New Fic: Man and Beast 3/3
Man and Beast
Previous part
*
John slept, curled up on his side. There were faint burn marks on his skin where they had applied the electrodes and sharper marks across his wrists where he had strained against the bindings.
It was all he could do not to go on a rampage. They had dared to hurt his mate. They had caused pain and suffering and they would pay for it. Oh yes, they would pay. He would make sure of that.
*
The third moon rose. The third moon set.
*
He bared his teeth as they strapped both him and John down.
“I’m going to kill you,” he said, his voice flat. “We have a saying; to harm a mate is to make an enemy of us all.”
*
Afterwards he snarled and he paced. Not even John’s hands and gentle ministrations were enough to calm him down. He wanted blood and he would be getting it soon, very soon.
*
He slept for a few hours, John pressed up against him, holding him from behind, but he could only manage the bare minimum. Concentrating he made sure he could feel every shift of that moon.
The fourth moon.
An hour to moonset and he dragged himself away from his mate’s clasp searching through the clothing bunched up on the floor in one corner. He momentarily pressed John’s top to his nose, breathing in, but the scent was weak compared to the real thing and there would be other time for that.
After so much time spent naked, the clothing felt rough and a little uncomfortable against his skin, but that could not be helped. He made a note to remember to acquire some shoes, particularly for John, but for now bare foot would have to do.
Two guards stood by the doors, armed to the teeth - gun, tranquiliser, knife - but lazy after months of inactivity. He could see their tiredness. It wasn’t much, but their reactions would be that little bit slower, that little bit more imprecise.
He paced, not because he felt compelled to, but because it was expected and would not be seen as out of character. Three months of watching and waiting had allowed him to judge routines down to the second, personalities to the slightest weakness and technology to their functions and capabilities. He had never been more ready.
Two guards, three scientists, ten minutes to go.
John arose and dressed with efficiency watching in silence as he paced. They had both been quieter since the first round of torture questions, so it was not something that would concern anyone. Then again there really was no time for anyone to notice anything anyway.
A minute to go and he stopped his pacing to stand at the door, eyes fixed on the nearest scientist, staring and threatening. They were ignored as usual.
Thirty seconds to go.
Every sense was on full alert, every instinct, every muscle.
He spared a quick glance at his mate and received a small nod in response.
Ten seconds.
He looked back to the room and counted down the last of the seconds.
Four… three… two… one.
The power switched off, plunging the room into darkness. By the time the second backup emergency generator was allowed to kick in both guards were dead; one with his neck at an unusual angle, the other with his fellow guard’s knife through the neck. Less than a minute later and the three scientists were also dead or incapacitated.
“You okay?”
He nodded briefly as his hands flew over the nearest computer terminal. The information they had managed to gather on him was immense but also seriously flawed when it came to their conclusions. It didn’t take long for him to corrupt the whole lot, made easier by the external hacking that had already been done. He recognised the work. It was pleasing to see that they had a least brought in an expert, leaving nothing to chance. The virus they had planted for him to activate would leave nothing unturned.
The lights flickered. There wasn’t much time left.
He sent the final command and watched in satisfaction as one program or file fell after another. The door was next and he was glad to see that John hadn’t hesitated in stripping one of the guards of his boots and jacket.
The door code proved to be of little issue. Even with the changing codes it had not been hard to determine the pattern and the door opened with a satisfying hiss. He was just a little surprised by the figure he found on the other side of it.
“What the….”
He reacted on instinct, grabbing the lead scientist by the throat, cutting him off, dragging him into the room and thrusting him firmly against the wall.
“Check. Mate,” he said with a growl, his hand tightening.
The scientist’s face reddened, his mouth gapping as he struggled fruitlessly against the stronger hold. “Please,” he managed to gasp out, the word broken and weak.
He tipped his head to the side, his fingers tightening even further.
“Why?” he asked. “Why should I listen to you? You kidnapped me and put me in a cage, you treated me like an animal, you threatened and hurt my mate. Tell me why I shouldn’t end your miserable pitiful human life right now?”
“Sherlock!”
He froze at the sound of his name. It had been so long since he had heard it spoken by someone else and he had never heard it spoken like that, low, commanding but also compassionate, by-passing all his natural reactions and sinking into his rational mind.
John.
His hand loosened momentarily.
“Look, don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking that he’s right about you. You’re better than he is.”
Animal. Beast. Monster.
Human.
