When two hours passed with no sign of Sherlock returning, John finally had to accept that it was time to call Mycroft. He normally tried to minimize contact - standard practice for undercover missions, although John was trying as hard as he could to not think of his current living situation in that light - but Sherlock in a strop was prone to do something stupid and picking up the pieces afterward was always three times the work. Anthea picked up on the first ring.

"He's here, Doctor Watson."

Thank God. A great deal of John's anxiety disappeared.

"Mr. Holmes is trying to calm his brother down," she continued, "but he doesn't seem to be making much headway. Your presence would probably be appreciated, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Appreciated by whom?" John couldn't help asking.

"Me." There was a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Both brothers would no doubt see it as interfering, but I've never seen either of them act so juvenile before. And for Sherlock that's saying quite a bit. I doubt they'll break this stalemate on their own."

John rather suspected she may have been right, although he didn't say so aloud. Anthea gave him the address - a ridiculously posh neighborhood - and he promised to be there as soon as possible.

Would have been faster with one of Mycroft's ubiquitous black cars, honestly, but John didn't mind spending the money on a cab just this once. He spent the ride nervously bouncing his leg and trying not to think about what he was going to have to do. Retrieving Sherlock Holmes better be bloody worth it.

"Thank you for coming," Anthea announced, meeting him at the gate before he had time to worry about the inevitable security system. It had to be serious, then - she wasn't even holding her phone. "They've devolved into silent sulking with occasional volleys of insults. Last time Sherlock was like this, though, he went out and got high immediately afterward, so you can see why I'm worried."

"Shit." The drug issue felt more like a legend than anything else, based on how Lestrade had made his first meeting with Sherlock sound, but Sherlock had been clean ever since John moved in (as far as he could tell). Relapse was not good. "Lead the way."

The Holmes brothers were facing off in what looked like a formal parlor. John took in the details automatically - large windows, well-lit private garden outside with a high wall for security, electric fireplace crackling merrily, a glowering brother on each of the two sofas. Pretty much exactly what he would have expected for Mycroft Holmes's personal residence.

"John," Sherlock growled. "Come to bring me to heel?" He held his head high, but John knew him well enough now to recognize the signs of strain on his face. Sherlock was shaken, badly, and trying desperately to hide it. Even though the current occupants of the room - Anthea included - could all read him better than anyone else on earth. John longed to touch him, just a hand on the shoulder for reassurance, but clearly that was the last thing Sherlock needed.

"The contrary," John said in a carefully regulated tone. He drew himself up to his full height and stared Mycroft square in the eye in what couldn't be mistaken for anything but an alpha challenge. "I'll take this from here."

Mycroft frowned, but didn't back down (yet). "Doctor Watson, I really feel-"

"No." John pointed at an uncomfortable-looking antique chair near the window. "You may sit there and observe, but do not speak. Anthea, please leave. Your employer will come get you when necessary."

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw her nod and back out the door, closing it behind her. Mycroft held his gaze a moment longer, then broke eye contact and stood. He didn't flinch or look at the floor, signs of submissive behavior to a dominant alpha, but he did go sit quietly in the chair John had indicated. John nodded once and turned to Sherlock. Who was obviously thrown off by his brother actually following directions.

"Your turn, Sherlock," John announced. "Ten minutes, ask me anything. Go." He knelt down right there on the rug, put his palms flat on his thighs, and waited.

The room was silent except for the crackle of the artificial fire. John could literally feel Sherlock's confusion - kneeling was an omega's place, not an alpha's. It was the ultimate submissive pose - what a traditional omega would do to await his alpha's pleasure (or displeasure), reduced only to a servant in his own household. And in this case-

"Why are you kneeling?"

"Because I don't want you to feel like I'm using my status as an alpha to intimidate or influence you." John looked up, letting Sherlock see the honesty on his face. "You're mad that I'm an alpha, so we'll take that out of the equation for now."

"It's not because . . ." Sherlock's lips thinned in frustration. "How did you meet my brother?" he asked instead.

That was an easier one. "He literally picked me up on the side of the road."

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft for confirmation, who nodded.

"Why you, then?"

"I had a skill set he needed, I assume," John answered. Time to confess. The thought was less awkward than he'd assumed it would be. "Unbonded alpha, army pension, no close family, and -" - he took a deep breath - "- and he was familiar with my work in MI6."

Sherlock took a good ten seconds to close his mouth. John could practically see his mind palace rearranging to accommodate the new information. "You . . . worked for my brother?"

"No - I truly did meet him for the first time that day, shortly before I met you - but I get the impression he had researched me beforehand. Which meant he was somewhat higher up the command structure than I was."

Sherlock nodded absently. "So you weren't actually in the army, then."

