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“Doctor Stamford. To what do I owe the honour?”

“Good evening, Mycroft. Earlier today I introduced an old friend of mine to Sherlock.”

“And?”

“They seemed to hit it off. Sherlock invited her to share digs together. A Baker Street flat.”

“Interesting, but hardly worth a phone call at this hour.”

“My friend is a doctor. We were at Barts together. Her name’s Watson, Johanna, goes by ‘John.’”

“Doctor Stamford, with all due respect, I do wish you would arrive at your point. I’m a busy woman.”

“She’s also ex-Army, recently invalided from Afghanistan. Maiwand.”

Mycroft drew in a sharp breath, then began typing furiously. “You think that she is…?”

“Highly relevant to my clinical interest? I suspect so. I did not broach the subject with her directly, however.”

“Why don’t I know about her?” Mycroft click-click-clicked. “I know all the lycans produced in combat.” Her eyes flitted about the computer screen. “I don’t know about her because the Army, in its infinite wisdom, did not expect her to survive. Reading between the lines, it was their expectation—or perhaps their hope, if we are being very cynical—that she would die from her wounds or commit suicide when she learned what she’d become as a result of them.”

“She’s very much alive, though walks with a cane. I believe there’s some damage to one arm as well, shoulder and, perhaps, hand. If we’re to believe Sherlock, at least some of her limitations are psychosomatic, so there’s definitely mental trauma. Physically…”

“She’d be an Omega.”

“All records of turned lycans designated female at human birth would indicate so, though, there’s always room for an anomaly.”

Mycroft smiled. “Or two. Do you think Sherlock recognised what she was?”

“I’m certain of it.”

Mycroft nodded. “And she, Sherlock?”

“Of that, I’m less sure. She probably sensed something, but she may not be able to put the sensation into context. I shudder to think what the Army told her about her condition, and I daresay she hasn’t had enough time to fully understand the signals that her body is sending.”

“It does take a considerable amount of time to process everything, even with the best of guides, and you, Doctor, are the best of guides.”

“You flatter me.”

“I flatter no one.” Mycroft paused. “You will see her?”

“Absolutely. And she will need a place to spend the 28th.”

“The Holmes estate is at her disposal, but I wonder if Sherlock might extend the invitation.”

“Hospitality is not her strongest suit.”

Mycroft snorted. “True. I will be following this development closely. An Omega, an actual lycan Omega, who is not repulsed by Sherlock? It can scarcely be believed.”

“More than anything, John seemed intrigued by Sherlock. And the feeling was definitely reciprocated.”

Mycroft sighed. “Thank you very much for calling, Doctor.”

“My pleasure.”

“It wasn’t a silver bullet, was it?” asked Sherlock. “What you sent through Jefferson Hope.”

“No.” John snorted. “I may be an idiot, but I’m not stupid. “ She picked at her fried rice. “So you are what I am?”

“Yes, but by birth.”

John looked up with eyebrows raised.

“My family has been lycan for as long as werewolves have occupied England.”

“Mycroft, too?”

Sherlock nodded.

“She looks a bit.” John screwed up her face.

Sherlock snorted. “She is a bit.” Sherlock imitated John’s expression.

John smiled and leaned back in her chair. She put her hands behind her head and said, “My reaction: relief. I finally meet someone who can clue me into the practical aspects of this life!”

“I know a lot, but Stamford can give you a more objective, complete view.”

“Stamford?!”

“She’s one of the foremost experts on lycanthropy in the world. There isn’t much she doesn’t know. Stamfords have been tending to the wellbeing of Holmeses—and other noble werewolf families—for generations.”

“She did look a bit funny at me. I guess my secret was no secret to either of you.”

“No. And speaking of practical matters, you’re welcome to pass the 28th at the Holmes estate. The house is modest, but lands surrounding it are vast. Wooded forests, rolling hills, well-insulated caves. Uninhabited. Good hunting. Deer, rabbit.”

“Sounds ideal. The Army put me in a cage.”

Sherlock scowled. “No cages, John. Never.”

“More relief. Is that where you spend your full moons, the country?”

“In the past. These days I usually stay in the city.”

John’s eyes widened as she flew forward in her chair. “In the flat?”

“I roam.” John began to chuckle. Sherlock smiled and added, “I even went on the tube once.”

John laughed out loud. “You’re kidding!”

Sherlock shook her head, grinning and looking down at her untouched plate. “Mycroft had to have it erased from CCTV. I sent a dozen people to hospital for hallucinations and shock.”

John howled. “Oh, I’m sorry for them, but I have to laugh. I’m so tired of raging, of crying, of wishing things were different. Laughing seems the only sane response left.”