He let go with a snarl, the scientist falling choking to the ground. Bending down he got close enough to smell the fear, to hear the rush of blood flowing freely once more through the arteries and veins.
“Live,” he said darkly. “Live and know that everything you have here is over, that every piece of information you had is gone and that everything I ever told you was a lie. Live and know that you have been marked, that wherever you go you will be watched, an enemy of my people. Live and know that they will know you while you can’t even recognise one of us when he’s twirling an umbrella and sharing your tea.”
He punctuated the last one with a toothy smile and then rose to his feet.
“Come on, John. It’s over.”
*
It wasn’t long before they were away from any of the areas they had been taken to. He already knew that the base was a reasonable size and finding their way out would always be a bit of a challenge, especially with dozens of people running around the place. With the lights still flickering their countdown - twelve minutes before the place was to blow - it was clear to everyone that something was very wrong. Time was also of the essence.
His nose took them to the kitchens, a place of low security and a place that would need access to the outside for deliveries.
He grabbed the first person he could find there, a middle aged small man who babbled at him in Russian.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked quickly in Russian.
The man shook his head saying he was just the cook. He just cooked the food. He knew nothing.
“Do you want to live?”
The man said he did.
“Then show us how to get out of this building.”
The man went ahead of them and finally they were nearly there. They were so close he could smell the snow and the freedom.
“Stop!”
He turned with a growl, eyes widening as he took in the gun held shakily in the lead scientist’s hands. They had been followed and found.
“I can’t let you go. You’re my life’s work. You’re everything.”
He should have killed the man. He should never have let John talk him out of it. He should have….
The gun shot was loud and sudden. For a moment there was nothing and then the scientist fell, a neat bullet hole to the forehead and John was standing there, one of the guards’ guns in his hand and a blank expression on his face. Slowly the hand lowered and their eyes met.
“He threatened my mate.”
*
The cold hit them like a blunt force to the body. Even knowing the month and country and having found thick clothing near the exit to bundle up in it was still shocking.
“Bloody hell, are we still in Russia?”
He shook himself slightly, eyes scanning around the white blanketed area that was just starting to glow with the rising sun. “Yes,” he said pushing aside the question as to how John had known their location. Clearing his throat, he tipped his head back and let out a howl. It was weak and basic, being as he was in human form with a throat less suited for it, but it got the job done.
He then waited.
Five seconds later he heard the response, distant but it sounded so good, so very, very good. They also only had a few minutes left.
The cook with them blanched at the sound of the howls, crossing himself and muttering, his eyes wide as he stumbled away from them and then fled. It was hardly surprising, in this part of the world so called werewolves were less a fairytale and more a feared possibility, tales passed down from generation to generation.
There had to be a mode of transport around here somewhere. Motioning to John to follow him, he used his nose to sniff out the smell of diesel and it wasn’t long before they found the all-terrain vehicles. Of course they were not alone.
The skidoos were closest and easiest to start.
“Drive,” he ordered John as he shoved a helmet in his hands and then hopped on the back pointing in the direction that the howl had come from.
They shot forward, flying over the snow at a steady pace, following the main tracks out. Of course they were followed.
He felt the motion change as John piled on the speed. Behind them he could hear the roaring of other engines; one rider, two, three. They may be putting distance between them and the hateful base but they were far from safe, and with two of them on the skidoo they would be caught.
Ripping off the helmet, he unzipped his jacket, pulling it off even as he shivered violently against the cold. Keep going, he motioned to John, and then twisting, he jumped and shifted.
His remaining clothing tore and fell away as his muscles changed shape taking on his alterative form. For a moment he stumbled in the deep snow, his paws caught in the remains of his trousers, but then he was free and for the first time in months he felt alive in this form. His mate though was in trouble.
Tipping back his head he let out a howl, deep and angry, and then started to run, his legs stretching out until he was shooting over the snow. Three months of captivity and enforced running and he could feel the speed and power in his legs just itching to be used.
He took the first rider by surprise, leaping at him out of the darkness, knocking him off the skidoo, ripping out his throat in one quick motion. Then he was off chasing down the next, cutting through the snow laden trees in the more direct route. He only felt the sharp pain across his left front paw after he had the second rider down.
It hurt.
He whined as he tried to put his weight on it, watching as red blood fell to stain the white snow. It didn’t feel as if anything was broken but he couldn’t run on it, not like this.
