When they arrived at New Scotland Yard, Lestrade was waiting—but the alpha DI took a huge step away from Sherlock before casting a questioning glance at John. John just shook his head in response because he knew how it must seem: Sherlock showing up covered in John's alpha scent with bruises all over his neck.

Sherlock sighed. "Honestly, Lestrade, you saw the tape. You know the marks are from the monster you've got locked up. John is just feeling needy this morning."

"Needy?" John scoffed. "You—"

Sherlock, true to form, ignored him and kept walking. "Has he said anything?"

"He's been spouting off about responsible omega behavior. Privileged alpha rights. A bunch of political shite, if you ask me, but he's yet to give us any useful information." Lestrade ran a hand over the back of his head. "Look, Sherlock, he'll talk eventually, won't he? Guys like this love the attention. You don't need to talk to him, especially after …" He paused, and Sherlock shouted.

"What's the matter with everyone? Can no one finish a sentence today? Perhaps the odious man locked up in your cells will be able to have a coherent conversation."

John put a hand on Sherlock's arm and was surprised that his touch made the detective's eyebrows relax and his shoulders lower. He glanced at Lestrade. "Give us a minute?"

The DI nodded and gave them some space. John stepped right in front of Sherlock and took both his arms in his hands. He felt too warm, just like he had the day before, pumped full of heat-inducing Propanacor. Yes, Sherlock still had lingering traces of drugs in his system—tranquilizer included—but John suspected the warmth had more to do with his emotions.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm not a victim, John," he said quietly. "I don't mean to be considered one. Not by you, and not by Geoff."

"Greg."

Sherlock laughed—a small, soft sound—and leaned his forehead down against John's. They didn't act like this. They never acted like this. But, suddenly, John wanted to; he adored the unexpected feel of Sherlock's breath on his face.

However, John knew this wasn't the Sherlock he knew. This was Sherlock post-heat and clingy. This was the omega side that Sherlock tried to hide, and John would not take advantage. He stood perfectly still and waited for the consulting detective to put on his tough veneer. He waited with their foreheads pressed together, his hands on Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock pulled back a moment later, and there he was: the ice cold supposed sociopath with a gaze like a gunshot. "Lestrade!" He turned away from John, and together, they made their way to the interrogation room where their killer waited.

Lestrade handed John a file as they stood, the three friends, and stared at a large, bald-headed alpha who looked about twice John's body weight. Not that John was intimidated. In that moment, his rage made him feel ten feet tall.

"His name is Saul West," the DI said. "He's a delivery driver for a flower company. Was charged with assault a year ago by his omega girlfriend but never convicted."

"Hmm," Sherlock said and made for the door.

John almost dropped the file in his rush to grab his friend. "Where are you going?"

"To question a murderer."

"Right. Not without me."

Sherlock pulled his arm away from John's grip and put his hand on the wall in an effort to hide his still missing equilibrium. The blue-green glare he shot John was enough to make the doctor freeze, even if his fingers did twitch at his sides.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I'm going in without you. Another alpha in the room will only serve as a distraction, especially since I smell of you. West's responses will be intended to rile you, not give us factual information."

John shook his head.

"He is handcuffed to the table, John. He's not a threat to me. Let me work."

John stared through glass at the bald man with big muscles.

"I don't need your permission."

"Then, what are you waiting for?" John snapped.

Sherlock tilted his head. "I'm not doing this to hurt you. I need to stop men like Saul West. For omegas like Emily and … Violet."

John hadn't known the dead female omega's name.

"I'll be all right."

John nodded and watched his friend spin around, step into the brightly lit interrogation room, and close the door behind him. He felt Lestrade glance his way as they both took position at the one-way mirror, but John didn't look back.

West's head shot up at the new arrival in the room, and his dark eyes stared at Sherlock. "Well. You smell different, my pretty thing."

From where John stood, he could see Sherlock smirk. "Miss me?"

"Oh, yeah." West leaned back in his metal chair, handcuffs rattling where they attached to the table. "Your skin smells sweet as honey with a heat coming on, and ain't your neck the prettiest shade of purple today? Huh. Wish I still had that video I made so I could replay all those desperate sounds you were makin' while I was bitin' and suckin' on you."

John blinked and took a steadying breath through his nose.

"Didn't know you had an alpha, though. You reek of 'im right now. Can't be much of a man if he lets you take suppressants."

"More of a man than you," Sherlock drawled as he took a seat across from West.

West snickered. "I'm man enough to enjoy that sinful mouth of yours." He licked his lips, and, behind the mirror, Lestrade had to grab John's arm to keep him from flying into the room.

"The only way you can hold an omega's attention is by handcuffing one to a bed and pumping them full of drugs. That's what started all this, isn't it? The omega female you assaulted—your girlfriend—she was going to leave you, wasn't she? Found an alpha who better fulfilled her needs?"

West leaned forward, as did John. "You don't know nothin' about that."

"She rejected you, so you hurt her," Sherlock said, hands folded calmly in front of him. John couldn't see Sherlock's face from where he stood, but he recognized the pose: the consulting detective was poised to strike. "But that wasn't enough. She made you hate all omegas but independent omegas most of all. Unbonded, independent omegas who didn't need an alpha to give them children, fulfill their lives. Your hatred became an obsession."

West shook his head. "You deserve it. Every one of you."

"Deserve to be killed?"

"Exterminated," West spat. "A man like you should belong to a man like me. Imagine how 'appy I was to see your name on that suppressants list. Couldn't wait to get my hands on you. The great Sherlock Holmes, a wasted omega." The chair creaked when he moved. "I seen you in the papers, on the news, solving your cases with that little alpha doctor riding your coattails—when all Doctor Watson really wants is to see you writhing on his cock."

John ground his teeth. "Lestrade …"

"Leave it," the DI whispered. "Sherlock's under his skin."

"Where did you get the list of omegas on suppressants?" Sherlock asked.

West ignored the question and leaned forward in his seat. "Don't you see the way he looks at you? Have to be blind not to notice he wants you, wants to make you beg and scream. Bond with you. Make you his pretty pet forever."

Sherlock leaned away, shoulders relaxed. "You don't hear too much about alphas with erectile dysfunction, Mr. West. It's laughable really. You must have a very discreet pharmacist."

West blinked. "What are you on about?"

"Is that why she left you, or did it start happening after your girlfriend went away?"

"Nah, you don't know what you're talking about."

"You think I didn't notice?" Sherlock continued. "During your awkward fumblings yesterday, you never gained an erection."

West tsked. "You don't remember nothin'. You were drugged."

"I remember." Sherlock's voice rumbled through the room, and John felt like his throat was closing up. Sherlock leaned closer to West. "I remember all of it."

John watched West's gaze darken even further with anger. Through the glass, John even imagined he could hear the sound of a hatred-soaked swallow.

Sherlock tapped his finger on the tabletop. "Now, I could keep your physiological failings out of the papers if you tell me where you got your list of names. After all, wouldn't want word getting out about your problem, because what kind of a big, brave alpha … can't … get it … up?"

John frankly fought the urge to applaud.