"I was," John corrected. "There was a question of some . . . illicit business being conducted under the umbrella of our armed forces maneuvers in Kandahar. I was assigned to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers to obtain information from inside the unit. In all day-to-day aspects, I was an army doctor."

"And in other aspects?"

"I undertook intelligence-gathering missions for MI6 as necessary." John glanced at Mycroft Holmes, who was watching him with a carefully detached blank expression, but fuck it. It was Mycroft's own fault if he hadn't given Sherlock clearance already - the omega could deduce pretty much anything about anyone once he put his mind to it. And John wasn't going to lie to his flatmate any longer, even by omission. "We narrowed the culprits down to a small group of locals and a few higher-ranking military officials, both our allies' and our own, but I got invalided out before the operation concluded. I don't know the results."

"Right. Good." Sherlock's tongue darted out to moisten his lips in an unconscious tell John had learned to recognize as Sherlock being totally out of his depth. "Tell me what happened when you got back, then. What did Mycroft say when he hired you? And what did he ask you to do?"

"He told me he had a younger brother in need of a flatmate." John very deliberately did not look in Mycroft's direction. "When he told me you were an unbonded omega, I accused him of matchmaking and turned him down. He assured me his request was merely for me to share a flat with you, although he heavily insinuated that you'd be a good mate for me once we got to know each other."

Sherlock frowned. "How much did he offer to pay you?"

"We never got that far." It was a relief that he could answer in the negative honestly. "He tried to pay me shortly before your heat, I told him to go fuck himself - only slightly more politely than that - and said I wasn't a whore. Also that I don't work for him."

"So he's not giving you anything?"

John sighed. "He's putting money aside in a trust for Harry, or so he said. For the next time she needs rehab. I haven't seen it, so I don't know how much, but I trust your brother to be reasonable. I told him he could pay me for my presence in the flat, but nothing more."

Sherlock looked strangely stricken by that. "So . . . you're really only still living with me because Mycroft is paying you."

"No!" John wanted to get to his feet, to assure Sherlock of his sincerity, but he forced himself to stay on the floor. Non-threatening. "I'm helping take care of his sibling so he's helping take care of mine. That's it, I promise. Sherlock - I'm living with you because I like you, because I don't give a fuck whether you're an omega or an alpha or a bloody elephant in a bespoke suit. You're my friend and I'm trying to show you that you can trust me."

Sherlock closed his eyes and let out a pained whimper that called to all of John's alpha protective instincts at once. "John, I . . . how can I know? How can I possibly tell?"

"I was hoping that the honesty would be a start," John said quietly. "Sherlock - I've never lied to you. Never. I've neglected to tell you about things, on occasion, but I have not one time ever told you a lie. I said it to your brother and I'm saying it to you now - I'm done with MI6, done with undercover work, and I'm not interested in any of that any longer."

"Okay." It was almost a whisper. Sherlock took several deep breaths, then turned his attention to Mycroft. "Can you leave us alone for a while?"

Mycroft nodded, stood, and silently left the room. John stayed where he was, eyes on his lap, even when the door snicked closed behind the elder Holmes. Even when he heard Sherlock pop to his feet, pace for a bit, then sink back on to the opposite sofa.

"John, can you . . . come sit with me? Please?"

Thank god. John fought to keep his relieved sigh from actually being audible. "Yeah, sure."

Sherlock shuffled over to make room. The moment John settled into the (surprisingly comfortable) cushions, Sherlock turned and engulfed him in a limpet-like hug.

"I'm still mad," he sniffled into John's collar. "This is just biology."

"I know." John dared a soothing hand over Sherlock's shoulderblade, and Sherlock melted into him further. "It's okay."

"It's not. I hate being an omega."

"I know," John said again. "Sherlock - it's fine. Take as long as you need to."

"Even if it's longer than ten minutes?"

"No time limit." John finally bit the bullet and gathered the trembling omega into his lap, carding one hand through his dark curls and tightening the other around his shoulders. "I'm sorry for not telling you earlier, Sherlock - it was probably still illegal for me to tell you anything now, but it's not like I'm going back out in the field anytime soon."

"That's why you wanted my brother in the room."

"Partly. I also wanted you to know that he and I weren't conspiring to keep secrets from you. I do trust you, Sherlock."

"John . . . I still don't want an alpha. Not like that."

"Hey." John pulled away just enough to force Sherlock to look up at him. The omega's eyes were suspiciously moist and his shoulders were still shaking, but he didn't hide his face. "We've got this, yeah? Nothing to do with your brother or my former job. Just two blokes trying to catch criminals and write ridiculous blog posts and be there for each other when needed. I wasn't lying, Sherlock - you're my best friend, and I'm not trying to make you do anything you don't want to do."

Sherlock bit his lip, but his expression lightened. "Does that mean you'll stop harping on the state of the kitchen?"

"Don't get your hopes up, you arse."