"You look like shit." Lestrade said, sliding down the wall to sit across from the holding cell currently being occupied by a scrawny, slightly smelly, rather disheveled know-it-all.

"Police harassment." The bundle of dirty rags growled. "Don't think I won't go there. I've got the IQ of 17 nuclear physicists and a ridiculous amount of time on my hands."

"Not likely." Lestrade laughed. "Had the nicest little chat with your brother."

"That pompous, hormone-driven imbecile." Sherlock mumbled. "What was he doing here?"

"Not bailing your arse out, that's for sure." Lestrade answered.

"Thank you for contributing to the rather extensive list of things he was not doing. We're all indebted to you." Sherlock drawled. "Now, would you maybe want to take a stab at my actual question?"

"Nope." Lestrade answered. "He said that if you were too high to be unable to predict his behavior than I am under no compunction to inform you as to the particulars of our conversation."

"Is there something in particular you wanted then?" Sherlock snapped. "If not, feel free to bugger off at any time."

"It doesn't have to be like this, you know." Lestrade said.

"Trying your hand at therapy now, Sergeant?" Sherlock sighed. "I doubt it'll be a much more successful venture than your current occupation."

"Just because you don't have what you want," Lestrade continued. "Doesn't mean that you just check out and give up. So, you don't fit the 'normal Alpha' profile, who cares? Stop wallowing in self-pity and find something that you love and commit to it."

"Please don't transfer your own domestic problem onto me." Sherlock said darkly. "Just because your wife is currently shagging your brother because he's an Alpha and has a bigger cock, doesn't mean I'm the one with a problem."

"My marital problems aside." Lestrade continued on with a grim frown. "I'm not the one taking out my issues on the general public and tripping balls because nobody loves me. Grow the fuck up. Find something that makes you get out of bed in the morning and build your life around that. Don't fucking waste your life because you're pissed it isn't perfect. Nobody's is. We've all just come to terms with that while you're just too stubborn and high to see what's right in front of you."

"Where do I fill out the 'moving speech' evaluation card?" Sherlock snapped.

"I don't fucking need your approval." Lestrade answered. "But we both know that you're wasting your life away as is. What you do on a crime scene is completely bat shit crazy and you love it. But if you keep trying to break in to my crime scenes high as fucking kite then I will keep arresting you and soon your brother won't be able to make the paperwork disappear."

"You underestimate his ability to manipulate events." Sherlock drawled.

"Not if that's what our little chat was about." Lestrade quipped.

Lestrade watched as the bundle of rags curled tighter in on itself and for several minutes the silence was almost deafening. Sherlock finally seemed to come back to himself with a sigh.

"Sober then?" he asked quietly.

"Sober." Lestrade answered firmly.

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Sherlock waited most of the morning for Dr. Watson to return. He had spent most of the night in his mind palace but he'd shook himself out of his daze at around 5am and had been waiting ever since so he could share his newest observations with Dr. Watson. It was just coming up on 9am when his abysmal brother strode confidently through the door.

"Go away, Mycroft." He drawled.

"Forgive me for wanting to ensure your good health." Mycroft said wandering over to the window to stare out blandly.

"You've ensured it, now bugger off." Sherlock said fiddling with the scratchy sheets.

"You seem rather anxious." Mycroft said. "Nervous about anything in particular?"

"I'm not nervous." Sherlock huffed. "I'm just bored. And I'm waiting for my doctor to discharge me."

"Dr. Stamford isn't due to arrive until close to noon today." Mycroft answered.

"Not him." Sherlock drawled. "My surgeon. He's more than capable of discharging me."

Mycroft finally turned around to gaze curiously at his brother. Seems I reacted just in time. Imagine, my brother attaching himself to a used Omega. How hateful. Mycroft thought to himself. He smirked knowingly before answering.

"Yes, well." He shrugged. "I'm sure the doctors you see today will be more than capable of seeing to your care. Goodbye, dear brother."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and continued to wait and shred the sheets of his bed until he heard a set of male feet striding toward his room. He felt a strange desire to smooth his unwashed hair back from his face but shook himself from that ludicrous thought and decided on an exasperated smirk instead.

"It's about time…" He began smirking.

