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(adj.) extreme mental agitation; wild excitement or derangement

 

=x=x=x=

Sherlock Holmes hated Omegas.

He despised the very idea of them; how they fogged the mind with their heat-scents, how they seemed to just beg with their bodies to procreate…

They were much more trouble than they were worth, and hardly seemed to be worth as much as the general public seemed to think.

Given that the general public consisted predominantly of idiots, his assessment seemed sound.

The worst thing about Omegas was how difficult they were to identify.

Outside of heat, Omegas had a smell that was almost freakishly similar to a Beta’s. They smelled plain, ordinary, uninteresting, non-threatening. Alphas would ignore them outright on a scent basis, only taking true interest in the physical appearance, much like they would with a Beta.

The trick was when the heat came.

An unbonded Omega’s heat would leave them incapacitated for an average of fifty-two hours (so say the medical texts) per monthly cycle. The Omega would only then give off the pheromone signals to want to mate, bond, procreate and all of the messy things that came with it. They often barricaded themselves in safe-havens while this went on to avoid unwanted attention.

It was contrary to popular belief that an Omega would just choose anyone, even in heats, in their mindless lust.

It wasn’t until John Watson came along that Sherlock would figure this out.

 

=x=x=x=

 

“Sherlock, I’m going to be out for a bit starting tomorrow,” John said, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt slightly as he sat in his chair, the tension in his shoulder belaying his nonchalant tone.

Sherlock, who had previously been lying on the couch lost in the maze of his mind palace, turned his head sharply to follow John’s movements, “Why? Where are you going?”

John had only barely opened his mouth to answer when Sherlock cut him off, “Ah yes. Your heats.” He made the word sound like a profanity, “I don’t see why you have to leave the flat once a month just to have them.”

“I’m not stinking up the flat with my scent, Sherlock.” John replied, snapping open his paper with a bit more force than necessary. “And I don’t want you to be--”

“To be what?” Sherlock demanded. “Attacked by you in your pheromone-fueled haze? Jumped for a sexual favor? Used in a most primal fashion to sooth your basic need?”

Inconvenienced!” John growled, standing up suddenly and slamming down his paper. “Christ, Sherlock, do you really think me so untrustworthy? That I can’t control myself? Why don’t I just stay gone if you’re clearly uncomfortable with me--”

Sherlock stood abruptly and crowded into John’s space, stopping the flow of words as large hands came to grip his shoulders. “No, no don’t leave, John. Not permanently.” Sherlock visibly shook himself, releasing his iron hold on John and backing up a few paces. “I’m not normally like this.”

“I’ll say,” John agreed. He tentatively reached a hand to touch his friend’s forehead, “you feel a bit warm. You sure you’re alright?”

Sherlock took a deep breath before nodding quickly, “yes. Yes, I’m fine it’s just you’re… Your heat is making my head fuzzy. Not good for brain work.”

“Right, that’s why I leave, remember?” John smirked a bit at being proven right. “Though it does seem to be hitting you rather soon. I’ll probably leave tonight.”

“Where do you go during your heats, John?” Sherlock asked, suddenly curious. It was a wonder he hadn’t been curious before, but there had always been other distractions in the past months. Things to keep him occupied while John’s biology kept them separated.

“There’s an Omega Haven I go to. They rent out rooms to unbonded Omegas during our heats.” John told him, checking off on his fingers. “It’s completely gated, so no Alphas get in, it’s run by Omegas, and the entire building has reinforced insulation and everything. It’s actually pretty brilliant.”

John laughed, looking back at Sherlock, “it definitely beats hiding in the walk-in freezer.”

There was definitely a story there.

Sherlock’s body gave a giant involuntary twitch. It was never a good thing to be an unbonded Alpha so close to a familiar unbonded Omega.

John frowned before clearing his throat, “Right, I’d better leave sooner rather than later.” He patted Sherlock on the shoulder once before trotting up the stairs to put together some things he would need for the next few days.