He froze as the explosion behind them caught him unawares. In the excitement and shift he had lost track of the time, but now that part of the mission was done, the base was destroyed, three different howls going up to confirm it. Their Russian brethren, he realised, tipping his head at the tone and cadence, before adding his own call to the mix. Help, injured, mate in trouble.
The response was almost immediate.
Hobbling, he cautiously started to continue in the right direction not wanting to think how long it would take him with this injury. The initial cry had come from over ten miles away and they hadn’t covered even two thirds of that yet. Changing back wasn’t an option, not in this weather. Without clothing he would freeze before he got fifty yards.
He heard the engine of the skidoo before he saw it. Pressing himself down, he crouched into an attacking position, ignoring the way the pain shot up his paw, but if he was going to go down, he was going to go down fighting.
“You really think I was going to leave you?”
John. He was alive and unharmed.
It was awkward getting onto the skidoo in this form, but somehow they managed it with him slung over it on his stomach, his legs dangling. John quickly scratched at his neck before they were off.
*
Two grey wolves flanked them, one on either side while a third larger, darker one raced on ahead to lead the way. The message in the howl was that the area was secure, the third rider had been taken out, the base was destroyed and they were nearly home.
*
They were met by helicopter, the blades already whirring. The smell of his family, his pack was strong and achingly familiar. He hadn’t realised just how much he had missed it.
The Russian wolves peeled away, their job done.
Strong hands lifted him from the skidoo as voices asked if he could turn back. Nodding, he shifted, the pain in his hand and arm numbed somewhat by the cold air that engulfed him. They wrapped him quickly in warmed blankets, carrying him to the chopper to save his feet on the snow. He felt tired and cold and slightly overwhelmed by the smells and the noise.
“Here, I’m here.”
He fell against his mate, nuzzling against his chest even as they were strapped in.
“John.”
“It’s alright, I’m here. We made it.”
*
They were taken to a small private airfield.
Warm and now dressed, his hand temporarily bandaged, they exited the helicopter, stepping out onto the snow cleared runway. A small jet stood ready to go and beside it a very familiar figure in a thick coat covering his waistcoat and suit, an umbrella slung over his arm. By his side stood another familiar figure, her long brown hair falling forward as she focused her attention on her Blackberry.
“You got my message then.”
“Yes, I got your message,” he snapped back. “Three months. What took you so long?”
“Russia, my dear brother. When one is kidnapped and taken to a secret secure facility they do tend to be both secret and secure. Even with our connections and the urgency of the situation, these things are not always straightforward. Rest assured, the best and the brightest were all involved in your… extraction.”
He nodded towards the other figure. “Yes, I recognise the style. Nice virus.”
“Thanks,” she said looking up briefly before returning to her phone a vague look of satisfaction on her face.
“I see you have also used your time rather productively.”
He growled as his brother’s gaze fell on John and watched as his brother’s head tilted slightly and his lips pressed together in warning.
“Welcome back, Captain Watson,” his brother continued smoothly, “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Mycroft Holmes. My brother, Sherlock, I believe you are more than intimately acquainted with.”
“Yes, yes,” he snapped cutting Mycroft off. “I’m sure this is all rather….” He froze before twisting to face his mate. “Captain Watson. The Captain Watson. Maiwand Watson? The only one to come out alive?”
He had heard the name of course, Mycroft had mentioned it a couple of times at least, of the human who had survived the Maiwand pack ambush. Shot through the shoulder. Afghanistan. A soldier and a doctor but never gave his last name. Stupid, he should have seen. He wasn’t the only one with his secrets in there. There was always something.
He bared his teeth.
“Later, love,” John said softly as he rested a gloved hand on his arm.
Later, yes. There would be a lot of things that would have to be addressed, including the removal of the chips in their necks and some rather lengthy conversations.
Settled on the plane next to his endlessly surprising mate, he stared out of the small window as they pulled smoothly up into the air. His clothing felt tight and constrictive against him, leaving him longing to strip and be free. Fully dressed also, John’s scent was less obvious, forcing him to leave the window to nuzzle against his mate’s neck for reassurance through smell. Mycroft was looking across at them disapprovingly, small lines between his eyebrows which meant he was worried about something, no doubt him and the changes that the extended incarceration had brought about in him, but that was of no importance now.
Now he was free again, that wretched base had been destroyed and his mate was scratching comfortingly at his head. Yawning, he allowed himself to relax for the first time in over three months and settled into the caress with a contented whine.
