Chapter Text
“John!”
“Coming,” John muttered as he descended the stairs. He stomped into the kitchen and poured the tea, walking a mug over to where Sherlock sat at the desk.
He set the mug down with a shaking hand. He had not been feeling himself, not since the pool.
Sherlock made some sort of noise of appreciation, but didn’t look up. John sighed and retreated to the sofa. He picked up his medical journal and tried to concentrate.
They had both been quiet since their run-in with Moriarty a few days before. In truth, John had been avoiding Sherlock. They’d both been hanging around the flat, but John had kept to his room. With the rush of chemicals in his system when Sherlock pulled the semtex off him, John had nearly thrown himself into Sherlock’s arms. And by the strange look on Sherlock’s face, Sherlock would have let him.
Something in their relationship had shifted.
John knew he should have run, that first night he suspected that Sherlock was his long-lost alpha. But he hadn’t.
Instead, he had settled into the flat, and settled into his role as Sherlock’s assistant, helper, colleague. They hadn’t worked out the right terminology yet, but the essence of it burned so brightly in John’s chest that he was sure everyone could see it: I am Sherlock’s omega!
John felt tied, hamstrung—surely there was nothing for him here unless he revealed himself. But then what? Sherlock had no more interest in breeding than he had. He’d fought just as hard to avoid being an alpha as John had being an omega.
And yet, and yet…
Against all odds, Sherlock had become his best friend. He made John laugh. He made everything exciting. He was fascinating and irritating and he made John feel like his life had meaning.
Sherlock was blissfully unaware, thank god. John had no doubt that he had deleted all memories of that night from his mind palace. John was a safe beta, nothing more.
The sad truth was that whatever this half-life they had was, it was what John wanted.
It was made clear during the Chinese smuggling case. John had used money as an excuse to take a job at a local surgery. He’d met a lovely woman there—Sarah. He felt an attraction to her, to the normal life he might potentially be able to have with her. He’d been resentful of Sherlock horning in on their dates, even as he relished every minute Sherlock was with him.
Then Sherlock had touched him. Standing in the dark, at the railway tracks looking for graffiti, Sherlock had taken John’s face in both his hands. John had almost leaned in and kissed him.
He knew he wouldn’t be dating again.
John shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “Sherlock, did you turn the heating up?”
“No.”
“Well, why is it so hot in here?”
“It isn’t,” Sherlock glanced up and regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Take your jumper off if you’re hot.”
John muttered to himself. He stripped the jumper off, feeling a little queasy. Maybe it was something he’d eaten. He could feel an unwelcome tension coiling in his abdomen. God, what was that? It was almost like…John froze.
No. It couldn’t be. Not now. He’d been so careful; he’d never missed a dose. He stood abruptly, preparing to retreat to his room.
“Ah, I think I’ll just—”
He sniffed suddenly, his eyes wide. He could smell…
He looked up again to find Sherlock still staring at him. “You are not a beta.”
John swallowed hard, feeling the heat building in his body. Oh, god, he was already wet.
“Neither are you.”
Sherlock stood and slowly crossed the room to John. John started to back away toward the stairs.
“Sherlock, no—don’t—”
“I know that smell, John,” he growled, advancing as John retreated. “Everything else I managed to delete from that night except your scent.”
John turned to run, but Sherlock was faster. He caught John at the door, pinning the shorter man between his own body and the wall. John was panting now—the relentless hunger of his heat was about to consume him.
Sherlock leaned in and inhaled deeply. “Yes, that’s it. You are mine. You belong to me.” He tugged at the collar of John’s shirt to reveal the scar his teeth had left so many years before. “Mine.”
“Sherlock, please.”
“Please, what?” Sherlock rumbled into his ear. “Please fuck you? Please fill you with my cock? Oh, god, you are aching for it, aren’t you? You are ready to be plowed.”
John whimpered, the hard length of Sherlock’s cock was wedged between the cheeks of his aching arse. His passage was dripping now.
“You don’t want this, remember?”
“I didn’t, John, but I didn’t know you then,” Sherlock breathed into John’s neck. He slid one hand around and cupped John’s cock. “How could I have known you were not boring? How could I have known you would be the perfect mate?”
John’s knees began to buckle. “Oh god, I need…I need…”
“I know,” Sherlock soothed. He turned John in his arms and tugged him close, resting his chin on the top of John’s head. “I’ll take care of you. I wouldn’t trap you then, I won’t hurt you now. Trust me?”
John clung to Sherlock, nodding into his chest.
“Come on.”