 

=x=x=x=

 

When John had had his first heat, he’d just finished eating the worst tuna sandwich in existence.

He had felt nauseous and gone to the nurse and his mother had come to pick him up. It was only when his mother had sniffed the air around him that she had figured it out. The scent change had been so subtle that only someone who knew exactly what John had smelled like before could notice it.

They ended up stopping by a specialty shop on the way home, followed by the pharmacy.

John’s mother sat him down on his bed.  He felt feverish and his stomach was rolling, but he paid close attention to what she was saying.

“John, you have to listen to me now. What you’re feeling is--” she stopped, searching for the words. “You’re going to go through heat soon.”

“Heat?” John echoed. “But only Omegas have heats.”

“Yes, dear. That means that you’re an Omega, first one in the family.” She smiled, but there was a deep concern that clouded it. “That means that once a month, you have to take some extra precautions.”

She showed him the bottle of tablets she had picked up from the pharmacy, a pill that acted as both heat-regulator and birth control, just in case.

“I want you to take these from now on, until you find someone you want to bond with.”

John nodded, feeling another roll in his stomach that was less from the changes in his body than to the fact that he held his future in his hand.

“Is it always gonna be like this?” John had stared hopelessly into his mother’s eyes.

His mother smiled sadly, “it’s bad the first few times, but it’ll get easier to manage. It’s going to be a bit scary and confusing, and you’re going to feel very strange.” She pulled up the brown paper bag that had come from the specialty store. “You’re going to need these, too, when it starts.”

John peered into the bag and flushed a violent red before closing it.

He could feel his whole life changing around him, and he just knew that that brown paper sack and plastic pill-bottle were going to govern it from then on.

 

=x=x=x=

 

As it turned out, John was only half right.

After he had found out his gender, he delved into as many medical journals as he could to discover more about his basic biology. He learned about the Omega’s natural muted scent; how no one would know he was an Omega unless he was bonded or in heat.

It was those two-to-three days of the month when he would have to find a place to let his heat pass.

In medical school, John had heard tell of heat-suppressants that would make a heat last anywhere from one-to-five hours. It sounded too good to be true, and it turned out it was. The supplement was barely ready for the market when it was released, and John had a very clear memory of the Omegas that had come in to the hospital crying with fever and bloody below the waist.

John had decided from then on to never trust his reproductive system to a pill other than birth control, simply for the fact that he wasn’t ready for children.

Besides, heats weren’t nearly as bad as the Alpha children had led him to believe. It consisted mostly of an overheated body and a sex drive he never knew was possible, but there was none of the mindless haze that came with it. Other than feeling exhausted, hungry, and horny all the time, he felt perfectly sane in his heats.

Apparently that was normal for an Omega.

It definitely made things easier.

 

=x=x=x=

 

 

Sherlock paced the room. John had just left two hours and twenty-three minutes ago, and the flat still smelled of him. He picked up the Union Flag pillow from John’s chair and held it to his face, almost suffocating himself in the resident scent hidden in its fibers.

John’s heats had never affected him this way.

He removed the pillow with a gasp, his lungs burning slightly. Why was John’s heat affecting him so much? Sherlock shook himself, tossing the pillow back onto its chair before he nuzzled completely through it. He walked over to the sofa and flopped face down into the upholstery for a good sulk, only to whip is head up almost instantly.

John had sat on that end of the sofa.

Sherlock groaned, “is there nothing here that damn man hasn’t touched?”

It was promising to be a long three days.

 

=x=x=x=

 

On the other side of town, John paid a hazy-eyed cabbie and stepped over to the gate of the omega Haven. A burly looking guard sat in a guard box and John swiped his identification across the scanner. His picture showed up on a screen along with the Greek symbol representing his nature.

The guard buzzed him in and John waved his thanks, hiking his bag over his shoulder as he readied himself for the next few days in solitude. Inside, the clerk printed off a small receipt and handed him a keycard with the number 322 on it. “Please return the card at your checkout, sir.”

