Sherlock woke up hard, nothing particularly strange in that. It happened every so often and he usually dealt with it quickly and efficiently, like any other inconvenience of the transport. This time though, he was weighed down with sleeping John Watson, arousing and soothing all at once.
He lay, too afraid to move, for what couldn't have been more than ten minutes before John's phone vibrated to life with the alarm. The omega shifted and he realised his situation was likely to be obvious even in the half light and through layers of fabric. He feigned sleep. Not moving until John had left the room and he heard the shower running. There was an unexpected emptiness to the relief he felt soon after as he as spilled into his own hand.
He hadn't slept next to, let alone touching anyone like this since Victor. They had only ever managed the occasional stolen nap. Curled together on a single bed in halls of residence after they had clumsily gotten each other off. Sherlock, ever the scientist, had been fascinated by how much pleasure he was able to give the omega with his hands and mouth.
He remembered how they had talked, shyly at first, of how they would spend their first heat together (Victor always spoke of it as 'our heat'). Victor had planned to stay on suppressants till the end of exams but after a few days at his father's house they planned to go to Scotland and let nature take its course. Victor had the idea of spending the time in cosy isolation at his aunt's lochside holiday cottage. After that (and Victor had dropped huge hints they'd be bonded by then) they were going to do a little tour of the Highlands finishing in Glasgow, indulging Victors fascination for both the scenery and all things Charles Rennie Mackintosh. Of course it had never got that far Sherlock had said the wrong thing, been the wrong thing, and drove Victor away.
#######
John got home mid-afternoon in dire need of a nap. He was surprised to find Sherlock was doing the same. He'd obviously been working. His mug was precariously abandoned on one of the magazine piles on the coffee table and the wall behind had a semi-circle of post it's around an old wedding photograph and a street map.
He gently opened Sherlock's bedroom door. The alpha was wrapped in the blanket John had borrowed the night before, gently snoring. He decided, given how he'd woken up this morning, to go to his own bed for a change. He climbed the stairs to his neglected room, stripping to his underwear before crawling gratefully under the duvet.
He woke a couple of hours later to the smell of cooking, of food cooking. Only in 221b would he ever have to make that distinction. He got up, dressing in his slightly crumpled clothes from earlier, and wandered downstairs. He had expected to see Mrs Hudson pottering about but instead Sherlock was clearing vegetable peelings from the table, the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled to his elbows.
'You've cooked.' John rubbed still sleepy eyes.
'Obviously. You were planning to make chicken casserole weren't you?' He said, stirring the pan.
'I didn't know you could.' John flopped into the nearest chair.
'Well of course I can. The chemistry involved is very basic. I just usually choose not to, I tend to have better uses for my time. I thought, since you'd gone back to work...'
'Yeah thanks it's... thoughtful.' One of the adjectives he'd never have thought to use in relation to Sherlock Holmes.
'I'll just have a quick shower first.'
When he'd showered, changed and properly woken up he went back to the kitchen. Sherlock was ladling casserole into bowls. They sat and ate in companionable silence. The detective eating, for him, reasonably well.
'You went to your own bed.' Sherlock said suddenly as he pushed his mostly empty bowl away.
'Yeah, you were asleep so I decided I'd be comfier.'
'You could have...Well it's up to you.' Sherlock sprung up to clear the table.
'Was it because of this morning?' The detective said, slowly rinsing dishes, eyes fixed on them like they were a delicate experiment.
Ah, not asleep then.
' Yeah but not the way you think. I thought about it, lying beside you but I didn't want to take advantage.'
The alpha shot him a look. 'Shouldn't that be my line?'
'Hardly, at least not in our circumstances. What I mean is, the whole point of us sleeping beside each other is to give you a soft landing from the suppressant. Not to get you all hot and bothered.' John cringed at his own poor choice of words.
