Her Majesty's Secret Service Chapter 25.

John had gone to sleep alone after his walk and had not heard Sherlock come in, if indeed Sherlock had slept at all. The room was empty when John woke and there was no evidence that anyone else had been there all night.

John wandered downstairs to a lonely breakfast, then headed outdoors to have a quiet think in the garden. He was suddenly very conscious of being alone in a way that had not bothered him since meeting Sherlock. John realized with a start that he had been assuming for a while now that whatever form their companionship took, that they would be 'Holmes and Watson' for life. Now, he was not so sure. Who could he go to for cameraderie, for a listening ear, for advice?

John found his feet taking him towards the local war memorial, which they had passed in the churchyard the day they arrived. Yes, military companions had always made him feel at home. His father, his grandfather, his Captain, his friends both the ones still living and the others watching him from beyond the grave. His brothers in arms; closer than his real sibling. They would calm his full mind and aching heart. He sat down on the steps and leaned his back against the cool stone.

"Cap, it's John. I think I understand now. I thought I was happy with you, but this is where I am meant to be. He's my Alpha, the one I was waiting for, looking for. He's mad, he's brilliant, he's completely insufferable and I love him more than life itself. Except that I don't know if I can make it work with him. It's so one-sided. I love him so much, but I don't feel worthy of him. He wants me, in a way, but he doesn't even call me a friend? I don't know if I can live like that. I don't want to be a lead weight attached to the feet of an eagle, dragging him down and making him resent me. It has to be a true partnership as well as a true bond. Oh God," John dragged his fingers through his hair as he thought, "if we can't sort out the sex thing, we'll never get a true bond either. I'm running out of ideas and out of hope, Cap. I need a sign, just something to encourage me that we'll keep working at it, that we'll get there. Shit. I don't even know what to ask for, just show me something that I can hang my hope on."

John leaned back against the monument, the cold stone a pleasing contrast to the sun on his face. He was startled from his reverie by the sound of the iron gates clashing together after someone had passed through. Sherlock. Unsure of what to do, what to say, John buried his face in his notebook and pretended to be reviewing his case notes.

Sherlock came to a halt in front of him. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, before Sherlock finally offered, "Did you get anywhere with that Morse code?"

John answered shortly, "No." He stood up and brushed himself off, deciding to return to the hotel. He was tired of being the one who was always doing the patching up, being the understanding one, the forgiving one. This time Sherlock would have to tidy up his own mess, if he could. John was going to pack and head back to London. "Good luck with the rest of case."

"John, wait!"

John paused.

"What I said before, I meant it." Sherlock was panting, struggling with the admission. "I don't have friends. I've just got one." He dropped his eyes to the ground in front of John.

Thank you, Cap. That'll do.

"Right," John said aloud, smiling slightly.

Sherlock's eyes suddenly widened, "John? John! You are amazing! You are fantastic!"

John wrinkled his nose, "Yeah, all right! You don't have to overdo it."

"No, I mean it," insisted Sherlock "You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable."

"Hang on," protested John, "You were saying 'sorry' a minute ago. Don't spoil it. Go on. What have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"

Sherlock was smiling, talking, waving his hands around, clearly inspired by John's words, John's questions. Inspired by John. Listening with half an ear as they walked, John basked in the knowledge that they were a working partnership – a team.

They walked back to the bar at the Cross Keys Inn, and they were both surprised to see Detective Inspector Lestrade standing casually at the bar.

Sherlock instantly started to snarl, "What the hell are you doing here?"

John blinked in surprise. It was unlike Sherlock to be so aggressive, so possessive. He had stepped half in front of John, as if to shield him from a strange Alpha's gaze. But Lestrade wasn't a strange Alpha at all – he was a familiar face in a strange place and Sherlock's antagonism was totally unwarranted.

"Nice to see you too," said Lestrade, with an ironic tip of the head. "Hello John."

John walked over to the bar where Lestrade had picked up his pint again, "Greg!" John let his warm welcome make up for the angry coldness of Sherlock's greeting.

Lestrade turned away from Sherlock to focus on John, "I heard you were in the area. What are you up to?" He licked his lips after taking a sip of his beer. The gesture was quite natural, yet John could never recall seeing that particular look in Lestrade's eyes before. Actually, he'd never noticed the dark brown warmth in Lestrade's eyes before either. The man was incredibly attractive, and his new holiday tan only made his teeth look whiter. John could imagine those teeth nipping at his skin… He blinked at the direction his own thoughts had taken.

Sherlock frowned and interrupted, clearly displeased by this new development. "I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector. Why are you here?"

