After weeks with no progress, Sherlock took a turn for the worse. John stole away to the darkest corner of the library to read up on Sherlock's latest behaviour. Mounting.
John was too embarrassed to tell his wife. His ears would turn bright red when she asked about his day. Scenting was one thing, but this new display of affection was too much for him to bear.
He read what he already knew, if an Alpha was mounting anything other than an Omega in heat, it was likely a display of dominance. "But I'm a beta male!" He whisper shouted at the reader. Why would Sherlock feel like he had to display his dominance to John?
He kept reading about insecurities and anxiety which made sense. John let out a sigh. It was his fault Sherlock suddenly felt anxious and insecure. He was trying to catalogue John's response patterns and see where he fit in their relationship. The book brought up the Sherlock's pestering, avoidance, and resource guarding as other signs of insecurity.
With each turn of the page, the book became increasingly more embarrassing to read. It was obviously written by Omega activists. At least it didn't suggest John exert his dominance on Sherlock. He'd have to try some of the alternative methods to distract Sherlock from his endeavours.
He heard some juveniles start snickering while he re-shelved the reader. He felt an odd surge in his stomach. His blood felt warmer than usual. His kind demeanour dissolved as he charged forward and made a threatening growl at the adolescents. They scattered in different directions. One fell on to his bottom and cowered. John snorted at the boy, "Omega."
He turned and left the juvenile who started to cry like a wee pup. The library staff gave him a strange look as he left. They obviously weren't expecting that out of such a small man.
John met up with Mike Stamford for coffee. He knew he could trust Mike, he was a former doctor, and recently took up a position at Barts teaching medicine. The man knew what he was talking about when it came to endocrinology.
"John, all the books say that. Dominance is... it's a bunch of bullocks! He's not seeking to dominate you."
"Keep your voice down."
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about!" He shouted for the whole cafe to hear. "He's your friend; he's likely playing or just plain bored." John's ears turned red with embarrassment. "Look, I'm no psychologist, but I know a thing or two about Alpha behaviour. Did he bare his teeth when you tried to pull away?"
John turned even redder.
"You didn't... submit did you?" Mike looked at him worriedly.
"No. Of course not." John said indignantly scratching at his arm.
"Did he bite while he was at it?"
John shrugged. "Sometimes."
"So it's happened more than once?" Mike let out a sigh. "For how long?"
"Two weeks now."
"And you're just now asking for help?" Mike looked at John with sorrowful eyes.
"I thought it was something I could deal with, in private."
"How'd this come about?"
"Shortly after the row with Lestrade in the park. It started out innocent enough, I thought he was just scenting-"
"You let him scent you?" Mike rubbed his forehead, "No wonder he's confused. You have to draw the line somewhere."
"Friends scent each other." John said with a diffident shrug.
"Yeah, each other."
"You think I should scent him back?"
"It'd be a start." Mike said with a sigh. "If you keep submitting to him he'll just take it further and further."
"I... don't even know how to scent... I don't have the glandular tissue."
"Maybe the motions of it will incite some kind of response. You obviously give off scent. In the axillary and inguinal regions."
John shifted uncomfortably. "Bless, he doesn't rub up against there with his face."
"Just... out of curiosity, when he does scent you, where does he concentrate?"
"My face, my neck, shoulders. He usually rests his chin on my head."
Mike gave him a small, "Hm."
"What?"
"Nothing." Mike said waving his hand, dismissing the thought.
John let out a heavy sigh and entered 221-B with composure. He opened the door and was greeted by Sherlock who immediately started his possessive scenting routine. John closed his eyes, grabbed Sherlock's shoulders and started rubbing his face against Sherlock's chest which seemed the most natural place to rub his face against. Sherlock let out a small gasp which interrupted his purring.
John pulled away and stood confidently. Sherlock looked him over. Sherlock looked quite flushed and his breathing was heavy. He tried to walk away and John grabbed his sleeve.
Sherlock might have been finished but John had only just started. He pulled Sherlock close and stood on tip-toe to rub up against Sherlock's face and chin. He buried his forehead into Sherlock's shoulder and started rubbing the inside of his neck. He clutched tighter when Sherlock tried to pull away.
Sherlock's buttons strained on his shirt as John aggressively scented him, returning the side of his face to Sherlock's chest. He obsessively rubbed both sides of his face against Sherlock's partially exposed chest. He pulled Sherlock down to his level and rested his chin on Sherlock's head. He let out a content sigh and closed his eyes.
Sherlock and John spent the rest of their day together without incident. John returned home to his wife and the laundry. Mary was flustered with work, the help they hired showed up late and left early for the third time that week. John started feeling stressed and anxious. There were a lot of unfamiliar scents being thrown at him at once.
He rubbed up against Mary, hoping her scent would soothe him. He kept searching and searching. When she started giving off a faint scent it was a stressed odour. Mary wasn't appreciating John rubbing against her while there was work to do.
John poked at his dinner. He excused himself from the table and went to bed. He rolled around in the sheets, rubbed his face against the pillow, and started rutting against the mattress. He started to feel sick to his stomach. He went to the loo and instantly retreated from the concentrated scent. He grabbed a bucket from the kitchen and began to dry heave.
He started to feel a massive headache. Mary knocked on the door and John curled up into a ball and closed his eyes. Mary sat on his bedside and tried stroking John's back to soothe him. John desperately wanted to be comforted but Mary's touch was too gentle.
After a good night's sleep John felt marginally better. He was able to shower, shave, and eat leftovers from last night's dinner, three slices of toast with jam, two biscuits, two poached eggs, and sausages. He finished off breakfast with another cup of tea and his wife approached from behind and wrapped her arms around him.
"Feeling better, love?"
John smiled and held her hands in his. "Much." He looked over the morning's paper. "Sorry bout last night, don't know what... came... over..." He looked at the front page and a wild idea sprang into his head. "Mary, did you know they were building a new recreation centre?"
She looked over John's shoulder at the paper. "Oh, yes I remember... now who was it... Susan I believe told me. It's supposed to be 'neo-classical'." She said with a snort. "Prime Minister decided it's about time they brought back ancient sports."
John looked over the specifications. His eyes lightened up. "Boxing."
