Author's Notice: Chapter two! It's sort of a short one, but the next one is longer and I didn't want to mash it all in one. Anyhow. Please leave a review if you would be so kind? Thank you to all the followers of this work, I'm trying to focus and get the chapters out promptly.
They never actually touched down on the subject of children again. John took more hours at the clinic and left Sherlock to brood. He was evasive in speech and through text; where Sherlock had not given up, of course not, he did realize the direct route was not working. He had to formulate a new plan, a new script, before he'd rouse the subject again.
The days pressed on and finally Sherlock's heat struck.
John was away, would be until late afternoon, but he was starting to feel the effects. It wasn't supposed to trigger until tomorrow morning, but that could be tallied up to the recent stress. Sherlock's heats were normally predictable(they had the days marked in red on the calendar magnetted to the fridge), but he did recall a few sperratic ones in his youth, and one here at 221B when he and John first moved in and Sherlock's body got used to having an alpha constantly present.
Sherlock was in his silk dressing gown that was starting to feel more like a potato sack; rough and abrasive on his oversensitized skin. His temperature was gradually rising, his heartrate increasing, he couldn't seem to get enough air in his lungs. His skin was starting to feel sticky, fever hot, he tugged at the fabrics he was encased in but didn't exert the effort to shed the clothing just yet.
Normally he preferred to record his heats, from the start to finish; he kept multiple progress journals, but today he couldn't keep focused. He wasn't used to being denied, and that was exactly what John was doing. Denying him. As if he wasn't good enough to be bred, John didn't want him bearing his offspring, what kind of omega was he if—
No, no, no, no.
His heat was making him emotional; those base instincts were taking over his mind. Ridiculous. Sherlock growled and turned over, tugging his dressing gown tighter around himself despite his want to cast off all his clothes. It was hardly an hour into his heat and he was already feeling pathetic.
Defective, useless, freak.
Sherlock frowned because that wasn't true. John was just being sentimental and he foolishly wanted Sherlock to feel the same. It was just procreation. Just a child, it was such a common event; John was just acting pig-headed about the entire thing. Denying him even though John wanted it, and even though Sherlock had asked nicely.
Sherlock tried to get comfortable in his arm chair but couldn't. After tossing and turning for over five minutes the moody omega got out of his seat and flopped down in John's plush chair. It was better. It smelled like John, the scent relaxed him enough where he could forget his skin was starting to itch. He buried his face in the back of the arm chair; feeling the tension start to leave his body as he took long, calming breaths of his alpha's residual scent. He was nearly lulled to sleep(having been up for nearly two straight days before), when his mobile vibrated with a text. He fished the mobile out of his pocket and glared down at the screen.
Busy? - GL
I assume you need my help? - SH
He had been waiting on a case for weeks; excitement pricked his skin, though on the eve of his heat, he wasn't going to pass up this case(unless it was something he could solve from home, then there was no point putting himself at risk going outside). That aside, Sherlock prided himself on being able to keep his head(so far up to three days) before he turned into exactly what he was, an omega, mewling and just begging to be taken. He tried for four, almost made it, but lost the ability to string thoughts together with John in such close proximity and his will power crumbled just before John was sure to fall. Luckily his alpha had such discipline; Sherlock wouldn't put up with usual alpha behavior, almost not ever, unless he was completely at the mercy of his heat.
I'll text you the address. Murder here at the corner, body dumped, looks something brutal. It might be a message due to the severity. Omega, late thirties, un-bonded as far as we can tell, though that's unusual, might be wrong, but it's impossible to get a good scent off her. Left out over night. - GL
It was obvious they were missing something; but Greg was smart enough to leave most of the body prodding to Sherlock, and he did do a decent job of giving him facts in neat little bullet points because Sherlock would hardly read through anything more than that—assuming it was probably all wrong to begin with. His mobile vibrated with another text; the address, a short distance by cab.
He was already up and moving, getting himself dressed to go out; trying not to squirm with the uncomfortable feeling of his heavy clothes that made him feel even more confined; sticky and overheated. At least he wasn't lubricating yet, but that shouldn't happen for another ten hours, when his hormones began to cycle at full speed, forcing him to release more pheromones on top of the ones his skin was already secreting. He wrapped the scarf around his neck and buried his nose in the fabric; outside was going to smell terrible, his senses heightened.
Coming? - GL
Yes. Don't touch anything. - SH
He had forgotten to text Lestrade the first time; too pre-occupied with his own deductions from the brief message the detective inspector had sent. He turned off the lights to the flat, trotted down the stairs and out into the bright afternoon. Despite the sun being out; it was a crisp, cold day, the frigid air felt glorious. He hailed a cab; had enough mind to pass it along, alpha driver, until he finally got a beta driver and stuck himself inside. It would only be a twenty minute drive; he decided to text John.
Case came in. - SH
You told Lestrade you can't go, didn't you? Is it something you can solve from home? - JW
It's a quick trip. I'll send you the directions. - SH
Your heat is tomorrow. You're not going. - JW
Actually, my heat started an hour ago. - SH
Stay home. I'll check it out, I'll bring the laptop. - JW
You're working. It'll just be a moment. - SH
Sherlock. - JW
Sherlock rolled his eyes to John's attempt at controlling him. Never worked. Besides, he could handle himself, he wasn't some weak willed omega that swooned at the scent of any alpha. He looked out the window and pocketed his phone; ignoring the following vibrations of what was probably John's angry texts. Then came a longer buzz; hm, must've tried to call. It was likely John would try and get someone to cover, would try and intervene at the crime scene; but Sherlock would get his look, and that was probably all he needed to solve the case, so it wouldn't be a loss.