Sherlock had been missing for nine hours when they found him, but to John Watson, those hours felt like weeks. After the all clear, he followed Lestrade and his team, but nothing prepared him for the brightly lit room or the dead omega, her insides on the outside.

A cursory glance told John her reproductive organs had been removed. A closer glance told him those same reproductive organs sat on a metal tray next to the wide-eyed corpse, handcuffed to a hospital bed nowhere near a hospital.

There were three beds, in fact. A screaming, weeping female omega laid in a bed beside the dead body, similarly bound, with an IV in her arm. Next to her was a thin male omega with black hair.

"Sherlock," John hissed and ran to his friend's side. He grabbed Sherlock's too-warm hand and squeezed.

Sherlock's eyes opened for a moment, glazed, confused. "No. Emily. Help Emily."

John looked up at the sobbing woman in the next bed. "Lestrade is helping her. I'm helping you."

"John …" He squeezed his eyes shut.

Assess the patient, Watson. Sherlock's white shirt, crisp last John saw it, was now wrinkled and soaked and buttoned incorrectly. His ankles and wrists were handcuffed to the bed. His wrists were not only purple but bloody, as well. Sherlock had probably spent hours pulling at his prison. He also had bruises on the side of his neck—mouth-shaped bruises.

John's alpha hackles went up. He tried to keep his voice low and calm. "Sherlock, what's in the IV?"

Sherlock blinked under the harsh overhead light and turned his head to the side. "What I assume to be fluids, some kind of sedative, and Propanacor."

"Jesus." John immediately reached to remove the IV from his friend's arm. He used his own handkerchief to staunch the tiny flow of blood.

"He was inducing heats," Sherlock mumbled.

John smelled it then, the way Sherlock's usually scentless omega skin smelled like something else entirely: like warm honey and brown sugar. The brilliant consulting detective who'd been on suppressants the entirety of their friendship was going into heat, all thanks to a sadistic madman and his drugs.

"Lestrade, the keys!" John yelled.

"Yeah, mate," Lestrade yelled back, head tilted as he listened to his radio. "They caught him out back, raving about reproductive responsibility. How's Sherlock?"

"He's—"

The female omega next to Sherlock's bed said his name and reached her tethered hand toward his. She said his name again, louder.

"It's all right Emily. It's okay," Sherlock muttered, barely able to keep his eyes open. "You're safe …"

John's eyes burned as he reached forward and pushed soaked hair from his friend's forehead. "We need to get them out of here. The bastard was feeding them Propanacor."

Lestrade's mouth hung open as he glanced fleetingly at Sherlock, which made John want to jump between them and growl. "Shit." He spoke into his radio. "Handcuff keys! Search him for handcuff keys."

Sherlock groaned. "John, get me home. My suppressants …"

"Shh. I know." He squeezed Sherlock's hand just as he heard running feet. A police officer trotted into the room of revulsions and handed Lestrade a set of keys.

Unlocking the surviving omegas was simple, but getting them to walk wasn't so easy. At least Lestrade could simply carry the Emily woman to a waiting car where she would be taken to a hospital filled with other omegas who wouldn't do her harm—unlike the wide range of alphas in the world who would have trouble not attacking an unbonded omega in heat: like Sherlock, for instance, who crumpled when he tried to move without John's support.

John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and walked. "You're burning up."

Sherlock bent in half and clutched his stomach, almost sending them both to the ground. The heat scent of him increased, and John shook his head to clear his mind as his inner alpha bore its teeth.

"Come on, almost there."

Sherlock came back to himself a bit once they got outside, free of the tepid room that smelled like death. The breeze on his face woke him enough, at least, to get him to the waiting car that would hurry them back to Baker Street. The young beta officer behind the wheel turned on the sirens and took off into the London night as soon as John slammed the back door.

Before John could reach out to check on the detective, Sherlock grabbed onto the lapels of John's coat. He practically climbed on John's lap as he shoved his scalding forehead against John's neck and muttered, "You wouldn't. You wouldn't take advantage."

John wrapped his arms around his trembling friend. "No. God, no."

Sherlock nodded and remained where he was, pressed against John until—with the beta officer's help—John dragged him upstairs. In the bathroom, John hurriedly administered a dose of Sherlock's prescribed suppressant. Unfortunately, it wouldn't kick in for an hour, during which Sherlock would have to suffer through an unbonded heat for the first time possibly since puberty.

Calmly, John cleaned Sherlock's bleeding wrists and the angry spot left from the IV. He then tumbled Sherlock into bed. As he turned to leave, Sherlock's hand grabbed his wrist. "Stay for a little." He sighed as though embarrassed.

"Yeah." John sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his friend's filthy hair.