Sherlock half led, half carried John down the hall to his bedroom. Once inside, he led John to the bed and closed the door firmly behind them. He closed the window as well—no sense torturing everyone else with a pheromone stew.
John had removed most of his own clothes and was reaching for Sherlock as he returned to the bed. He tugged at the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt with shaking fingers.
“Why don’t you let me do that?” Sherlock chuckled, quickly divesting himself of his clothes.
John was moaning now, staring hungrily at Sherlock’s body. “Sherlock, I –”
Sherlock edged in close, leaning down and covering John’s mouth with his own. It was a heated, filthy kiss, full of longing and need. Sherlock’s tongue took possession of John’s mouth as his hands took possession of John’s body. He teased at John’s nipples, fondled his cock and stroked the strong back.
“So much better now that I can see you.”
He turned John gently. John understood and eagerly clambered up onto the bed on his stomach. He spread his legs wide, presenting his glistening wet hole to Sherlock.
“I was right,” Sherlock groaned. “You are beautiful.” He climbed onto the bed and knelt between John’s legs. He stroked through the dampness at John’s cleft and pressed one finger into the hot throbbing hole.
“Sherlock, yes, fuck me, please!”
“Yes, doctor,” Sherlock breathed, removing his hand and replacing it with his cock. He sank into John with a sigh and shudder.
John almost wept—it was so perfect, so absolutely perfect. Nothing had ever been this good, nothing ever could be. Sherlock’s cock filled him completely. He rocked back against it, straining for friction against his aching insides.
“Greedy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, for you,” John groaned. He whimpered as Sherlock withdrew and sank deep into the sweet wet heat of his arse. Again and again, Sherlock dragged his cock against the sensitive glands in John’s passage. He picked up speed and found a punishing rhythm as the heat threatened to overtake both of them.
John was clawing at the bedclothes, moaning Sherlock’s name, unable to control the grinding urgency of his body’s needs. His own cock was leaking—he was going to come soon.
Sherlock began to moan and John knew he was close. John felt the tension in his own body begin to release.
“Sherlock, I’m coming—fuck—don’t stop—“
“Come for me, John,” Sherlock urged. “Let go.” John moaned long and loud as he found his release, spilling into the duvet beneath them.
A few more balls-deep thrusts and Sherlock stilled, the knot on his cock starting to swell.
“In or out, John? Hurry—”
“In, oh god, Sherlock fill me up…”
Sherlock groaned, popping the rising knot past John’s sphincter as it locked them together. He wrapped both arms tightly around his lover, pressing kisses into the back of his neck. He rocked with the first spasm and moaned as he spilled his first orgasm inside John’s waiting body.
Holding John fast, Sherlock rolled them to their side, stroking John’s chest and belly and fondling his cock as his body continued to pulse life into his omega. He murmured nonsense into John’s ear: embarrassing, possessive, macho things he would never have said, could not imagine saying, while not under the influence of hormones.
When the knot finally released and they lay side by side, panting, Sherlock finally had a moment of clarity.
“I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Who?”
“John, how have you been able to live this long as a beta?”
“Hormone suppressant from my uncle. You?”
“Something similar of my own design,” Sherlock mused, nuzzling at the back of John’s head. “How is that both suppressants failed so completely at exactly the same time? And how is it that you ended up here anyway? How did we manage to find each other again after all these years? Out of all the people in the world, how did you end up here, living in my flat?”
“Mycroft?”
“That fucking bastard. I’ll kill him.”
“It’s not—I knew…”
“Knew what?”
“I recognized Mycroft’s name. After the cabbie—you said his name. I’d heard you say it the night we were bonded.”
Sherlock was very quiet. “Why did you stay?”
John turned in Sherlock’s arms. “Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t leave. I knew I should. I’d been free for so long, it terrified me—the prospect of being bound to you and to our children. I wasn’t ready to tell you who I was, but I couldn’t leave you. I…I fell in love with you.”
Sherlock released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “You won’t hate me if we—if you are…”
John shook his head. “I want to be here. I don’t want anyone or anything else.”
Sherlock gathered John into his chest with a sigh. “I suppose I have to give Mycroft credit for choosing you for me in the first place. You are perfect, John Watson,” his voice was deep and full of emotion he never expressed. There was a long pause as he considered their situation. “Perhaps, given his incessant meddling, Mycroft could be prevailed upon to provide childcare.”
“Child care?” John sounded surprised. “You would still want me to work with you?”
“I will always want you with me.”
John ran his hands over Sherlock’s chest, teasing his nipples erect. He could feel the need clawing back to the surface, his vagina beginning to throb. “Sherlock…”
Sherlock kissed John hard, before rolling him back over. “Mine.”