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holmesticeTitle: When the dealin’s done
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cathedralcarver
Author:ms_soma
Characters/Pairings: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~9,400
Warnings: Omegaverse and all that generally comes with it, including Omegas being held against their will and potentially given to Alphas to bond with.
Featuring: Alpha!Sherlock and Omega!John, Sherlock being Sherlocky, hints of romance, as much fluff as there is angst, and general heat shenanigans.
Summary: The Count, as he was affectionately known in the Alpha world, provided more than just a cash prize for his underground high-stakes poker tournaments. Soon he would have enough money in his bank account for early retirement to an undisclosed island. It wasn’t like he was going to be caught before he had amassed enough cash. He was careful, after all…
Notes: Written forcathedralcarver who likes first-time stories, UST that becomes very strongly RST by the end, and familiar characters thrown into very unfamiliar situations.
And also because I’ve always wanted to write Omegaverse, and this was in the “special requests” section: I’m easy. Really. I like fests because it gives writers a chance to, if desired, go a little nuts, creatively. Stretch the writing wings. Write something they’ve maybe always wanted to write but felt nervous or hesitant about. Lay it on me!
So thank you for giving me this chance,cathedralcarver, and I hope you enjoy!
The room was swimming with the scent of Alpha in a way that left most Betas reeling. A dose of that high a concentration in the room was usually accompanied an arrogance and posturing that was tiresome to the average Beta. But to The Count, as he was affectionately known amongst this clientele, it smelled of money, early retirement, and cocktails by the pool in the Caribbean.
It was a generous reward for his rather dull day job. What could be more satisfying than ending a stint working with some boring dignitary in some equally tedious city, than to earn a side-pot of €2,000,000.
Side-pot, The Count smiled at his own thought-pun, because it was high stakes poker that brought him such riches. This was the eighth tournament he’d coordinated and it was the biggest one yet, with just over 50 Alphas paying their €50,000 entry fee at their chance at a grand prize of €250,000. More than that, they would be able to take home one of the Omegas showcased on separate screens in the poker room.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of using Omegas as currency before. Well, it was highly illegal, and the Omegas were not necessarily in the prize pool of their own free will. And gambling for Omegas was something that generally resulted in the arrest and incarceration of anyone who tried. But The Count was smart. The stakes were large enough that only those with the money to lose would play, and not wanting to be arrested themselves, the participants only confided in those equally as willing to bend the rules for an Omega to call their own.
The Count didn’t understand the appeal. Being a Beta, the charms of the elusive Omega were lost on him. But on Alphas, they were as precious as all the diamonds in the world. In the real world, Omegas had their pick of Alphas, with Alphas outnumbering them six-to-one. The Count was simply evening up the playing field. And so far clearing over €10,000,000 for the privilege. Another year and his retirement nest egg would be settled. He could escape his horrible job and the arrogant tossers he called colleagues, and he and his wife could finally escape.
“Another fine event,” said a bald Frenchman that The Count only knew of as Marc. Over half of the competitors had been knocked out, and there was a break as The Count’s team changed out chips and reshuffled tables.
“How are you enjoying Geneva?” The Count asked. His day job took him all over Europe, which was most convenient for his underground operation. For Marc, too, he imagined. This was the fourth event he had attended. The Count had no doubt his own operations benefited from the many and varied locations of his tournaments.
“It is especially good timing on my part,” Marc said, stroking his goatee. “I have some business to wrap up after this before I return to Paris.”
“I will have to let you know the location of the next as soon as I have confirmation of my own whereabouts.”
“Oh, no need,” Marc said, looking at the screens above them. The Count followed his gaze. Screen number five, how interesting. “This time, I don’t intend on losing.”
The Count smiled a knowing smile and thought he’d impart some information to spur Marc’s interest on. “Number five is one of our more recent acquisitions.”
“Yes,” Marc acknowledged. “He has not been in the prize pool for your previous tournaments.”
“He came to us a few weeks ago. Gave our men one hell of a fight.”
The Frenchman raised an eyebrow. “Oui?”
“Indeed. Left one with a broken nose and the other a dislocated shoulder.”
The Count knew it would pique Marc’s interest. At the previous tournament in Madrid, The Count had asked why Marc needed to win an Omega. With his money and charisma he imagined that Marc would have Omegas falling over him.
“This is true,” he’d said. “But who wants that? I want an Omega with a bit of spark, not some mindless drone. How boring.”
The Count surveyed the room. While the eliminated Alphas were off to the side enjoying a beverage, the remaining players were each engaged in their own conversations, eyeing the screens and comparing notes. There were several gazes ruminating on Omega Five. It seemed that Marc was not the only Alpha intent on taking him home that night.
“You might have some competition.” The Count nodded his head toward a female Alpha sitting back at the table, running chips through her hands like a pro and staring at the same screen as Marc.
Marc stared her down, then snorted like the thought was preposterous. The Count wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. He’d done well the previous tournaments, but never finished on top.
“During last three tournaments you did not have anything worth playing for,” Marc said, gesturing toward the screen holding the mustachioed Omega. “Tonight, I win.”
The Count later thought that he never should have doubted him. The Frenchman was as ruthless at the poker table as he imagined he’d be in business. He read his fellow players with an accuracy that he’d had never seen. By the time they made it to the final table, he had been responsible for eliminating half of that field.
Of course you were bluffing! You only look at your cards multiple times when you are. When you have a good hand you do not check them again after your initial bet.
Learn to control your knee jiggle if you don’t want to be caught out next time.
For goodness sake, stop playing with your hat and just wear a sign that says ‘I have Aces’!
Infuriating for the other Alphas in the room, but The Count thought he was a delight.
Amongst all of the insults and all of the behaviour that could only be described as showing off, Marc would constantly look back to the screen, watching the Omega he wanted to be his. The longer the game went on, the more agitated he seemed to get and the harsher the insults. The Omega, having no idea how possessive this particular Alpha had already become, was doing some showing off of his own if the push ups, squats and stretches were anything to go by. He was fit and healthy, which only seemed to increase the interest of those Alphas eyeing him off.
Soon enough the game was down to the final two. Marc was practically all growls and snarls by this stage, and The Count could hardly blame him. Sitting opposite him with 25% of the chips while Marc held the rest, was the woman they had witnessed also fawning over the same Omega. She had played valiantly, but even she could sense her doom, even if she tried hard to mask it.
The flop came out, without much action from either player.
She pushed all in on the turn, and the room held their collective breath to see how this would play out. Marc stared her down before rambling a diatribe in French.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I said, you have a good hand, but at best it’s two-pair. You’re pulling on your ponytail the way you do when you have something decent but not astounding. In a heads-up situation like this, two-pair is quite respectable. If I call and you win, we will be getting closer to even.” He paused, whether for dramatic effect or to catch his breath, The Count was unsure. “So yes, I will call your raise. But know that Omega number five is mine.”
He took the equivalent number of chips from his pile and threw them into the middle of the table. An obnoxious move on his part, really. If he did win the hand, the game was over. If he didn’t, they could have taken his chips after it.
“Call,” he announced, somewhat redundantly, and flipped over his cards.
“Four of a kind Queens,” the dealer called, dealing out the river card even though there was no need. She was drawing dead.
Marc stood and raised his hand in victory, the sullen Alpha in second place pushing away from the table before he had the chance to shake her hand. The Count couldn’t blame her, he’d goaded her since the break. There was nothing like a bit of Alpha posturing.
Yes, The Count’s side project was so much more entertaining than his day job.
He approached Marc, who nodded at screen five, and The Count radioed his staff to make the necessary arrangements.
“We will arrange for him to be at your car in half an hour. Congratulations again, Sir. I will miss your poker table shenanigans.”
Marc grinned and nodded, taking a celebratory flute of champagne from a passing tray.
“Thank you, Sir, for finally having an Omega worth winning. May you be rewarded for it handsomely.”
The Count smiled as he thought of the island he and his wife would be able to retire to. One more year of his excruciating day job and he’d be clear of them all.
“I believe I will.”
Twenty-five minutes later, word came that Marc’s car had arrived and his Omega was waiting by it to greet his new Alpha. Everyone lifted their glasses in cheers as he exited the room, a showing of sportsmanship even though most would stab him in the throat if it meant they got to take his place.
The Count was just starting to wind up proceedings when the lights to the complex went out, leaving them in blackness. A shiver ran up his spine and momentary panic gripped his chest. Then the lights flickered and came back on and he breathed a sigh of relief.
But the sigh was too soon. Half of his Alpha competitors were holding guns and were pointing them at other players. One look to the screens saw that The Count’s other staff, the staff guarding the Omegas, were locked in the rooms that once held his prizes.
“Well, well, well,” a man walked through the middle of the room, swinging an umbrella. “What a tidy little operation you have here, Gerald. Or do you prefer The Count? One letter more than how you’re usually referred.”
The room sniggered. Fucking Mycroft Holmes. One of the many reasons The Count wanted to escape his day job. It was tossers like him who threw their weight around to ensure he was stationed anywhere but London.
“You do know how our dearest head of state despises the authority given to us being abused, don’t you, Gerald?” The dramatic bastard paused for effect, but The Count wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of a response. So he’d get done for treason or something. Big whoop.
Mycroft continued. “Yes, despises it almost as much as Alpha inmates despise Betas who kidnap Omegas, right?”
The Count felt the blood drain from his face, that feeling of panic surfacing once again. Not only had he heard stories of how Alphas treated those who abused the nature of Omegas, he’d seen it for himself. He could not let that happen! The beginnings of hyperventilation gripped his chest.
“You are not going to put me in an Alpha jail! You are not!”
The Count’s last image before everything went black was of Mycroft Holmes’ smug bloody Alpha face.
***
The second the car door was firmly shut behind them, Sherlock ripped the bald cap from his skull and massaged long fingers through his hair. His scalp was as irritating as those mindless Alphas had been, and he groaned in pleasure when John’s fingertips joined his own.
“Are you okay?” John asked.
“I’ve been trapped in a room full of Alphas all bloody day, it was excruciating. I think I’ve actually lost IQ points.” How nice it was to not have to fake a French accent.
“Oh, you poor thing,” John said with mock sympathy.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, pipe down. You think I haven’t checked you over already?”
John cocked his head. “You have?”
“Of course.” He ran his eyes up and down John’s body the way he had when they first met up at the car. “Same weight as you were before you let them capture you, so they kept you fed. No noticeable marks other than a few scratches around your wrist that are still healing, though I dare say the broken nose and shoulder you gave your captors are a long way off healing yet.”
Sherlock met John’s gaze and the both erupted into laughter.
“You were standing normally beside the car,” Sherlock continued. “Not favouring either side with your stance, so not even a return of any psychosomatic injuries. And you didn’t even flinch when getting into the vehicle, so no bruises or marks I cannot see, either. So yes, I have looked you over and I know that you are okay.”
John was silent, jaw dropped like he’d forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of his quick-fire deductions. They hadn’t seen each other for near on three weeks, so maybe he had.
“Um, thank you,” he said, reaching over and giving Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. “That’s nice.”