"He was teasing us, punishing us," Sherlock murmured. "For living on suppressants. For not bonding, not breeding. He said if we weren't using our organs, we didn't deserve them. He …"

John thought of the bruises on Sherlock's neck.

"He had an entire list of unbonded omegas on suppressants. He would have kept …"

"You don't need to talk right now."

"No, it helps me. Helps to think." He lifted his head suddenly. "Where's Emily?"

"Lestrade took her straight to an omega hospital."

His head hit the pillow. "She was so afraid."

"Were you afraid?"

For a moment, John caught a glimpse of the strong detective he'd known for years. "I was angry," he said, eyes bright, before he fell asleep.

John stayed with Sherlock for a while as the suppressant kicked in, as Sherlock's normal nothing scent returned. John had been perhaps a little worried, ages ago, when he'd first moved into Baker Street. He was an alpha, after all, living with an astoundingly gorgeous omega without a mate. However, Sherlock had placated his nerves, permanently on suppressants, never going into heat. It hadn't been a problem—until now.

He heard the sound of familiar feet climbing the steps and closed the door to Sherlock's bedroom to meet Lestrade in the kitchen. The DI was out of breath. "Is he all right?"

John's hands folded into fists. "I have no idea honestly."

Lestrade nodded as if he understood. He averted his gaze.

"What is it?"

"The monster videotaped some of it."

John chewed the inside of his lip. "I want to see."

Lestrade blew a long, slow breath of air between his lips. "Just know that Sherlock did his best for those women. He even volunteered himself to be first on the cutting board."

"I want. To see it."

"John, I really don't think Sherlock would want you to watch. It isn't easy. Plus, I don't think he'd want you to think of him as …"

John was practically toe-to-toe with the alpha inspector. "As what?"

"A victim."

John and Lestrade both jumped at the sound of Sherlock's voice nearby. He hovered in the hallway in his sweat-soaked clothes; one shoulder leaned against the wall as if it might be the only thing holding him up.

His ice blue eyes found John. "You knew I'd been assaulted as soon as you saw me."

All the air left John's lungs as his suspicions were confirmed.

"Lestrade. Has Emily been properly cared for?"

"Yeah, mate."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll check in with you in the morning. I look forward to questioning the madman responsible for the death of an innocent omega."

John almost spoke up, almost said there was no way he was letting Sherlock anywhere near that maniac, but Sherlock's glare shut him up.

"For the time being, if you'd give us some privacy," he continued.

John looked up at Lestrade who eyed them both before leaving the flat.

"You knew I'd been assaulted, John, so why are you upset now?"

John stared at the floor. "I should run you a bath."

"To wash him off me?"

"Yes," John growled.

Sherlock took one unsteady step backwards. He grabbed the doorframe for balance.

John noticed the apprehensive look on his friend's face and apologized. He apologized several times and buried his face in his hands.

He felt Sherlock's hand on his shoulder before he even noticed the detective was near, so loud was the sound of John's own blood pulsing in his head. "I know you would never hurt me."

"I want to bond with you," John said to the floor.

Sherlock chuckled and pulled his hand away. "My God, whatever for?"

"It's not funny, Sherlock." John's hands were in fists again. "What happened today is not funny."

"I know that."

John tried not to shout. "Then, why would you laugh?"

"Because you don't want to bond with me. You're just panicking." He slumped down into a kitchen chair. "You think that if I was bonded, I would have been safe from that lunatic, and you might be right. But then some other omega would have been tied to that bed in my place, and maybe that other omega wouldn't be able to …" He closed his eyes for a moment. "Deal with what I went through as well as I can. Wouldn't have been able to talk to Emily, distract her for all those hours. John, don't you see? I was the perfect person for that lunatic to abduct, and I will not change who I am because someone thinks I'm wrong." He stared down at his battered wrists. "You don't want me to change, do you?"

John pulled up a chair in front of him. "No. Never." He took Sherlock's hand gently. "I'm just … I was scared I'd lost you. I can't lose you."

"You didn't."

John brought Sherlock's hand to his mouth in a single kiss. "I do love you in a way."

"I know. Just not in the way that means we should be bonded."

It was John's turn to smile. A little. "Years ago, you said you were a sociopath. That's getting harder and harder to believe anymore."

"I've learned a lot from you."

John leaned forward the pulled Sherlock into a hug. Although there was still the lovely lingering scent of Sherlock's heat, probably on his clothes, there was another smell, too: one John certainly did not like. "Please let me run you a bath," he said. "And you need food. I'll get you food."

He felt Sherlock's breath down the collar of his shirt. "Caring for me like a proper alpha, John?"

"No, idiot. Caring for you like a proper friend."