Captain John H. Watson was no stranger to the horrors of war. In fact, the atrocities he'd seen committed by both sides (enemy and allies alike) were so firmly entrenched in his mind; they had a disturbing habit of bubbling up from his psyche in the darkest hours of the night. They wrested his peace and sleep from him, replacing his slumber with blood, sand, murky water, and peal after peal of gunfire.

That he was used to…that, at least, he could handle.

This was something altogether different.

When John finally realized the tall lady cop was addressing him, crowding into his space and demanding he back off or identify himself; he had already shut down and gone into full emotionless army doctor mode (significantly different from the 'Good Doctor' moniker everyone was so keen to thrust upon him). This was not the same attitude he employed for patient visits or helping the wastrels under the bridge, this was a self-defense mechanism. This was for his own protection; when the injustices of life became too great and leaving himself raw and open to the tragedies of life was no longer an option.

"Excuse me?" He eventually turned his gaze towards the woman with the aggressive attitude and comically large teeth. Her Alpha pheromones practically knocked him sideways as she gave him a long, rather unappreciative, look up and down his small frame.

"I said; this is an official crime scene. We don't allow civilians or whoever you are to hang about and gawk. Now tell me who you are or bugger off!"

"He's with me, Sally." Sherlock's deep and sonorous voice caught John's attention and he immediately looked over to the tall self-proclaimed detective standing on the other side of the blue and white tape (I'm on one side, he's on the other, isn't that appropriate?).

"I'm…I'm a…a colleague," John offered by way of explanation, now that he had found his voice.

"A colleague?!" The woman, Sally, scoffed incredulously, "…how do you get a colleague?" She looked pointedly back at Sherlock. "Did he follow you home?"

She was referring to John, the blond realized. As if John had somehow followed the devastatingly handsome Alpha back to his house like some broken down dog. A flush of shame and humiliation crept up his neck to stain his cheeks and ears. He glared down at the fractured cement at his feet, taking in his second-hand brogues, cracked and ready to fall apart with any strong sprint. It was a glaring reminder of his station in life, one he didn't plan on forgetting again.

"Um…look, maybe I should just go…"

"No." Sherlock pulled the POLICE tape up and over John's head. Then he stood there in silence, his striking eyes boring holes into John's skull. He didn't have to say another word to get his point across; John was to follow the man, regardless of what the tetchy woman said.

Sally crossed her arms; then turned away with a sigh, disgusted. She quickly moved away from them and towards another small crowd beginning to form on the other end of the alleyway. John could hear her commanding voice telling them to 'move on' as he ducked under the tape and followed the brunet.

With each painful step bringing him towards what remained of Jimmy, John could feel the Army Doctor settling firmly into place. It was a comfort to revert back to a familiar military mind-set, Sherlock was right about that, and John could use some comfort at this moment.

Sherlock glanced at him sideways under his long dark lashes, before kneeling towards the body and looking at John expectantly.

"I'm not sure what you want Sherlock, I'm not a forensics expert." The Omega lowered himself painfully down on his left knee, grimacing as his right hip screeched in protest. He finally took in fully the still form of his last patient, one Jimmy Price, latent Omega and eighteen year old former runaway.

His body was laid out, twisted and cold on the wet pavement. He was still clothed, though most of his hoodie was stiff and cracked with burgundy splotches of blood covering almost the entire surface of the fabric wrapped tight around his abdomen. His ragged jeans also had smatterings of bloodstains at the waist, the rest of the denim around his knees and calves were free of the dark fluid. His trainers, though well worn, seemed untouched.

John's critical gaze swept up over the boy's shoulders and then into the poor wretch's face. Jimmy's bloodless lips were cracked at the sides; small flecks of brownish flakes peppered the left side of his pale cheek. At first guess, John thought it looked like vomit more than blood, but it was hard to tell for sure. The body didn't yet have that sweet, cloyingly putrid smell of the long dead, so he knew it was relatively fresh.

All of this aside, the most gruesome feature of the body (as if the body alone wasn't disturbing enough) was the large, deep, clotted hole in between his eyes. It had its own strange shine to it, like the Omega's head was full of rare uncut rubies instead of brain matter and viscera.

John reeled back from the sight and inhaled deeply. He suddenly felt a little dizzy, even though death and gore was nothing new to the erstwhile soldier. There was something different about this body though, something different about having to see Jimmy bloodied and sacrificed to the pavements of London that struck him deep inside his soul. Those that lost their lives in the sands of Afghanistan had gone to War, they had volunteered, they knew the danger and they knew the risks.

