Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3405854.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV), Sherlock_Holmes_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Mycroft_Holmes/John_Watson, Mycroft_Holmes_&_John_Watson, Sherlock
      Holmes/John_Watson, Sherlock_Holmes_&_John_Watson
  Character:
      John_Watson, Sherlock_Holmes, Mycroft_Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Omega_John, Omega_Verse, Alpha
      Mycroft, Dubious_Consent, dub_con, Handcuffs, Ownership_of_Omegas,
      Underage_Sex, Voyeurism, BDSM, Flogging, Butt_Plugs, Bad_BDSM_Etiquette,
      Happy_Ending, Omega!John, Alpha!Mycroft, Alpha!Sherlock
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-21 Completed: 2015-05-02 Chapters: 9/9 Words: 12275
****** A New Alpha for John ******
by Omega_Girl_(Watson221b)
Summary
     In a world where Omegas are so scarce they are often sold to wealthy
     Alphas, John Watson has been bought by the Holmes family for their
     son Mycroft. John hates his new master, and his best friend Sherlock
     is the only person helping him to cope.
     *note* this story is underage and dubious consent. In no way do I
     condone either of these things in real life.
Notes
     I plan to upload a new chapter each weekend. With each chapter I will
     be adding new tags as they become relevant, to minimize spoiling the
     story from my tags. This is my first attempt at writing Omega!verse,
     so I hope you like it!
***** One *****
Sherlock ran up the rickety wooden stairs to John’s room, where he found the
older boy fast asleep on his cot. Sherlock went to wake him, but before he
reached the bed a wave of pheromones slammed into him. Shit. Sherlock needed
John to help collect bark samples, and now he’d have to wait who knows how long
until John’s heat was over.
“John! John wake up, you’re going into heat!” Sherlock ordered, shaking John’s
shoulder. Because he hadn’t presented as an Alpha yet (though he would soon, as
everybody knew), John’s pheromones weren’t affecting him, but it didn’t mean he
couldn’t smell them. John positively reeked.
“Hm? Sherlock? What?” John mumbled as he slowly gained consciousness.
“John, you’re going into heat, soon! I’d give you seventeen minutes before it
hits full force.” Sherlock told John angrily. Of all the days of this week, it
just had to be today.
It took John a moment to realize what Sherlock was saying, but then his eyes
widened in alarm. “Shit buggering fuck!” He swore. “I wasn’t expecting it until
tomorrow!”
“I know you weren’t. Alright, you’d better go to Mycroft. See ya.” Sherlock
twirled and stalked out of the room.
John sighed. He could smell the pheromones on himself, but he wasn’t so deep
into Heat that he felt anything more than an irritating itch. The omega in him
hadn’t taken over yet, he wasn’t desperate for an Alpha’s knot yet. On the
bright side, he could walk across the house to Mycroft’s bedroom without
tearing off his clothes along the way. The downside was, he was still lucid
enough to dread this.
He knew it was wrong, he was supposed to live to be dominated by his Alpha, but
really John hated Mycroft. The man was stiff and calculating, downright cruel
sometimes. And he hated that this cold man could own him so completely, take
away all of his power, and John would like it, because Omegas crave submission.
John hated feeling powerless, but his traitorous body craved it.
John popped a birth control pill and chased it down with some water, then began
the long walk over to Mycroft’s room, to present himself for three days of
fucking.
John much preferred the months where his Heat overtook him quickly, and he was
desperate to get to Mycroft and get a thick alpha cock inside of him. When he
was that desperate, he forgot all about how much he hated the man, and
concentrated on how much he needed the man’s body. Of course, today, John would
forget his reluctance the second Mycroft plunged in, as he always did, because
during sex the instincts took over completely, and Omega instincts are
desperate for domination. However, just because John knew he’d give in, it
didn’t make him dread it any less.
Finally John reached Mycroft’s bedroom, in a soundproofed turret of the manor.
Heats could sometimes get a little noisy, and it was best for everyone if those
sounds were not heard. He knocked on the heavy door, and it opened almost
immediately. Had Mycroft been waiting?
“I could smell you coming,” Mycroft said, in response to John’s unasked
question. “Please, do come in.”
John hesitantly entered the large room, and stood expectantly in front of
Mycroft. “I think I’ll start you out handcuffed to the bed,” Mycroft said
thoughtfully.