Tension was obvious in the line of Sherlock's shoulders under his shirt as he gripped the side of the sink. John got up to reach out for him and hesitated. He suddenly longed for the easy physical contact of their previous simple relationship. When he'd think nothing of reaching into Sherlock's jacket for his ringing phone.
Sod it.
John closed the space between them laying his hand on Sherlock's arm, squeezing lightly.
'Its just hormones Sherlock, yours and mine and whatever happens when the two get together. For what it's worth, I was sort of flattered. It's a nice way to wake up, wrapped around someone who obviously enjoys it. It's not like you were forcing yourself on me.' Sherlock shyly looked up from the sink. John smiled. 'It's been a while since that's happened.'
'During your heats though..?'
'Not the same, no time in a heat for anything so relaxed, it gets a bit -frantic.' John saw what he recognised as curiosity flit across the alpha' s face.
Sherlock raised a soapy hand and John didn't complain as he ran it through his hair. Pulling John towards him he kissed the top of his head. They stayed like that for a few seconds, inhaling each other. John was now remembering how, that morning after he'd reluctantly untangled his limbs from aroused alpha, he'd got himself off in the shower and he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had done the same.
What a bloody waste.
A rogue rivulet of cooling dish water ran into John's collar and made him jump, breaking the spell. They drew away simultaneously, Sherlock to his washing up and John to a previously unknown fascination with the cruet set.
The whole conversation about the undercover thing suddenly seemed like a welcome change of subject.
'So I spoke to Greg this morning. He's got a job for me, could be dangerous.'
###############
The slight background buzz of after work drinkers surrounded them as Greg, with a careful glance round, passed him an envelope. Even Sherlock would have to concede he'd been thorough.
The timeline of their engagement was carefully mapped out. Where they'd met (in a supermarket) and how long they'd been together (nine months, but only openly since Greg's divorce became final). John's own history, work and so on, matched the cover story other than the last few months. There were also copies of parts of the Yard's Graeme file, his business interests (legal and otherwise) and his surprisingly normal private life. He'd been bonded for the better part of eight years to Melissa, a childhood sweetheart. John put the papers away to read properly at home later.
'What did he say then?' Greg asked, sipping his pint.
'Like you would expect, pissed off he's not involved. He seemed to get a bit protective as well.' John had hated himself a little for being pleased that he had this effect on his flatmate.
'Just like normal between you two then.' Greg said smiling.
' The protective thing's new.'
'I meant you. Charging round London after him with that Browning you think I don't know about.'
John had thought he was getting away with the gun, not least because harmless little omegas wouldn't be expected to know what to do with them. The element of surprise had got them out of trouble more than once.
'He needs someone to watch his back.' John said.
'You don't seem to have any problem watching him full stop.' Greg looked at him with a suggestive grin and John seemed to suddenly find the pitted table top fascinating.
'Can we talk about tomorrow ?' John said, desparate to change the subject.
'Fine, just- if you are interested, don't leave it too long OK? If he manages to stay off suppressant his family will probably want him married off to some posh omega with the right pedigree and I think he'd go through the motions for a quiet life. Poor thing'd be wondering how they ended up with a mansion full of test tubes and bits of people.' John laughed at this.
'Sherlock Holmes can stand to be in a room with three people for more than five minutes. Me, you and Mrs Hudson and I don't think me and Mrs H are his type.' Greg finished.
'So, tomorrow night?' John persisted and Greg took pity.
'I'll pick you up at nine. It should just be us, Graeme, his omega and a couple of his management, unbonded alphas. The last time we sat in this private mezzanine above the main bar. The door at the back leads to where he had the girl last time. For all I know there's a full brothel behind there.'
'You're not tempted to take a look?'
'No, well yeah, but not yet. We need something solid, a proper warrant, everything by the book. Don't you be looking either. It should go without saying but don't be going solo on me. Talking to people is fine but no sneaking away. Apart from anything else, you're supposed to be my demure fiance.' Greg raised his eyebrows.
'I'll try.' John grinned.
'I should go, I've got reports to write.' Greg swallowed the last of his pint and got up to leave.