“What is?”
“Knowing that you’re looking out for me.”
Of course Sherlock was looking out for him! He always did. Always tried to keep him from getting hurt. Only ever used him in controlled experiments. John knew this, as Sherlock had been on the receiving end of a few tirades about how his over-protective Alpha streak was not appropriate nor appreciated.
It was rather harsh, really. If John had seen how he, as Omega number five, had been ogled by several Alphas that day, as if he were some puppy waiting for adoption, he’d understand.
“The second we get back to London we are getting rid of our ridiculous facial hair,” Sherlock said. The goatee he had been sporting itched, and John’s moustache did not suit him one bit.
“You are free to do as you wish,” John said, “but I can’t go back to London tonight.”
Sherlock looked at John like he’d gone mad. Which – maybe he had? While Sherlock had searched for physical ailments, maybe there was a deeper psychological damage. There was always something he missed!
He asked the first thing that popped into his head. “Who is the Prime Minister?”
John looked over at him like he’d gone mad himself.
“I don’t have a concussion,” he said, then added, “And it’s David Cameron.”
Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Really? I met him once. Complete wanker.”
“There’s a shock.”
They settled back into silence, Sherlock finding his gaze once again tracing John’s profile, who was looking at the passing lights of the city as they sped by.
“You’ve been away for weeks. Why on earth would you not want to return to London?”
John rolled his eyes. “The great Sherlock Holmes cannot work it out? Did they spike your drinks with extra Alpha hormones or something? Think. Deduce. Use your actual brain, not your Alpha brain.”
“I’ve been deducing all goddamned day,” he said, opening the window a crack to let some actual fresh air in. Much better. “Like I was going to let that tramp win you.”
“No one was actually going to win me, Sherlock,” John reminded him.
“I know,” he said. And it was true. Mycroft would never have let anyone but Sherlock walk out with him tonight. But still, the way some of the other Alphas eyed off John on the monitors had filled him with a weird hot feeling in his chest. He didn’t like it.
He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, relying on his other senses to tell him what he needed to know.
“They took you off your suppressants, or rather, just never gave them to you.” He sniffed. Vanilla and spice with a hint of sweat. “And they made you bathe with neutral soap to not mask your Omega scent.”
“And?” John prompted.
“And,” Sherlock’s brow furrowed before it hit him like a lightning bolt. He opened his eyes. “Oh. Of course.”
John forced a rueful grin. “Lucky me, hey.”
“You won’t make it back to London before the heat hits?”
“I very much doubt it. It hasn’t started yet, but my heart rate has increased with the hormone shot they gave me before taking me to the car. I doubt it will be more than a few hours away and I’d rather not be on a plane when it does.”
Suddenly, Sherlock felt as if he deserved every horrible name he’d ever been called. Yes, John had agreed to the plan of being captured, but he hadn’t signed up for that. Surely there was someone else Mycroft could have used as bait. Sherlock should have insisted on it!
“I didn’t mean to put you through this,” He said, reaching over and taking John’s hand. It felt good to touch his skin, feel body heat through it. It calmed him much like having him at crime scenes did. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed it these past weeks.
“Don’t go all protective Alpha on me now,” John said, letting go. “I’m a big boy. I wanted to help and this was the only practical way. We had to get those Omegas out of there.”
“Oh, shut it,” Sherlock said, nudging closer to John and resting his arm around his shoulder. “You want comfort and I want to comfort you, just go with it.”
“You’re being awfully Alpha this evening,” John said, but settled into Sherlock’s hold, so he didn’t take it as an insult.
“Being around 50-odd all day was bound to have some affect,” Sherlock said, hating being a slave to his gender but feeling it all the same. “So stop fighting your Omega instincts for once and just relax.”
Sherlock felt his own muscles relax with every deep breath that John took. They sat in silence for a few minutes until it was interrupted by Sherlock’s phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out so they could both see the screen.
Good job. Enough evidence acquired and all parties detained. Please assure JW that all Omegas will be taken care of. This will not appear in the news anywhere. Utmost discretion advised – MH
“So that’s it then?” John asked, when Sherlock put his mobile away.
“Yes, that’s it. The man was a peer of Mycroft’s. I suspect it will all be handled underground. I’m sure it won’t be pleasant.”
“Good,” John said, extricating himself from Sherlock and turning to stare out the window once more. It was disconcerting. John was generally full of adrenaline after a case, particularly one with a successful ending.
“John,” Sherlock said after several more minutes of silence. Emotions were not his strong suit, even with his best friend. “What’s wrong? It’s not like you to be so sullen after a case. People are safe, we caught the bad guy.”
“Oh, so everything is fixed then?” The sarcasm dripping from that one sentence could have filled the Thames. “Everything else is irrelevant, right? The fact that I was kidnapped purely because I was an unbonded Omega, made to go off the suppressants I’d been taking since puberty and being forced into a heat for the nearest lucky Alpha to claim me without my consent is inconsequential?”
Sherlock met his tirade with silence and he saw John’s face crumple with remorse.
“I’m sorry, Sherlock. That wasn’t good. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I’m an Alpha. Alphas forced you into a situation that made you uncomfortable. Of course you should take it out on me.”
John shook his head. “You know what? I don’t even think that’s the actual issue.”
“Can I assist?”
“What, as a big strong Alpha to an upset Omega?”
Sherlock shook his head and said as sincerely as he felt, “as a friend to a friend.”
John must have sensed his sincerity, because a few moments later, he started.
“You’re right, they didn’t treat us badly in that compound. But I was one of the lucky ones. Some of them had been captured for nearly two years.” He paused. “We got to talk a lot, us Omegas. The one regret every single one of them had was not choosing an Alpha when they had the chance. They always thought the choice was theirs, and when that was taken away from them, they all had one Alpha in their lives that they’d wished they’d said yes to.”
Sentiment. Boring. And not at all relevant to John’s case, which was all he cared about. “You knew your stay was merely temporary.”
“Quit interrupting and listen to me for once. I’m trying to tell you something.” Sherlock sighed and gestured for him to go on. “I know that I was only ever going to be there a few weeks, but all that time to yourself, a few hours a day with the others. It gets you thinking.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “It’s never a good idea, me having so much time to myself. And spending that time with nothing but other Omegas. I’m afraid as much as I wish to be my own version of Omega, the sentiment’s the same. When I was sitting in that room, waiting for you to win that damned game and get me out of there, part of me wanted it to be really happening.”
“What do you mean?” Of course it was going to happen. That had been the plan.
“Maybe it’s because I’m off my suppressants for the first time in forever,” John looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “But part of me wanted to be going home with my Alpha tonight.”
“You were going home with me.”
“Exactly.”
Sherlock didn’t try and hide his confusion. There was an Alpha out there John wished he’d said yes to? Who was it? And why did that thought make his chest hurt.
“We’ve been living together for three years and you have never expressed any interest in bonding with anyone. You’ve never even dated an Alpha in that time.”
John chuckled without humour.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He sighed. “I make you cups of tea, even when you’re being rude. I get your mobile for you when you are too lazy to get it yourself. I shoot people who try to harm you. I defend you to Lestrade and the Yard. I force you to eat and sleep. I may not be a typical blushing Omega, but by God, I have displayed every single courting behaviour I know for three years now.”
“Because you are an Omega.”
He shook his head. “Because you are my Alpha.”
Sherlock was, for once, at a loss for words. “Christ, John—”
“I know. And maybe it was just being around other Omegas that made me realise what it is I do with you. Or maybe it was the thought of having that choice taken from me. Whatever it was, I know it now. It’s real.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I want to bond. I want a bond mate. I want an Alpha. And I want it to be you.”
“Why me? I’d be a terrible bond mate.”
“Because you’d take care of me without smothering me. Because you’d treat me exactly as you do now. And because sometimes when I’m patching you up it takes every ounce of willpower to not lick your entire body.”
Sherlock was left speechless.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” John said, the resignation in his tone obvious, but Sherlock couldn’t do anything to soothe him, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “You wanted to know what was going through my head. Well, that’s it. I’ve never shown any interest in any other Alphas most likely because I knew deep down that my Alpha was asleep in the downstairs bedroom. Or not sleeping, most likely.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He thought about John’s words for all of five seconds and wondered if it could, indeed, be true. That they belonged to each other. He’d hated the thought of another Alpha claiming John. Did that mean he should claim him for himself?
He could do it, right now. He could lean over and kiss those lips and take him to the nearest hotel and bite down on that vanilla spice neck.
But why him? Why Sherlock? Despite John’s claims, he found it difficult to believe that someone as amiable as John would want someone as prickly as himself, even if the idea was becoming more and more attractive in Sherlock’s mind.
No, it was obvious that John was not of sound mind. Too much time around the Omegas and not enough time in his normal life. Not to mention being off his suppressants and the hormone booster given to trigger a false heat. If they did this, if they bonded, John would begin to regret it within a week of being back in London. Sherlock could not have that. He could not have John Watson despising him.
He took his mobile and sent off a quick text.
“We’ll take you to a hotel in the city. One with a Bonding Suite. They’ll have everything you need to get you through the next 24 hours and it will be sealed tight to keep your pheromones in the room,” Sherlock told him, keeping every emotion from his voice.
John nodded, eyes not meeting Sherlock’s.
“If that’s what you think’s best.”
Sherlock looked out the window as if he were suddenly disinterested in the entire situation.
“I don’t think it’s best. I know it’s best.”
A few minutes later, they pulled up outside of a five-star hotel.
“So I’ll meet you back in London then?” John said, schooling his features into something resembling nonchalance but his eyes giving him away. Sherlock ignored it.
“I’ll book your flight to depart the day after tomorrow. Mycroft will have taken care of your hotel room, just tell them your name at reception.”
John got out of the car without saying anything further, and Sherlock resisted every urge he had not to get out and follow him. He wanted to make sure he made it to his room safely. He wanted to order him up food and watch him sleep and make sure he was comfortable. He wanted to scent his neck, catch more of that vanilla that was rolling off of him in waves. He wanted to bite his earlobes and trace his fingers along the thin skin covering his hip bones. He wanted—
Stupid Alpha hormones. Stupid!
As the car, once more, headed toward the airport, Sherlock hit the back of the seat in front of him in frustration, both rueful and relieved that he didn’t have a gun on him. Mycroft probably would not appreciate having the windows of the car shot out.
“Think of the fat bastard and the fat bastard appears,” Sherlock said, looking at his phone lighting up with his brother’s name. “There are eight different ways you can contact me on this phone without having to speak to me.”
Mycroft ignored him. “What’s this I hear about Doctor Watson checking into the Bonding Suite alone?”
Sherlock sighed. “Does everyone in the world work for you? He’s about to go into heat, he needs the security.”
“He needs his Alpha.”
This was all he needed. “Christ, not you too.”
“I’ve spoken to the Omegas held here. Your John made quite an impression in the short time he was here.”
“He’s not My John,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth.
“Spoke of you a lot. They all had an Alpha on the outside they wished to be reunited with. John denied it, of course. Until day five when a few of them drew his attention to how much he spoke of you.”
