After spending a few hours with Sherlock in his bed, John's bruises had faded closer to the level they should have been, given the initial injury date. The scratches on his neck, chest and back were healing over but not completely gone. His self inflicted knife wound was starting to heal as well. His aggression had faded somewhat and only flared up badly when another Alpha moved too closely to Sherlock. John was able to go out to crime scenes again and was able to cut back on his "meetings" at the gym. John also started making arrangements to spend a heat with an officer from the NSY. He had actually chatted up a few Omegas on the force when Sherlock was flouncing around insulting Anderson, Donovan and Lestrade. One Omega, Justin, had been forward enough to ask John to share his heat with him. The first time John had declined but now he could almost say he was eager. Not as eager as if it was the Omega he really wanted but John knew that Omega would never be within his reach. There was no reason to dwell on it.

The manufacturer of the Alpha inhibitor had tested and confirmed that the rut symptoms would be solved by spending a natural heat with an Omega. Bonding was not necessary but they did recommend spending the heat with a male Omega instead of a female Omega. When John pressed for the reason why, the company had hinted that a male Omega would be better suited to handle the intensity of his rut. Apparently he would be able to elevate the intensity of the heat for both parties and a female's body might not be able to withstand the pounding. For a brief moment John's Alpha pride flared hotly but then reality set in and he groaned. He made sure to warn Justin, the Omega officer just laughed and said he was actually looking forward to his heat for the first time in a while. John laughed and started to feel like this could fix his issues.

John jogged down the stairs and dropped his duffel bag by the door. Sherlock was stretched out on the couch dressed in trousers and button down shirt with his dressing robe on and dragging the floor. Sherlock had been silent when John had told him that he would be unavailable for a few days and not to call. Well he could call, but John would definitely not be answering or replying to any call or text.

"Sherlock, I'm leaving. Call Lestrade for some cases or something. Don't stay on that couch moping all day," John called and collected his mobile from the kitchen table.

He heard a grunt from the couch as he pulled on his jacket. John rolled his eyes at the reply and went to grab for his bag.

"I'll bond with you."

He froze in his movement, his hand only three inches away from the duffel bag handle. Did he hear Sherlock right? His mind raced through what else that could sound like 'I'll fawn with you'? No. 'I'm tall for you' Well obviously, yes, but not correct in the context. 'I'm sound with you'? Hunh?

John straightened and looked at the figure on the couch. Sherlock still looked as poised as a Greek statue, hands pressed together under his chin, eyes closed and feet crossed at the ankles. John thought for a moment that he might have been hearing things but one eyelid popped open and locked on him.

"What?"

Sherlock sighed and surged from the couch to step over the coffee table. His robe billowed behind him as he paced around the sitting room.

"You don't have to go to that Omega. I'll bond with you," Sherlock said and waved a hand vaguely towards the stairs.

John looked towards the stairs and thankfully he'd been around Sherlock long enough to be able to follow his logic; most of the time he could follow it. This time he only got as far as realizing that Sherlock knew he was going to an Omega to share his heat but how he got to bonding was a little confusing.

"Bonding never came up. I think Justin's a good guy but I don't know him nearly well enough to bond with him," John replied with a raised eyebrow.

"By that logic then you should have no qualms bonding with me like I just said. So stay here and I'll let you mark me when my heat comes around."

John watched as Sherlock continued to pace and again Sherlock's logic was lost on him. His instincts told him though that he wouldn't like where Sherlock was going with this.

"You'll let me mark you? Mark as in bonding? Becoming a bonded pair? Is that what you mean Sherlock?" John asked and slowly advanced into the room.

Sherlock glanced at him with a sneer before turning back to stare at the path he was taking during his pacing. "That's what I said. We'll bond and then you don't have to go out to see that Omega. I don't have to worry about going somewhere for my heat or using those," sneer, "toys. Everyone wins."

John licked his lips while staring at Sherlock before turning back and looking at the doorway and stairs. Looking back to Sherlock, he found the consulting detective staring at him.

