A/N: Thanks for the follows/favourites/reviews. Apologies to anyone who read the last chapter in the first few hours after it was initially posted - the formatting in the last section seemed to be doing it's own thing - thanks to Wolf in shes clothing for tactfully pointing it out.

Are you sure? SH

I'm sure. Pick you up at 2. JW

John responded with a confidence he didn't feel as he sipped his tea and clicked on another link. He had started on this research as an afterthought but was now wishing he hadn't bothered. That is, if trawling the web for forum posts counted as research, it wasn't exactly the BMJ. He knew he was homing in on the worst aspects of alpha suppressant but still, aggression, agitation and 'bizarre personality changes' were regularly reported. It didn't help that Sherlock's personality could charitably be described as eccentric at the best if times. John decisively closed the browser and snapped the laptop shut.

Practically speaking at least, he was organised and the soldier in him took comfort in that. He had moved the sofa into Sherlock's room and made it up as a bed with the help of a bemused Mrs Hudson (who had always assumed they were a couple and refused to be persuaded differently). He had gone out early to stock up on the sort of thing he thought Sherlock should be eating (vegetables, chicken) and the sort of thing he would eat even if he was being awkward (essentially posh biscuits). He had tidied extensively, moving the numerous trip hazards around the flat. Hopefully Sherlock wouldn't even notice that the piles of 'research' had been merged.

Finally he had spent a good half an hour rearranging the area around Sherlock's chair so that everything he could want was within easy reach. It was such a nurturing, such an omega thing to do he annoyed himself.

The only thing left was to tell Mycroft. He quickly fired off a text and within seconds his phone was vibrating with an unknown number.

'John, just wanted to let you know it's much appreciated.' There was a creak in the background and John imagined Mycroft leaning back in a heavy leather chair in some far flung outpost of the Diogenes Club.

' I'm not doing it for you Mycroft.' There was something about the older Holmes that rubbed John the wrong way.

'Regardless, the idea of him going back to that place.' John could practically hear Mycroft's face contort into twisted distaste. Though he could well see his point. It couldn't be a good idea to put a vulnerable but extremely resourceful recovering addict somewhere like Armadale unless you had to. Even with the best places, and John assumed the Holmeses would use the very best, there was the risk of a desperate patient getting contraband in and Sherlock succumbing to old habits.

'I still don't understand why he wanted to go there in the first place.'

'He's an intensely private man John. Lives inside his own head, perhaps he just wanted the space to deal with things in there.'

'Well I'd rather he dealt with them out here in this flat. The real world'

' You're right of course. If you need anything I will send a number you can call.'

Anything like what? I am actually a doctor Mycroft.'

'The offer is there John. Goodbye'

'Bye Mycroft.'

John immediately scooped up his keys, leaving the flat before he could change his mind.

##############

The first day or so passed in a blur of tea, bad tv and acute boredom.

The cold case John had brought him in hospital needed leg work, literally, but he was obviously in no state to do that. He could ask John but was somehow reluctant for the omega to go out working by himself. Partly it was because Sherlock was a control freak when it came to the work but mainly it was his alpha brain coming back on-line. He knew, on some level, he wanted to protect the post-heat, newly bred omega. It was distracting nonsense. John Watson, Captain Watson, would have laughed at the notion of needing such protection from him-and rightly so.

Lestrade came to visit on the second day and brought another couple of files. Sherlock was particularly pleased to see the yellowing pages of a genuinely old case along with the violent death Lestrade had described to him the day he broke his ankle. John would likely have told him it was inappropriate to think so, since someone had died, but there was almost a romance to really old cases.

Ignoring his guest he sat and began to read the fragile pages of the older file. What looked at first sight to be a straightforward murder of a brutish alpha by an omega at the end of their tether was complicated by an apparently airtight alibi. He was halfway through the first statement before he tuned back in to what was going on in the room, which, he suddenly realised, stank of alpha.

'What they paid for that waste of skin and he goes and does that.' John gestured toward the telly.