*
The End
*
Previous part
*
John slept, curled up on his side. There were faint burn marks on his skin where they had applied the electrodes and sharper marks across his wrists where he had strained against the bindings.
It was all he could do not to go on a rampage. They had dared to hurt his mate. They had caused pain and suffering and they would pay for it. Oh yes, they would pay. He would make sure of that.
*
The third moon rose. The third moon set.
*
He bared his teeth as they strapped both him and John down.
“I’m going to kill you,” he said, his voice flat. “We have a saying; to harm a mate is to make an enemy of us all.”
*
Afterwards he snarled and he paced. Not even John’s hands and gentle ministrations were enough to calm him down. He wanted blood and he would be getting it soon, very soon.
*
He slept for a few hours, John pressed up against him, holding him from behind, but he could only manage the bare minimum. Concentrating he made sure he could feel every shift of that moon.
The fourth moon.
An hour to moonset and he dragged himself away from his mate’s clasp searching through the clothing bunched up on the floor in one corner. He momentarily pressed John’s top to his nose, breathing in, but the scent was weak compared to the real thing and there would be other time for that.
After so much time spent naked, the clothing felt rough and a little uncomfortable against his skin, but that could not be helped. He made a note to remember to acquire some shoes, particularly for John, but for now bare foot would have to do.
Two guards stood by the doors, armed to the teeth - gun, tranquiliser, knife - but lazy after months of inactivity. He could see their tiredness. It wasn’t much, but their reactions would be that little bit slower, that little bit more imprecise.
He paced, not because he felt compelled to, but because it was expected and would not be seen as out of character. Three months of watching and waiting had allowed him to judge routines down to the second, personalities to the slightest weakness and technology to their functions and capabilities. He had never been more ready.
Two guards, three scientists, ten minutes to go.
John arose and dressed with efficiency watching in silence as he paced. They had both been quieter since the first round of torture questions, so it was not something that would concern anyone. Then again there really was no time for anyone to notice anything anyway.
A minute to go and he stopped his pacing to stand at the door, eyes fixed on the nearest scientist, staring and threatening. They were ignored as usual.
Thirty seconds to go.
Every sense was on full alert, every instinct, every muscle.
He spared a quick glance at his mate and received a small nod in response.
Ten seconds.
He looked back to the room and counted down the last of the seconds.
Four… three… two… one.
The power switched off, plunging the room into darkness. By the time the second backup emergency generator was allowed to kick in both guards were dead; one with his neck at an unusual angle, the other with his fellow guard’s knife through the neck. Less than a minute later and the three scientists were also dead or incapacitated.
“You okay?”
He nodded briefly as his hands flew over the nearest computer terminal. The information they had managed to gather on him was immense but also seriously flawed when it came to their conclusions. It didn’t take long for him to corrupt the whole lot, made easier by the external hacking that had already been done. He recognised the work. It was pleasing to see that they had a least brought in an expert, leaving nothing to chance. The virus they had planted for him to activate would leave nothing unturned.
The lights flickered. There wasn’t much time left.
He sent the final command and watched in satisfaction as one program or file fell after another. The door was next and he was glad to see that John hadn’t hesitated in stripping one of the guards of his boots and jacket.
The door code proved to be of little issue. Even with the changing codes it had not been hard to determine the pattern and the door opened with a satisfying hiss. He was just a little surprised by the figure he found on the other side of it.
“What the….”
He reacted on instinct, grabbing the lead scientist by the throat, cutting him off, dragging him into the room and thrusting him firmly against the wall.
“Check. Mate,” he said with a growl, his hand tightening.
The scientist’s face reddened, his mouth gapping as he struggled fruitlessly against the stronger hold. “Please,” he managed to gasp out, the word broken and weak.
He tipped his head to the side, his fingers tightening even further.
“Why?” he asked. “Why should I listen to you? You kidnapped me and put me in a cage, you treated me like an animal, you threatened and hurt my mate. Tell me why I shouldn’t end your miserable pitiful human life right now?”
“Sherlock!”
He froze at the sound of his name. It had been so long since he had heard it spoken by someone else and he had never heard it spoken like that, low, commanding but also compassionate, by-passing all his natural reactions and sinking into his rational mind.
John.
His hand loosened momentarily.
“Look, don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking that he’s right about you. You’re better than he is.”
Animal. Beast. Monster.
Human.