"I do believe I deserve a bit more respect than that, Mr. Holmes." That irritating Dr. Thompson said with a barely suppressed triumphant smirk on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked letting his irate mood color his tone.

"I work here." The man said with a bland grin.

"Yes," Sherlock growled. "And so does Doctor Watson and I've been informed that he would be seeing to my care this morning."

"Oh, you haven't heard?" The man said with glee. "That imposter was fired this morning. Imagine, an unbonded freak like him, pretending to be a doctor. How utterly repulsive."

Sherlock felt something sharp claw at his chest and throat.

"What happened?" Sherlock heard himself ask in a quiet voice.

"Apparently some government official was reviewing records of all the physicians at this facility and was able to spot Watson's falsified files." Dr. Thompson answered. "Good on him, too. He put the entire hospital at risk. What would've happened if he went into heat during a procedure? If anybody asked me, I'd say that Omega needs a firm hand to keep him in line. The presumption…"

"Nobody asked you." Sherlock snapped before hurling his cup of his at the hateful man. Dr. Thompson wasn't quick enough to duck and strode out of the room in a huff dripping water from his appalling excuse for a face. He fumbled angrily for his phone before practically breaking the damn thing as he pressed roughly on the keys.

You're a complete bastard. SH

I was simply doing my duty as a government official. Dr. Watson was putting himself and his patients in unnecessary danger with his little game. MH

I never imagined that you were one of the bigoted fools who believe that Omegas are simply possessions. SH

I'm not going to fight with you on this Sherlock. This was for his protection more than anything. He should just find a nice Beta to bond with and then he will be more than welcome back at St. Bart's. MH

He doesn't want that. SH

You're showing an unhealthy interest in Dr. Watson. I suggest you cease this nonsense. MH

Sherlock tossed his phone at the end of the bed and sighed in disgust. He wasn't showing an "unhealthy interest" in the doctor. He was just feeling residual guilt which was completely normal. It was obviously his fault that Dr. Watson was found out. If he'd had any other surgeon, then the doctor's secret would still be safe.

"Damn, damn and double damn." Sherlock grumbled. "That's my day ruined."

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"Unfortunately, we can only promise you part-time work for the foreseeable future." Sarah sighed heavily. "But this is the best clinic in the city and at least no one will question your use of the hormone suppressants."

"Right." John said blandly, glancing over the pristine waiting room and state-of-the-art technology. "Most of my patients will be?"

"Mostly, it will be soon-to-be mothers and Omegas with mild illnesses like colds and the flu. They'll bring the young ones here as well up to puberty." Sarah answered. "Not your normal gig, I know, but this is the best I could do for you."

"Yeah, thanks." John sighed. "Can't imagine I'll be able to stay for long. London housing costing what it does."

"If it comes to that, we can talk about finding you placement in the country." Sarah said firmly. "You'll be fine, John. You always are."

"Right…of course…" John answered. "I'll be fine."

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John's entire body felt like it had been ripped to shreds as he tried to shove off the sedatives. His abdomen ached and his limbs felt like they'd been encased by cement as he slowly opened his eyes into the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital. He searched the room and felt his heart swell and his lungs squeeze when he laid eyes on his bondmate.

"Sam." He breathed weakly in relief. "What happened? Is the baby alright?"

"You lost it." Sam said in a strange monotone with a dark sneer. "It died."

John entire body tensed and shook with sorrow. He could barely register what was going on around him as he fought back the panic that was pulling at his mind. More than anything he focused in on Sam's face and the complete lack of emotion that he was exuding. John tried to reach out and take his hand but Sam just leaned back as if John disgusted him. His panic increased tenfold as he started to babble almost incoherently.

"We can try again." John said desperately. "We can. I'll be more careful next time, you'll see. My next heat should be within the next eight months. It'll be perfect, I promise. Please, Sam. Say something, anything."

John started to hyperventilate as Sam rose quickly from his chair and strode out of the room without another glance at his bondmate. John was experiencing a full-blown panic attack at this point and the nurses were rushing in as alerts were sounding out of the machines he was still hooked up to. He couldn't focus, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't seem to grasp what the doctor was saying to him. Everything went fuzzy and white around the edges and they finally pushed something into his IV that pulled him back into the cold darkness, leaving him alone once again.