Lestrade and John, well-used to Sherlock's self-contained way of working, were sitting on the sofa watching football. Lestrade had brought beer, nicer than the stuff John usually bought for himself, and they were both halfway down a bottle. Every couple of minutes they would shout at something on the screen that Sherlock had no intention of taking the time to understand. In between they had a lively discussion going about the merits of various players. John, who had begged the detective to do all manner of things to him days before, was grinning and laughing with the other alpha. Lestrade looked so in control of who and what he was and Sherlock felt awkward and adolescent by comparison.

A choking jealousy rose in his chest closely followed by frustration because he knew this was hormones, his reproductive system sputtering unpredictably to life. Precisely the sort of thing he had avoided for so long, he didn't want this, didn't want the interruption to the work, to his state of mind.

He would have flounced from the room but the most his crutches would accommodate was a graceless hobble.

'You Ok?' Lestrade sounded genuinely concerned, which rather took the wind out of his sails.

'Fine, just going to lie down where it's quiet.' He made to leave but John pointedly slid his eyes in Lestrade' s direction.

'Thank you for the files.' Sherlock said, with, he thought, no less sincerity than usual.

'No problem, thought you might appreciate a historical flavour, if you get anywhere with those you'll make me a hero.' Lestrade said' half looking at the screen.

As Sherlock left the room the television erupted into cheering and John grabbed Lestrade excitedly by the arm.

Sherlock lay on his bed and half-listened until the background of cheers gave way to the drone of post match analysis and finally the front door opening as Lestrade left.

He wandered back through to the kitchen where John was now washing dishes from dinner.

'If you're looking for your pills you'll have to give it at least another hour.' John said rinsing suds from a plate.

Sherlock shifted, leaning himself against the counter next to him.

'Lestrade is very alpha isn't he?' He said casually, he wasn't quite sure what he meant but it introduced the subject.

'He's decent, and a good detective by all accounts, not sure if that makes him ' very alpha'.' The response was carefully diplomatic. John glanced at him with a smile.

'Does he bother you? I mean, are you feeling really aggressive or anything? The doctor did say you might...' John's brow was furrowed and the look was too clinical for Sherlock's liking.

'It's fine, I wasn't about to attack him. I just - I'd forgotten what this was like, with both of you here.' Sherlock gazed blankly at the floor.

'It'll get better, you just need to get used to it how is, well, being around me?'

'I like it.'

John turned sharply to look at him. He hadn't meant to be so blunt. He was blushing hotly still staring at the floor, anxious at what he would see in John's face. The omega turned back to the sink, wringing out a cloth and moving to wipe down the counter.

'That's normal- it's good.' John ran the cloth across the surface in slow deliberate swipes. The possessive urge Sherlock had been containing all night suddenly broke free and he stepped closer, when John turned back round there was barely an inch of air between them. They stood for a few beats.

John was obviously fighting his own body's urge to submit, it could be read in the tilt of his face,the softening of his shoulders. Sherlock felt an (unwelcome) stab of pride because Lestrade hadn't had this effect on the omega. He wanted to touch John's hair but his balance was too off with the crutches. The omega arched expectantly.

'I'll go to bed.' Sherlock said finally. Turning awkwardly and limping away.

'You'll need to get back up for you pills.' John called after him but got no response.

################

John woke to a dull throb. The sofa was fine most of the time but it didn't always agree with his bad shoulder. He turned to pick up his phone from the floor beside him and startled at the figure perched on the the arm of the sofa until he recognised the profile.

' I didn't mean to wake you.' Sherlock said, staring ahead.

'What are you doing up?' John shuffled into a sitting position, squinting.

'Restless. A bit sore.'

'Come through, I'll make some tea. I could do with a couple of ibuprofen myself anyway.'

John picked up his phone. Three o'clock. He had to get up in three hours for a morning surgery.

The detective got to the small kitchen first and to John's surprise immediately started clumsily filling the kettle and getting mugs out of the cupboard. John got himself a glass of water and the packet of ibuprofen. He sat at the table checking that the surface was covered in nothing that could be corrosive before he rested his elbows and swallowed a couple of pills.