He let go with a snarl, the scientist falling choking to the ground. Bending down he got close enough to smell the fear, to hear the rush of blood flowing freely once more through the arteries and veins.
“Live,” he said darkly. “Live and know that everything you have here is over, that every piece of information you had is gone and that everything I ever told you was a lie. Live and know that you have been marked, that wherever you go you will be watched, an enemy of my people. Live and know that they will know you while you can’t even recognise one of us when he’s twirling an umbrella and sharing your tea.”
He punctuated the last one with a toothy smile and then rose to his feet.
“Come on, John. It’s over.”
*
It wasn’t long before they were away from any of the areas they had been taken to. He already knew that the base was a reasonable size and finding their way out would always be a bit of a challenge, especially with dozens of people running around the place. With the lights still flickering their countdown - twelve minutes before the place was to blow - it was clear to everyone that something was very wrong. Time was also of the essence.
His nose took them to the kitchens, a place of low security and a place that would need access to the outside for deliveries.
He grabbed the first person he could find there, a middle aged small man who babbled at him in Russian.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked quickly in Russian.
The man shook his head saying he was just the cook. He just cooked the food. He knew nothing.
“Do you want to live?”
The man said he did.
“Then show us how to get out of this building.”
The man went ahead of them and finally they were nearly there. They were so close he could smell the snow and the freedom.
“Stop!”
He turned with a growl, eyes widening as he took in the gun held shakily in the lead scientist’s hands. They had been followed and found.
“I can’t let you go. You’re my life’s work. You’re everything.”
He should have killed the man. He should never have let John talk him out of it. He should have….
The gun shot was loud and sudden. For a moment there was nothing and then the scientist fell, a neat bullet hole to the forehead and John was standing there, one of the guards’ guns in his hand and a blank expression on his face. Slowly the hand lowered and their eyes met.
“He threatened my mate.”
*
The cold hit them like a blunt force to the body. Even knowing the month and country and having found thick clothing near the exit to bundle up in it was still shocking.
“Bloody hell, are we still in Russia?”
He shook himself slightly, eyes scanning around the white blanketed area that was just starting to glow with the rising sun. “Yes,” he said pushing aside the question as to how John had known their location. Clearing his throat, he tipped his head back and let out a howl. It was weak and basic, being as he was in human form with a throat less suited for it, but it got the job done.
He then waited.
Five seconds later he heard the response, distant but it sounded so good, so very, very good. They also only had a few minutes left.
The cook with them blanched at the sound of the howls, crossing himself and muttering, his eyes wide as he stumbled away from them and then fled. It was hardly surprising, in this part of the world so called werewolves were less a fairytale and more a feared possibility, tales passed down from generation to generation.
There had to be a mode of transport around here somewhere. Motioning to John to follow him, he used his nose to sniff out the smell of diesel and it wasn’t long before they found the all-terrain vehicles. Of course they were not alone.
The skidoos were closest and easiest to start.
“Drive,” he ordered John as he shoved a helmet in his hands and then hopped on the back pointing in the direction that the howl had come from.
They shot forward, flying over the snow at a steady pace, following the main tracks out. Of course they were followed.
He felt the motion change as John piled on the speed. Behind them he could hear the roaring of other engines; one rider, two, three. They may be putting distance between them and the hateful base but they were far from safe, and with two of them on the skidoo they would be caught.
Ripping off the helmet, he unzipped his jacket, pulling it off even as he shivered violently against the cold. Keep going, he motioned to John, and then twisting, he jumped and shifted.
His remaining clothing tore and fell away as his muscles changed shape taking on his alterative form. For a moment he stumbled in the deep snow, his paws caught in the remains of his trousers, but then he was free and for the first time in months he felt alive in this form. His mate though was in trouble.
Tipping back his head he let out a howl, deep and angry, and then started to run, his legs stretching out until he was shooting over the snow. Three months of captivity and enforced running and he could feel the speed and power in his legs just itching to be used.
He took the first rider by surprise, leaping at him out of the darkness, knocking him off the skidoo, ripping out his throat in one quick motion. Then he was off chasing down the next, cutting through the snow laden trees in the more direct route. He only felt the sharp pain across his left front paw after he had the second rider down.
It hurt.
He whined as he tried to put his weight on it, watching as red blood fell to stain the white snow. It didn’t feel as if anything was broken but he couldn’t run on it, not like this.