"So, you want to bond with me? Excuse me for asking the obvious, but why?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in exasperation and waffled a hand towards John. "You're going to spend a heat with Justin because he's made advances towards you and you need to spend a heat with someone to solve your aggression issues. I don't want to bond but I need to. Need to, with someone, so I don't have to tolerate unwanted interest and/or attraction from animalistic Alphas. Easy solution, stay here and when my unfortunately required heat comes around then you can fuck me and be rid of your aggression. You can then bond with me so I don't have to tolerate Alphas. After the heat, I'll go back on my suppressants and everything will be back to normal."

John felt his fingers twitch and that was his only bodily response to Sherlock's statement. Sherlock seemed very serious about the request, insult John's subconscious supplied. John could feel the tension tightening across his shoulders and the aggression crawl up the back of his neck. It seemed Sherlock knew the fastest route to piss off John. Seeing John's hesitation, Sherlock sighed and approached John while shrugging his robe off his shoulders. With liquid grace he sank to his knees and tilted his head to the side to bare his scent gland.

"Sherlock? Wh-?"

"If you bite me now then my heat will start within 72 hours and you can reaffirm the bite when you fuck me. After that we can get this unpleasant business completed and done with," Sherlock snapped and stared at the fireplace.

He didn't see the hurt realization dawn on John's face.

"Is that the only reason you're asking to bond? To not have to bother with your biology anymore?"

Sherlock sighed again at the question. "Obviously. Why else would I want to tie myself to an Alpha? Now bite."

John stared at the dark haired man on his knees in front of him and felt a small part of himself crumble away. He foolishly thought he meant something to Sherlock. After the genius helped bandage the wounds, offered to help; now he treated John like an object to use to get what he wanted before discarding it to the side. Yes, John wanted to bond with Sherlock but because he couldn't imagine his life without Sherlock. Just as John knew the sun would rise, he knew Sherlock would be there in his chair waiting for a cup of tea he never asked for. Just as he knew that rain would be wet, John knew Sherlock would have his back when everything came to an end. John's Alpha craved Sherlock's scent, the scent of his perfect match, his perfect mate.

'Unwanted', 'animalistic', 'unpleasant', the words ricocheted around John's head with the memory of the sneer directed towards him.

All this flashed through John's consciousness as he stared at the dark head. With a shallow breath, John turned and grabbed his bag to clatter down the stairs and out onto the street. He didn't even try to snag a cab, he just started walking.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock heard the retreating footsteps and the door slamming shut behind John as he continued to stare at the cold fireplace. His bared neck felt cold as did the rest of him actually. Sherlock's knees were hurting but he was accustomed to pain. Dropping his proud shoulders, he sat back on his heels and curled his hands into his lap. He had gambled and lost. His science was absolute. Where had he miscalculated? This was supposed to have made John happy. He ignored the keening Omega in the back of his mind as he slowly rose to his feet. Pulling his robe up and over his shoulders once again Sherlock slowly walked over to the windows and looked down at the busy street. He was too late to see which direction John may have gone. He didn't even know what he would have done with the information. Gone after John and begged him to stay? John didn't like passive and simpering mates. He wanted someone who would stand up to him and challenge him. Someone who was passionate in everything they did together. Not someone who could lay on the couch for hours on end and be antisocial. No wonder John didn't want to bond with him. When had he ever proven that he was worthy of John Watson? Anthea was correct in her statement from the other night: he did not deserve John Watson. Now John had gone to share a heat with an Omega that wasn't Sherlock.

Something deep inside Sherlock twisted sharply and he curled around himself for a moment in pain. Taking a few deep breaths, the pain eased and he slowly straightened. New resolve settled in his bones. This was just transport and sentiment; he could conquer this.

Behind him his mobile dinged. With a huff and swirl worthy of a monarch, Sherlock grabbed his mobile and opened the text.

Body dump. Three bodies missing various parts.-GL

The grin that stretched across Sherlock's lips would have frightened most people. If he saw it himself it might have actually made him pause. Bit not good a voice whispered in his mind and with a snarl he stormed to his room to dress.

The Work needed him and he needed the Work. Nothing else mattered.