Lestrade shrugged and sidled a bit closer to John, "I've told you. I'm on holiday."

Sherlock scowled and pushed up to Lestrade in a confrontational stance, using his height to his advantage. "You're brown as a nut. You're clearly just back from your 'holidays'. This is Mycroft, isn't it?" Sherlock was almost hissing his anger and spite.

John's Omega senses were on high alert. He needed to break this up before it turned into a true Alpha fight for dominance. The mention of Mycroft had Sherlock wound up. The only way to get Sherlock back on track would be to remind him of the case. He exclaimed brightly, "Actually, you could be just the man we want." Lestrade looked surprised, but willing. Eager, even.

Sherlock frowned at John suspiciously, but John patted his arm soothingly. No need to get jealous, this is just about the Work.

"I think I might have found something. Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy."

# # # # #

As they exited the pub after interviewing the innkeepers about the suspicious amount of meat a vegetarian restaurant was consuming, John couldn't help noticing Greg walking very close beside him. Greg had never showed any interest in John before.

John decided a mention of Sherlock might work as a reminder that he already lived with an Alpha, so he said awkwardly, "You know he's actually pleased you're here?"

Greg just crooked an eyebrow sceptically.

"Secretly pleased," John admitted.

Greg came up close beside John. Very close, and breathed in his ear, "Is he? That's nice. But I don't want to talk about him, I want to talk about you. We've never spent much time together and I rather regret that. I'm on holiday now, and Sherlock has his case so I expect you're at a bit of a loose end. They have horse-racing here, you know. Wouldn't interest Sherlock, not scientific enough, but I could take you for a flutter on the ponies? Then back to my room for a beer and a… chat." Greg's hand touched the back of John's arm and slid down to cup his elbow for a moment before falling away. There was nothing overtly sexual in it, nothing indecent or suggestive, but John felt his skin tingle under the warm touch.

Sherlock emerged from the pub at that moment and John jerked away from Greg with a guilty start. Greg shrugged philosophically. "Right, that's that, then." He smiled and winked at John, "Catch you later. I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out of your lungs!"

Sherlock looked disapprovingly after Greg as he walked away, then recalled himself to the Work. "I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it. Could be dangerous."

John found himself grinning at Sherlock, "Let's go then."

# # # # #

Once at Baskerville they split up and Sherlock went with Major Barrymore to get access to the computer files while John went directly to the lab level. At least this time he had a proper pass card and didn't have to worry about suddenly being locked out or discovered not to be Mycroft.

Then, of course, he was suddenly locked out. It must have been a major security malfunction because the lights were switching on and off so quickly John was half-blinded, and the alarms were shrieking in his ear. It reminded him strongly and unpleasantly of some of the more extreme evacuation drills in Afghanistan. He breathed deeply and slowly and reminded himself that he was trained to work calmly under these conditions. He reminded himself that he had delivered medical care in worse situations. He had saved Daniel's life and leg in the middle of enemy territory in the dark and under fire - he could do this.

Finally, all the alarms must have been shut off centrally, and the emergency lighting came on. John gave thanks that at least the noise was over, even though it was very dark, especially after the contrast of the bright arc lights. He blinked and stood still as he tried to give his eyes some time to adjust.

There were some strange rattling sounds that made his heart rate jump, but he reminded himself that this was one of the animal labs. He blinked again, if only his eyes would clear! Squinting, he made his way back to the lab door, hoping that the siren shutdown might have rebooted the door. No luck, the door was still stubbornly locked.

Then he heard a deep, low growl somewhere behind him and his heart started pounding in earnest. He dug out his phone and tried to call Sherlock, his fingers trembling so that he almost used the wrong speed dial. He breathed softly through his open mouth now for silence, but the phone rang out. Either Sherlock wasn't answering or there was no signal.

Then he heard the sound of claws on the tiles of the lab, and he remembered that one of the cages had bent bars. Something had escaped and was roaming around the lab with him. He told himself it was probably a monkey – he tried to remember if monkeys had claws or nails on their hind feet. Medical school had not really focused on animal anatomy, but he had a nasty feeling that monkeys had nails on their hands which could not possibly make that sound…

A low growl interrupted his thoughts, and he clapped his hand over his mouth to suppress the sound of his panicked panting. A dog. Definitely a dog, and a large one from the sound. John tried to force his mind away from images of a gigantic hound with glowing red eyes. John couldn't help a small whimper escaping, and he heard an answering growl from somewhere else in the lab. Then his nerve broke and he ran for shelter. As he dashed past the empty cages he realized that bars can keep something out as well as keeping things in.