But Jimmy…he was just a kid, he wasn't a soldier. He didn't deserve this.

"You must be John." A gruff voice sounded above the Doctor. It had a thick eastern London flair to it, and John looked up to meet the brown eyes of the older Beta Sherlock had been speaking to earlier, "Sherlock told me about you, some kind of doctor, he said. You responsible for the uh…" he motioned to his own face, putting a thick finger just underneath his left eye, referencing the remnants of the little tussle he had had with Sherlock earlier that morning. John nodded gamely, looking back at the detective, who was still taking in the body and didn't bother to raise his head towards the man.

The Beta appeared amused for half a second, "Good on you, mate. You've both got three minutes." He tossed a pair of nitrile gloves towards the Omega, who caught them with a quick hand, then trudged away to speak with a rather weaselly looking Beta tagging evidence about ten meters away.

John snapped on the gloves, his face grim. "Who was that then?"

Sherlock inhaled, gently poking and prodding Jimmy's stiff hoodie. "That…is Detective Inspector Lestrade. It's usually his cases I consult on…he's the least idiotic of the DI's I've come to know."

The Alpha gripped the thick cotton fabric between his fingers and pulled it back from the boy's abdomen, revealing a ten centimetre vertical cut near the lower part of his belly. It was not unlike an incision used for a hysterectomy (though sometimes these incisions were also horizontal), it was in the correct place and long enough to remove the organ and ovaries. Unlike the head wound, however, it was clean and neat. Whoever did this had done it with precision and knowledge of male Omega anatomy (which was quite a bit different from a female Omega).

"It fits the others then." John murmured, remembering what Sherlock had told him about the previous bodies. If there was any doubt in his mind that the dead Omegas and the fertility study were somehow connected, it was gone now. They just had to find out why. Why was this happening?

"Indeed." Sherlock stood quickly, creating a waft of air that fluttered about Jimmy's limp fringe. John, took one more despairing look at the dead boy and carefully raised himself up as well, absently massaging his right hip a bit…he would feel the worst of that later tonight.

The brunet had already caught the attention of the wearied man in the trench-coat, DI Lestrade it seemed, and began to speak rapidly.

"Jimmy Price, you have his identification already, I know. Homeless, latent Omega and participating in that study I told you about three weeks ago. Do you remember?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows in a condescending fashion, knowing full well the DI probably had much on his plate and might not remember a stray comment from the apex Alpha that he only begrudgingly allowed on his crime scenes.

"Huh…" Lestrade ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, "something about fertility and dead bodies?" He offered lamely; it was clear he didn't remember.

With a sigh borne of great frustration (and drama), Sherlock rolled his eyes and began to pace.

"I met with you just three weeks ago with some evidence I had collected-"

"Oh yeah, you mean the evidence that you stole, Sherlock, don't tiptoe around it. It's all coming back to me now. Anytime you want to bring that back yeah, it getting harder and harder to keep your involvement in these cases quiet around the Yard you know."

"Oh please," Sherlock quipped testily, "you know very well I'm the only reason you've solved even a fraction of your cases!"

"Alright you listen here…" Lestrade's voice lowered angrily, one finger pointed straight into Sherlock's aristocratic face, "I've been a DI longer than you've even-"

"Alright, alrightladies…can we not do this here?!" John limped wearily up to them both, nudging his chin towards the dead body, which was in the midst of being collected and bagged to be taken to the Medical Examiner, probably St. Bart's.

Sherlock frowned and looked down at John, then back at the body, then back at Lestrade, all in quick succession. For a moment the vivid light in his eyes dimmed, "Not good?" He queried; eyes only on John now.

The Omega sighed, wondering what the hell he was going to do with this ridiculous man (or himself, for that matter).

"A bit not good, yeah."

Sherlock glanced away then, a little bereft. But the look was fleeting, and he was back into full frantic rapid deduction pace faster than John could even realize what had happened.

"Lestrade, I believe this murder and the murder of several other young, male, latent Omegas over the last several months are linked. I believe they all participated in the same fertility study, and I believe those that conduct this study prey on the homeless to stay undetected and, until now, practically invisible."

Lestrade watched solemnly as they loaded Jimmy's body, now zipped into the requisite black body bag, into the coroner's van and swung the doors closed.

