faster."

Clara looked doubtful. "If you're sure..."

"I'm sure," John said. He opened moved to the door and escaped as quickly as possible.

Clara was a sweetheart, but she didn't seem to register that he was an alpha and that Harry would instinctively view him as a threat. He hoped that his absence would remove some of the tension from the marriage as well.

Although, with Harry's drinking getting worse, that might just be wishful thinking.

…...

John returned to 221B with an admittedly significant level of unease settling in his stomach. He'd have been blind not to see that Sherlock had been warring with himself over the invitation he extended to John. Under most circumstances, that would have been enough for John to politely refuse the offer.

However, as of late, John Watson appeared to be unable to think with anything other than his dick. And so, he stood in front of 221B, his things haphazardly packed in a suitcase, wondering if he was taking a risk to find happiness or if he was screwing up the only good thing that has happened to him since he returned from Afghanistan.

There was a small commotion over his head. John looked up to see Sherlock wrestling a stiff window open.

"Stop standing there," Sherlock ordered, half hanging out the window. "It's unbearable. Mrs. Hudson thinks you're having second thoughts and is trying to console me by offering up anecdotes from her marriage."

"And that is unbearable because...?" John yelled up.

"Mr. Hudson was a drug lord."

"Ah, I see. I'll just be heading up then?"

"Where else would you go?"

That was a valid point. Regardless of misgivings concerning the intentions of either party, John didn't really have anywhere to go unless he was willing to swallow his pride and returned to Harry's house.

John climbed the steps and pushed the front door open, finding it unlocked. There was a bustle of activity over his head as Sherlock forced the window closed again and Mrs. Hudson, whom John had been introduced to earlier, prattled on about how her husband used do the most romantic things after they'd had a row.

"And then, after I found out about the poor young man he murdered, he was so broken up that- Oh, hello John. I'm so happy to see you've come back."

"Mrs. Hudson," John greeted her with a nod. "I'll just set my things upstairs then, shall I?"

Mrs. Hudson showed him to the spare bedroom with a flurry of hands and laughter. "Yes, yes. It's nice to see an old fashioned courtship these days. So proper of you two, staying in separate rooms until you've bonded."

John tried to will away the awkward feeling that was threatening to overtake him. "Er, ah, well. We're not really intending to bond, Mrs. Hudson."

"Oh, you alphas!" she said, sighing. "Always so afraid of commitment!"

"That's not really the issue-"

"Don't worry dear. I trust you'll make the right decision when the time comes. Until then, it's best to take things slow. I'm so happy Sherlock's found himself a gentleman willing to court him properly. So many young people are rushing into bonding without even knowing each other! They can't find their perfect mate that way, you know. They'll divorce before the ink dries on the marriage license."

"Hm," John hummed noncommittally, setting his stuff down on the floor and taking in the neat, if small, bedroom. There was an old dresser for his clothes and a single bed newly set up with sheets and bedding. It wasn't luxury, but it may as well have been with memories of sleeping on the sand still fresh in his mind.

"I'll let you get settled," Mrs. Hudson said, turning to leave.

"Don't bother," came Sherlock's baritone from the doorway. "We need to leave. Lestrade just texted. In a show of shocking competence, Scotland Yard has managed to locate the mystery alpha before we all died of old age."

"You boys have fun," Mrs. Hudson said, following them down the stairs at a more sedate pace. "If you haven't made it safe for those poor young omegas in a week, I'm raising your rent."

"No worries, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock declared, dashing off to grab his scarf. "I'm certain we'll have it soon. The scent marking is the key, the piece we've been missing."

John felt a little stab of pride for being the one to point it out even though it required absolutely no skill or effort on his part. Pride is a little funny like that sometimes.

Sherlock appeared to have some sort of magical ability to make cabs appear because they were seated and moving much sooner than John would have ever managed to accomplish.

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"To the alpha's house. Lestrade and his team will arrive just before we get there, which is probably for the best, as Lestrade tends to get unreasonably stroppy when I break into witnesses homes and frighten them."

John bit his lip. "Yeah, I could see him doing that."

"I don't see what the problem is if I still get the necessary information," Sherlock sighed.

"Hm."

There was a moment of silence.

"You make that noise when you disagree with me," Sherlock said suddenly.

"What?"

"'Hm.'" Sherlock quoted. "I noticed before. You disagree but you don't want to argue. Odd. Most alphas I know jump at the chance to argue."