“Just get to the point, Mycroft. I have neither the time nor the patience for such drivel.”
“Very well then, dear brother. John has finally realised that you are his true Alpha and you have left him to go through this heat alone?”
“He has realised nothing. He is compromised, you stupid git, because of a mission that you put him through. He’s not on his suppressants, he’s been jabbed with a hormone shot, he is not of his right mind.”
“Blame me all you want, but John volunteered to enter that compound. And you know as well as I do that although John’s Omega senses may be heightened, his thought patterns are all his own.”
Sherlock scowled. “Get me on the next flight to London.”
“If that’s what you wish, I’ll arrange it for you now. Just do me a favour before you jetset into your own delusions.”
Spare me of the hyperbole, Sherlock thought.
“What? Haven’t I done enough favours for you these past months?”
“Just Google the words ‘Alpha Courtship Behaviours’.”
Sherlock ended the call with a growl and threw the phone across the other side of the car.
London awaited. And in 48 hours, John would be home and everything would be back to normal. They would get on with their lives and all would be as it was before.
***
John had to hand it to the Holmes’s. They certainly didn’t do anything by halves.
Walking into the hotel room was akin to walking into a bedroom at Buckingham Palace, John imagined. Soft yellow walls, floor-to-ceiling windows behind sheer curtains, four-poster bed with a bucket of water bottles on ice on one side, lube and condoms on the other. He walked through to the bathroom, with its corner spa bath, double shower and marble tiles. Razors, make-up remover, tweezers, toothbrushes, anything and everything he could possibly need.
It was all set up for a perfectly romantic Alpha/Omega romp. It was just a shame that John was without an Alpha to romp with.
Sherlock’s rejection stung, and John had to quell the Omega in him that tried to tell him that Sherlock just needed time to get used to the idea, just like John had needed it. It was days between his fellow captives telling him he was exhibiting classic courting traits for ‘that Sherlock character’ and him actually realising that it was all true. That there were hundreds of little signs that proved how he actually felt about the toff wanker.
But Sherlock knew his own mind, and Sherlock was never anything but certain.
Desperate to shake off both his mood and any last trace of that compound, he stripped off and stepped under the spray of the rain shower. He luxuriated in the fancy shampoo, soap, and bodywash until he was waterlogged. Even though he’d been bathed earlier, when Sherlock had ‘won’ him at the poker game, it was nice to get rid of all traces of being held captive.
He used the hairdryer and stared at his reflection in the mirror. For an Omega, he was looking washed up. No wonder Sherlock didn’t want him. He had bags under his eyes, crowsfeet at the edges. His muscles weren’t as pronounced as they used to be, and he was seriously worried he was beginning to develop a double chin.
The moustache, though, he was quite fond of. He thought it made him look distinguished, like a doctor should look. He’d have to get rid of it before London. Sherlock had made his distaste for it obvious, and if John was not to get rid of it himself, he wouldn’t be surprised to wake one night and find Sherlock perched over him with a razor at his lip.
Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. His whole fucking life revolved around Sherlock.
“Oh, fuck it,” he said to his reflection, and foamed up some shaving cream in his palm. He knew it was the hormones. For some reason his body still thought it was preparing itself for the pleasure of his Alpha, even if John knew, intellectually, that the Alpha he wanted did not want him.
It didn’t take long before he was clean shaven. He looked like himself again, and despite the fondness he had for the facial hair, a small part of him was happy to leave behind any trace of the man who allowed himself to get captured. No more was he the John Watson who was pining over his mad flatmate, waiting to be rescued like a damsel in distress.
No, John wasn’t getting any younger and he wasn’t going to wait around. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want him, but he was sure there were other Alphas out there who would. He was determined to get on with his life as soon as he was back in London. He and Sherlock would take cases, John would work at the clinic, Mrs Hudson would make them biscuits, Anderson would be a prat, and John would get back into the dating game like none of this had happened. And this time he wouldn’t avoid dating Alphas.
He felt a fluttering in his belly, a telltale sign that heat was imminent. Another hour and he’d be a writhing mess. A false heat fed on circadian rhythms, so it never lasted more than 25 hours, which John was grateful for. He could handle a day of it on his own.
He found the kettle in the cupboard and a packet of biscuits, and nibbled on those while waiting for his tea to cool. He also found a few heat aids, and John wondered how much Mycroft paid for a room this well fitted out.
He turned the cooling up as his temperature increased. Breathing was becoming deeper and his cock was hardening. Next would be the wetness, and then the real game would start.
“It’s just for a day,” he told himself. “Small price to pay for the safety of the other Omegas.”
He groaned as a spasm started to hit his belly, and he lay on the bed to ride it out. His muscles clenched and he once again thought of Sherlock. What they would be doing now if he had taken up his offer.
No! John told his inner Omega. He doesn’t want you and you don’t need him. You’ve made it through this far without him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the door. He ignored it. He was too close to exploding into full heat now to deal with whatever it was. There was also the risk that, if it was an Alpha at the door, he would try and lure them in to make him forget all about the virile cheekboned dark-haired tosser.
The banging persisted, then a muffled “John, open the door. Let me in.”
Of course it was Sherlock. Of all of the fucking times—
He wanted to ignore it, ignore him, but Sherlock wouldn’t interrupt like this unless it was something important. John jumped off the bed, wrapped himself in the top sheet and strode to the door, opening it just a fraction.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have the worst timing?”
“Everyone tells me that all the time. Let me in.” It was an order, not a question.
“Why should I? Shouldn’t you be halfway back to London right now?” Okay, so John was still feeling hurt. Sue him.
“There are things that should be said,” was all he spoke. His eyes were wild and cheeks flushed, and he looked so unlike his usual calm and collected Sherlock that John stepped aside and let him through.
“You’ve got about 4 minutes.”
Sherlock nodded and stepped towards him, but John took a step back so Sherlock stopped and did not go further.
“I understand I may have hurt you, in the car.”
No shit, John thought. “I’m a grown up.”
Sherlock started pacing, a clear indication that the words he wanted were not coming to him. “Let me finish. This is difficult for me.”
“If you are here to apologise, it’s fine. It’s my fault for putting you in that situation. Now go off to London and I’ll see you in a few days.”
John silently implored him to leave, to go before the heat got worse and he started to beg more than he had in the car. But Sherlock continued to pace.
“I clean up my experiments when you get upset with me,” he started. “I apologise to people when you point out my abruptness. I lie to you to get you out of harms way. I get horrible hot feelings in my chest when you go out with someone who is not me. I eat when you make food for me. I think better when you’re around me.”
It was like the man was speaking in code. “For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, just tell me what you’re on about. Average mind, remember?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Classic Alpha Courting Behaviour, according to the internet. Well, they call it behaviour modification, over protectiveness, jealousy and psychophysiological dependence, but it’s that, just the same.”
“You do that?”
“Of course. Molly informs me that I only do this for you, and not for her or any other Omegas of my acquaintance.”
“You spoke with Molly?”
“I needed the opinion of an Omega, and it was either her or Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson would hardly be impartial, and I believed that Molly’s affection for me, if anything, would spin her responses more in her own favour than yours.”
“But they didn’t?”
“Obviously. I’m here aren’t I? According to her we’ve both been displaying classic Alpha/Omega pre-bonding symptoms for a number of years. And that we should just ‘do it, already’.”
John shook his head. “I’m not after a pity-bond.”
“It’s not a pity-bond. There are other things, too.”
“Like what?” John prompted, taking a seat on the couch and rubbing a hand across his belly under the sheet. If Sherlock didn’t get a move on, whatever he’d be saying next would be lost in the throws of a serious heat.
“How when I walk in the bathroom while you’re in the shower, it takes all of my willpower not to throw my clothes off and step in behind you. And, apparently, when several Alphas are competing to take you home, I want to rip their faces off.” He stopped pacing and stared at John, a growl in his voice. “All I’ve wanted to do since we got out of that stupid compound is hold you close and stamp a tattoo all over you telling everyone you are mine.”
John growled. This man— “Stop it, Sherlock! You’re being very confusing!” Another cramp grabbed at his stomach and he forced a hand forward to stop Sherlock from coming toward him. “I threw myself at you in the car. I all but bent over and presented myself like a fucking bonobo. You don’t want me.”
“Can’t you see that I do?” Sherlock yelled. “What was I supposed to think? I’m not a prize, John. I speak the truth when I say I’d be a terrible bond mate. And you’re off your suppressants and surrounded by other Omegas and decide that maybe I’m the one for you? How am I supposed to believe that when I could not see any evidence prior?”
“Because it’s always been about us!”
“Well I know that now!”
John breathed deeply as the spasms passed, and took the moment to process his thoughts.
“I want you,” Sherlock said, voice back to its normal deep octave. “I want to scent you, I want to mark you. I want to make it so the world knows that you’re mine.”
He stalked toward John, and John gave up. He wasn’t sure if it was to do with the heat, Sherlock’s speech, or the fact that it felt like everything he’d never known he wanted was in front of him offering comfort. He bared his neck for Sherlock to scent him.
“If you don’t want me to do this, tell me now,” Sherlock said, nosing at his neck. “If you really believe me to be insincere, I’ll leave you be.”
John grabbed at Sherlock’s face so he could look him in the eye. What he saw there convinced him that Sherlock was telling the truth. He was as apprehensive and wanting as John was, he was sure of it.
He nodded. “Stay.”
With that one word, Sherlock smiled and dove back into his neck. All of the tension seemed to bleed out of the room. It was just John and Sherlock and it felt as right as anything had ever felt.
“How could you have kept this scent from me, John.” John shuddered as Sherlock licked over his pulse point.
“You aren’t exactly a pom-pom waving champion of bonding,” John reminded him.
“As much as I observe it in other people, I’m afraid I’m easily blinded by emotion and sentiment in myself.”
John’s lips twitched. “Do you think Mycroft’s bugged this room? I’d love to get a recording of that.”
Sherlock’s head snapped back from his explorations of John’s neck.
“Please do not mention my brother when I’m trying to seduce you. It’s most off-putting.”
“You think you need to try? After everything that’s been said over the past few hours, you think you need to try and seduce me?”
“I find myself wanting to give into my Alpha instincts in this situation.”
“And in this situation, I find you smelling of too many other Alphas.” It was cloying and confusing. John could scent Sherlock underneath it all, but there were too many traces of others, like second-hand cigarette smoke clinging to cloth.
“Oh,” Sherlock said, stepping back. “Should I shower then?”
“Excellent deduction.”
Sherlock stood and headed toward the bathroom.
“Oh, and Sherlock.”
“Yes?”
“Hurry.”
As soon as he heard the spray of the shower, John set about preparing the room. He opened a bottle of water and left it on the nightstand in easy reach. He folded back the duvet on the bed, leaving just a wide expanse of mattress. He fluffed the pillows, climbed onto the bed and waited for Sherlock to pounce.
Five minutes passed, then ten, and John was getting wetter and more needy by the second.
“Come on, Sherlock!” he cried, taking his cock into his hand and tugging, trying to take some of the edge off.