“Anything for you, Master,” John reluctantly answered. The Alpha stepped
towards John and gripped the bottom of his tshirt. John raised his arms
obediently and Mycroft whipped it off. Next Mycroft grabbed John’s waistband,
his hands brushing past John’s cock.
John internally shivered, both with the revulsion that he consciously felt, and
with the arousal that was creeping up on him as the Heat advanced. Mycroft
tugged down John’s shorts and pants in one motion, and John stepped out of
them. John was now stark naked, with the obvious exception of the black leather
collar he wore with the Holmes family crest emblazoned on it in gold. All
omegas wore collars, to signify who they belonged to.
Mycroft retrieved the handcuffs from a trunk in the corner and ordered John to
lay down on the bed face up, arms above his head. He deftly secured John’s
hands to the bed rail and propped up his head with an extra pillow, then backed
off and quickly stripped off his own clothes.
At the sight of the Alpha’s generous cock, dusty pink in its half-hard state,
the Omega in John got excited. He could feel his arsehole growing wet, creating
a small puddle on the bed underneath him. During Heat, the Omega’s body was
designed to require as little preparation as possible, so that the insatiable
need for penetration could be filled without delay. Not only did John’s body
self-lubricate, it also loosened up a bit, though not much.
The parts of John that weren’t awaiting Mycroft as eagerly shuddered
internally, dreading the moment when his loathsome owner would take ownership
of his body. He was resigned to his fate though, and had suffered through
countless times before.
Mycroft climbed onto the bed, never breaking eye contact with John. He
positioned himself in between John’s legs, then stuffed two pillows under
John’s hips, to improve the angle. He gripped John’s side, and deliberately
slid in.
John’s hole was not loose enough that it could easily accommodate an Alpha
penetrating fully with no preparation at all, and at first John was overcome by
the splitting pain. Within seconds though, John Watson was lost to the very
recesses of his mind as base instinct took over. His Heat may have still been
far enough away that he wasn’t begging, but the second the Omega recognized
that there was an Alpha buried hilt deep inside of him, primitive lust took
over.
The Omega’s legs wound around Mycroft’s waist, pushing him further in. He
eagerly thrust against Mycroft, moaning softly. “Harder, Master! Deeper!”
Mycroft leaned onto all fours and pounded into John with vigor. The pheromones
that John was sending out made Mycroft lose his mind in lust. Just as an Omega
in heat will beg for sex from any Alpha they can find, when confronted with the
scent of an Omega in heat, Alphas lose all willpower and rational thought, and
become just as sex driven as the Omega.
“My Omega,” Mycroft muttered as he slammed against John. “All mine.” Mycroft
leaned down and sunk his teeth onto the Omega’s left nipple. John arched into
the touch and groaned.
“Yes Master, all yours Master” John panted, barely aware that he was speaking.
Mycroft clamped his hand over John’s right nipple and groped him roughly, as he
sucked on John’s left. John moaned at each movement, his arms straining at
their cuffs, desperate to bury his fingers in Mycroft’s hair.
Mycroft moved his right arm up to grip at John’s collar as his left hand still
supported him on the bed. He lay his head down in the middle of John’s pale
chest and closed his eyes, losing himself in the rhythmic pounding of John’s
head against the backboard as Mycroft thrust into into him.
John’s legs were still gripped around Mycroft, and he slammed back against the
Alpha faster and faster, forcing them to speed up the pace. John could feel
Mycroft’s knot beginning to swell inside of him, filling him so completely and
beautifully as only an Alpha’s knot could. It stretched John beyond all limits
then kept growing, the pain and pleasure both so sharp they overcame him, and
John spiralled into oblivion, intense waves crashing over him as his vision
momentarily blacked out. He spurted all over Mycroft’s stomach above him.
Mycroft raised his head and drank in the sight of his Omega so undone beneath
him, all because of his own knot, which caused Mycroft to lose what tenuous
grip he’d had on reality. His knot pulsed, expelling wave after wave of
ejaculation.
As John’s reality reassembled around him and vision returned, he could feel the
rings of muscle in him gripping at Mycroft’s knot, milking every bit of semen
out of him. The spurts were beginning to slow, but John knew from experience
they would continue for about another half hour until stopping completely. Only
then would the knot deflate enough for Mycroft to pull out. Then the two of
them would be at it again, and again, until days later when John’s heat finally
ended.