He froze as the explosion behind them caught him unawares. In the excitement and shift he had lost track of the time, but now that part of the mission was done, the base was destroyed, three different howls going up to confirm it. Their Russian brethren, he realised, tipping his head at the tone and cadence, before adding his own call to the mix. Help, injured, mate in trouble.
The response was almost immediate.
Hobbling, he cautiously started to continue in the right direction not wanting to think how long it would take him with this injury. The initial cry had come from over ten miles away and they hadn’t covered even two thirds of that yet. Changing back wasn’t an option, not in this weather. Without clothing he would freeze before he got fifty yards.
He heard the engine of the skidoo before he saw it. Pressing himself down, he crouched into an attacking position, ignoring the way the pain shot up his paw, but if he was going to go down, he was going to go down fighting.
“You really think I was going to leave you?”
John. He was alive and unharmed.
It was awkward getting onto the skidoo in this form, but somehow they managed it with him slung over it on his stomach, his legs dangling. John quickly scratched at his neck before they were off.
*
Two grey wolves flanked them, one on either side while a third larger, darker one raced on ahead to lead the way. The message in the howl was that the area was secure, the third rider had been taken out, the base was destroyed and they were nearly home.
*
They were met by helicopter, the blades already whirring. The smell of his family, his pack was strong and achingly familiar. He hadn’t realised just how much he had missed it.
The Russian wolves peeled away, their job done.
Strong hands lifted him from the skidoo as voices asked if he could turn back. Nodding, he shifted, the pain in his hand and arm numbed somewhat by the cold air that engulfed him. They wrapped him quickly in warmed blankets, carrying him to the chopper to save his feet on the snow. He felt tired and cold and slightly overwhelmed by the smells and the noise.
“Here, I’m here.”
He fell against his mate, nuzzling against his chest even as they were strapped in.
“John.”
“It’s alright, I’m here. We made it.”
*
They were taken to a small private airfield.
Warm and now dressed, his hand temporarily bandaged, they exited the helicopter, stepping out onto the snow cleared runway. A small jet stood ready to go and beside it a very familiar figure in a thick coat covering his waistcoat and suit, an umbrella slung over his arm. By his side stood another familiar figure, her long brown hair falling forward as she focused her attention on her Blackberry.
“You got my message then.”
“Yes, I got your message,” he snapped back. “Three months. What took you so long?”
“Russia, my dear brother. When one is kidnapped and taken to a secret secure facility they do tend to be both secret and secure. Even with our connections and the urgency of the situation, these things are not always straightforward. Rest assured, the best and the brightest were all involved in your… extraction.”
He nodded towards the other figure. “Yes, I recognise the style. Nice virus.”
“Thanks,” she said looking up briefly before returning to her phone a vague look of satisfaction on her face.
“I see you have also used your time rather productively.”
He growled as his brother’s gaze fell on John and watched as his brother’s head tilted slightly and his lips pressed together in warning.
“Welcome back, Captain Watson,” his brother continued smoothly, “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Mycroft Holmes. My brother, Sherlock, I believe you are more than intimately acquainted with.”
“Yes, yes,” he snapped cutting Mycroft off. “I’m sure this is all rather….” He froze before twisting to face his mate. “Captain Watson. The Captain Watson. Maiwand Watson? The only one to come out alive?”
He had heard the name of course, Mycroft had mentioned it a couple of times at least, of the human who had survived the Maiwand pack ambush. Shot through the shoulder. Afghanistan. A soldier and a doctor but never gave his last name. Stupid, he should have seen. He wasn’t the only one with his secrets in there. There was always something.
He bared his teeth.
“Later, love,” John said softly as he rested a gloved hand on his arm.
Later, yes. There would be a lot of things that would have to be addressed, including the removal of the chips in their necks and some rather lengthy conversations.
Settled on the plane next to his endlessly surprising mate, he stared out of the small window as they pulled smoothly up into the air. His clothing felt tight and constrictive against him, leaving him longing to strip and be free. Fully dressed also, John’s scent was less obvious, forcing him to leave the window to nuzzle against his mate’s neck for reassurance through smell. Mycroft was looking across at them disapprovingly, small lines between his eyebrows which meant he was worried about something, no doubt him and the changes that the extended incarceration had brought about in him, but that was of no importance now.
Now he was free again, that wretched base had been destroyed and his mate was scratching comfortingly at his head. Yawning, he allowed himself to relax for the first time in over three months and settled into the caress with a contented whine.
*
The End
*