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John couldn’t be considered as observant as Sherlock, not in the way of deductions—but he could, however, read people. As he steps off the tube, the bitter-sweet scent of fear trickles into his nostrils. He glances around, eyeing the crowd for where the source is coming from. If anyone else notices it, they don’t acknowledge it at all.
Shrugging his bag further onto his shoulders, John follows the trail through the subway station until it grows stronger and he spots a small, frail looking body standing at the edge of the platform. An omega, looking quite out of place—as if he had no idea what he was doing.
John eases his way over, making sure the omega can see and smell him from far off. “Hey,” John greets, trying not to feel awkward about bothering a complete stranger, “You look like you could use some help.”
The omega jumps, pupils drawing into slits as he rings his hands, which are covered in gloves ill-suited for the summer weather.
“Oh—um—I—” The omega swallows, scenting the air. “A-are you um…”
“An omega? Yeah. I know I don’t smell like one.” John looks away, tightening his grip on his backpack strap. “It’s a long story, that one. I’m John. I could smell your distress from the other side of the tube.” That makes the omega pale, lips contorting into a small ‘oh’ of horror.
“I didn’t realize,” He squeaks, giving rapid glances around as if looking for someone, “I’m sorry for d-disturbing you. I’m okay, really!”
The shift of the omega’s head allows John to see a bruise blooming underneath the curve of his brown scarf, and his eyes narrow in response. “You’re running from someone.” Their eyes meet, brown on blue, and for a moment John thinks he’s going to be pushed away again—but then the omega’s shoulders slump.
“My name’s Arlo. I’m running from… from my Alpha.” he says shamefully, head bowed. “I didn’t th-think about bringing anything with me, I just left. Not that I had much anyway, b-but a change of clothes would’ve been nice.” John’s lips twitch into a frown and he reaches out with one hand, letting it hover a few inches away from Arlo’s shoulder.
“How long have you been running?” John asks, looking Arlo over with this new information in mind. He looked tired and pale, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in many weeks.
“Three days.” Arlo mumbles. “I know that you shouldn’t l-leave your Alpha, th-that they’re supposed to take care of you, but… I just couldn’t do anything r-right. He had to k-keep punishing me, so I thought it’d be better to just… just leave, so he didn’t have to be mad anymore.” The omega’s words make John bristle, fury sparking in his chest at the injustice of it all.
He shifts, pressing his hand between Arlo’s shoulderblades lightly and guiding him away from the platform, back into the subway proper to sit down on a bench. “Listen, Arlo,” John tries to keep his voice even, to disguise his anger, “Good alphas don’t punish omegas. A relationship is give and take, not ‘give and don’t get anything back’. You did nothing wrong, and you did the right thing by running away, even if your instinct is telling you to go back right now.”
Arlo listens to him closely, though he keeps his head bowed in shame, eyes sparkling with tears. “I still could’ve done better. I’m not a very good cook, and I—I hurt too much to clean properly…”
“Do you have a job?” John asks, though he already knows the answer. Arlo shakes his head, picking at the fingers of his gloves.
“My um… my bonding was arranged.” Arlo mumbles under his breath, “By my packmates. I’ve n-never had a job.”
John digs his fingers into his jumper, taking a deep breath. In, out. Be calm, this poor creature needs you to be calm. “I see. That does make things harder, but it also means you have less things he can track you by.” His gaze leaves Arlo’s face, shifting out across the crowd. “You have nowhere to go, right? You could… come back to my flat. I have a roommate, he’s a detective. He might be able to help you.”
Arlo’s eyebrows furrow, confused. “Why do you want to help me?”
“Because if I were in your position, I’d hope someone would help me too.” A surge of guilt hits John as Arlo begins to sob freely into his scarf, burying his face in the fabric. “O-oh—no, don’t cry. Ah—please don’t cry.” He quickly wraps his arms around Arlo’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “It’s going to be okay, we’ll get you sorted out.”
It takes Arlo a few minutes to calm down, apologizing profusely as John gives him a handkerchief, wiping his eyes. “I’m always too emotional.” Arlo mumbles, sniffling quietly. “Sorry for getting y-your jacket wet… and worrying you.”
“Don’t apologize! I’m a doctor, it’s kind of my job to be bothered.” John gives him a grin and a pat on the back, one he hopes is comforting. “Even if I wasn’t, I still wouldn’t be bothered!” That gets a small smile and a laugh out of Arlo, who nods, wiping the last of his tears away.
“What are you a Doctor of?” He asks, letting John pull him to his feet, though his hands are trembling slightly.
“I was an army surgeon. Now I work part time at a low cost clinic, y’know. One of the ones the NHS outsources to.” John keeps his hand clasped in Arlo’s as he moves toward the exit, hoping to lend some stability to the man’s clearly unstable state. If he were braver, he would release some of his pheromones to help soothe him, but the scent might have the opposite affect.