Mycroft collapsed on top of John, supporting his weight with his elbows. He
still buried hilt deep inside of John, and every couple of minutes he would
thrust into the omega as another wave of orgasm overcame him. Each time, John
would grunt harshly, as the force thrust his whole body up, causing his head to
slam into the headboard.
Though Mycroft was still in the throes of orgasm, John’s was over, and he was
quite tender even as Mycroft’s excruciating knot stayed stubbornly inside him.
John sighed. He always hated this part of Heat.
***** Two *****
Chapter by Watson221b
Sometimes Sherlock hated his older brother. Well he always hated his older
brother. But right now he was hating him for a specific reason, and that reason
was John. Sherlock needed him desperately to help with his experiment, but
instead John was locked in Mycroft’s room and wouldn’t be out for three days,
at the very least.
Technically, John belonged to the Holmes family in general, not just Mycroft.
So why did Mycroft get John whenever he wanted him? It wasn’t fair! Sherlock
needed John, and Sherlock was the one who used John most often, so really he
owned him more than Mycroft did! But because Mycroft used him for his “Alpha
needs” and Sherlock only used him to help with experiments, Mycroft’s needs
came first. What a load of bullshit.
Sherlock couldn’t wait until he officially Presented, and could start using
John for his own Alpha needs. Then Mycroft’d see what it’s like to need John
and not be able to have him!
Sadly, Mycroft hadn’t Presented until he was sixteen, and Sherlock was only
fourteen now, so Sherlock probably had a long time to wait until he could
content for John. Although, Presenting at fourteen was still entirely possible,
and not uncommon. Maybe Sherlock’d be lucky.
Hmm, Sherlock had been meaning to test the effects of various blood samples on
daffodils, and the neighbors had just planted a new garden, maybe that’s what
he’d do until John was free.
***
John slowly opened his eyes and looked around. He didn’t know how long he’d
been asleep, but if previous experience was any example, it had probably been
around twelve hours. He was starving. When was the last time he’d eaten?
Wednesday? Or Thursday? He was always muddled after his Heats were over, it
took awhile to come back to reality after several days of desperate fucking.
John sat up carefully, wincing as he realized how sore he was. Every inch of
him was in pain, from his pounding headache to his trembling arms to his arse
that was on fire. It happened every time, but somehow he was never quite
prepared for just how sore he was. He lay back down slowly, and decided that
starving or no, it wasn’t worth the movement to venture down to the kitchen for
food.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and Sherlock poked his head in. “Hey,
John,” he said, “I saw Mycroft downstairs so I figured he was done with you. I
brought you some food.” Sherlock bounced onto the bed next to John, not
noticing John’s wince as the jostling hurt his battered body. Sherlock handed
him a roast beef sandwich, and lay a second sandwich and a large glass of water
on the nightstand.
“Thanks Sherlock,” John croaked. Wow, his voice was hoarse. He cleared his
throat then continued. “Um, what day is it?” He asked Sherlock.
“Monday night,” Sherlock replied. “You’ve been up here since Thursday
afternoon, and it’s been so boring!”
“Sorry, mate. Couldn’t really help it.” John smiled apologetically.
“Hmph. Anyways, you’re free now, and I need you to help me collect data on the
the adhesivity of saliva.”
Oh god. The thought of running around at that moment was torture to John.
“Look, Sherlock, I’m a bit, erm, sore, at the moment. Can you just give me a
little bit of time to rest?” John asked.
Sherlock sighed dramatically at the inconvenience. “Fine, I suppose it can wait
until tomorrow. But you’ll need to leave Mycroft’s room before he gets back,
you know he doesn’t like having you here when you’re not being useful.”
John winced at the thought of having to trek all the way back to his teeny
attic room in the servants’ quarters. It was just about the furthest room
possible from here, and John’s body was much too sore.
Sherlock realized John’s reluctance, and offered to let John rest in his room
for a bit, since it was much closer than John’s. John smiled gratefully, and
let Sherlock help him out of bed.
Going down the short flight of stairs was especially painful on John’s tender
arse, but he leant heavily on Sherlock and together they managed. From the
bottom of the stairs, they only had to walk down one hallway, turn left down
another, and then they made it. Sherlock opened his door, which had a loud “Do
Not Disturb” sign nailed to it, and led John into the room and onto his bed.
“I’ll go get that sandwich and water from Mycroft’s room, you must still be
hungry. Be right back!” Sherlock disappeared out the door, leaving John sitting
in an unfamiliar bed, Sherlock’s bed, in an unfamiliar room, Sherlock’s room.
