A/N: Sorry its been so long for an update. Again, thank you to those who have stayed with this story and kept waiting for it to be finished. There are most likely spelling and grammar mistakes all over this chapter, which are entirely my fault, so please excuse them. Also, this chapter has a bit of Greg/Molly in it, which if it isn't your thing, feel free to skip this chapter entirely. Next chapter will be entirely Sherlolly (the bond!).

All characters belong to the BBC.

Thank you again to all those who have liked/faved/followed this story, and for all those who commented! It means a lot that you all do so, and I greatly appreciate it all. Constructive criticism is always appreciated :)

Chapter 11

A detour to her flat for a quick shower and change of clothes caused Molly to arrive an hour late for her shift that morning. She ran inside the lab with half-formed apologies to the leaving pathologist, an easy going fellow who waved her off with a kind smile as he headed out.

The lab doors opened again a few hours later. Molly raised her head expecting to see Sherlock, only to see Greg Lestrade striding in, looking utterly stunned. "Molly. Er… you might want to sit, there's something you should know."

"Everything alright, Greg?" she asked, carefully taking a seat on a nearby stool. The past year hadn't been kind to him. After the 'Fall', he had been suspended for months before he was allowed back at NSY, and then was demoted to Sergeant and limited to desk duty until recently. He had once again separated from his wife and – Molly took a delicate sniff – had apparently taken up smoking again.

Lestrade seemed to be centering himself. He gently took Molly's hand and looked at her kindly. "Molly, I know this is going to come as a shock, but…" He took a deep breath. "Sherlock's alive."

Molly, despite having convincing everyone in the past year that she believed Sherlock had died, somehow forgot that Lestrade didn't know the truth about the Fall or about what happened the past few days, and therefore failed to react at all. Three seconds later, her eyes widened comically and she let out an – unfortunately unconvincing – gasp of shock. "What? What do you mean –"

"You already knew, didn't you?"

Molly bit her lip. "Yes? Sorry." She looked at him sympathetically. Lestrade looked as if he wasn't sure he wanted to laugh or hit someone. "How did you find out?"

"Some cabbie ran to the papers earlier. I was about to pass it off as your every day Daily Mail, when his snarky highness himself just prances into the Yard with the smuggest look. I would say he apologized, but he didn't actually say an apology. Then he insults the entire staff, steals a pair of handcuffs, and strolls right out –"

"Handcuffs?"

" – only to come back around and demand a background check on some bloke related to Mrs. Hudson. As if nothing's changed since he left!" From there, Greg's rant went on for quite a bit. It was a bit disturbing to see a man who was usually so composed to go off on a proper tirade about 'the injustices of the world' and 'long-coated infuriating knights with illegally armed hobbit sidekicks.' Molly let him get it out of his system while she caught up on her paperwork, trying to fight off a smile.

"Sorry," he said after a while, scratching at the back of his neck. "I didn't realize how worked up I was about it. But," he gave a sigh, "I am glad the tosser's back. He's one of a kind, our Sherlock." Lestrade gave her a tired smile.

'That he is. I wonder why your wife left you, you're so beauti-' "What?!"

"What?" Lestrade frowned. "He invents his own job, uses nicotine patches like a normal person breathes air, wears ridiculously posh suits, has a network of homeless people, and apparently is always out of milk.

"Milk?" she asks weakly. 'What are you hiding under your suit? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?"

"Yeah, for some reason John always had to run to the shops to get more. I think he takes milk baths, there's no other way –"

'I pegged you as the showering type. Much easier to jerk off –'

" – anyone can go through liters of milk that quickly. Molly, are you alright? You look rather heated – " Greg stepped forward.

' – into my mouth. WHAT THE HELL?'

" – and what is that lovely smell?"

Molly forced herself to step back from the inspector. 'What's going on? Think, brain!' She tried to do a quick once-over. Increase in body temperature, elevated pulse, heightened arousal, and something about smell... 'A heat?!' Molly closed her eyes and softly groaned as she felt a familiar wetness begin to dampen her knickers.

Another, deeper groan had her staring at Lestrade, who was watching her back in confusion and desire. "Molly?" he choked out.

Her mind shot to a passage she read years ago, when she tried to learn as much as she could about Omegas in order to perfect not being one. 'Prolonged sexual exposure to an unbonded alpha, or prolonged proximal exposure to multiple alphas, has been known to trigger spontaneous heats outside of an omega's normal heat cycle. These cases are especially prominent in unbonded Omegas over the age of maturity who have recently joined with Alphas without the act of bonding.'

She has spent the night with Sherlock without bonding. Lestrade was an Alpha whose own bond was too tenuous from his repeated divorces with his bondmate. And, Molly belatedly realized, as the icing on this cake full of trouble and hormones, she managed to forget the one thing she had never forgotten in 17 years: her suppressant.

"Molly?" Greg tried again, taking another step closer to her. Molly in the meantime was attempting to control her motor functions and not rip her clothes off.

Her attempts to think of Sherlock did not seem to help her situation. 'Get yourself out of there, get out now. Find Sherlock! Sherlock wants to bond, find Sherlock and live happily ever after as a pathologist in a castle with a prince who consults for the police. Get out, get out, GET OUT!' But to her dismay a growing part of her, controlled by the onslaught of the heat, focused on the Alpha in front of her instead.

And then, the lab doors slammed open to reveal the Consulting Detective himself. Sherlock took in the scene in front of him, looked at the two occupants in the room, and then lunged for Lestrade.

With a brief second of clarity, Molly seized that moment and made her escape out of the lab, running for the stairs. Behind her she heard this crash and shatter in the lab but she refused to look back. Eventually she managed to make her way outside and hailed the first cab she saw. The driver was thankfully an Omega who looked at her understandingly before speeding off to her address. Once she was outside her building, Molly threw a handful of bills into the cab and sped inside, sprinting to her flat and bolting it shut.

She leaned against her wall and sank down to the floor, her thighs rubbing together fruitlessly. After a few minutes, Molly forced herself up and staggered to her room and to her drawer, digging and pulling out the first toy she touched. Just as she was about to take off her pants, a sharp knock sounded on her door.

Molly froze, her heart pounding. In waited in silence for either an indication as to who it was, or for the person to leave. Another knock followed, and then, "I could pick your lock again, you know. Why don't you save us a minute and open the door instead."

"Sherlock?" she choked out.

"Molly," Sherlock parroted back, his voice low. "I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to spread your legs, and I'm going to knot you and bite you and show everyone that you are mine. Open the door, Molly. Open it so we can Bond."