'One last thing..' The alpha bent over to talk in his ear.
'No bloody gun.'
###############
John examined the fit of the shirt in the immaculate expanse of mirror.
He didn't normally shop in these places, even if he wanted the over -attentive staff and vanilla scented fitting room he couldn't afford it but Sherlock had insisted.
They had left the flat for the morning on John's suggestion. The detective was practically vibrating with boredom. John knew some of it needed burned off if he wanted to come home from work to a flat that smelled normal and was free of scorch marks, besides, it was time he got out into the real world. A visit to a crime scene from one of the old cases was the plan. It was likely to bring Sherlock into contact with a few alphas and omegas. Enough to get him used to the constant scents but not so much he'd get overloaded, that was the theory.
Buying John 'one decent shirt' as a thank you on the way had been Sherlock's suggestion. The alpha sat on a chair in the corner of the fitting room with coffee that had appeared from nowhere while John tried on a succession of shirts. The two omega assistants left the room with sidelong glances at Sherlock, exploding into giggles as they passed out of sight. John glanced at one price tag, a shirt in a similar shade of purple to one of Sherlock's, and nearly dropped the thing.
'Don't be like that John, I'm buying, besides it can only help if Lestrade is known to have an omega with expensive tastes.' Their eyes met briefly in the mirror.
'Ok, I'll take this one then-and thanks. You didn't need to get me anything. It's just not something I'd have done, left you in hospital on your own.'
'It has helped I think-and it's appreciated.' Sherlock said, his tone unusually sincere.
'Of course, as you would say the chemistry is very basic.' John smiled at him as he changed into his own clothes. Gratitude from Sherlock was a rare thing. There was another giggle from outside.
'You've got quite a fan club out there.' John nodded towards the noise.
'Perhaps they read your blog.' Sherlock hoisted himself to his feet with the crutches, a movement that over the last few days he had somehow made fluid and elegant.
'I don't mean they're fans of your deductive skills as you well know. We best pay for this before someone goes into a spontaneous heat.'
'Dull.' Sherlock rolled his eyes as they walked out into the shop, the staff were all suspiciously busy around one display with a good view of the fitting room door.
'You wouldn't be saying that if one of them was near a heat, nice young things like that.' John said quietly. Sherlock stopped dead in front of him.
' For your information one of them is about to go into a heat and I have no interest in 'young things' as you put it.' Sherlock leaned in close to his ear as he whispered, a far from unpleasant sensation, and looked vaguely offended as he left John standing in the middle of the shop while he paid for the shirt.
John sniffed unobtrusively. There was a faint spicy musk in the air, the ridiculous vanilla candles in the fitting room had been masking it.
They left the shop and got into a cab, travelling into a part of town John was unfamiliar with. It had the look of somewhere halfway to being fashionable, like most of London seemed to these days, the shop windows advertising organic this and artisanal that. Sherlock ignored all this and headed straight for an alley off a side street.
'Not a recent crime scene then?' John looked around at the newly laid concrete. He felt faintly silly carrying the shirt in an embossed white bag with a flourish of cerise tissue paper coming out of the top.
'New Years Eve 1949. An alpha was killed in this alley. His omega was the prime suspect, his behaviour gave her plenty of motive, but she was working three streets away in a busy pub.'
'So someone else then?'
'Yes but something...something is wrong here.' Sherlock moved around looking at the area from different angles before snapping a couple of pictures with his phone. He then propped one crutch against the wall, pulled out one of Lestrade's stolen warrant cards and pounded on a door. It was opened by someone in chef whites and the detective disappeared inside for not more than five minutes.
When he came out he had the look, the 'I know what everyone missed' look.
'Where will we get a cab from here John?' He said picking up his other crutch.
'You going to tell me or..?'
'Later John - time for you to get ready for work isn't it?'
The deflection was obvious but accurate, by the time they got back he'd barely have time for a sandwich before he had to go out again.