“You? An army doctor?” Arlo’s eyes are big and round, disbelieving. “No! what about your pheromones? H-how—” Another sniff, “You don’t smell like a-an Omega.” A pause, a flinch. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Th-that was rude of me.”
“It’s fine. It’s usually the first thing people notice.” John chuckles, “I got shot through my scent gland, so I don’t smell like I used to. It’s not… a pleasant one.” He leads Arlo through the doors of the station, tramping up the stairs into the summer sun. “By the way, do you want me to hold your scarf and gloves? It’s quite hot out today.”
The omega shakes his head quickly, even though John could see the beads of sweat pearling on his forehead as soon as they step out into the sun. “No, it’s fine. I’m not hot.” He looks down at his hands, covered by dark, fluffy fabric. “So you don’t have an Alpha?”
“My roommate’s an alpha, but no,” John explains, “I’m happy as I am right now.”
“…Happy? without an Alpha?” Arlo murmurs thoughtfully, eyes flickering up toward the sky. “Strange.” John pretends not to hear it, approaching the street to wave down a cab.
“Taxi! Taxi—”
A harsh growl cuts through the air, loud, and Arlo lets out a panicked whimper. “He’s found me!” He clings to John’s hand for a moment, eyes welling with fresh tears. John doesn’t have time to react before the alpha is almost on top of them, fangs bared, eyes glinting—hatred and fury consuming his very soul. He was close to shifting, and there’s no telling what he would do if he got his fangs in Arlo.
“You think you can hide from me, Omega?” The Alpha snarls, reaching out for Arlo; John shoves himself between them, abruptly stopping the clawed hand short, lifting his chin up to keep his gaze leveled with the Alpha’s.
“I… I got lost, th-that’s all! I… I didn’t have money to come home,” Arlo pleads, “I’m sorry, Alpha.” The commotion begins to attract onlookers, and John eyes their surroundings warily, looking for an escape route. A busy street on one side, the subway on the other. There’s no way this frail man could make the distance needed to escape.
“And that’s why you’re following this filthy beta, huh? Going to spread your legs for him for some coin?” The words are spat with such violence that Arlo flinches, and a growl rumbles in John’s throat.
“Hey! Focus on me, knothead,” John snaps, “You wanna pick on an omega? Try me.” The alpha pauses, lips twitching, and then he laughs, cold and bitter.
“You? An omega? No, you’re right, I do smell your slaggy omega scent. No Alpha, huh? Not good enough to get a knot?” The Alpha sneers, at the same time Arlo begins tugging at the back of John’s shirt.
“P-please, it’s okay, John. I don’t want you getting hurt, j-just—let me go, I’m okay.” Arlo whispers, voice shaking. He tries to go around John but John shifts to block him, eyebrows furrowing. His refusal to let Arlo pass just angers the alpha more.
“Filthy, mateless breeders like you should be put in their place,” The alpha spits, lifting up a clawed hand, fully intended to rake across John’s cheek. John catches the offending arm, twisting it harshly until the alpha cries out in pain. John spins the man around with his other hand, giving him a harsh shove.
“Then do it, slick-for-brains,” John sneers right back, fur bursting from his neck, bones snapping and reforming. His clothes tear, but John hardly cares in that moment, leaving the fabric shredded in pieces on the ground.
The alpha turns, shifting in moments into a dark grey wolf, eyes blistering. The snarling and snapping of wolves attract a crowd, people from the station and the sidewalk stopping to stare and gawk. The grey wolf attacks in the most braindead of ways, forward, over and over again, snapping his foaming jaws.
John sidesteps him easily, smaller and quicker. He lunges, bowling the alpha over and sending them both sprawling in a flurry of tooth and claw. John’s fangs tear at the alpha’s chest, leaving deep rips in the flesh. He gets a couple of bitemarks, claws digging into the soft skin of his belly, but John’s thicker, healthier coat makes it difficult to find a grip on his skin as he rolls out of the alpha’s hold, giving a bone-shattering kick to the wolf’s side.
The alpha yelps in pain, scrambling to regain his footing, bloody and unsteady.
“Please, please stop them,” Arlo yelps to someone behind the two, John can just barely make out his desperate voice over the blood pounding in his ears. “He’s going to get hurt! He’s just a-an omega.”
John almost snorts at that, because all of the wounds he’d received so far have been horribly superficial, something he’d get in training back in the army. All while that repugnant lump of fur in front of him was panting, struggling not to run with his tail tucked. John lets out a teasing bark, curling his tail over his back; holding his head up high. You’re going to let an omega kick your tail? The taunt is clear, and it’s enough to make the alpha try again, to come back for a second round.
John is all too happy to provide, the alpha snarling and snapping his jaws directly in John’s face—trying to tear his ears off. To scar him, so no alpha would want him.
