It was the discreet pharmacist, of course, who gave West the list of unbonded omegas on suppressants—a leap Sherlock said he'd already made but confirmed following his threat to their murderer's alpha status. Of course, as soon as Sherlock rejoined John and Lestrade outside the interrogation room, he promptly told Lestrade to arrest the pharmacist. And also spread word far and wide that Saul West was an alpha with erectile dysfunction.
When John chuckled, Sherlock glanced down at him. "No need to keep my word to someone so pathetic."
John agreed—and wanted to get Sherlock back home immediately to check his injuries. However, Sherlock had other ideas. He wanted to visit Emily in the omega hospital. She was West's other surviving victim. An omega named Violet had not been so lucky.
On the drive over, Sherlock called in a favor. Usually, alphas weren't allowed in omega hospitals for obvious reasons. Who knew if one might snap and go into rut? In the taxi, Sherlock said, quite easily, "I will be bringing my mate, and our entry is not to be impeded."
His mate. How could one, simple word make John's heart beat so fast, even if it wasn't technically true? He looked at his best friend—busy texting—handsome as always, albeit eyes red with his need for more rest. John's alpha scent from his earlier caress now waned on Sherlock's skin, and even though a part of John wanted to rub his face against the consulting detective's neck, he didn't. Instead, he brushed back a single black curl from the center of Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock froze at the minute touch but went right back to texting as soon as John's hand pulled away.
Emily was up on the fourth floor of the hospital. John rapidly remembered why omegas and alphas had different hospitals. The place sang with the scent of the unbonded, which usually would have made John at least a little excited. For some reason, that day, he felt nothing.
He realized with a start that he felt nothing because the only omega he now wanted was …. Oh, shit.
John almost fell over as they stepped out of the elevator.
Sherlock caught him by the elbow. "John?"
John stared up into his friend's red-edged eyes. "It's nothing." He shook his head. "Nothing."
Sherlock studied his face.
"I'm fine," John said lightly. "Just lost my balance." And just realized I love you. Really, really love you. Shit.
Sherlock nodded and kept moving as John continued berating himself.
If only I hadn't smelled you in heat. If only you weren't acting so adorably clingy. If only Saul West hadn't said all those things about how much I want you.
John froze in the hospital hallway because he'd almost forgotten all those things West had said. The words echoed in John's head: "He wants to bond with you, don't he? Make you his pretty pet forever."There was no way in hell Sherlock had forgotten all that, so why hadn't he mentioned it?
Yet. He hadn't mentioned it yet.
Within the last twenty-four hours, things had changed, and, for John, they would never be the same.
Before he could have a further conniption, though, Sherlock turned left ahead of him. John hurried to catch up and stepped into a well-lit hospital room where a small, battered female omega rested, surrounded by IVs and beeping machines. Sherlock honestly should have still been in a hospital, too, John thought, although he did seem stronger than he had that morning.
The young woman smiled weakly when she saw Sherlock. "Hey," she said.
Sherlock took her hand. "Hello."
Her blonde hair circled her head like a limp halo. "What on Earth are you doing walking around, Sherlock? You should be in bed." Her quiet voice cracked.
"I have John to keep me standing."
John stood up a bit taller at that, and Emily's light blue eyes noticed him in the doorway.
"John." She waved him closer and smiled as she reached up with her free hand to clasp his. "Sherlock said you would find us."
John swallowed down what could have easily been the beginning of tears. Of course Sherlock would say something like that. His faith in John was sometimes alarming.
"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked.
"Weak." She sniffed. "I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back …"
Sherlock nodded. "It'll pass."
A tear rolled down her pale cheek. "I couldn't have survived without you."
Sherlock, in a rare show of kindness, wiped the tear away, and John fought the urge to wrap the consulting detective in a hug.
Emily turned her attention to John. "Sherlock told me the story of how you met. I think it's one of his favorite stories. He tells it with such enthusiasm." She smiled. "Of course, I really like the story about Sherlock going to Buckingham Palace in a sheet, too."
John looked fondly at his friend. "Could have given the queen a coronary."
Emily laughed, joined a moment later by Sherlock's rumbling chuckle.
The young woman squeezed John's hand. "I'm so glad I got to meet you, John. You're his hero."
John bit the inside of his cheek to keep his eyes from leaking.
"Sherlock, what happened to the man who did this to us?"
"He's going to jail forever. Probable accidental death within the first month of incarceration."
Emily's eyebrows rose. "What did we talk about? Detectives aren't supposed to kill people."
"Only bad people."
She rolled her eyes toward John. "Will you keep him in check, please?"
John chuckled. "Impossible."
"No one is ever going to hurt you again," Sherlock whispered to the tiny omega who closely resembled a forest sprite. "Now, promise me you'll sleep."
She nodded. "Promise you'll come see me again?"
"Yes."
"And John, too?"
"Of course," Sherlock said.
Emily squeezed John's hand. "Our hero."
In the elevator, John stumbled over his words.
"Yes?" Sherlock emphasized the S until it sounded like a hiss.
"That was …" John struggled to collect himself. "I've never seen you like that with anyone."
"Like what?"
"Well, beyond the threat of having a man murdered in prison, you were … sweet."
Sherlock scoffed. "I am never sweet."
"Apparently, you are."
"It's just the-the … I mean the—"
"You also never stutter." John smirked as they exited the elevator and walked through the foyer.
"Residual drugs in my system, John."
Wind whipped at them as they stepped out onto the warm London street, and John caught a mouthful of Sherlock's smell again—not the omega-in-heat perfume that sent his baser instincts into a tailspin but the sweet-smoky smell that was Sherlock. Sherlock the man, not the omega.
"Perhaps Lestrade has a new case for us."
"No, we're going home."
"John, I—"
John turned to face his friend, eyes the color of an iceberg in the afternoon sun. "Sherlock Holmes, the only reason you're not in that hospital is because you demanded to go home last night. You should be in that hospital, but since you're not and I'm your doctor, your doctor says you're going home and getting some bloody rest."
An odd expression crossed Sherlock's face, one John barely recognized.
Apprehension. Sherlock was nervous to go home.
"What's wrong?" John asked.
"Nothing." Sherlock looked away and chewed on his top lip before hailing a cab.