And then he was finally in his room.

Thank God, he thought he was going to explode.

Turning, John quickly locked the three redundant deadbolts on the door for his own comfort. He strode across the room and pressed a button that immediately blacked out the single window, and another that turned on a dim light that sent the room into sepia. That done with, John set to stripping himself completely bare.

Good thing he’d left when he did. His heat had come on surprisingly quickly this time.

He tossed his clothes to a corner in the room and began sorting through his small duffle bag. He pulled out toy after toy, not sure which one would be the most useful this time around. It always seemed to change.

He lined them up with military neatness that not even his biology could temporarily erase. He had two large, colorful dildos, both with healthy sized synthetic knots at the ends. A large vibrator curved to reach a spot inside him that made him see stars. A smaller vibrator. Two butt plugs, large and small, and finally his favorite. A realistic looking alpha cock that stuck to any smooth surface; it came with a wireless remote that had switches to activate an inflatable knot at its base. It also had a warming option, which was definitely something John enjoyed.

Panting slightly, John shifted his pile of toys onto a small provided tray and grabbed at the complimentary pump of lube and box of absorbent tissues.

John lay back on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing as is true heat crept closer, all the while imagining phantom hands traveling across his body, pale and large and strong.

 

=x=x=x=

 

Sherlock stared at the ceiling. He’d been counting the popcorn dents in it for the past half hour.

Nothing was helping.

He wanted John back.

Curse his omega biology for sending him away. He needed John here. Right now. Even in heat. Especially in hea—

Sherlock sat up from the floor quickly, the motion making blood rush to his head. Did he… Did he want to mate with John? No. No no no. That would definitely be not good. Nope. He looked down and noticed the unmistakable bulge in his trousers. He swore loudly.

John’s heat-scent wasn’t even in the flat. It was just the thought of… of… with John that made him… that made his…

This was bad.

“John doesn’t even want a mate,” Sherlock groaned, turning over onto his stomach on the floor and shoving a hand down the front of his pants. He tugged at himself until he was forced to go back and unbutton his restricting trousers. Replacing his hand, he lay there on the floor panting and whining. “John doesn’t want children. Neither do I. He’s an omega… but he doesn’t need an alpha.” Sherlock groaned, gripping the base of his cock hard before continuing to stroke, his hips undulating against the rug beneath him. “He’s perfectly fine on his own.”

Sherlock had no idea he was rambling and grunting rather loudly, “John is perfect, yes. He’s strong and he’s not an idiot and he’s kind but also… also—ngh—very strong and he smells fantastic and God, I need John--!!”

His body tensed, his thighs trembled and a choked gasp spilled from behind Sherlock’s lips… but that was it. His high slowly began to recede, but his body was still strung tight, and his cock still hard in his hand.

“What?” Sherlock panted harshly, moving to sit up against the sofa. He looked down at his swollen erection and groaned. His body was still highly sensitive and it felt like his release was right… there! But it wasn’t. There must be a reason he couldn’t find release. He must have deleted it!

Silently cursing himself, Sherlock tilted his head back onto the sofa, trying—and failing—to will away the problem between his legs.

His eyes shot open. Suddenly struck with inspiration, Sherlock scrambled awkwardly over to his coat and pulled out his mobile. John was a doctor. He would know.

 

=x=x=x=

 

“John? I need you to come home.”

“I… I’m a bit busy Sherlock.”

“I know you’re in… heat but this is important. I think I might be broken.”

“Sherlock, you’re… God, you’re fine.”

“John? John, are you alright?”

“Nggh yeah I’m… I’m good… Ah, Sherlock…”

John ground his hips down onto the dildo fixed onto the chair. He’d been riding it for the better half of an hour and had felt nowhere near a proper orgasm. Nothing that would help ease the tight heat that had taken up in his groin. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his face as he wrapped his calves around the legs of the chair to get better leverage.

Sherlock had called him while he was away dealing with his heat.

What the hell was that man thinking?