(!)(!)(!)

Four days later Greg Lestrade watched Sherlock with concern. The genius was stalking around a fresh crime scene firing off random deductions more to himself than anyone else. His long legs took him over the bodies and around the equipment with one hand buried in his hair and the other hand planted on his hip.

"One scene tells me it's three people doing this...next scene says it's one...one has medical training...calm then frantic. Experience with a...with a...oh what's the word?" Sherlock growled and Lestrade stepped forward.

"What word Sherlock?"

Sherlock jerked in surprise, almost as if he actually forgot that Lestrade was there. He looked around frantically before turning his gaze back to Lestrade and started snapping his fingers.

"He has experience with a knife. No, wrong word. Blade. No, still wrong word. Cutter. Box cutter? No, sharp blade, white coat people use them."

Lestrade raised his eyebrows and was suddenly thankful that the rest of his team was at the head of the alley and couldn't hear the rambling coming from the genius. He had ordered them to stay there under threat of desk duty if they didn't follow orders. After seeing the state of Sherlock when he first arrived a little voice had whispered to Lestrade that something was off with the genius.

"'White coat people'? A doctor, a surgeon? Do you mean a scalpel?"

Sherlock clapped his hands together and pointed at Lestrade with both hands. "Yes! One has experience with a scalpel. Need something else. Why take body parts? Hasn't taken two of anything. Instead of two left hands. Why two? First left handed victim the appendage was butchered; messy, sloppy. Second left handed victim was smooth; confident, delicate. Something is missing. Think!" Sherlock snapped, bumping the heel of his hand against his forehead a few times.

Lestrade took a step back and reached for his mobile. It had just gone beyond his level of comfort. He had a text waiting for him.

Contact Watson.-MH

Lestrade didn't hesitate as he punched the speed dial for John. Once the doctor picked up Lestrade just told him where they were and to get there as soon as possible. He wouldn't be able to accurately describe what he was seeing. Best to let John see it for himself.

"You okay, Sherlock? Gotten some sleep lately?" Lestrade asked as he dropped his mobile back into his pocket.

Sherlock didn't spare him a glance as he started to walk around the bodies again. "Sleep is not important. Why would it be important? Why did he ask? Why do you ask?"

"Because you're not acting like yourself."

Sherlock stopped walking and stared blankly at Lestrade. The corner of his eyes twitched and he was suddenly striding up to Lestrade. The DI took a few steps backwards but he couldn't dodge out of the way fast enough. Sherlock grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard.

"That's it! That's brilliant Galahad! It explains everything. Oh of course! Multiple culprits but the same one. If they threaten to commit suicide does it become a hostage negotiation?" Sherlock giggled and released Lestrade to start spinning in place.

Lestrade didn't think. He snagged Sherlock's arm and drug him behind a dumpster to slam him against the brick wall. Sherlock's head bounced off the wall and he started sliding down the rough exterior with Lestrade carefully guiding him. They ended up crouched behind the dumpster with Lestrade kneeling in front of Sherlock who was sitting on his arse against the wall. Lestrade held a shoulder with one hand while tilting Sherlock's face up towards him.

"Are you high, Sherlock? So help me if you are, I'll skin you myself," Lestrade growled and carefully used his thumb to pull back one of Sherlock's eyelids.

A weak giggle escaped Sherlock and it seemed to cost him as he sagged against the wall. Lestrade let his head slip from his grasp as he gripped the other shoulder. His pupils were reactionary so not high; but something was messing with the consulting detective.

"Sherlock? Talk to me."

"I asked John to bite me and he left. Went to spend a heat with another Omega. Wasn't good enough for him," Sherlock muttered and leaned his head back to look over Lestrade's head.

Lestrade didn't let his surprise show. Realizing that Sherlock was an Omega was startling but not that outlandish. Yes, he had the attitude and carriage of an Alpha but his sensitivity and at times delicate emotions pointed more towards Omega. His surprise came from the new knowledge that Sherlock had asked John to bond with him and was turned down. Lestrade knew without a doubt that Sherlock's phrasing was probably the sticking point.