"I can hold my own," John admitted. "But alphas are rare enough and most don't have one for an older sister. I learned to pick my battles of get my head smashed against a wall."

"...Did she really smash your head against the wall?"

"Six stitches and a concussion."

Sherlock made an inelegant noise that sounded like repressed laughter.

"Don't mock!" John scolded, although there was a smile on his face. "It was traumatizing."

"Was this before or after you presented?" Sherlock asked, shaking slightly but managing to restrain his laughter.

"After," John admitted.

Sherlock let out a bark of the laughter. "So you were a sixteen year old alpha when your sister managed to give you a concussion with brute force."

"I hate you."

"Did you even try to fight back?"

"Yes. She would have stopped at the concussion, otherwise. The stitches were necessary when I retaliated."

"What was the fight about? Something stupid, I presume."

"I told her I wanted to join the army," John said, sobering slightly. "She wanted to prove that I couldn't last a day."

"It sounds rather like the British Armed Forces could have used her in their ranks." Sherlock had stopped laughing at least, although there was still a stupid smile on his face.

"Nah," John sighed. "She wouldn't be able to follow the first order that she disagreed with. Regardless, I had to live with her for another two years, and in that time I perfected the art of saying 'Hm' and letting it go."

"A useful skill."

"I've thought so as well."

…...

Jeremy Owens was most definitely not skilled in the art of saying "Hm" and letting it go. He was an alpha like most others: belligerent, judgmental, arrogant, aggressive, and annoyed when he wasn't the center of attention.

For all that Sherlock complains about being an omega, he had nothing on John when it came to frustration with one's own gender.

As it was, Owens was standing rigid with his shoulders squared and his arms crossed over his chest, alternatively staring at Sherlock as though the man were a prize to be won, and John as though he were an annoying but insignificant obstruction in the path of winning said prize.

Owens was dark haired, dark eyed, strong jawed, and considerably bigger than John. He didn't seem to take the smaller man very seriously and was spending every moment he could trying to coax Sherlock's attention towards him.

John was warring with his desire to punch Owens in the face and stand protectively in front of his omega, and his current strategy of standing at ease with more than a little bit of murder in his eyes.

"Mr. Owens!" Lestrade said for the third time, trying to get the posturing alpha's attention. "Miss Stafford is dead," he said, trying to impart the seriousness of the situation. "We need you to answer our questions." He and Donovan shared an exasperated look that John had previously believed to be reserved for Sherlock.

"Oh, I'd love to help however I can," Owens purred, trying to catch Sherlock's eye.

Sherlock made a disgusted face. He opened his mouth, likely to reveal something very embarrassing about the suspect, but Lestrade plowed forward before he could speak.

"Thank you," Lestrade sighed, glaring at Sherlock.

John bristled at that. As though it was Sherlock's fault that Owens was a wanker.

Sherlock flitted around Owens' living room, ignoring everything he didn't wish to acknowledge and absorbing more information than John could comprehend.

Watching him work was pretty amazing, John had to admit. He couldn't really understand Sherlock's genius, and he was quite content just watching it all unfold.

And he really hoped that Sherlock was just stockpiling proof that Owens was an enormous prat because, unfortunately, he didn't seem to be the murderer.

"Yeah, we'd scented," Owens was saying. "I met her at a Matchmaker thing and took her home. We spent the night together. Didn't meant to mark her, but it happens sometimes. You know how it is. Doesn't mean anything." He said this with a significant look towards Sherlock. "It ain't a bloody bond."

Lestrade looked a little confused. "Sherlock, weren't you saying it was like-"

"Engagement, yes," Sherlock said, returning to John's side. "I also said it can happen accidentally."

John happened to meet Owens' eye at that exact moment, which meant that the utter prick caught the faint twinge in John's expression.

"You too?" he said, sounding pleased. "Thought so. I could smell it as soon as you walked in." He wrinkled his nose. "Repulsive, but it wasn't strong."

"It's irrelevant," Sherlock interrupted, sounding bored although John thought he saw the faintest blush on the detective's cheek bones. "As is this interview. Lestrade, there's nothing he can give us. He wasn't romantically attached to Miss Stafford and they were going to let the scent fade. He's unconnected to the murder."

"How can you be so sure?" Donovan demanded.

"It's obvious by the state of his coffee table, if you were paying any attention," Sherlock snapped, buttoning his coat. "John, call a cab. We need to try and make it to the Matchmaker meeting tonight."