'I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to scare you.' Sherlock said carefully moving two steaming mugs to the table and dropping heavily into a chair.

'You didn't. If you'd scared me I'd have had you on the floor. Broken ankle or not. What was that about?' John tentatively sipped his tea. That wasn't actually quite true, he'd had a few seconds of panic when the alpha towered over him but it was as much to do with his own response as Sherlock's clumsy attempt at-something.

'I wanted to...Well, to scent you. It's a long time since I've done anything like that. I'm sorry.' The blush was back (the blush was lovely John had decided) and the detective focussed his eyes on the tip of one finger which circled the rim of his mug.

John tried not to imagine Sherlock scenting him, the intimacy of skin on skin, of being claimed. He attempted to think of it in medical terms. The instinctive response to invasion of perceived territory by another alpha. It didn't mean anything real.

'Thats fine, I know it's just hormones. There was someone then? Before you started with suppressant?' John had suspected as much.

'At university, I had a friend, an omega,Victor. We were both young and naive, one thing led to another. I never shared a heat with him though, never got the chance.' The detective sipped his tea pensively.

' I was staying with him during the holidays and I deduced his father. It was something I was just learning to do, for amusement, an intellectual exercise. Anyway I picked up something of his previous life, a concealed life. It was awkward, especially when a man from his past turned up. He became ill and died suddenly around the same time. Victor blamed me on some level, totally irrational of course. He moved to the far east, finished his degree there. He still stays out there, I believe he's happily bonded now.'

John felt sort of privileged to have heard the story, Sherlock gave so little of himself away normally. He had long assumed the detective had some sexual history, he was too attractive, too curious to have entirely avoided that aspect of life.

'That's when you started suppressant?' John asked, leaning forward in a fruitless attempt to catch his eye.

'No, unfortunately that's when I started cocaine. Suppressant was Mycroft's idea, much later, when he'd dragged me out of one too many bad situations. He thought it would be one less trigger for me to get high, and he was right. He pulled some strings and got me some of what they use in prisons. Terrible rough stuff it was but it at least put part of my brain at rest. So I developed my own and used it, until now.' The detective looked at him over the rim of his cup.

'Have you ever had anyone? A special alpha?' Sherlock's voice dripped sarcasm (among other more appealing things) but defensive sarcasm so John let it go.

'No one long-term since before I was in the army. Most alphas don't want a bondmate that thinks for themselves let alone one that works in a war zone.'

'Most alphas are morons.' Sherlock said, getting up and stretching. 'I think I'll take my pills and go back to bed.'

'Why were you sitting next to me earlier?' John asked quickly, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it.

'I should have thought that was obvious, I was restless, I thought being closer to your scent might relax me. That is why you're in my room isn't it?' Sherlock said, tossing his head to swallow the painkillers.

'Yeah, of course, that's what I thought, just checking you weren't trying to harvest me for experiments or something.'

The detective disappeared back to the bedroom. John put the mugs in the sink and followed to find him on the sofa in his former spot.

'I hope you don't mind, I thought I might sit and think for a while.'

'I'm not a distraction then?' John smiled. 'Its fine, actually if you didn't mind we could both lie on the bed.' The detective's eyebrows shot up.

'I just meant you perched there, the sofa killing my shoulder-seems daft with all that nice high thread count going begging. I'll lie on top of the covers of course.'

Sherlock nodded, got up and flopped unceremoniously into his bed. 'Here, you'll be freezing otherwise.' He said, tossing John a soft grey blanket, which felt suspiciously like cashmere.

###############

Finished-according to the screen at least.

John stretched out his shoulders in a small celebration. Last night's interrupted sleep was taking its toll and the morning surgery had been busy. An early emergency of an elderly lady who 'didn't want to bother the doctor' with her chest pain had given way to a never-ending line of people with cystitis, flu and assorted tummy troubles. He hadn't even had a chance to think about last night, or this morning, when he'd woken up curled around a sound asleep but obviously aroused alpha.