"What did you say to him exactly, Sherlock?"

"I told him I'd let him mark me if he stayed and not go to Justin," Sherlock sneered and Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Did you say it like that? Like you were only using it as a bargaining chip to keep John around?"

Sherlock blinked at him and his mouth slowly shaped into an 'O'.

"I see." Sherlock lifted a hand and pressed it to his temple. "Something's not right, Graham."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and chuckled weakly. "Yeah, I noticed that a while ago."

He leaned back to peer around the dumpster when he heard his name being shouted. He found John jogging down the alley while shooting a dirty look back over his shoulder at Donovan. Calling for John, Lestrade turned back to look at Sherlock who paled even worse than before.

"You can't be subtle with John, Sherlock. He's not like you, reading between the lines. You need to be brutally honest with him. I think you'd be surprised by what he says," Lestrade whispered before standing and stepping away.

John's gaze dropped from Lestrade to Sherlock who was still on the ground. He knelt close to Sherlock and immediately started looking over the younger man.

"Sherlock? Are you okay? What's wrong?" he asked while pushing aside his coat to run his hands over the warm body looking for injuries.

Sherlock took in a deep breath but only smelled John's alluring aroma. If he had spent the past several days spending a heat with Justin he would reek of sex. Even after taking a shower he would still be able to catch traces of it. His head jerked back and his eyes roved over John. The deductions came to him quickly. Final conclusion: John didn't help Justin with his heat. But where had he been for the past four days? He tried reading John again but nothing would come. All Sherlock could think about was how happy he was that John was back. Back with him. And John's scent. He smelled really good. Too good in fact. Sherlock didn't care though. He tilted forward and happily sighed when John caught him. He buried his face into John's chest and rubbed against the fabric. His hands gripped John's forearms and his fingers were rubbing gently against the muscle.

"Something's not right, John. Take me home, please."

John twitched at the please but nodded once seeing Lestrade's emphatic agreement.

"Yeah, okay, Sherlock. Come on you git," John said and straightened before hauling Sherlock up with him.

Sherlock wavered and clung tightly to John as the shorter man draped an arm across his shoulders.

"Lestrade...looking for a doctor...away on personal time...multiple personalities...lost his significant other...traumatic loss...couldn't find the body...that was trigger...trying to recreate the deceased," Sherlock muttered and Lestrade blanched slightly.

"Like Frankenstein?"

Sherlock looked blatantly confused at that question. "I don't know what that means...but no, whatever that means...no. Trying to find closure...no body to bury...so...closure...yeah...that."

John raised a concerned eyebrow as Sherlock trailed off and seemed confused as to where he was heading with that statement. Nodding a silent thanks to Lestrade, John carefully guided Sherlock out of the alley and through the small crowd of NSY staff. Lestrade was already yelling at them to come and start collecting evidence so none of them had time to say anything snarky. It would have been amusing to see how Sherlock would have dealt with it in the state he was in.

Managing to flag down a cabbie, John shoved Sherlock in and slid in after him. Giving the destination to the driver, John turned to look at Sherlock who was slumped against the seat. Knowing he wouldn't get straight answers out of Sherlock, John took a hold of his wrist and pressed his fingertips against the pulse while taking in other physical markers. Pulse fast and thready. Skin paler than normal and cooler than normal despite the jacket and scarf. Sherlock's cheeks looked a bit sunken in; more so than they did a few days ago.

"Sherlock, have you eaten anything since I left four days ago?" John asked, knowing the answer but hoping he was incorrect.

"Tea."

John raised an eyebrow and stared at Sherlock waiting for anything else. When Sherlock looked at him John made a motion indicating to continue.

"Tea has sugar...and caffeine."

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand and releasing Sherlock's wrist. Digging out his mobile, he made a quick call to Mrs Hudson and put in a request for some hearty stew or soup or anything nutritious she might have. That woman could create a four course meal out of spam, marmite and crackers he mused and slipped the mobile back into his pocket.

"John?"

"Yeah?" he answered and turned to look at the slouching detective.