Lestrade and Donovan were finishing up as John hung up the phone, the cab on the way. Owens stepped away from the officers and was standing too close to Sherlock.

"Listen," Owens was saying, looking at Sherlock in a way that was probably supposed to be seductive. "I know it's a bit forward of me, but I was wondering if I could give you my number. You can give me a call when that scent fades."

The offer had completely captured Donovan's attention, who was biting her lip and trying not to laugh. Lestrade was barely faring any better.

"No," Sherlock sighed.

"I'm not saying you have to call," Owens continued. "I just wanted to give you the option. I mean, it's hard to be unbonded at our age."

"Yeah, Sherlock," Donovan interrupted. "God knows you've always wanted to settle down."

"Cooking dinner and taking care of the children," Lestrade added, his voice trembling slightly.

"Washing the dishes-"

"Doing the laundry-"

"And being a perfect little housewife," Donovan finished with a smile.

John shouldn't intervene. He didn't have a right to intervene. Sherlock probably wouldn't appreciate it if he did anything. Especially if he did anything alpha-specific. Reacting would be a bad idea and no one would benefit.

Then Sherlock met his eye. There was rage swirling in those ice blue eyes and Sherlock was on the edge of either breaking something or alienating himself even further by verbally ripping everyone to shreds.

John's eyes sought permission to do something. Sherlock's eyes granted him the permission. The entire exchange took less than a second.

John stepped up behind Sherlock, wrapped his arms around the man's waist, and pressed a kiss to the back of Sherlock's neck, right over the scent glands. And if John happened to get a little lost in Sherlock's delicious smell and the wonderful feeling of having his arms around the man...well, no one had to know that, did they?

"While I appreciate your interest," Sherlock was saying when John came back to reality and loosened his hold slightly. "I'm afraid I am not available."

Sherlock had placed his hands over John's, welcoming the embrace, but he soon dropped them and John took that as his cue to step back.

The emotional turmoil that followed was almost worth the shocked speechless look on Sally Donovan's face. John was a little too satisfied with that. Bitch.

John hadn't quite forgiven her for the whole 'Sherlock is a psychopath' speech yet. He wasn't sure if he was ever going to.

"Let's go, John," Sherlock ordered as though nothing happened. "I'm sure the cab will be here soon."

…...

"Well, that was fun," Sherlock said, breaking the silence of the cab ride.

"Donovan certainly seemed to enjoy it," John said, a small giggle escaping despite his best efforts.

Sherlock snorted. "She looked like I'd stripped naked and started dancing the macarana."

John gave up. He started laughing until he stomach was aching from the force of it. "Do-do you think she'll ever regain her ability to speak?"

"God, I hope not."

"It would be a blessing for us all."

…...

"I've reinforced it," John sighed as Sherlock sprawled on the couch. "It's a lot stronger."

"Just as well," Sherlock murmured, his eyes closed. "The more alphas that leave me the hell alone, the better."

John grinned a surprisingly sad little grin as he went to go make tea. He could daydream all he wanted, but Sherlock saw the scenting as nothing more than a convenience, and once it was no longer that, he would let it fade. It was stupid to make it something that it wasn't.

He returned with the tea and glanced at the time. "We don't have long if we're going to make the event tonight. Are you even signed up for it?"

"I'm signed up for everything," Sherlock said, getting to his feet and striding to his room. "Apparently there are fireworks in the park tonight," he said with false cheerfulness. "Maybe if I'm lucky, a big strong handsome alpha will sweep me off my feet and kiss me beneath the glow of a thousand twinkling stars."

John let out a huff of laughter. "It's an option," he agreed, although Sherlock was out of earshot. Probably for the best.

John gulped down the rest of his tea and went upstairs to dig through his bag until he found a jumper that would be warm enough to withstand a night outside. After an extraordinarily long moment of hesitation, John also tucked his Sig in the waistband of his jeans. He wasn't going to need it, but it was a good idea to be prepared, just in case.

He came downstairs and saw that Sherlock had changed as well. In addition to his 'Scott' disguise, he had made some alterations to the rest of his clothing.

He's turned it into something that was going to make it very difficult to focus for the rest of the night.

"For the love of God," John just said helplessly, throwing up his hands in a 'why' gesture. "How. Just how."

The shirt was purple and it was silky and it was far too tight for a grown man to possibly convince himself that it fit. John could practically hear the screams of the straining buttons from across the room.

Sherlock looked down at himself. "I'm supposed to be enticing," Sherlock pointed out.