“You’d better not be touching yourself!” Sherlock called from the other side of the door.
“I’ll do what I goddamned like, thank you very much,” John said, not stilling his hand. “If you don’t get on this bed and fuck me in the next 30 seconds, I’ll rip open one of those toys and start without you.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Sherlock said, emerging from the bathroom and stalking towards him, as naked as the day he was born. He was clean shaven, that horrible beard gone, and he smelled like soap and shaving cream and spice. Heavenly. And completely 100% Sherlock.
He climbed on top of John and pulled his hand from himself, bringing it above his head and holding it there. He ground his slim hips into John’s, creating a delicious friction that had John baring his neck and panting for more. Why hadn’t they done this three years ago?
Sherlock nosed at his neck, hair and ears before whispering “I’m not going to bond with you tonight.”
John froze, feeling like someone had thrown the bucket of ice water down his spine.
“What? But you said—”
He paused his words and bucked to throw Sherlock off of him. Damn Sherlock and his ever-changing mind! Did he not realise how this was affecting John? Of course not, the tosser only ever thought about himself. John may have been in heat, but he was not going to put up with that.
“Okay, get out,” he told him.
“What?” Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be confused.
“I told you that I wasn’t after a pity-fuck. I don’t care how much I need you right now, I don’t need you that much. So get out.”
“John, you misunderstand! I do want to bond with you and I desperately want to spend this heat with you. But I need to make sure you know what you’re doing. I can’t have you regret me. I can’t.”
“How can I regret you?” John yelled.
“Then, when we’re back in London,” Sherlock continued, ignoring John, “and you’re back on your meds and back to your ordinary life, if you still want to bond, we’ll have your next real heat.”
“Ordinary life?”
“You know what I mean,” Sherlock said. “Please, John. Don’t misinterpret me. You’ve trusted me for years. Don’t stop trusting me now.”
Then, with some hesitation generally not a trait of this Alpha, he nosed along John’s cheekbone and jaw until their lips met.
It was their first real kiss and John found himself sinking into it. Sherlock’s lips were soft against his own, teasing, testing. John felt the tension and anger melt away as Sherlock’s tongue nudged his own. It felt like Sherlock was pouring every emotion into the kiss, showing John that he was cared for and protected. That Sherlock would not lie to him about something this important. He was breathless and aching and he wanted to do this forever.
“Say yes,” Sherlock whispered. “Tell me yes.”
And hell, who did John even think he was kidding.
“Yes.”
Sherlock grinned like he’d just solved the most intricate case he’d ever had, and dove back onto John. He ran his fingertips down his chest and stomach, lips following their path until he was eye level with John’s hard cock.
John flushed and moaned as he felt those hot, wet lips envelop him. It felt like heaven and dying and like nothing had ever felt before. He’d shared heats previously, and they were all enjoyable and certainly scratched the itch, but this was something else entirely.
“I’m not going to change my mind,” John said, threading his hands through Sherlock’s hair. “You’re perfect, this is perfect.”
Sherlock brought him to the brink with his tongue and lips, but never let him cascade over. He traced his lips over his hipbones and left bite marks in the soft flesh of his belly.
“You’re killing me,” John told him, wrapping his legs around his waist. “Just fuck me already.”
“Good things come to those who wait, so I’ve been told.”
“When have you ever waited for anything?” John asked, and used all the strength he could muster to flip them over so he was on top.
“John!” Sherlock was smiling when John himself across his hips. Sherlock loved it when John surprised him.
He held Sherlock’s hands above his head so he couldn’t touch, then ground his arse against Sherlock’s Alpha cock, smothering it in his wetness. It was a tease to them both, and John threw his head back at the small spikes of pleasure he could feel against his sensitive nerve endings.
“You weren’t after some traditional subordinate Omega, were you?” John asked.
“That would be dull. Boring,” Sherlock said, struggling against the hands pinning him to the bed.
“Good. Because I am an Omega in many ways, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go after what I want. And right now, I need your dick inside me.”
And with that, John let go of Sherlock’s hands, lined himself up with his cock, and sunk down on it.
They both shouted at the feel of it. Sherlock’s cock hit every single spot inside John that needed touching. Every single nerve ending was on fire. In no time, Sherlock was rising up to meet John’s every thrust down. If John had felt amazing before with Sherlock’s mouth on him, it was nothing compared to the feeling of Sherlock inside of him. He felt full and pleasured and looked after.
“I don’t know that I can last long,” Sherlock said, placing his hands on John’s hips and thrusting harder in short, sharp jabs. John leaned back and gripped at Sherlock’s thighs, swiveling his hips and the new angle hit his prostate every single time.
He could feel Sherlock’s knot bulging at the base of his penis. It was tantalising, the thought of Sherlock knotting him and filling him up. With each rise up, he dropped his hips down harder until the knot popped through, joining them.
“You feel exquisite,” Sherlock said with a heavy groan. “I want to bite you, I want to bond. Believe me John, I want to sink my teeth into your neck until you are completely and utterly mine. No one elses.”
“Yes, bite me, I need you to bite me! Claim me! Fill me up!” he shouted as his vision went white and he came over the two of them. Despite Sherlock’s former protests, John knew that if they were in a traditional bonding position, he would have puncture marks in his neck right now.
Sherlock’s own release followed, and John clenched his muscles to milk every single drop from him.
“Wow,” John said when he came back to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I don’t think I thought this position through.”
“I think it was a brilliant idea,” Sherlock said, rolling his hips gently as he continued to come inside him.
“You would, you lazy sod. Getting to lay there while I do all the work up here.” John reached over and grabbed the bottle of water, taking a healthy gulp before resting it on the nightstand again. “I really need to lie down after that, though, and this is not the position to do that.”
“Oh,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know that you’ll get the chance for another half hour or so.”
“Christ, that long?”
“You’re my Omega,” he said simply, echoing the words John had said earlier in the car.
John smiled and bracketed his hands either side of Sherlock’s head so he could lean down and capture his lips in his own.
“We have to do this again.”
“We have to do this forever,” Sherlock corrected.
“So bite me. Mark me. Connect us. Show everyone that I am yours.”
Sherlock grabbed the pillow from next to his head and placed it on his chest, patting it so John would rest his head. He carded his fingers through John’s sweat-damp hair.
“I need you to let me do this properly.”
“Do what properly?”
“I need you to let me be an Alpha and court you properly.”
“You’ve never been a typical Alpha.”
“And you’ve never been a typical Omega. But to bond properly, we need to give into our biology.”
“You’ve been reading up on bonding?”
“I had to for a case I took before I met you. Deleted the information afterwards, of course, it was hardly going to be relevant to me. But while I was in the shower, I went to my mind palace and retrieved it.”
“That’s what took you so long.”
“Obviously.”
“So what did you retrieve?”
“Studies have shown that Alphas and Omegas that engage in instinctual bonding courtship experience an inevitability of bonding during the Omega’s next heat, and a deeper connection that is less likely to be disrupted during the crucial two-week post-bonding period.”
“You still think I’m going to regret bonding with you, don’t you?”
“Don’t think that my hesitance is anything to do with my feelings for you. I’m not a prize.”
“You are to me. I’m not going to regret you, Sherlock. But if this is what it takes to convince you, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” Sherlock said, and ran his fingertips down John’s spine. “Did you want to nap.”
“Briefly,” John said. Sherlock was still stuck inside him but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the next wave hit. “But next time, you will be spooned behind me so I can have a kip afterwards, no matter how long we’re tied together.”
“Next time I will taste every inch of your skin,” Sherlock promised, and John groaned at the thought. He was starting to wish very much that this false heat would last longer than the 25 hours it would.
****
six weeks later…
“Shut up!” Sherlock yelled to the members of the Yard who were surrounding him. There was a body at his feet and too much data interrupting his thought patterns. He put his fingers to his temples in an attempt to block everyone out.
John dutifully herded everyone away to give Sherlock some space. He looked devastatingly handsome in his new suit, one he’d purchased specially for the date he’d taken John on, only for it to be disrupted by a murder investigation.
John didn’t mind. As much as he enjoyed the effort Sherlock went to woo him, his favourite outings were the ones that ended in foot chases and adrenaline. They were usually followed up by a hot snogging session against the wall in 221B.
Little did Sherlock know that this particular date was going to end with a bang. Literally.
Sherlock appeared to have been able to gather his thoughts, at last.
“He’s a recently bonded Omega who had wanted to renege on his mate, much easier to sever a bond in the first week than later. Fresh bite mark but no bonding ring indicates that it is a new coupling, possibly one made in haste during a one-night stand or similar. Find his Alpha. If she has pink fingernail polish, arrest her. If not, find the Alpha who had previously been courting this Omega and arrest her.”
Lestrade rolled his eyes. “I’m meant to arrest someone based on the freshness of a bonding mark?”
“And the scent. This murder was recent and he still smells of a newly formed bond.” Sherlock sniffed for effect. “It smells of burning candles, a mix of Omega and Alpha, a hint of vanilla and, oh—”
Sherlock paused and looked at John with wide-eyed anticipation.
John smiled back and nodded. Yes. The vanilla part was him. It was time. Well, almost time.
“Surely Anderson has the skills to work out the rest,” Sherlock said quickly, practically sprinting toward John and taking his hand.
“You? You’re leaving this with Anderson?” Lestrade asked.
“He is the forensic specialist, is he not?” Sherlock walked out of the room, towing John behind him.
“Wait, Sherlock, we haven’t finished yet!” Lestrade called behind him.
Seemingly aware that Lestrade would follow them, Sherlock stopped to speak with him. “I’m afraid I’ll be indisposed for the next five-to-seven days. I’m sure you can solve this without me.”
Lestrade looked at Sherlock with a baffled expression on his face. His gaze dropped down to where Sherlock’s hand was clasped with John’s and his jaw dropped. He felt Sherlock bristle at the questioning look Lestrade was giving him.
“Mine,” Sherlock snarled at the other Alpha, and fled to the nearest taxi with John at his heels.
“Are you ready?” John asked when they got into the taxi, nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck. It felt like years that he’d been waiting for this night. In some way, he guessed it was.
Sherlock pulled John onto his lap in response, kissing him soundly and thoroughly, the cabbie knocking on the glass partition in a fruitless attempt to get them to stop. John was starting to feel the amourous effects of his upcoming heat and not even an irate cabbie would stop him from cuddling up to his mate-to-be.
“How long do we have?” Sherlock asked, scenting at his neck and licking over the skin he would be biting in a few hours time.
“Two hours, maybe three,” John estimated. “I’m not putting out pheromones yet but I am getting that belly flutter.”
“Good things come to those who wait,” Sherlock replied, crushing his lips against John’s once again.
It felt like both minutes and hours before they finally arrived at 221B.
John threw some notes at the driver and pulled Sherlock out by his scarf.
“Come on,” John said, smile as bright as the sun. “Time to make you my Alpha.”
~FIN~
Recipient:
cathedralcarverAuthor:
ms_somaCharacters/Pairings: John/Sherlock
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~9,400
Warnings: Omegaverse and all that generally comes with it, including Omegas being held against their will and potentially given to Alphas to bond with.