"Go on," the older man breathed.

"My brother and I haven't been able to glean much more than that, though he is working it at a different angle than I. Needless to say, we've had few breakthroughs in our own investigations, and I am currently trying to find someone on the inside…someone I can work with who has access to the study and it's facility."

Sherlock fell silent and regarded Lestrade with a look that was both pleading and meaningful. John wasn't sure what was silently communicated between the two men, but he now knew what he had to do.

"I'll do it." His voice was quiet, yet firm. As a former soldier, and a doctor, he could no longer straddle the grey are between the greater good and what was only good for John Watson. What was is that Sherlock said in the cab? 'Always the martyr, John.'

Maybe he was, maybe in the end...that was his purpose after all.

Lestrade looked dubious at best. Sherlock looked shocked (something John rarely ever saw on his handsome face); which John thought was slightly hilarious, since it was Sherlock and Mycroft themselves that had come up with the idea. Had Sherlock changed his mind? Now that he knew more about John, did he not think him steady or strong enough to pull this off? Granted, John had hardly been at his best lately, but let it not be said the John H. Watson couldn't rise to the occasion if he needed to.

"John-" The apex Alpha began.

"Yeah, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that." Lestrade spoke directly over Sherlock, taking a step towards the Omega at the same time. He ran his eyes up and down John, much like that Alpha woman did earlier, and clearly found something in John wanting.

"Why not?" The blond tried to stand tall and proud, he may not be the fittest specimen out of them all, but he was no slouch. If his heart was still beating, he could answer the call, "Sherlock already said they target the homeless," he faltered a bit at that, realizing he had just confirmed his vagrancy to a DI no less, but continued on bravely, "plus I'm a male latent Omega of the right age. I could go in, do what I can. I'm not stupid. I'm a doctor…they won't be able to pull anything over on me. I wouldn't let them."

Throughout John's speech, Sherlock watched him with soft eyes and an unreadable expression. Lestrade still didn't seem convinced and opened his mouth to reply when John stuck out his chin pugnaciously.

"You know I don't need your permission. I'll do it whether or not you agree." He crossed him arms, just begging the older Beta to continue arguing.

"John," Sherlock finally spoke, voice unsure and wavering, "…um, the original circumstances of my plan have changed somewhat. There are other ways you can assist in the investigation, if you wish…you don't have to-"

John breathed a frustrated puff of air out into the late afternoon sunlight, "I can't believe this!" He threw his hands up, taking a step back from both men and glaring at Sherlock, "I finally give in, after you practically begged me twice, and now you're saying…what exactly? I'm not good enough? You don't think I can do it?"

He was only barely controlling his anger now, half of himself wanting to desperately bolt from the situation and the other half feeling the need to defend his usefulness.

Sherlock's mouth flopped open like a fish gasping for air, "I've never begged for anything in my life!"

"Twice!" John repeated, left fist clenching at his side.

The apex Alpha didn't respond, and Lestrade only looked back and forth between the two like he had somehow stumbled into the middle of a domestic.

"Right. Um. Look, whatever you two decide, keep me informed alright. I want to help, and do what I can, but I'm not willing to put civilians into any unnecessary danger. John, was it? Hash this out," he motioned between them, "and then one of you give me a call. I'll have Molly update you on the findings as soon as she can, Sherlock."

The Beta jammed his hands into his pockets and stepped quickly away, loudly commanding and motioning towards his team, who were doing their best to pretend like none of them were listening to the exchange between the three men.

John continued to glower, and Sherlock had the good sense to look a wee bit chagrined.

"John…if you're very sure-"

"I'm sure, Sherlock. I can do it, and now I know that I want to. This can't happen again, not to anyone else, not if there is something I can do about it." He set his chin, clenching his jaw.

"Fine." The dark-haired man answered gruffly, turning on one heel and rapidly walking away from the Omega.


John absently fingered the pamphlet, entering the mobile number included at the bottom into his new (but demonstrably less sparkly now) iPhone. Across the living room, both looking quite serious and attentive, the Holmes brothers sat, staring at the blond in anticipation.

This was the first step in the plan, the 'in' as it were. John was to phone the number included on the flyer and make an appointment; everything hinged on making sure he was accepted into the study. After all, medical studies had parameters, and though John qualified for the most basic ones listed on the paper, there may be others that disqualified him. He expected a full physical, blood tests, even a pregnancy test (which was ridiculous, considering he was latent), but he knew people tended to be quite litigious if every mark wasn't checked and every 't' crossed.