"You win."

"Do you think it's inappropriate?"

"I'm sure as hell not going to accomplish anything productive. I'll be standing with all the other alphas,-betas and omegas too, actually-drooling and placing bets over when your buttons are going to give up the fight."

Sherlock managed to frown and look incredibly pleased at the same time. "Be professional John. We don't have time for this."

"You're aware that you look illegally good, right?"

"That's the point."

"So long as you understand."

"For God's sake, it's a shirt and trousers."

"And it works."

"I know."

"Fine."

"Good."

…...

John was grinning like an idiot and he didn't care. Christ, he was so fucked. He'd known Sherlock for...what, forty eight hours? Forty eight hours and he was acting like a teenager on his first date.

Except it's not a real date.

John allowed himself a small smile. Well, Sherlock did know how he felt, and he hadn't told John to bugger off yet, so there's that.

And in the confines of the cab, it was glaringly apparent that their scents had melded almost imperceptibly, announcing to any alpha within smelling distance just who belonged to who.

My omega, the crazy little alpha in the back of John's mind purred. My mate. My preciousss...

John shifted slightly. Calm the fuck down, Gollum.

"I swear to God, just sitting near you is reinforcing the scent," Sherlock said, sounding both amused and annoyed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm all oily. Sodding scent glands."

"Hm. Huge inconvenience of biology, that."

"Indeed."

John was smiling.

"I hate that smile," Sherlock complained. "You look like Lestrade with a secret I can't deduce or Mycroft with an entire cake all to himself. Stop it."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're doing it right now."

"I'm really not."

They bantered until they arrived at their destination and the cabbie kicked them out.

Late for once, Sherlock and John were able to slip into the event unnoticed. They popped by the beta coordinator briefly (she reminded them to register their scenting) and joined the masses. To his visible annoyance, Sherlock was having problems speaking to an alpha for longer than it took for them to register that he was no longer emitting the sweet smelling pheromones of an unbonded omega, but musky smell of an alpha's claim. Apparently, for all his genius, he hadn't anticipated that this might cause a problem.

John took a shadowed role that evening, standing to the side and politely chatting with whomever tried to catch his attention, including a few omegas he remembered from his first event—was that only two nights ago? John was having difficulties focusing on the comically desperate redheaded omega in front of him while simultaneously trying to comprehend the sheer number of things that occurred over the course of just two days.

Well, John had the feeling that life with Sherlock was never going to be boring.

Speaking of which, the two of them needed to sit down and have a nice long talk about intentions. Both of them had been sending out a plethora of mixed signals. It was probably best that they sort that as soon as the case ended.

The redhead, her name was...Tessa, he thought, asked him a question. He asked her to repeat it. She looked annoyed, but didn't give up on the conversation.

"Did you scent Scott?" she asked, her eyes flicking over to Sherlock, who was on the other end of the group waiting for the fireworks to start.

"On accident," John said, by way of an answer. "We aren't really together. Can't always control biology," he pointed out.

Tessa was still annoyed by Sherlock's presence. "Don't you think he should have stayed home? I mean, until the scent faded. It sends mixed signals. They already have an alpha all over them, why do they need another? It's selfish. Omegas like him are the reason so many of us are still alone! Omegas like him are the reason that I'll never find a mate. Even smelling like you, the other alphas are gagging for him. He doesn't deserve you. He doesn't deserve them. He doesn't deserve anyone."

Tessa's tone had gone from mildly irritated to homicidal over the course of her brief soliloquy.

John was about ninety-nine percent positive that he was speaking with a serial killer.

He blinked and excused himself, moving through the crowd to get to Sherlock. He grabbed the detective's arm and tugged him to the side, probably looking like a pathetically territorial alpha, but he didn't really care.

"John, what are you doing? I was just talking to them for the case-"

"Tessa's a psychopath," John interrupted, when they were out of ear shot.

"Who?"

"Tessa," John said, nodding in the omega's direction. "Red head. Likes ferrets. She's crazy. You've been barking up the wrong tree. It isn't a possessive alpha, it's a psychotic, lonely, omega."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I understand that you might be uncomfortable by her advances-"

"Don't patronize me, Sherlock," John interrupted, heated. "I was a soldier, and I was a bloody good one. I know danger when I feel it and intent to kill when I see it. Tessa's the one you're after and she's targeted you."

Sherlock just looked at John, speechless.

Over their heads, the fireworks started.