“Ngh,” small noises escaped as John continued bouncing on the fake cock, loving how easily it slid in and out of him. He was panting full out now; he was so close. He just needed—

“John.”

Oh fuck.

“Sherlock…” John gasped shuddering out a moan as his first orgasm of the evening finally—finally—shot through him. He held the phone up to his ear with shaking fingers, “Oh, God…”

“John, did you just--”

“Yes,” John nodded as if Sherlock could see him. He cleared his throat a bit, “I haven’t been… that was my first for this heat.” As he spoke it, John’s doctor mind began to process his own words, clarity seeping back into his thoughts. “You said you were broken? Sherlock did you try to… get off?”

“Yes.”

“Did it work?”

“I told you I was broken, John,” Sherlock’s voice was wavering slightly. “I must have deleted it or…”

“Right,” John wiped a hand down his face before realizing he was still sitting on a synthetic cock. Without thinking, he slowly raised himself up, natural lubricant leaking down his thighs and a soft moan escaping his lips at the sensation.

John’s eyes shot open when he heard a broken groan on the other side of the receiver.

“Sherlock? Are you--?”

There was a brief silence, “it turns out I’m not broken, if you must know,” Sherlock sounded slightly winded and hysterical.

“Shit. Sherlock, I think I know what’s going on,” John’s mind had cleared a bit of its hormonal fog, and the doctor half of him had finally processed what was happening to him. Or them, rather. “It’s a biological safety for omegas. When an unbonded omega spends an excess amount of time with an unbonded alpha, they start to key in to each other’s hormones when the omega goes into heat.” He recited, recalling textbook information.

“And that means what exactly?”

John pursed his lips, “basically, in biological terms, we’re engaged.”

“What?” He sounded even more hysterical, but that was likely do to his hormones. John was already feeling his backside start to leak again.

“For a lack of a better term, our hormone-signatures decided to sync up, so now if we want to get off,” John swallowed thickly. “We have to be together.”

There was a pause over the line where John could only hear Sherlock’s stuttered breathing. He listened to the sound, his technical mind processing how his lungs were expanding and contracting. His omega side thought about how nice it would be to hear that breath on his ear and not through a phone. Preferably while Sherlock was on top of him.

John held back a whine that was not completely due to heat.

Sherlock cleared his throat before speaking again, this time without a single waver in his voice, “why are you still there, John? Come home.”

John could hardly put his clothes on fast enough.

 

=x=x=x=

 

Sherlock paced the living room. He’d spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the flat. He’d changed the sheets on his bed, grabbed three boxes of tissues, and even popped down to Speedy’s to pick up some sandwiches and juice.

They were going to need their energy.

Sherlock was getting hard again just thinking about it.

He physically shook himself. He needed to calm down. It was hardly the first time he’d had sex, but… this was John. And biologically, if what he’d said was true, John was already his.

Brilliant.

He glanced at the clock. John should be there within the next ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if traffic was heavy. He knew John took a cab there and back, likely so he didn’t attract unwanted attention on the tube.

Good. No one but Sherlock was allowed to look at John.

Sherlock stopped where he was pacing, not even realizing that he’d been wearing a path in the carpet with his bare feet. These alpha hormones were getting more intense. He rubbed his head, trying to clear his mind so he could think. John had been almost completely lucid when Sherlock had called him. Distracted, yes, but still in a stable enough frame of mind to realize exactly what was happening to them.

Interesting. He’d always been told that it was the omegas that went into a frenzy… when it seemed like it was the other way around.

The detective’s train of thought halted when he heard the front door open and shut quickly downstairs. He could feel his pulse quicken as John grew nearer. The sound of his feet on the stairs was like sweet music to his ears.

Oh, and the scent coming off of him.

John barely had a chance to round the corner before Sherlock was on him, a hand behind his neck and another wrapping around his waist, tugging the doctor’s firm body against his own as tightly as possible. John was trembling slightly in his hold, but quickly dropped his bag to return the embrace. They both stood there in the living room, Sherlock with his nose buried in John’s neck, and John trying desperately to keep from rubbing his crotch on his flatmate’s leg.