Featuring: Alpha!Sherlock and Omega!John, Sherlock being Sherlocky, hints of romance, as much fluff as there is angst, and general heat shenanigans.
Summary: The Count, as he was affectionately known in the Alpha world, provided more than just a cash prize for his underground high-stakes poker tournaments. Soon he would have enough money in his bank account for early retirement to an undisclosed island. It wasn’t like he was going to be caught before he had amassed enough cash. He was careful, after all…
Notes: Written for
cathedralcarver who likes first-time stories, UST that becomes very strongly RST by the end, and familiar characters thrown into very unfamiliar situations.And also because I’ve always wanted to write Omegaverse, and this was in the “special requests” section: I’m easy. Really. I like fests because it gives writers a chance to, if desired, go a little nuts, creatively. Stretch the writing wings. Write something they’ve maybe always wanted to write but felt nervous or hesitant about. Lay it on me!
So thank you for giving me this chance,
cathedralcarver, and I hope you enjoy!The room was swimming with the scent of Alpha in a way that left most Betas reeling. A dose of that high a concentration in the room was usually accompanied an arrogance and posturing that was tiresome to the average Beta. But to The Count, as he was affectionately known amongst this clientele, it smelled of money, early retirement, and cocktails by the pool in the Caribbean.
It was a generous reward for his rather dull day job. What could be more satisfying than ending a stint working with some boring dignitary in some equally tedious city, than to earn a side-pot of €2,000,000.
Side-pot, The Count smiled at his own thought-pun, because it was high stakes poker that brought him such riches. This was the eighth tournament he’d coordinated and it was the biggest one yet, with just over 50 Alphas paying their €50,000 entry fee at their chance at a grand prize of €250,000. More than that, they would be able to take home one of the Omegas showcased on separate screens in the poker room.
He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of using Omegas as currency before. Well, it was highly illegal, and the Omegas were not necessarily in the prize pool of their own free will. And gambling for Omegas was something that generally resulted in the arrest and incarceration of anyone who tried. But The Count was smart. The stakes were large enough that only those with the money to lose would play, and not wanting to be arrested themselves, the participants only confided in those equally as willing to bend the rules for an Omega to call their own.
The Count didn’t understand the appeal. Being a Beta, the charms of the elusive Omega were lost on him. But on Alphas, they were as precious as all the diamonds in the world. In the real world, Omegas had their pick of Alphas, with Alphas outnumbering them six-to-one. The Count was simply evening up the playing field. And so far clearing over €10,000,000 for the privilege. Another year and his retirement nest egg would be settled. He could escape his horrible job and the arrogant tossers he called colleagues, and he and his wife could finally escape.
“Another fine event,” said a bald Frenchman that The Count only knew of as Marc. Over half of the competitors had been knocked out, and there was a break as The Count’s team changed out chips and reshuffled tables.
“How are you enjoying Geneva?” The Count asked. His day job took him all over Europe, which was most convenient for his underground operation. For Marc, too, he imagined. This was the fourth event he had attended. The Count had no doubt his own operations benefited from the many and varied locations of his tournaments.
“It is especially good timing on my part,” Marc said, stroking his goatee. “I have some business to wrap up after this before I return to Paris.”
“I will have to let you know the location of the next as soon as I have confirmation of my own whereabouts.”
“Oh, no need,” Marc said, looking at the screens above them. The Count followed his gaze. Screen number five, how interesting. “This time, I don’t intend on losing.”
The Count smiled a knowing smile and thought he’d impart some information to spur Marc’s interest on. “Number five is one of our more recent acquisitions.”
“Yes,” Marc acknowledged. “He has not been in the prize pool for your previous tournaments.”
“He came to us a few weeks ago. Gave our men one hell of a fight.”
The Frenchman raised an eyebrow. “Oui?”
“Indeed. Left one with a broken nose and the other a dislocated shoulder.”
The Count knew it would pique Marc’s interest. At the previous tournament in Madrid, The Count had asked why Marc needed to win an Omega. With his money and charisma he imagined that Marc would have Omegas falling over him.
“This is true,” he’d said. “But who wants that? I want an Omega with a bit of spark, not some mindless drone. How boring.”
The Count surveyed the room. While the eliminated Alphas were off to the side enjoying a beverage, the remaining players were each engaged in their own conversations, eyeing the screens and comparing notes. There were several gazes ruminating on Omega Five. It seemed that Marc was not the only Alpha intent on taking him home that night.
“You might have some competition.” The Count nodded his head toward a female Alpha sitting back at the table, running chips through her hands like a pro and staring at the same screen as Marc.
Marc stared her down, then snorted like the thought was preposterous. The Count wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. He’d done well the previous tournaments, but never finished on top.
“During last three tournaments you did not have anything worth playing for,” Marc said, gesturing toward the screen holding the mustachioed Omega. “Tonight, I win.”
The Count later thought that he never should have doubted him. The Frenchman was as ruthless at the poker table as he imagined he’d be in business. He read his fellow players with an accuracy that he’d had never seen. By the time they made it to the final table, he had been responsible for eliminating half of that field.
Of course you were bluffing! You only look at your cards multiple times when you are. When you have a good hand you do not check them again after your initial bet.
Learn to control your knee jiggle if you don’t want to be caught out next time.
For goodness sake, stop playing with your hat and just wear a sign that says ‘I have Aces’!
Infuriating for the other Alphas in the room, but The Count thought he was a delight.
Amongst all of the insults and all of the behaviour that could only be described as showing off, Marc would constantly look back to the screen, watching the Omega he wanted to be his. The longer the game went on, the more agitated he seemed to get and the harsher the insults. The Omega, having no idea how possessive this particular Alpha had already become, was doing some showing off of his own if the push ups, squats and stretches were anything to go by. He was fit and healthy, which only seemed to increase the interest of those Alphas eyeing him off.
Soon enough the game was down to the final two. Marc was practically all growls and snarls by this stage, and The Count could hardly blame him. Sitting opposite him with 25% of the chips while Marc held the rest, was the woman they had witnessed also fawning over the same Omega. She had played valiantly, but even she could sense her doom, even if she tried hard to mask it.
The flop came out, without much action from either player.
She pushed all in on the turn, and the room held their collective breath to see how this would play out. Marc stared her down before rambling a diatribe in French.
“What was that?” she asked.
“I said, you have a good hand, but at best it’s two-pair. You’re pulling on your ponytail the way you do when you have something decent but not astounding. In a heads-up situation like this, two-pair is quite respectable. If I call and you win, we will be getting closer to even.” He paused, whether for dramatic effect or to catch his breath, The Count was unsure. “So yes, I will call your raise. But know that Omega number five is mine.”
He took the equivalent number of chips from his pile and threw them into the middle of the table. An obnoxious move on his part, really. If he did win the hand, the game was over. If he didn’t, they could have taken his chips after it.
“Call,” he announced, somewhat redundantly, and flipped over his cards.
“Four of a kind Queens,” the dealer called, dealing out the river card even though there was no need. She was drawing dead.
Marc stood and raised his hand in victory, the sullen Alpha in second place pushing away from the table before he had the chance to shake her hand. The Count couldn’t blame her, he’d goaded her since the break. There was nothing like a bit of Alpha posturing.
Yes, The Count’s side project was so much more entertaining than his day job.
He approached Marc, who nodded at screen five, and The Count radioed his staff to make the necessary arrangements.
“We will arrange for him to be at your car in half an hour. Congratulations again, Sir. I will miss your poker table shenanigans.”
Marc grinned and nodded, taking a celebratory flute of champagne from a passing tray.
“Thank you, Sir, for finally having an Omega worth winning. May you be rewarded for it handsomely.”
The Count smiled as he thought of the island he and his wife would be able to retire to. One more year of his excruciating day job and he’d be clear of them all.
“I believe I will.”
Twenty-five minutes later, word came that Marc’s car had arrived and his Omega was waiting by it to greet his new Alpha. Everyone lifted their glasses in cheers as he exited the room, a showing of sportsmanship even though most would stab him in the throat if it meant they got to take his place.
The Count was just starting to wind up proceedings when the lights to the complex went out, leaving them in blackness. A shiver ran up his spine and momentary panic gripped his chest. Then the lights flickered and came back on and he breathed a sigh of relief.
But the sigh was too soon. Half of his Alpha competitors were holding guns and were pointing them at other players. One look to the screens saw that The Count’s other staff, the staff guarding the Omegas, were locked in the rooms that once held his prizes.
“Well, well, well,” a man walked through the middle of the room, swinging an umbrella. “What a tidy little operation you have here, Gerald. Or do you prefer The Count? One letter more than how you’re usually referred.”
The room sniggered. Fucking Mycroft Holmes. One of the many reasons The Count wanted to escape his day job. It was tossers like him who threw their weight around to ensure he was stationed anywhere but London.
“You do know how our dearest head of state despises the authority given to us being abused, don’t you, Gerald?” The dramatic bastard paused for effect, but The Count wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of a response. So he’d get done for treason or something. Big whoop.
Mycroft continued. “Yes, despises it almost as much as Alpha inmates despise Betas who kidnap Omegas, right?”
The Count felt the blood drain from his face, that feeling of panic surfacing once again. Not only had he heard stories of how Alphas treated those who abused the nature of Omegas, he’d seen it for himself. He could not let that happen! The beginnings of hyperventilation gripped his chest.
“You are not going to put me in an Alpha jail! You are not!”
The Count’s last image before everything went black was of Mycroft Holmes’ smug bloody Alpha face.
***
The second the car door was firmly shut behind them, Sherlock ripped the bald cap from his skull and massaged long fingers through his hair. His scalp was as irritating as those mindless Alphas had been, and he groaned in pleasure when John’s fingertips joined his own.
“Are you okay?” John asked.
“I’ve been trapped in a room full of Alphas all bloody day, it was excruciating. I think I’ve actually lost IQ points.” How nice it was to not have to fake a French accent.
“Oh, you poor thing,” John said with mock sympathy.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, pipe down. You think I haven’t checked you over already?”
John cocked his head. “You have?”
“Of course.” He ran his eyes up and down John’s body the way he had when they first met up at the car. “Same weight as you were before you let them capture you, so they kept you fed. No noticeable marks other than a few scratches around your wrist that are still healing, though I dare say the broken nose and shoulder you gave your captors are a long way off healing yet.”
Sherlock met John’s gaze and the both erupted into laughter.
“You were standing normally beside the car,” Sherlock continued. “Not favouring either side with your stance, so not even a return of any psychosomatic injuries. And you didn’t even flinch when getting into the vehicle, so no bruises or marks I cannot see, either. So yes, I have looked you over and I know that you are okay.”
John was silent, jaw dropped like he’d forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of his quick-fire deductions. They hadn’t seen each other for near on three weeks, so maybe he had.
“Um, thank you,” he said, reaching over and giving Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. “That’s nice.”
“What is?”
“Knowing that you’re looking out for me.”