"Why do you not smell?"

A choked giggle escaped John at the random question before he calmed. "Excuse me?"

"Why do you not smell like...him?"

John stared blankly at Sherlock while the other man wouldn't look at him. It seemed Sherlock was tense waiting for the answer. John realized how badly Sherlock was off if he couldn't tell just by looking at John. Granted he wasn't looking at him now but he was looking at him in the alley.

"Because I didn't help him with his heat. He bumped into his old flame earlier in the day and one thing led to another. I received his text just as I got to his block. I didn't feel like coming back to Baker Street so I went and stayed at the clinic while picking up some hours. Until Greg texted me earlier. You need to take better care of yourself, Sherlock. Yes, it's all just transport but that transport is what houses your brain and the brain is what lets you do the Work. Neglect one and other suffers."

Sherlock just grunted as the cab pulled up at the flat. Paying the cabbie quicky, John helped Sherlock out of the cab and hovered nearby when Sherlock pushed him away with a 'I can move on my own.' That lasted until he got the door unlocked and it swung open. He was leaning too much weight into it and when it went swinging open Sherlock followed it. John barely managed to wrap an arm around Sherlock's middle and clutch at the doorframe with his other hand to keep them both vertical. Sherlock released a oomph at the sudden pressure against his diaphragm and just hung there limply against the strong arm. A scurry of footsteps caused him to look up into the face of a concerned landlady.

"Hi, Mrs. H."

Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows shot up into her hair at the casual greeting. She looked alarmed before looking to John who just shook his head weakly and pulled Sherlock back against him.

"Don't ask."

"I put a pot of stew on the stovetop for you on warm. There's some bread there as well. Is he going to be okay?" she asked worriedly as John again pulled Sherlock's arm over his shoulders.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. I'll set him right. He'll be back to his normal acidic self in no time," John muttered and manhandled Sherlock upstairs.

"I'm not acidic," Sherlock murmured once John had settled him on the couch.

"At the best of times you are. Now stay down," John ordered and started pulling off Sherlock's coat, suit jacket and scarf.

He cast them to the side before pulling the afghan off the back of the couch and wrapping it around Sherlock's shoulders. Reaffirming his order to stay, John hurried to the kitchen and found a pot of stew and some bread just as Mrs. Hudson had promised. Ladling out a bowl full, he grabbed a slice of bread and went back to Sherlock. The consulting detective was sitting just as before staring off into space but his attention turned to John as he approached and sat next to him. Slowly John started to feed Sherlock the stew until he was able to do it himself. He ate two big bowls worth plus bread before promptly falling asleep sitting up. Rolling his eyes, John gently tilted Sherlock to the side and slipped a pillow under his head. Removing the designer shoes, he tucked the afghan around the gangly man and slowly straightened to look over his charge. Being asleep really did take a few years of cynicism off Sherlock's expression, John mused as he gently ran his fingers through Sherlock's thick curls. The genius snuffled slightly in pleasure before burrowing deeper under the afghan.

"Idiot," John muttered fondly before removing his hand and going to get himself a bowl of stew.

(!)(!)(!)

Sherlock jerked awake with a sharp pain in his abdomen but it faded quickly as soon as he saw his surroundings. He was back at the flat but how he got here was fuzzy. He remembered working a case with Lestrade and body parts. Two separate crime scenes and two apparent criminals. But the same criminal and then John was there. John's scent dominated his memories after that point. There was a cab ride and food. Then fuzziness.

"John?" he called and pushed off the afghan.

He heard thumping from somewhere and then footsteps jogging up the stairs. John appeared through the doorway and smiled brightly seeing Sherlock conscious and vertical.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

Sherlock put a hand up to his head and ran his fingers through his hair before pushing himself up.

"Better than I was, I think." Sherlock frowned as memories came back. "Did I really call Mrs. Hudson Mrs. H?"

John smirked. "Yeah, she thought it was amusing."

Sherlock grunted and started walking towards his bedroom to change.

"So what happened with Justin? I remember asking about him but don't recall the answer."