Well, that would just be ‘mate’ soon enough.

“John... John you smell…” Sherlock inhaled again, not resisting the urge to run his tongue from collarbone to earlobe. “You smell like home.”

“God, Sherlock,” John choked out, the alpha’s scent was making his mind hazy—and he knew it was a sensation only Sherlock could give him. He swallowed thickly before turning enough to whisper in Sherlock’s ear, “take me to bed already, you impossible man.”

A rumble of a growl rose up from Sherlock’s throat before John was released, spun, and lead forward into Sherlock’s bedroom.

The door behind them slammed shut with a kick of Sherlock’s foot. John quickly jumped away from his future mate so he could quickly kick off his shoes and trousers. He hadn’t bothered with socks or pants for the short ride home, knowing damn well what would be waiting for him. As John was tugging his shirt over his head, he noticed that Sherlock hadn’t bothered with socks or pants either.

The moment they both were bare, their hands were back on each other, lips and teeth traveling across each other’s necks and shoulders, as if trying to scrape out the strongest scent hidden under the tender skin.

They both pulled back slightly, vision darting from mouths to eyes and back again before their lips meshed together harshly. It lasted only a moment before they pulled back, John giggling from the sudden euphoria while Sherlock watched with unmasked amusement. They kissed again, this time taking their time with it, but with no less intensity. Lips clashed and separated and reacquainted as they melded and moved against each other with their whole bodies, a flicker of a tongue making brief appearances here and there.

John felt Sherlock shift his legs so that one slid between his own, causing his hips to thrust lightly onto Sherlock’s thigh. Sherlock’s hands also moved--one staying firm between John’s shoulder blades and the other traveling down the length of John’s spine to curve under his buttocks.  Long fingers curved in to grip the rounded flesh with a kneading motion. Sherlock could easily admit that that might be his new favorite place to rest his hands on John’s body.

From the noises John was making, it seemed he felt the same.

Sherlock slowly backed them up to the bed until the backs of John’s knees hit the mattress, making them both fall back into a tumble of arms and legs. With some maneuvering, they ended up lying side by side. John reached in between them to grab at Sherlock’s cock, which had filled out nicely since it first made an appearance that evening.

“That’s going to be inside me, Sherlock,” John mumbled in between sloppy kisses. He couldn’t stop the large grin that split across his face, “God, you’re going to be inside me.”

“Yes,” Sherlock could only agree, his fingers gripping so harshly at John’s flesh that it was likely to bruise. Luckily John didn’t seem to mind. He pressed one more firm kiss to John’s smiling mouth before he muttered, “turn over.”

John shifted so that he was on his stomach, his head turned so he could watch as his mate rolled over him. Sherlock settled on top of John’s body, enjoying how they melded together. He began mouthing at the back of John’s neck and shoulders, his teeth scraping the skin and his lips leaving kisses all over him. John jerked when he reached the base of his neck, a breathless giggle leaving the smaller man as his motion sent his lower half rubbing against Sherlock’s erection.

Enjoying the sensation, Sherlock hummed as he continued to rub his cock at the cleft of John’s ass, his body preventing John from moving into it with any sort of rhythm. John’s ass was now leaking lubricant freely, making the slide of Sherlock’s cock extremely smooth along his lover’s body.

Sherlock sat back on his heels, spread John’s legs in front of him, and slid a pillow underneath John’s hips. The motion of the cotton on John’s cock made him to moan and buck slightly under Sherlock, silently willing him to move faster where his words failed him.

Almost...

Leaning back over his mate, Sherlock whispered, “I want to fuck you, John. I want to claim you and make you my own. But I want you to want that. I want you…” He paused, searching for the right words. His brain was a muddle and it was a miracle he hadn’t just thrust into John and rutted against him already. Swallowing, Sherlock continued, “I want you, John Watson, to tell me what you want.”