Of course Sherlock was looking out for him! He always did. Always tried to keep him from getting hurt. Only ever used him in controlled experiments. John knew this, as Sherlock had been on the receiving end of a few tirades about how his over-protective Alpha streak was not appropriate nor appreciated.
It was rather harsh, really. If John had seen how he, as Omega number five, had been ogled by several Alphas that day, as if he were some puppy waiting for adoption, he’d understand.
“The second we get back to London we are getting rid of our ridiculous facial hair,” Sherlock said. The goatee he had been sporting itched, and John’s moustache did not suit him one bit.
“You are free to do as you wish,” John said, “but I can’t go back to London tonight.”
Sherlock looked at John like he’d gone mad. Which – maybe he had? While Sherlock had searched for physical ailments, maybe there was a deeper psychological damage. There was always something he missed!
He asked the first thing that popped into his head. “Who is the Prime Minister?”
John looked over at him like he’d gone mad himself.
“I don’t have a concussion,” he said, then added, “And it’s David Cameron.”
Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Really? I met him once. Complete wanker.”
“There’s a shock.”
They settled back into silence, Sherlock finding his gaze once again tracing John’s profile, who was looking at the passing lights of the city as they sped by.
“You’ve been away for weeks. Why on earth would you not want to return to London?”
John rolled his eyes. “The great Sherlock Holmes cannot work it out? Did they spike your drinks with extra Alpha hormones or something? Think. Deduce. Use your actual brain, not your Alpha brain.”
“I’ve been deducing all goddamned day,” he said, opening the window a crack to let some actual fresh air in. Much better. “Like I was going to let that tramp win you.”
“No one was actually going to win me, Sherlock,” John reminded him.
“I know,” he said. And it was true. Mycroft would never have let anyone but Sherlock walk out with him tonight. But still, the way some of the other Alphas eyed off John on the monitors had filled him with a weird hot feeling in his chest. He didn’t like it.
He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, relying on his other senses to tell him what he needed to know.
“They took you off your suppressants, or rather, just never gave them to you.” He sniffed. Vanilla and spice with a hint of sweat. “And they made you bathe with neutral soap to not mask your Omega scent.”
“And?” John prompted.
“And,” Sherlock’s brow furrowed before it hit him like a lightning bolt. He opened his eyes. “Oh. Of course.”
John forced a rueful grin. “Lucky me, hey.”
“You won’t make it back to London before the heat hits?”
“I very much doubt it. It hasn’t started yet, but my heart rate has increased with the hormone shot they gave me before taking me to the car. I doubt it will be more than a few hours away and I’d rather not be on a plane when it does.”
Suddenly, Sherlock felt as if he deserved every horrible name he’d ever been called. Yes, John had agreed to the plan of being captured, but he hadn’t signed up for that. Surely there was someone else Mycroft could have used as bait. Sherlock should have insisted on it!
“I didn’t mean to put you through this,” He said, reaching over and taking John’s hand. It felt good to touch his skin, feel body heat through it. It calmed him much like having him at crime scenes did. He didn’t realise how much he’d missed it these past weeks.
“Don’t go all protective Alpha on me now,” John said, letting go. “I’m a big boy. I wanted to help and this was the only practical way. We had to get those Omegas out of there.”
“Oh, shut it,” Sherlock said, nudging closer to John and resting his arm around his shoulder. “You want comfort and I want to comfort you, just go with it.”
“You’re being awfully Alpha this evening,” John said, but settled into Sherlock’s hold, so he didn’t take it as an insult.
“Being around 50-odd all day was bound to have some affect,” Sherlock said, hating being a slave to his gender but feeling it all the same. “So stop fighting your Omega instincts for once and just relax.”
Sherlock felt his own muscles relax with every deep breath that John took. They sat in silence for a few minutes until it was interrupted by Sherlock’s phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out so they could both see the screen.
Good job. Enough evidence acquired and all parties detained. Please assure JW that all Omegas will be taken care of. This will not appear in the news anywhere. Utmost discretion advised – MH
“So that’s it then?” John asked, when Sherlock put his mobile away.
“Yes, that’s it. The man was a peer of Mycroft’s. I suspect it will all be handled underground. I’m sure it won’t be pleasant.”
“Good,” John said, extricating himself from Sherlock and turning to stare out the window once more. It was disconcerting. John was generally full of adrenaline after a case, particularly one with a successful ending.
“John,” Sherlock said after several more minutes of silence. Emotions were not his strong suit, even with his best friend. “What’s wrong? It’s not like you to be so sullen after a case. People are safe, we caught the bad guy.”
“Oh, so everything is fixed then?” The sarcasm dripping from that one sentence could have filled the Thames. “Everything else is irrelevant, right? The fact that I was kidnapped purely because I was an unbonded Omega, made to go off the suppressants I’d been taking since puberty and being forced into a heat for the nearest lucky Alpha to claim me without my consent is inconsequential?”
Sherlock met his tirade with silence and he saw John’s face crumple with remorse.
“I’m sorry, Sherlock. That wasn’t good. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I’m an Alpha. Alphas forced you into a situation that made you uncomfortable. Of course you should take it out on me.”
John shook his head. “You know what? I don’t even think that’s the actual issue.”
“Can I assist?”
“What, as a big strong Alpha to an upset Omega?”
Sherlock shook his head and said as sincerely as he felt, “as a friend to a friend.”
John must have sensed his sincerity, because a few moments later, he started.
“You’re right, they didn’t treat us badly in that compound. But I was one of the lucky ones. Some of them had been captured for nearly two years.” He paused. “We got to talk a lot, us Omegas. The one regret every single one of them had was not choosing an Alpha when they had the chance. They always thought the choice was theirs, and when that was taken away from them, they all had one Alpha in their lives that they’d wished they’d said yes to.”
Sentiment. Boring. And not at all relevant to John’s case, which was all he cared about. “You knew your stay was merely temporary.”
“Quit interrupting and listen to me for once. I’m trying to tell you something.” Sherlock sighed and gestured for him to go on. “I know that I was only ever going to be there a few weeks, but all that time to yourself, a few hours a day with the others. It gets you thinking.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “It’s never a good idea, me having so much time to myself. And spending that time with nothing but other Omegas. I’m afraid as much as I wish to be my own version of Omega, the sentiment’s the same. When I was sitting in that room, waiting for you to win that damned game and get me out of there, part of me wanted it to be really happening.”
“What do you mean?” Of course it was going to happen. That had been the plan.
“Maybe it’s because I’m off my suppressants for the first time in forever,” John looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “But part of me wanted to be going home with my Alpha tonight.”
“You were going home with me.”
“Exactly.”
Sherlock didn’t try and hide his confusion. There was an Alpha out there John wished he’d said yes to? Who was it? And why did that thought make his chest hurt.
“We’ve been living together for three years and you have never expressed any interest in bonding with anyone. You’ve never even dated an Alpha in that time.”
John chuckled without humour.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He sighed. “I make you cups of tea, even when you’re being rude. I get your mobile for you when you are too lazy to get it yourself. I shoot people who try to harm you. I defend you to Lestrade and the Yard. I force you to eat and sleep. I may not be a typical blushing Omega, but by God, I have displayed every single courting behaviour I know for three years now.”
“Because you are an Omega.”
He shook his head. “Because you are my Alpha.”
Sherlock was, for once, at a loss for words. “Christ, John—”
“I know. And maybe it was just being around other Omegas that made me realise what it is I do with you. Or maybe it was the thought of having that choice taken from me. Whatever it was, I know it now. It’s real.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I want to bond. I want a bond mate. I want an Alpha. And I want it to be you.”
“Why me? I’d be a terrible bond mate.”
“Because you’d take care of me without smothering me. Because you’d treat me exactly as you do now. And because sometimes when I’m patching you up it takes every ounce of willpower to not lick your entire body.”
Sherlock was left speechless.
“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” John said, the resignation in his tone obvious, but Sherlock couldn’t do anything to soothe him, too wrapped up in his own thoughts. “You wanted to know what was going through my head. Well, that’s it. I’ve never shown any interest in any other Alphas most likely because I knew deep down that my Alpha was asleep in the downstairs bedroom. Or not sleeping, most likely.”
Sherlock closed his eyes and took another deep breath. He thought about John’s words for all of five seconds and wondered if it could, indeed, be true. That they belonged to each other. He’d hated the thought of another Alpha claiming John. Did that mean he should claim him for himself?
He could do it, right now. He could lean over and kiss those lips and take him to the nearest hotel and bite down on that vanilla spice neck.
But why him? Why Sherlock? Despite John’s claims, he found it difficult to believe that someone as amiable as John would want someone as prickly as himself, even if the idea was becoming more and more attractive in Sherlock’s mind.
No, it was obvious that John was not of sound mind. Too much time around the Omegas and not enough time in his normal life. Not to mention being off his suppressants and the hormone booster given to trigger a false heat. If they did this, if they bonded, John would begin to regret it within a week of being back in London. Sherlock could not have that. He could not have John Watson despising him.
He took his mobile and sent off a quick text.
“We’ll take you to a hotel in the city. One with a Bonding Suite. They’ll have everything you need to get you through the next 24 hours and it will be sealed tight to keep your pheromones in the room,” Sherlock told him, keeping every emotion from his voice.
John nodded, eyes not meeting Sherlock’s.
“If that’s what you think’s best.”
Sherlock looked out the window as if he were suddenly disinterested in the entire situation.
“I don’t think it’s best. I know it’s best.”
A few minutes later, they pulled up outside of a five-star hotel.
“So I’ll meet you back in London then?” John said, schooling his features into something resembling nonchalance but his eyes giving him away. Sherlock ignored it.
“I’ll book your flight to depart the day after tomorrow. Mycroft will have taken care of your hotel room, just tell them your name at reception.”
John got out of the car without saying anything further, and Sherlock resisted every urge he had not to get out and follow him. He wanted to make sure he made it to his room safely. He wanted to order him up food and watch him sleep and make sure he was comfortable. He wanted to scent his neck, catch more of that vanilla that was rolling off of him in waves. He wanted to bite his earlobes and trace his fingers along the thin skin covering his hip bones. He wanted—
Stupid Alpha hormones. Stupid!
As the car, once more, headed toward the airport, Sherlock hit the back of the seat in front of him in frustration, both rueful and relieved that he didn’t have a gun on him. Mycroft probably would not appreciate having the windows of the car shot out.
“Think of the fat bastard and the fat bastard appears,” Sherlock said, looking at his phone lighting up with his brother’s name. “There are eight different ways you can contact me on this phone without having to speak to me.”
Mycroft ignored him. “What’s this I hear about Doctor Watson checking into the Bonding Suite alone?”
Sherlock sighed. “Does everyone in the world work for you? He’s about to go into heat, he needs the security.”
“He needs his Alpha.”
This was all he needed. “Christ, not you too.”
“I’ve spoken to the Omegas held here. Your John made quite an impression in the short time he was here.”
“He’s not My John,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth.
“Spoke of you a lot. They all had an Alpha on the outside they wished to be reunited with. John denied it, of course. Until day five when a few of them drew his attention to how much he spoke of you.”