“Why should I? He’s holding his own just fine.” The voice is familiar, and John recognizes it subconsciously, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. It does, however, give him even more of a reason to show off.
John ducks his head, leaps backward with all the strength he can muster—well out of bite range. He makes the alpha take chase, a fruitless endeavor that only succeeds in the alpha getting nipped, bleeding ankles. John dodges around the side of the wolf again, teeth searing into his fluffy grey tail and chomping.
The howl this attack illicits makes John’s ears ring but he doesn’t let go until he feels the snap of the bone, nearly severing the limb in half. You’re lucky I don’t want to get arrested for excessive force, John thinks as he lets go, pinning the alpha to the dirty concrete while he’s still screaming in pain over his broken tail. John wraps his jaws around the alpha’s neck, teeth pricking into the soft flesh.
His opponent gives a weak thrash before whimpering, going limp. Submitting.
John doesn’t let go until the police arrive, dragging him off the other wolf.
Sighing, John shifts back, putting his hands behind his back so he can be cuffed.
“That’s not necessary.” Comes yet another familiar voice, Lestrade’s. John slumps his shoulders in relief, smiling even though blood stains his fangs.
“DI Lestrade, I am chuffed to see you.” John says, voice thick with appreciation. “Sorry about the mess.”
“I heard it was for a good cause.” Lestrade gives him a pat on the shoulder, looking over to two of his men, hauling the injured alpha to his feet so they can help him into an ambulance. “Are you alright?”
“Peachy.” John nods, “Though I’d like some clothes, if possible.”
“That can be arranged,” John perks up at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, a real grin breaking out onto his face. He turns to greet Sherlock, eyes glowing joyfully. Sherlock has shrugged off his coat, wrapping it around John’s shoulders and beginning to button it so his bare form is hidden from any prying eyes. “Absolutely fantastic performance, Watson. Truly magnificent.”
John’s cheeks flush. “High praise.” Sherlock gives a sniff, though he looks terribly pleased with himself.
Arlo appears out of the throng, finally able to convince the cops that he needed to talk to John. He watches the two for a moment before giving a small, nervous smile. “I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess,” Arlo says softly, hesitant as if he’s unwanted. John blinks in surprise, shaking his head.
“You didn’t drag me into anything. If I could spend my days fighting morons, I would.”
“That’s why you joined the military, aye?” Lestrade jokes, before he puts his business face on. “John, I know it was in self defense, but we need your—”
“Hey! Slick-for-brains!” All eyes turn to Arlo’s alpha, the man straining against the police holding him back, eyes squarely on Sherlock. “That your Omega? Not even alpha enough to mark him? You’re pathetic! Treating a breeder like that, like it’s anything more than a—”
“Yes yes,” Sherlock lifts his voice, cutting him off with a roll of his eyes, “Everyone knows by now that you have no knot. It’s a shame, but I suppose it’s fitting for someone of your calibre. They do make surgeries now, you know! You could get an implant.” It’s an insult and sincere advice all rolled into one, and it renders the alpha speechless for a moment, enough for him to be dragged backward—before he’s screaming again, this time, death threats.
“Is he really knotless?” John turns to Arlo for confirmation, and Arlo just lowers his head, cheeks flushed bright red.
“Um…”
“Holy shit,” John laughs, leaning a bit closer to Sherlock, “All that, and he couldn’t even hope to help you through heats properly?” Arlo flushes even redder, hiding his face in his scarf.
“John, I really must—” Lestrade reaches out for John’s arm, which evidently, is a mistake. Sherlock puts his body in the way of Lestrade’s, clearly blocking his access though he’s trying to be discreet about it, “Sherlock, he’s a witness to a crime and been involved in a fight, I need this statement.”
“He is filthy and tired,” Sherlock dismisses the cop outright, gaze hardening. “He needs a warm bath and his nest, not a stuffy interrogation room, Inspector.” John swallows, reaching out to grab Sherlock’s hand, attempting to soothe the anger he can scent on the wind.
“It’ll just take a moment of his time, I really—”
Sherlock bares his fangs, eyes glittering like shards of ice. “He defended himself against someone who attacked him first! Check the camera footage from the subway and you’ll get all the information you need. There’s a camera pointed directly at this location. My omega is tired, and he needs to go home.” Sherlock is able to control his pheromones at the best of times, but the ash in his scent is becoming more pronounced by the second.
Lestrade tightens his jaw, staring Sherlock in the eyes, and then relents. He dips his head before turning to John with a sigh. “Just come by the station tomorrow, alright John? We’ll take care of your friend,” Lestrade nods at Arlo, who looks relieved at the prospect, “So just… get some rest.”