Sherlock smiled, then her face fell. “You mightn’t wish to spend the full moon with me when you hear the whole truth. Mycroft and I come from a long patriarch line of Alpha wolves. That designation did not vary this generation with the lack of male heirs.”

John frowned. “I thought…”

“We are exceptions. And to answer your next question,” she said quickly, “I do have the necessary genitalia. I don’t just sprout a cock once a month!”

John chewed. Then she smiled. “What’s between your legs is your business, Sherlock, but, uh…” Her smile became a laugh hidden behind her hand. “…would be pretty awkward,” she said between snorts. “Growing a knob each month. Nothing like a tail, of course.”

Sherlock stared at her, then smiled, then joined in with a soft chuckle. “When you put it like that, I guess it is only highly improbable…”

“Alphas and Omegas don’t pass the moon together?” asked John

“They do, but, um, there might be unwanted behaviour brought on by instincts, pheromones.”

“Oh.” John looked down at her food, then said, “Is there any foreplay or do we just go at it like animals?” She looked up, grinning.

Sherlock laughed. “If memory serves me correctly, it’s the latter.”

“And you won’t be able to control yourself? Or I won’t?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve come across an unbonded Omega during a full moon, I can’t really say with certainty what my reaction will be, but it could be unpleasant.”

“Well, that’s fair. Do you really lose yourself that much?”

“I don’t, as a rule. But, as I said, this is a novel scenario, and I would not want to add to your trauma by placing you in an untenable situation.”

“For now, I’ll say ‘I’ll take my chances,’ but I reserve the right to change my mind before the month is up.”

Sherlock nodded.

John frowned. “Wait, you said ‘unbonded.’”

“Yes, there’s mating and then there’s bonding.”

“Bonding is putting a ring on it.”

Sherlock smiled. “Something like that, but it involves the Alpha biting the Omega during mating.” She brushed a spot on the slope of her neck. “Here.”

“Does the Alpha get bit?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t seem right.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it? And werewolves mate for life.”

“Ah.”

“So not something to be entered into lightly.”

“No, not like,” John pushed back from table, “oh, shooting someone who’s trying to force your potential flatmate to commit suicide the day after you meet.”

Sherlock laughed. “No, not like that at all. This is serious, John!” She bit her lip. “So, um, will you take the room upstairs?”

“Yes, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled. Then she picked up her fork and began to eat.

John woke to warmth. She stirred and found herself swaddled in a large heavy blanket.

“So?”

The word made one puff of breath against John’s neck. It was a low, husky noise.

John exhaled loudly. “Wonderful. The exact way I imagined spending a full moon. Running. Howling. Hunting. Wind in your fur, soft ground under your paws. The change was still painful, of course, but much less than my previous shifts. Thank you for the recommendation of the herbs. I had Army-prescribed muscle relaxants and pain-killers, but I am glad I didn’t take them. I’d have missed out on a fabulous night if I had been in a doped fog.”

“The shift may never be comfortable, but with time, the pain should ease. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I did, too.”

“And we did not succumb to our primal urges, well, not completely. There was a tremendous amount of licking.”

Sherlock snorted. “Scenting is common for wolves, and with wolves new to each other, it may be prolonged, although perhaps we were a bit enthusiastic.”

John rolled on her back and realised that they were nestled together in a pile of blankets. She looked up into Sherlock’s face. “Cave’s interesting.”

“Yes, and a good place to store our supplies. No need to go as far as the house once the moon sets.”

John stared up at Sherlock, unabashedly studying her face.

Finally, it was Sherlock who broke the silence. “There’s no urgency, on my part. I’ve no case pending. No experiments, either,” she said softly.

“Have a lie-in?”

Sherlock hummed. “Never saw the appeal before. Body’s just transport, slightly deviant, occasionally furry, transport, but…”

John wriggled.

Sherlock’s lips twitch in a half-smile. “An hour or so more couldn’t hurt. There’s a mid-day train.”

John cupped Sherlock’s cheek and drew her face close. “Sherlock, tell me the truth: is this pheromones?”

“Pheromones faded with the tails,” replied Sherlock.

“This urge I have to turn and present myself for mounting…”

“…matches mine to mount you. Over and over,” breathed Sherlock before pressing her lips to John’s.

“Thank you for the loan of the boots.”

“Not a problem, Doctor. Country mud is no match for city footwear. Let’s see. I think that is the cave over there.”

They both stopped at the noises.

“Oh my,” said Stamford. “That is not the sound of lycan mating.”

“At half past ten in the morning, hardly. Well,” Mycroft took a deep breath and surveyed the landscape. “I suppose your data gathering can wait a while.”

“Indeed.”

“Tea at the house?”

“Sounds like an excellent plan. Perhaps we should…”

“Take the long way back, yes.”