When he woke next the doctor evenly and emotionlessly explained the damage done to his body. The fetus that had died due to the trauma of his fall, the scarred walls that would never be able to allow a fertilized egg to attach and grow, and he absorbed all of it with the weight of Sam's absence sitting heavily on his chest. He spent the rest of the day waiting for Sam to return to his room. For his bondmate to hold him and tell him it would be alright, to be kissed and comforted through the pain that was flaying him alive. But he never came. It wasn't until the next morning that the hospital's case manager brought him the paperwork already signed by Sam requesting a formal blood-scrubbing procedure for John that would essentially break their bond as well as the paperwork to sever all connection with each other including any rights John had to any of their shared property. He never saw Sam again after that first few minutes after waking up in the hospital. He was alone as the procedure left him even more weak and nauseous and dizzy. The representative from the Institute showed up in his room after he'd been brought back from the procedure and he ejected the contents of his stomach twice during that meeting: once, due to the fact that his body was protesting what had been done to him and twice, in realization that he'd never be worth anything again as an Omega. He wasn't wanted back considering his status and lack of reproductive capacities. They would provide him with a therapist but no more than that.

He spent the next two days in a dazed stupor until he was discharged into the care of his parents. He'd never be the same again. He'd always be broken.

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"Did you even read the entire report I sent you or did you just focus on a few keywords and then proceed to make an ass…butt out of yourself?" Anthea said angrily as she glared at her Alpha.

"I…" Mycroft said, pulling on the knot to his tie and clearing his throat awkwardly. "Well…I…"

"I love you Mycroft Holmes." She said, darkly. "But I can't say that I like you very much right now."

"Anthea, love…" He tried again.

"That poor man." She said firmly. "That poor, lonely, broken man and you toss him out of a job he worked so hard for because you have some extremely old-fashioned views of what the world should be."

"Dear, I…" He again attempted.

"No," She said firmly, cradling their son to her chest. "I trusted you with that information. I never once thought that you would belittle his hard work and his pain. I can't even look at you right now."

"He was breaking the law…" Mycroft began.

"I break the law every other day with some of the searches you ask me to do." She cut him off. "Do you want to have me thrown in prison for it?"

"Of course not." He answered firmly.

"You let that crazy brother of yours get high and get arrested for years without having one bloody charge on his record." She said angrily. "Is that fair?"

"No, but…" He sighed.

"You will make this right." She told him. "You will do whatever you can to ease his transition into this terrible, fu…fricking mess you've made and you will do it with a godda…goshdarn smile on your face, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." He said, blushing furiously.

"Now, Franklin needs to be put down for his nap." She said turning away before he could place a kiss on her cheek. "I don't need you this evening so feel free to spend the entire afternoon and late evening at work."

"Of course." He said humbly. "How much time do you need?"

"Honestly?" She asked angrily. "About a week. But you can come home tonight and sleep on the couch if you want."

"Of course." He answered, he made his way quietly out of the house before turning back. "I love you."

"I love you too," She bit out. "Now leave before I start shredding your favorite ties."

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"I really, really don't need your help." John said gravely as he strode down the street.

"Just hear me out." Mike said, stumbling and panting to keep up. "I've got this mate. She's a Beta and she's looking for a bondmate. I think you'd get on fabulously. I don't think she'd mind that you want a job outside the home. She's a real progressive person. Have a couple kids and then you can come back to the hospital."

John's heart lurched and he fought down the anger burning at his throat. Mike was one of his only friends now, almost everyone else at the hospital having forsaken him. He couldn't afford to anger the only ally he had at the moment.

"I don't need a bondmate." John bit out. "I need a flatmate, but honestly, who'd want me for a flatmate?"

"You're the second person that said that to me today." Mike said with a wry giggle.

"Who was the first?" John asked curiously.

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"Dr. Watson?" Sherlock asked as he took in the doctor standing almost meekly behind his primary physician.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes." John said nervously.

Sherlock took a few seconds to take in his surgeon's appearance before smirking lightly and asking, "How do you feel about the violin?"

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"What are you formally going to arrest me now?" John growled as he started at the umbrella-clad man in front of him.