He swung open the door of one cage and slipped inside, slamming and bolting the door and pulling the sheet back over the cage. He cowered at the back of the cage, his instincts all screaming at him to make himself as small as possible, to hide, to disappear, and over and above all to be quiet.

Then his phone rang. God! What a time for Sherlock to return his call! He fumbled in his pocket as quickly as possible and eventually scooped out his phone and answered it, which at least stopped the infernal ringing.

He whispered as quietly as possible, "It's here! It's in here with me!" He could hear his own voice trembling, even in the whisper. "Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out!" His volume involuntarily rose with his fear, and he clamped his hand over his mouth again.

On the other end Sherlock was infuriatingly calm, "All right, I'll find you. Keep talking. What are you seeing?"

There was another snarl from somewhere out beyond the sheet, and John cowered in the back of his cage. He was trapped, his instincts were crying out for protection, for salvation. He needed to be rescued by his Alpha. He couldn't help it, he whimpered down the phone "Now, Sherlock. Please!"

Sherlock's cool voice insisted, "What can you see?"

John forced himself to look out into the darkness of the lab, past the corner of the sheet. He looked, and he was gripped with horror that turned his stomach. He thought he was going to vomit, or faint. He faltered into the phone, "I… I can see it! It's here!" He was sweating and gasping and the growling was moving closer and there was nowhere for him to go…

Then the lights once again almost blinded him as the sheet was ripped off his shelter, and he was laid bare to the beast. He looked up, prepared to face death – and saw Sherlock bending over him, Sherlock putting a human hand on his shoulder and talking to him, though he couldn't make out the words through the rushing in his ears and light-headed faintness.

"John? John!" Sherlock was looking worried now, "Are you all right?"

John dragged himself to his feet, shoving his phone into his pocket, and looked around wildly, "It was the hound, Sherlock! It was here. I swear it, Sherlock. Did ... did you see it? You must have!"

Sherlock's calmness was exasperating as he waved a careless hand and said, "It's OK now."

John felt his self-control shredding away, leaving him naked and afraid. He almost shrieked in Sherlock's face, "No, it is not! It is not OK! I saw it! I was wrong."

Sherlock shrugged indifferently and John wanted to punch him. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

He put his hand on John's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. John felt the hysteria ebbing away under the calming influence of his Alpha, his protector. "You've been drugged. We've all been drugged. Come on, it's time to lay this ghost." He tilted his head toward the door and started towards it. John got a grip on his courage and his trembling knees, and followed.

# # # # #

In an upstairs lab, Sherlock confronted Dr Stapleton about the disappearing rabbit. Then in a rather confusing sharp left turn, he asked to use her microscope. John took it philosophically. There were clearly going to be times when he could not keep up with Sherlock, and this appeared to be one of them. He was muttering and putting various slides under the microscope as John made rather inconsequential small talk with Dr Stapleton.

Then Sherlock burst out, "It's not there!"

John ducked as the slide hit the wall near his head. "Jesus, Sherlock!" he exclaimed.

Sherlock was still fuming, "Nothing there! Doesn't make any sense. There has to be a drug – a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There's no trace of anything in the sugar."

John was still confused. "Sugar?"

Sherlock was up and pacing around the lab now. "The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it too but you didn't, John. You didn't see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don't take sugar in your coffee. So I took it from Henry's kitchen – his sugar. It's perfectly all right."

John was starting to get the picture, and it was a rather nasty one. "So you - who know what it is like to be drugged against your will – you deliberately drugged me?" John was shocked, and angry. "You gave me a hallucinogen and locked me in the lab to see if I would hallucinate the Hound for you? I get that you're a sociopath and you don't care about people, but Sherlock, how could you? How could you do that to me?"

Sherlock had his eyes closed,"Get out."

"What?"

"I need to go to my Mind Palace."

"Fine. You know what? That's just fine." John's bitterness was spilling over and he didn't even care that Dr Stapleton was watching them with interest. "I'm going back to London. No, I'm going to Greg's room for tonight and I'm going back to London tomorrow. Then I'm moving out of Baker Street. Consider this two weeks' notice."

Sherlock did not stir from his stool or open his eyes.

John turned and stalked out of the lab without looking back.

A/N: Thanks and credit once again to the amazing Ariane DeVere for her transcript of the episode "The Hounds of Baskerville" to which I referred constantly, even when I blatantly misquoted it.

Also, due to major medical stuff going on with me I have decided to abandon any idea of scheduling. This story will update when I'm good and ready - it's just too much pressure otherwise and at the moment I'm in and out of hospital every day for radiotherapy, which is not as much fun as it sounds. Only three weeks to go though! So hang in there (you and me both) and we'll all get there in the end!