He hazarded a glance to the two very quiet Alpha's hanging upon his every movement and breathed in.

"Alright, can we be a little less severe right now? I'm only making a phone call, after all, and you're both making me nervous." He rolled his eyes, and even though he tried not to make it obvious, he was fairly sure the he couldn't hide that from the two most observant men in the free world.

"Our only concern is your safety, John," Mycroft's low tones rolled across the room, "I will have my men record and trace the conversation, of course. It's a place to start."

John flinched inwardly at his words, he was pretty sure that as part of the interview process he'd have to share some pretty private information he'd rather the Holmes brothers not know (or record and listen to over, and over).

Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound he supposed.

Actually, he wasn't sure which was his biggest concern at this point: the divulging of private information or the fact that Mycroft Holmes already had his mobile bugged, apparently. Sherlock remained silent, leaning back on the couch, hands steepled with the tips of his fingers resting gently against his full bottom lip.

John lightly pressed the glass screen, activating the phone icon and leaning back in the maroon armchair. A slight delay, and then a few seconds later a tinny ring sounded into his ear. It only took a few rounds before the call was answered by a somewhat bored sounding receptionist (he guessed).

"Good evening, Highlands Centre, which extension please?"

"Um, yes, good evening, number 895...?" John flicked a self-conscious glance towards the two brothers, neither of which had moved.

"Thank you, hold please." Another few clicks and rings and this time it was answered by a warm sounding young man.

"Warumomo Corporation, this is Jeremy, how can I help you?"

"Yes, hello, um…my name is John and I was looking, um…" he fidgeted unconsciously, clearing his throat, "I was interested in the fertility study? I um, saw it on a flyer, can you help me?"

The man on other side brightened audibly. "Of course! I just need to take a few bits of information and schedule an initial consultation and we'll be all set. Your full name, please?"

"John H. Watson." They had discussed using a possible alias, but John was a nobody and affiliated with no one. He was homeless, it wouldn't really make a difference if he used his real name or not. Plus, it would just be easier for John; he didn't want to blow his cover because he unwisely used some other name.

"H as in…?"

"Um…Hamish." Damn! He hated his middle name.

"Right," Jeremy quipped, "birthdate?"

"August 8th, 1979."

"Okay, I assume you are an Omega of course," the young man chuckled a bit, "Formed or Unformed?"

"Um," another uncomfortable glance at the Holmes', though his status was no secret, he just plainly didn't like talking about it, "Unformed."

"Alright, I've got all I need for now, when can you come in?"

"Any time, really, I've…nothing on right now."

"How about tomorrow then? Say…two o'clock? Dr. Wilkes and Adler will be the ones to see you; they'll answer all your questions and guide you through the initial screening process. Is that alright?"

"Yes, that's fine. Two o'clock it is then, right. Thank you Jeremy."

"It was my pleasure Mr. Watson, enjoy the rest of your day." The young man ended the conversation cheerily, hanging up just as John was about to voice his goodbye as well.

It wasn't quite what he expected…it was a little more chipper and less gloom and doom and evil-killing-corporation for his taste. He sighed and ended the call with a flick of his thumb, leaving a light trail of grease across his expensive new mobile.

"Well, that's done then. Tomorrow at two o'clock, anything else?" He raised a questioning glance to the brothers, who managed to look both relieved and ridiculously uptight at the same time.

Mycroft stood and strode across the room, gathering his coat and umbrella, he turned and nodded politely. "We'll start the analysis immediately, good night John." With only a glance to his brother, he exited the flat and made his way out into the darkening London evening.

It was time for John to take his leave as well. He had to get back to the bungalow and inform everyone he was still alive. John worked his stiffening body out of the well-worn chair, looking about the room for his coat.

Sherlock, who had not moved or spoken during the entire time the Omega was on his mobile, now twitched and stood with John, confusion apparent on his face.

"Where are you going?" The sides of his mouth turned down in a questioning frown.

John blinked at him, unbelievable. "I'm going to the bungalow Sherlock, where I'm staying now."

"But I thought we-"

John pulled on his jacket, not meeting the other man's gaze. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"John-"

He didn't look behind him as he limped out of the flat, slowing down as he hit the stairs.

"Tomorrow, Sherlock."