“Just get to the point, Mycroft. I have neither the time nor the patience for such drivel.”
“Very well then, dear brother. John has finally realised that you are his true Alpha and you have left him to go through this heat alone?”
“He has realised nothing. He is compromised, you stupid git, because of a mission that you put him through. He’s not on his suppressants, he’s been jabbed with a hormone shot, he is not of his right mind.”
“Blame me all you want, but John volunteered to enter that compound. And you know as well as I do that although John’s Omega senses may be heightened, his thought patterns are all his own.”
Sherlock scowled. “Get me on the next flight to London.”
“If that’s what you wish, I’ll arrange it for you now. Just do me a favour before you jetset into your own delusions.”
Spare me of the hyperbole, Sherlock thought.
“What? Haven’t I done enough favours for you these past months?”
“Just Google the words ‘Alpha Courtship Behaviours’.”
Sherlock ended the call with a growl and threw the phone across the other side of the car.
London awaited. And in 48 hours, John would be home and everything would be back to normal. They would get on with their lives and all would be as it was before.
***
John had to hand it to the Holmes’s. They certainly didn’t do anything by halves.
Walking into the hotel room was akin to walking into a bedroom at Buckingham Palace, John imagined. Soft yellow walls, floor-to-ceiling windows behind sheer curtains, four-poster bed with a bucket of water bottles on ice on one side, lube and condoms on the other. He walked through to the bathroom, with its corner spa bath, double shower and marble tiles. Razors, make-up remover, tweezers, toothbrushes, anything and everything he could possibly need.
It was all set up for a perfectly romantic Alpha/Omega romp. It was just a shame that John was without an Alpha to romp with.
Sherlock’s rejection stung, and John had to quell the Omega in him that tried to tell him that Sherlock just needed time to get used to the idea, just like John had needed it. It was days between his fellow captives telling him he was exhibiting classic courting traits for ‘that Sherlock character’ and him actually realising that it was all true. That there were hundreds of little signs that proved how he actually felt about the toff wanker.
But Sherlock knew his own mind, and Sherlock was never anything but certain.
Desperate to shake off both his mood and any last trace of that compound, he stripped off and stepped under the spray of the rain shower. He luxuriated in the fancy shampoo, soap, and bodywash until he was waterlogged. Even though he’d been bathed earlier, when Sherlock had ‘won’ him at the poker game, it was nice to get rid of all traces of being held captive.
He used the hairdryer and stared at his reflection in the mirror. For an Omega, he was looking washed up. No wonder Sherlock didn’t want him. He had bags under his eyes, crowsfeet at the edges. His muscles weren’t as pronounced as they used to be, and he was seriously worried he was beginning to develop a double chin.
The moustache, though, he was quite fond of. He thought it made him look distinguished, like a doctor should look. He’d have to get rid of it before London. Sherlock had made his distaste for it obvious, and if John was not to get rid of it himself, he wouldn’t be surprised to wake one night and find Sherlock perched over him with a razor at his lip.
Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. His whole fucking life revolved around Sherlock.
“Oh, fuck it,” he said to his reflection, and foamed up some shaving cream in his palm. He knew it was the hormones. For some reason his body still thought it was preparing itself for the pleasure of his Alpha, even if John knew, intellectually, that the Alpha he wanted did not want him.
It didn’t take long before he was clean shaven. He looked like himself again, and despite the fondness he had for the facial hair, a small part of him was happy to leave behind any trace of the man who allowed himself to get captured. No more was he the John Watson who was pining over his mad flatmate, waiting to be rescued like a damsel in distress.
No, John wasn’t getting any younger and he wasn’t going to wait around. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want him, but he was sure there were other Alphas out there who would. He was determined to get on with his life as soon as he was back in London. He and Sherlock would take cases, John would work at the clinic, Mrs Hudson would make them biscuits, Anderson would be a prat, and John would get back into the dating game like none of this had happened. And this time he wouldn’t avoid dating Alphas.
He felt a fluttering in his belly, a telltale sign that heat was imminent. Another hour and he’d be a writhing mess. A false heat fed on circadian rhythms, so it never lasted more than 25 hours, which John was grateful for. He could handle a day of it on his own.
He found the kettle in the cupboard and a packet of biscuits, and nibbled on those while waiting for his tea to cool. He also found a few heat aids, and John wondered how much Mycroft paid for a room this well fitted out.
He turned the cooling up as his temperature increased. Breathing was becoming deeper and his cock was hardening. Next would be the wetness, and then the real game would start.
“It’s just for a day,” he told himself. “Small price to pay for the safety of the other Omegas.”
He groaned as a spasm started to hit his belly, and he lay on the bed to ride it out. His muscles clenched and he once again thought of Sherlock. What they would be doing now if he had taken up his offer.
No! John told his inner Omega. He doesn’t want you and you don’t need him. You’ve made it through this far without him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a pounding on the door. He ignored it. He was too close to exploding into full heat now to deal with whatever it was. There was also the risk that, if it was an Alpha at the door, he would try and lure them in to make him forget all about the virile cheekboned dark-haired tosser.
The banging persisted, then a muffled “John, open the door. Let me in.”
Of course it was Sherlock. Of all of the fucking times—
He wanted to ignore it, ignore him, but Sherlock wouldn’t interrupt like this unless it was something important. John jumped off the bed, wrapped himself in the top sheet and strode to the door, opening it just a fraction.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have the worst timing?”
“Everyone tells me that all the time. Let me in.” It was an order, not a question.
“Why should I? Shouldn’t you be halfway back to London right now?” Okay, so John was still feeling hurt. Sue him.
“There are things that should be said,” was all he spoke. His eyes were wild and cheeks flushed, and he looked so unlike his usual calm and collected Sherlock that John stepped aside and let him through.
“You’ve got about 4 minutes.”
Sherlock nodded and stepped towards him, but John took a step back so Sherlock stopped and did not go further.
“I understand I may have hurt you, in the car.”
No shit, John thought. “I’m a grown up.”
Sherlock started pacing, a clear indication that the words he wanted were not coming to him. “Let me finish. This is difficult for me.”
“If you are here to apologise, it’s fine. It’s my fault for putting you in that situation. Now go off to London and I’ll see you in a few days.”
John silently implored him to leave, to go before the heat got worse and he started to beg more than he had in the car. But Sherlock continued to pace.
“I clean up my experiments when you get upset with me,” he started. “I apologise to people when you point out my abruptness. I lie to you to get you out of harms way. I get horrible hot feelings in my chest when you go out with someone who is not me. I eat when you make food for me. I think better when you’re around me.”
It was like the man was speaking in code. “For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, just tell me what you’re on about. Average mind, remember?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Classic Alpha Courting Behaviour, according to the internet. Well, they call it behaviour modification, over protectiveness, jealousy and psychophysiological dependence, but it’s that, just the same.”
“You do that?”
“Of course. Molly informs me that I only do this for you, and not for her or any other Omegas of my acquaintance.”
“You spoke with Molly?”
“I needed the opinion of an Omega, and it was either her or Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson would hardly be impartial, and I believed that Molly’s affection for me, if anything, would spin her responses more in her own favour than yours.”
“But they didn’t?”
“Obviously. I’m here aren’t I? According to her we’ve both been displaying classic Alpha/Omega pre-bonding symptoms for a number of years. And that we should just ‘do it, already’.”
John shook his head. “I’m not after a pity-bond.”
“It’s not a pity-bond. There are other things, too.”
“Like what?” John prompted, taking a seat on the couch and rubbing a hand across his belly under the sheet. If Sherlock didn’t get a move on, whatever he’d be saying next would be lost in the throws of a serious heat.
“How when I walk in the bathroom while you’re in the shower, it takes all of my willpower not to throw my clothes off and step in behind you. And, apparently, when several Alphas are competing to take you home, I want to rip their faces off.” He stopped pacing and stared at John, a growl in his voice. “All I’ve wanted to do since we got out of that stupid compound is hold you close and stamp a tattoo all over you telling everyone you are mine.”
John growled. This man— “Stop it, Sherlock! You’re being very confusing!” Another cramp grabbed at his stomach and he forced a hand forward to stop Sherlock from coming toward him. “I threw myself at you in the car. I all but bent over and presented myself like a fucking bonobo. You don’t want me.”
“Can’t you see that I do?” Sherlock yelled. “What was I supposed to think? I’m not a prize, John. I speak the truth when I say I’d be a terrible bond mate. And you’re off your suppressants and surrounded by other Omegas and decide that maybe I’m the one for you? How am I supposed to believe that when I could not see any evidence prior?”
“Because it’s always been about us!”
“Well I know that now!”
John breathed deeply as the spasms passed, and took the moment to process his thoughts.
“I want you,” Sherlock said, voice back to its normal deep octave. “I want to scent you, I want to mark you. I want to make it so the world knows that you’re mine.”
He stalked toward John, and John gave up. He wasn’t sure if it was to do with the heat, Sherlock’s speech, or the fact that it felt like everything he’d never known he wanted was in front of him offering comfort. He bared his neck for Sherlock to scent him.
“If you don’t want me to do this, tell me now,” Sherlock said, nosing at his neck. “If you really believe me to be insincere, I’ll leave you be.”
John grabbed at Sherlock’s face so he could look him in the eye. What he saw there convinced him that Sherlock was telling the truth. He was as apprehensive and wanting as John was, he was sure of it.
He nodded. “Stay.”
With that one word, Sherlock smiled and dove back into his neck. All of the tension seemed to bleed out of the room. It was just John and Sherlock and it felt as right as anything had ever felt.
“How could you have kept this scent from me, John.” John shuddered as Sherlock licked over his pulse point.
“You aren’t exactly a pom-pom waving champion of bonding,” John reminded him.
“As much as I observe it in other people, I’m afraid I’m easily blinded by emotion and sentiment in myself.”
John’s lips twitched. “Do you think Mycroft’s bugged this room? I’d love to get a recording of that.”
Sherlock’s head snapped back from his explorations of John’s neck.
“Please do not mention my brother when I’m trying to seduce you. It’s most off-putting.”
“You think you need to try? After everything that’s been said over the past few hours, you think you need to try and seduce me?”
“I find myself wanting to give into my Alpha instincts in this situation.”
“And in this situation, I find you smelling of too many other Alphas.” It was cloying and confusing. John could scent Sherlock underneath it all, but there were too many traces of others, like second-hand cigarette smoke clinging to cloth.
“Oh,” Sherlock said, stepping back. “Should I shower then?”
“Excellent deduction.”
Sherlock stood and headed toward the bathroom.
“Oh, and Sherlock.”
“Yes?”
“Hurry.”
As soon as he heard the spray of the shower, John set about preparing the room. He opened a bottle of water and left it on the nightstand in easy reach. He folded back the duvet on the bed, leaving just a wide expanse of mattress. He fluffed the pillows, climbed onto the bed and waited for Sherlock to pounce.
Five minutes passed, then ten, and John was getting wetter and more needy by the second.
“Come on, Sherlock!” he cried, taking his cock into his hand and tugging, trying to take some of the edge off.