"Not unless you want me to." Mycroft shrugged and gestured to the table with a full tea service. "Please, sit. Tea?"

"I don't want bloody tea." John answered darkly.

"It's your favorite kind." The man said. "I bought you flowers as well."

"Excuse me?" John asked flabbergasted. "Who the bloody hell are you? And why are you buying me flowers?"

"My Omega informed me in no uncertain terms that I had to make amends." The man answered.

"Amends?" John responded.

"Yes." Mycroft answered. "Of course. I also purchased a romantic comedy for you to enjoy with some popcorn."

"You want to make amends by following the recommendations of Seventeen magazine?" John asked warring between anger, amusement, and exasperation.

"The literature was quite adamant about the success rates of these items." Mycroft answered with a shrug.

"Well, then by all means." John said sarcastically. "Will you offer to braid my hair later as well? Who are you?"

"Mycroft Holmes." He answered. "I believe you know my brother."

"Sherlock is your brother?" John asked feeling his blood spike.

"Yes, but rest assured that he didn't tell me your secret." Mycroft answered. "I bugged his hospital room while he was sleeping."

"You bugged his hospital room?" John echoed. "You lot are bloody barmy."

"A sentiment many people share." Mycroft answered. "Now back to business. I need you to accept my gifts."

"Why?" John asked curiously.

"So that my Omega forgives me and allows me to sleep somewhere other than the sofa." Mycroft answered.

"And flowers are supposed to fix it?" John said. "You cost me my bloody livelihood!"

"I'm also offering a rather generous monthly stipend to make up for your drop in income." Mycroft replied.

"Keep it." John bit out. "I don't need your bloody charity."

"But…" Mycroft tried again.

"And leave me the hell alone." John said before turning and striding out of the empty restaurant.

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"There is no way in hell I'm agreeing to that." John said firmly.

"It's a completely logical solution." Sherlock said evenly. "It says so right here in this reference book."

"It would be a completely logical solution," John admitted. "If I were a mental patient. Sherlock, I won't now, nor will I ever, jump you, force you to impregnate me, and then tie you down to a family you don't want, you great prat."

"Omegas are known for…" Sherlock tried but John cut him off by grabbing at the book Sherlock was waving around.

"Where exactly did you get all this nonsense?" John asked incredulous flipping through the paperback. "This entire book is complete bullshit. No wonder you want to lock me in my room at night. This isn't a factual text, you great idiot, it's one of those awful smutty romance novels."

"Most of the readers noted in their reviews about the realism in this story." Sherlock defended himself. "No smoke without fire."

"Would you listen to yourself?" John argued. "Sherlock, that book is about an Omega's heat. And unlike the protagonist in the book, all Omegas can predict that a heat is coming weeks in advance. It's not just going to pop up suddenly. And, considering the fact that I'm currently taking suppressants, I don't even have heats."

"It says here that just one missed dose of the medication and the Omega's heat can be triggered within hours."

"Oh my god." John said. "I still can't believe I'm having this conversation. Sherlock, I need you to hear me right now, alright? I'm a doctor. I'm also an Omega who has been taking the same pill regimen for the past 15 years, okay? Can you at least trust my medical opinion?"

"Of course." Sherlock said without reservation. "You're a doctor."

"Okay then." John sighed. "The adherence rate for hormone suppressants is 60%, which means I could miss 12 doses a month, even 12 doses in a row, and not feel any residual side effects. Now ask yourself if I seem like the type of bloke to miss 12 consecutive days of the only medication that keeps me under the radar of every other person in this city?"

"No." Sherlock said begrudgingly.

"Right," John concurred. "So can we agree that locking me in my room each night and only allowing me to come out after you've given me my damn pill would be a bit insane?"

"I just want to be cautious." Sherlock huffed. "I have no desire to be a slave to an Omega's sex drive."

"Yes, well." John countered. "I have no desire to be kept like a fucking prisoner by a domineering Alpha."

"So we're in agreement?" Sherlock asked.

"We already were, you tit." John sighed.

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Just so everyone's aware: I'm an avid reader, writer, and lover of smutty romance novels. No offense meant! I just think that would be John's reaction to Sherlock's 'research'.

Thanks so much for reading!