Sherlock changed out of his clothes and into his loose pajamas and a worn tee shirt. Pulling his robe on he sat at the edge of his bed and rubbed his hands over his face.

"His old flame showed up. Turns out he didn't need me to help with his heat. I stayed at the clinic taking extra shifts," John called from the kitchen.

Sherlock grunted in reply as he wrapped one arm around his mid drift. He felt twitchy like he was coming down off a high. Maybe he needed to sleep more. Or eat again. Gah, he hated his transport. He listened to John move around the kitchen and was glad he had come back. He knew that John made him better. He wondered if John knew that? Lestrade's words came back him. Be brutally honest with him. Sherlock pushed off his robe, suddenly overheated, before opening the door to the hallway.

"There's a cup of tea on the kitchen table for you. I'm taking a shower," John called just as the bathroom door closed behind him.

Sherlock stared at the bathroom door in annoyance. Just when he was ready to tell John the truth he had to go and take a shower. Annoying. Pulling at his shirt collar Sherlock picked up the mug of tea on his way to the sitting room and stood by the window while blowing on the hot beverage. Taking one sip had him putting it aside with a grimace. He was already too warm to be drinking hot tea. He listened to the noises from the water pipes and tried to organize his thoughts of what he wanted to tell John. You complete me. Bleh, physiologically incorrect. I love you. Too forward and far too soon. I want you. True but need to provide evidence.

He grumbled again and pulled at his shirt to flap it against his skin to get some air flow. This was why he didn't do feelings or sentiment; it made his body feel all funny. Speaking of his body it was currently being recalcitrant. What was wrong with him?

The shower shut off as Sherlock pulled off his shirt and rubbed at his chest. A groan escaped his lips and his legs felt weak. Turning to aim for the couch, he wobbled and reached out for something to steady himself on. Despite his best intentions his legs folded and his knees hit the ground hard.

"Sherlock? I heard something. Are you okay?"

The bathroom door opened with a small cloud of steam and John emerged dressed only in a pair of khakis. At the sight of his bare chest with droplets of water spotting the flesh Sherlock moaned as multiple things happened at once. Blood rushed to his groin and his penis hardened as slick gushed from his arse. His pheromones saturated the air and hit John so hard that his back slammed against the wall beside the bathroom door. John's eyes darkened as he took a deep breath and smelled Sherlock's scent.

"John...something...what's wrong?" Sherlock moaned and ground the heel of his hand against his erection.

"It's your heat. Your heat has started. Please tell me you made arrangements with someone. I can call them and leave for a few days. Tell me who!" John choked and dug his fingers into the unyielding wood.

Sherlock sobbed weakly as his other hand clawed at the carpet. He had erred badly. He thought he had time. He always thought he had time. Now he realized why, subconsciously, he hadn't made arrangements. He only trusted John to see him like this. Only trusted John for everything.

He shook his head. "No, I made no arrangements. Please, John, you have to help me."

Sherlock felt like ants were marching across his skin and he could feel every step. He was running a temperature and imagined he could see the steam coming off the flesh. His hands couldn't stay away from his aching cock and he needed something. Something only John could provide.

John was frantically shaking his head. "I can't take the Alpha inhibitor. I'm already messed up as it is. I can't take anymore."

Sherlock stared at him and hoped John could see the plea in his eyes. "I'm not asking you to stop yourself, John. Take me, mate me, fuck me."

John panted at the words and realized how close his control was to fracturing. "It's not going to be easy, Sherlock. It's going to be

rough, hard and fast for four or five days. Do you swear not to hold this against me?"

Sherlock nodded frantically as his muscles trembled and all he could think about was having John's cock pound his ass. Pound his ass and make him scream in pleasure. He knew John could do it. The military man would wring every drop of pleasure from him and still have him begging and pleading for more. Which sounded divine right now.

"Tell me Sherlock!" John snapped and broke Sherlock's control.

"Do it! Fuck me! Yes, god, yes!"

The predatory glint in John's eyes was the precursor to John pushing away from the wall slowly.

"Yes," he purred and part of Sherlock melted.