John’s breathing deepened at Sherlock’s words, his back brushing against the other man’s firm chest as they lay there, naked on the bed and completely bonded in all but physicality. Reaching around, John gripped at Sherlock’s hand near his face, “I want you to fuck me, Sherlock. I want you to make me your official mate. I want you to be just as much mine as I am yours, you amazing git.” John leant over and kissed at Sherlock’s knuckles. “You already know I’m never going to leave.”

Sherlock released a breath and bent down to kiss along the side of John’s mouth before sitting back to see to John’s backside. He ran his hands over the globes of his ass before slowly moving them apart. Lubricant had completely drenched the area, but Sherlock still ran his forefinger down the cleft to dip inside, making sure the area was loose enough. John twitched and made a strange whining noise that made Sherlock’s eyes dilate before he moved in the lick at the area.

The noise John made was between a squawk and a very manly giggle, if that was possible.

After few broad swipes with his tongue, Sherlock was satisfied with the picture John presented. He draped himself over John’s panting form and laced his fingers with his mate’s. John breathed out a smile and locked gazes with him, a small nod and squeeze of reassurance was all Sherlock needed before he shifted, lined his hips up and pushed.

John arched beneath him, his eyes sliding shut as he accepted his mate into his body. Oh, but it was tight.

“John,” Sherlock managed, his hormones surging forward and clouding his thinking. His baser nature urged him to slam forward, to rut inside and spill his seed and never leave. He had to have more control. “John, is it...?”

Sherlock felt his fingers being squeezed so tightly that his joints ached, but he did not pull away. John’s body was still trembling but his breathing was slowing from laborious gulps to wet panting. When his eyes finally opened and zoned in on Sherlock, his pupils were dilated to their extremity.

“Sherlock...” he managed, his back and buttocks flexing as he savored the intrusion; Sherlock had held back some, only entering a little over half of his length, but it was substantial. Licking his lips, John lifted his hips and tightened his inner muscles, sliding Sherlock’s cock in him just a little more as the man himself groaned with the pleasure of it.

“Come on, you,” John said, a smile painting his sweaty face. “Fuck me already.”

If Sherlock had even a smidgeon less of control, he would have easily sunken into a full rut at those words. However, Sherlock simply breathed out his mate’s name and slowly pushed himself in entire, enjoying the smooth slide that the lubricant provided.

After that, they were lucky they managed to maintain a rhythm.

Baser instinct took over Sherlock’s logical mind and he began to thrust in earnest once fully seated. His hips flexed with an urgency he had often associated with addiction as he took his mate—his John—for the first time. John had barely loosened his iron grip in Sherlock’s fingers as he slid against cotton sheets. His cock trapped between his stomach and the linen giving him a sinful friction to match the one inside.

Every now and then, Sherlock’s rhythm would falter or John’s hips would jolt without warning, and on one occasion, Sherlock slipped out entirely, but John just laughed it off while Sherlock kissed him into forgetting. Nothing stopped them completely, not when their need for each other was so great.

Then John began to feel it; a tug in his lower abdomen that seemed to trigger up through his chest and to the top of his head. His entire body began pulling taught and his legs spread wider with sudden need.

“Sherlock—Sherlock I need you to,” John started, the feel of his mate’s cock striking against his prostate rendering him momentarily speechless. “I... Sherlock, you have to—“

Without further prompting, Sherlock bent further over his mate and continued to thrust, his knot bumping against John’s sphincter as it readied for entrance. Lips moved across John’s sweat-coated neck and he mouthed at the skin where a pulse thundered beneath. “John,” he whispered into the skin, as if it were the only word he knew.

Widening his stance, Sherlock braced his mate with his free hand, and slammed his hips with all his force, biting down hard on tender muscle.

John’s shout resonated through the room, echoing off the white plaster his pain and pleasure at the dual sensation. Hot come spilt from his own cock and onto the sheets below, while his mate deposited his own inside him, the knot sealing every drop inside.