“You’d better not be touching yourself!” Sherlock called from the other side of the door.
“I’ll do what I goddamned like, thank you very much,” John said, not stilling his hand. “If you don’t get on this bed and fuck me in the next 30 seconds, I’ll rip open one of those toys and start without you.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Sherlock said, emerging from the bathroom and stalking towards him, as naked as the day he was born. He was clean shaven, that horrible beard gone, and he smelled like soap and shaving cream and spice. Heavenly. And completely 100% Sherlock.
He climbed on top of John and pulled his hand from himself, bringing it above his head and holding it there. He ground his slim hips into John’s, creating a delicious friction that had John baring his neck and panting for more. Why hadn’t they done this three years ago?
Sherlock nosed at his neck, hair and ears before whispering “I’m not going to bond with you tonight.”
John froze, feeling like someone had thrown the bucket of ice water down his spine.
“What? But you said—”
He paused his words and bucked to throw Sherlock off of him. Damn Sherlock and his ever-changing mind! Did he not realise how this was affecting John? Of course not, the tosser only ever thought about himself. John may have been in heat, but he was not going to put up with that.
“Okay, get out,” he told him.
“What?” Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be confused.
“I told you that I wasn’t after a pity-fuck. I don’t care how much I need you right now, I don’t need you that much. So get out.”
“John, you misunderstand! I do want to bond with you and I desperately want to spend this heat with you. But I need to make sure you know what you’re doing. I can’t have you regret me. I can’t.”
“How can I regret you?” John yelled.
“Then, when we’re back in London,” Sherlock continued, ignoring John, “and you’re back on your meds and back to your ordinary life, if you still want to bond, we’ll have your next real heat.”
“Ordinary life?”
“You know what I mean,” Sherlock said. “Please, John. Don’t misinterpret me. You’ve trusted me for years. Don’t stop trusting me now.”
Then, with some hesitation generally not a trait of this Alpha, he nosed along John’s cheekbone and jaw until their lips met.
It was their first real kiss and John found himself sinking into it. Sherlock’s lips were soft against his own, teasing, testing. John felt the tension and anger melt away as Sherlock’s tongue nudged his own. It felt like Sherlock was pouring every emotion into the kiss, showing John that he was cared for and protected. That Sherlock would not lie to him about something this important. He was breathless and aching and he wanted to do this forever.
“Say yes,” Sherlock whispered. “Tell me yes.”
And hell, who did John even think he was kidding.
“Yes.”
Sherlock grinned like he’d just solved the most intricate case he’d ever had, and dove back onto John. He ran his fingertips down his chest and stomach, lips following their path until he was eye level with John’s hard cock.
John flushed and moaned as he felt those hot, wet lips envelop him. It felt like heaven and dying and like nothing had ever felt before. He’d shared heats previously, and they were all enjoyable and certainly scratched the itch, but this was something else entirely.
“I’m not going to change my mind,” John said, threading his hands through Sherlock’s hair. “You’re perfect, this is perfect.”
Sherlock brought him to the brink with his tongue and lips, but never let him cascade over. He traced his lips over his hipbones and left bite marks in the soft flesh of his belly.
“You’re killing me,” John told him, wrapping his legs around his waist. “Just fuck me already.”
“Good things come to those who wait, so I’ve been told.”
“When have you ever waited for anything?” John asked, and used all the strength he could muster to flip them over so he was on top.
“John!” Sherlock was smiling when John himself across his hips. Sherlock loved it when John surprised him.
He held Sherlock’s hands above his head so he couldn’t touch, then ground his arse against Sherlock’s Alpha cock, smothering it in his wetness. It was a tease to them both, and John threw his head back at the small spikes of pleasure he could feel against his sensitive nerve endings.
“You weren’t after some traditional subordinate Omega, were you?” John asked.
“That would be dull. Boring,” Sherlock said, struggling against the hands pinning him to the bed.
“Good. Because I am an Omega in many ways, but that doesn’t mean I won’t go after what I want. And right now, I need your dick inside me.”
And with that, John let go of Sherlock’s hands, lined himself up with his cock, and sunk down on it.
They both shouted at the feel of it. Sherlock’s cock hit every single spot inside John that needed touching. Every single nerve ending was on fire. In no time, Sherlock was rising up to meet John’s every thrust down. If John had felt amazing before with Sherlock’s mouth on him, it was nothing compared to the feeling of Sherlock inside of him. He felt full and pleasured and looked after.
“I don’t know that I can last long,” Sherlock said, placing his hands on John’s hips and thrusting harder in short, sharp jabs. John leaned back and gripped at Sherlock’s thighs, swiveling his hips and the new angle hit his prostate every single time.
He could feel Sherlock’s knot bulging at the base of his penis. It was tantalising, the thought of Sherlock knotting him and filling him up. With each rise up, he dropped his hips down harder until the knot popped through, joining them.
“You feel exquisite,” Sherlock said with a heavy groan. “I want to bite you, I want to bond. Believe me John, I want to sink my teeth into your neck until you are completely and utterly mine. No one elses.”
“Yes, bite me, I need you to bite me! Claim me! Fill me up!” he shouted as his vision went white and he came over the two of them. Despite Sherlock’s former protests, John knew that if they were in a traditional bonding position, he would have puncture marks in his neck right now.
Sherlock’s own release followed, and John clenched his muscles to milk every single drop from him.
“Wow,” John said when he came back to himself, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I don’t think I thought this position through.”
“I think it was a brilliant idea,” Sherlock said, rolling his hips gently as he continued to come inside him.
“You would, you lazy sod. Getting to lay there while I do all the work up here.” John reached over and grabbed the bottle of water, taking a healthy gulp before resting it on the nightstand again. “I really need to lie down after that, though, and this is not the position to do that.”
“Oh,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know that you’ll get the chance for another half hour or so.”
“Christ, that long?”
“You’re my Omega,” he said simply, echoing the words John had said earlier in the car.
John smiled and bracketed his hands either side of Sherlock’s head so he could lean down and capture his lips in his own.
“We have to do this again.”
“We have to do this forever,” Sherlock corrected.
“So bite me. Mark me. Connect us. Show everyone that I am yours.”
Sherlock grabbed the pillow from next to his head and placed it on his chest, patting it so John would rest his head. He carded his fingers through John’s sweat-damp hair.
“I need you to let me do this properly.”
“Do what properly?”
“I need you to let me be an Alpha and court you properly.”
“You’ve never been a typical Alpha.”
“And you’ve never been a typical Omega. But to bond properly, we need to give into our biology.”
“You’ve been reading up on bonding?”
“I had to for a case I took before I met you. Deleted the information afterwards, of course, it was hardly going to be relevant to me. But while I was in the shower, I went to my mind palace and retrieved it.”
“That’s what took you so long.”
“Obviously.”
“So what did you retrieve?”
“Studies have shown that Alphas and Omegas that engage in instinctual bonding courtship experience an inevitability of bonding during the Omega’s next heat, and a deeper connection that is less likely to be disrupted during the crucial two-week post-bonding period.”
“You still think I’m going to regret bonding with you, don’t you?”
“Don’t think that my hesitance is anything to do with my feelings for you. I’m not a prize.”
“You are to me. I’m not going to regret you, Sherlock. But if this is what it takes to convince you, I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” Sherlock said, and ran his fingertips down John’s spine. “Did you want to nap.”
“Briefly,” John said. Sherlock was still stuck inside him but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the next wave hit. “But next time, you will be spooned behind me so I can have a kip afterwards, no matter how long we’re tied together.”
“Next time I will taste every inch of your skin,” Sherlock promised, and John groaned at the thought. He was starting to wish very much that this false heat would last longer than the 25 hours it would.
****
six weeks later…
“Shut up!” Sherlock yelled to the members of the Yard who were surrounding him. There was a body at his feet and too much data interrupting his thought patterns. He put his fingers to his temples in an attempt to block everyone out.
John dutifully herded everyone away to give Sherlock some space. He looked devastatingly handsome in his new suit, one he’d purchased specially for the date he’d taken John on, only for it to be disrupted by a murder investigation.
John didn’t mind. As much as he enjoyed the effort Sherlock went to woo him, his favourite outings were the ones that ended in foot chases and adrenaline. They were usually followed up by a hot snogging session against the wall in 221B.
Little did Sherlock know that this particular date was going to end with a bang. Literally.
Sherlock appeared to have been able to gather his thoughts, at last.
“He’s a recently bonded Omega who had wanted to renege on his mate, much easier to sever a bond in the first week than later. Fresh bite mark but no bonding ring indicates that it is a new coupling, possibly one made in haste during a one-night stand or similar. Find his Alpha. If she has pink fingernail polish, arrest her. If not, find the Alpha who had previously been courting this Omega and arrest her.”
Lestrade rolled his eyes. “I’m meant to arrest someone based on the freshness of a bonding mark?”
“And the scent. This murder was recent and he still smells of a newly formed bond.” Sherlock sniffed for effect. “It smells of burning candles, a mix of Omega and Alpha, a hint of vanilla and, oh—”
Sherlock paused and looked at John with wide-eyed anticipation.
John smiled back and nodded. Yes. The vanilla part was him. It was time. Well, almost time.
“Surely Anderson has the skills to work out the rest,” Sherlock said quickly, practically sprinting toward John and taking his hand.
“You? You’re leaving this with Anderson?” Lestrade asked.
“He is the forensic specialist, is he not?” Sherlock walked out of the room, towing John behind him.
“Wait, Sherlock, we haven’t finished yet!” Lestrade called behind him.
Seemingly aware that Lestrade would follow them, Sherlock stopped to speak with him. “I’m afraid I’ll be indisposed for the next five-to-seven days. I’m sure you can solve this without me.”
Lestrade looked at Sherlock with a baffled expression on his face. His gaze dropped down to where Sherlock’s hand was clasped with John’s and his jaw dropped. He felt Sherlock bristle at the questioning look Lestrade was giving him.
“Mine,” Sherlock snarled at the other Alpha, and fled to the nearest taxi with John at his heels.
“Are you ready?” John asked when they got into the taxi, nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck. It felt like years that he’d been waiting for this night. In some way, he guessed it was.
Sherlock pulled John onto his lap in response, kissing him soundly and thoroughly, the cabbie knocking on the glass partition in a fruitless attempt to get them to stop. John was starting to feel the amourous effects of his upcoming heat and not even an irate cabbie would stop him from cuddling up to his mate-to-be.
“How long do we have?” Sherlock asked, scenting at his neck and licking over the skin he would be biting in a few hours time.
“Two hours, maybe three,” John estimated. “I’m not putting out pheromones yet but I am getting that belly flutter.”
“Good things come to those who wait,” Sherlock replied, crushing his lips against John’s once again.
It felt like both minutes and hours before they finally arrived at 221B.
John threw some notes at the driver and pulled Sherlock out by his scarf.
“Come on,” John said, smile as bright as the sun. “Time to make you my Alpha.”
~FIN~
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Date: 2013-12-15 07:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-12-31 12:06 am (UTC)