He sighed at the tap on the door but painted on a professional smile as he called on whoever it was to come in.

'Got a minute Dr Watson?'

'Of course, as long as I won't need rubber gloves.' John smiled, relieved it was Lestrade. 'What's on your mind?'

Lestrade sat in the patients chair and looked so awkward that for a moment John thought he did have an embarrassing medical problem.

'How would you fancy a spot of moonlighting? Pays of course.'

John nodded as he started to tidy up his paperwork and shut down his computer.

'Could be interested.'

'I've gotten myself mixed up in some undercover work. You heard of Jim Graeme?'

'Some sort of property developer isn't he?'

'Some sort is right. We know he's into drugs but nothing we can use in court. Now we think he's involved in omega smuggling as well- actually I'm certain of it. You remember that boy a couple of months ago killed by his mate in a stupid fight?'

John nodded. He remembered it well, Sherlock's services hadn't been needed but it had been in all the papers for days.

'Graeme comes from that area, funds a lot of community stuff there. So after that he sent me an invitation to some reception at a new building of his. Big press launch all about how he's helping 'build for the future'. I'm just about to put it in the bin but decide at the last minute to let internal affairs know, given his background. So I fire off an email and half an hour later I'm summoned to a meeting.' Greg paused to check John was still following.

'See,they know he has cops that he's paying off, they just don't know who. Turns out they'd been waiting on somebody to get approached for ages. Someone who went to them with it anyway. They ask if I mind playing along for a bit, seeing what I can find out.'

'Why you though?' John said sitting back in his chair.

' Basically because I've been passed over for promotion, I'm within a few years of retirement and -since the divorce- I'm pretty much broke. I'm a textbook target.' Greg grimaced, running his hand through his hair.

'Where do I come in?' John ignored his friend's obvious embarrassment.

'That's where it's a bit awkward. I need you to pretend to be my fiance. There's no male omegas in my division that we can be certain he's not seen. I could get an officer from another area but I'd rather have someone I know, who I'm confident can handle themselves If it gets rough. Not that it's likely to but you never know.'

'I can see myself doing that.' John said, he loved that his job allowed him to help people but he couldn't deny that in civilian life he sometimes longed for a little more excitement. Generally he got that from Sherlock but a little more couldn't hurt. John tried not to look too keen.

'How do you come to need a fiance?'

'At the weekend he took me to this nightclub he has a share in. Flash place, made me feel about a hundred but anyway, it was going well. He was a bit pissed and he was moving in the direction of making me a serious offer, you know, cash. Suddenly he decides he wants to take me through the back. Says he's got a surprise for me. So I'm thinking the worst. We go through to this room, just as flash as the rest of the place but with a naked girl lying on a bed. John, you should have seen her. Her eyes were so - gone - and she had this blotchy flush everywhere.'

'Forced heat.'John said quietly.

'I mean I obviously wouldn't but - I couldn't think straight'

' Chemically forced heats often produce much higher levels of the hormones...' John started in his best patient GP tone.

I know all that.' The alpha cut him off and waved his hand dismissively, end of discussion.

'Anyway that's why I needed a fiance quick. It was an excuse not to touch the girl. I thought if I said I had a male omega it would be more convincing. I was on the spot, it was the best I could come up with.'

'OK.' John thoughtfully chewed his lip. 'I'm interested, what would I have to do?'

'Appreciate it John. Won't Sherlock mind though?'

'Do you see a bond bite?' John tilted his neck to emphasise the point. 'Its up to me. Though I will talk to him obviously. So?'

Greg nodded. 'Can you come with me to the nightclub on Thursday? Shouldn't be too dodgy. You might be able to help, see if any of the omegas around know anything about the trafficking.'

'OK, what if I come to your office tomorrow, you can give me a bit more detail?'

'Yeah- actually no, best you stay away from the yard, just in case your seen. That little pub along from you, six tomorrow?'

'OK, see you then.'

The detective left and John realised he had one more to add to his list of awkward Sherlock conversations.