Sherlock panted against warm skin, against John’s warm skin, and thought for the first time, very clearly: I love this man, and he is mine. Shifting, Sherlock braced himself on his forearms above John’s still-heaving back.

He wasn’t sure what to do now...

His cock suddenly twitched again and another surge of pleasure passed through his senses as he came once more inside his mate.

“Oh, I know you’ll think this is dirty,” John groaned out, his face half mashed into the mattress. “But that feels... really good.”

Sherlock made a face, “yes, John that is quite crude but--” he scrunched his face as he came once more. “I must agree with you on that assessment.”

John smiled sleepily, “back to your old self now, are we?”

“When am I ever anything but myself?” Sherlock mock-huffed, silently enjoying his mate’s afterglow.

“When I’m in heat apparently,” John giggled.

John tended to giggle quite a lot during sex, and he said so.

“I laugh because I’m enjoying myself,” John huffed, swatting at the back of the detective’s head with his free hand. Sherlock looked down and noticed that his hand was still linked with John’s. He loosened the grip on in slightly to regulate blood flow, but made no move to remove it completely.

 “Am I to assume this will be a regular thing? That you wish to do with me, that is.” He couldn’t help but ask; no one had ever stayed with him this long before. No one had ever been so... so devoted to him before.

John lost some of his smile but squeezed quickly at his fingers. He propped himself up just enough to deposit a chaste and lingering kiss onto those full lips.

“You’re mine now, Sherlock Holmes. And I’m yours. There’s no one else I’d rather do this with.”

This time Sherlock couldn’t help the warmth in his face or the smile that forced its way through as he kissed his new mate.

 

=x=x=x=

 

It wasn’t the longest heat John had ever had, but it sure was the most exciting. After years of taking up the arse from a rubber cock, it was endlessly better to spend it with someone. Especially when that someone was his annoying, brilliant, git of a flat mate.

And just ‘mate.

He’d never get tired of saying that to himself.

“You’re looking awfully smug,” the subject of his thoughts said from above him. John looked up from where he sat in his armchair to see Sherlock leaning over the back of it. His smiled widened and Sherlock just eyed him suspiciously, “one would think I fucked you enough to wipe that smugness from your face.”

“Yes, one would think,” John responded with faux seriousness. “But when one has a mate as gorgeous as mine, I can’t help but be smug.”

Sherlock just hummed and bumped his forehead to John’s momentarily before whisking off to his microscope for some experiment or other. John listened to the clinking of slides and petri dishes for a while before he stood up and made his way to the kettle for another cuppa.

“John.”

“Hm?” John quickly added a tea bag to his cup and spun around to meet Sherlock’s gaze.

Sherlock visibly fidgeted in his seat, his fingers fiddling with a (hopefully) clean glass slide. “I...” He started, clearing his throat, “I simply wanted to... apologize.”

“Apologize...” John repeated knowingly.

“For my... earlier behavior,” Sherlock muttered, breaking eye contact. “And my comments concerning you being a...”

“A mindless sex beast, yes,” John finished, taking a sip of warm tea.

Color rose to his mate’s cheeks, “yes well, I wasn’t thinking clearly and I am aware that you are quite the gentleman in all circumstances—that don’t involve hunting criminals of course—and that it was a grossly inaccurate accusation to make and--”

“Sherlock.”

The detective looked up, barely managing to mask an expression akin to that of a kicked puppy. John just smiled at him as he placed down his mug, circling the island table to stand by Sherlock’s stool.

“Apology accepted. Thank you.”

Sherlock swallowed audibly and nodded, quickly turning back to his experiment to avoid any more potential encounters with emotions. He’d had enough in the past few days to last him a good long while.

John placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, hot breath on his ear, “especially since we both know who really goes into frenzy, here.”

Sherlock’s smile held nothing short of blatant affection with a noticeable lack of denial.

He always had been a little mindless wherever John Watson was involved.

 

=x END x=