“Thanks, Lestrade.” John replies, giving him an apologetic smile. Sherlock is tense at his side, eyeing the inspector with such vitriol you’d think he broke Sherlock’s violin. “Arlo, if you need anything, mate, please,” John takes a step toward the smaller omega, eyebrows furrowed in worry, “Reach out. we live at 2-2-1-B Baker street, and our home will always be open to you. Mrs. Hudson will let you in. Doesn’t matter what time of day, this git doesn’t sleep.” John motions with his thumb back to Sherlock, who snorts, crossing his arms.
“…I will.” Arlo sniffs, “I promise.” he wipes a tear away, struggling not to cry. “Ah… not again… I—You’ve done so much for me already. I just… I’m really happy.” John pulls him into a hug, doing his best not to smear the blood from his hands onto Arlo’s only shirt.
“It’ll only get better from here, mate. Just stay strong.” John promises as Arlo hugs him back, holding tight as long as he can until Sherlock begins to nudge him away. “Bye, Lestrade—Bye, Arlo.”
“Bye, John, see you and your alpha later.” Arlo waves good-bye. John flushes, turning back to deny that statement, but Sherlock is already dragging him off toward the street to get a cab.
The moment Sherlock and John get through the front door of 221B, Sherlock is tugging the coat from John’s shoulders. “Bathroom, now,” he orders, making John flush.
His cheeks burn even though Sherlock had seen him naked many times before. “Alright, alright! I’m going!” Sherlock ushers him into the bathroom, drawing a bath for him. He sets the water to the perfect temperature on the first try, sets a dry towel on the small table beside the tub, and then reorients himself.
“I must make you something to eat. Something light, the heat and stress will make a full meal difficult.” Sherlock says, voice firm, and John knows better than to argue with it. He nods, obediently sinking into the just-hot-enough water.
“You got it, Sher.”
It’s only after his bath—a long soak that definitely helps him relax—and a meal that Sherlock ushers John back to his bed, upstairs in 221B. John’s eyes go wide as he sees what’s become of it. This morning it was cleaned and made to military standard, tight edges and fluffed pillows, and now it was a nest.
Sherlock must have dragged every single pillow and blanket in the entire house to make it, forming a snuggly, safe barrier between the outside world for John to curl up in.
“You made this? For me?” John croaks, suddenly feeling choked up.
Sherlock doesn’t respond immediately, and John is surprised for a moment until he turns his and realizes the man has shifted into his wolf form, blue-black coat shining in the lamplight. “Up you get,” Sherlock orders with a gruff growl, more wolfish than man. John obeys, letting the robe wrapped around him slip from his body as he transforms into his own sand-yellow wolf.
John clambers up into his nest, inhaling deeply as he nuzzles around in the pillows—breathing in Sherlock’s scent, left behind from when he made it just a few minutes prior. It smells cozy and safe, like home. John gives a couple of turns before flopping down, splaying out onto his belly and resting his head on one of the feather pillows.
Sherlock follows suit, nestling into it beside him.
“It’s great,” John rumbles, sighing through his nose. Sherlock gives a soft snort, nuzzling his face into John’s paws and lapping at the grit and blood trapped between the toes. John is surprised (it’s usually him doing this sort of thing for Sherlock), but he allows it, letting his eyes slide shut. “You did a good job making this nest.”
“Your nest,” Sherlock corrects, nipping at a bit of stone before moving his attentions to elsewhere on John’s body. “I know you do not feel the need to make your own, but they are the most biologically effecient way to deal with trauma.”
“I’m fine, you know,” John says as Sherlock licks between his shoulder blades, nipping at the fur to fluff it out. “That alpha couldn’t fight at all.”
Sherlock grunts, nuzzling his nose against John’s spine. “He was terrible,” Sherlock agrees, “He couldn’t have gotten a meaningful bite on you if you had stood still for him.” John snorts in amusement, giving a small nod as he rests his head on one of his firmer pillows.
“Definitely not classically trained.” John sighs as Sherlock nudges his front leg with his nose, John obediently rolling over to show his belly and neck so Sherlock can snuffle there too. “But really, Sher… I can handle myself. You know that, right?”
“Of course I do. I’ve seen you fight many times.” Sherlock’s ear twitches, licking smooth a tuft of hair that was sticking out, “I wasn’t worried. You’re more than capable of handling situations like that. I am just… returning the favor for you, that you do for me. You were stressed earlier.”
“Hmmm… was I?” John asks lazily, beginning to purr as Sherlock noses his way up his chest, hardly even bother to pretend to groom him anymore. John at least tried to keep the facade going.
“Your heartrate was elevated and you were beginning to limp, your hands were shaking…” Sherlock lists off, “And you were attempting to keep physical contact with me. You don’t do that unless you are stressed.” John’s ears heat up at the last part. He hadn’t realized he was doing that.
“…Oh.”
Sherlock chuffs, nuzzling his nose against John’s. “Yeah. ‘Oh’.”