For all the time that the two of them spent together, John had never seen the
inside of this room before. The two of them spent most of their time running
around outside, or in the old shed Sherlock had converted into a lab.
Sherlock’s room was just as John had expected it, an embodiment of Sherlock’s
personality. The floor was strewn with heaps of clothing and stacks of paper
and heavy-duty forensic textbooks. Hanging on the wall was a large poster of
the periodic table. Besides the double bed with plum-colored sheets, the only
other furniture was a wooden wardrobe that had papers taped to it, covering
most surfaces, and a large desk that was surprisingly organised, considering
the state of the rest of the room. There was a pile of books on one side of it,
a collection of rocks lining the back, and a picture in a white frame.
It was from Sherlock’s birthday two years ago, and Mrs. Holmes had tried to get
a picture of Sherlock posing with his cake. John remembered the moment with
clarity. Sherlock had, or course, completely ignored all attempts at getting
his picture, and he carried on talking to John as if the camera wasn’t there.
Mrs. Holmes flashed away anyways, and in this picture, Sherlock had just made a
joke about how it had probably been Mycroft’s idea to force a cake on Sherlock,
just to have an excuse to eat all the leftovers.
The camera had captured John with his head thrown back in laughter, and
Sherlock was looking at John and smiling. Whenever John laughed at one of
Sherlock’s jokes, he always seemed mildly surprised and grateful, probably
because no one else ever thought he was funny. It was a sweet picture.
Propped up against the frame was a brown feather, and John had a moment of
confusion seeing it there before he remembered what it was from. It was from
about a year ago. The two of them were by the pond, and Sherlock was studying
animal prints in the mud. John got bored and wandered off, and he found a brown
feather lying in the grass. Thinking it’d be funny, he ran back to Sherlock and
stuck the feather in his dark curls.
Sherlock was so immersed in his work that he didn’t even notice. Half an hour
later, when they were walking back to the house, Sherlock ran a hand through
his hair and found the feather, then ran after John trying to stick it in his
hair. The two of them chased each other back and forth, laughing, until Mycroft
called for John and he had to go.
John had almost forgotten about that day, and he’d had no idea that Sherlock
kept that feather all this time. It was actually really sweet.
Just then, Sherlock came back with the sandwich and water. He placed them on
the nightstand, and handed John two little red pills.
“Here, these should help with the pain,” Sherlock offered, handing John the
glass of water. John took the pills and thanked Sherlock, before chowing down
on the sandwich. Sherlock turned and grabbed a book off his desk and handed it
to John.
“In case you get bored,” he explained. John’s mouth was full of sandwich, so he
just nodded to Sherlock in thanks.
“Alright, well, I’ll just leave you alone then,” Sherlock said, turning to
leave.
“Wait!” John called out, trying to talk around the food in his mouth. “You can
stay, I mean if you want. This is your room after all.”
“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked dubiously.
“Sure. Besides, I could use the company.” John patted the bed next to him,
inviting Sherlock up. Sherlock grabbed a chemistry book from the floor and
climbed up, then settled next to John and began to read. John opened up the
book Sherlock had offered him, and the two read in companionable silence until
John heard soft snores coming from next to him. John picked the book off
Sherlock’s chest and bookmarked it, then set it aside. He pulled up the covers
around Sherlock and smiled as Sherlock mumbled in his sleep.
***** Three *****
Chapter by Watson221b
Chapter Notes
     Sorry, not much happens in this one. It is here for some background
     info on John's situation. Don't worry, the action will pick back up
     next chapter!
Rationally, John knew he had a pretty good life for an Omega. Omegas are the
rarest sex by far, and therefore prized among Alphas. Only one out of 500
people are Omegas, compared to Alphas (one in twenty) and Betas (The majority
of the population). What makes Omegas so special is that they can only be
males, unlike Alphas and Betas who can be either male or female. Omegas are
able to give birth, and in fact they are incredibly fertile. Mature Omegas go
into Heat for 3-4 days every other month, and it is when their fertility is the
highest. Instinctually, they lose all rational function during those days, and
will do anything to secure an Alpha mate.
Before the Omega Protection Decrees in 1942, cases of strangers mating on the
streets, and break-ins, were all too common when an Omega was in Heat. While in
Heat, Omegas secrete pheromones that are irresistible to Alphas, and they
become just as mindless and sex-crazed as Omegas. Every Alpha dreams of someday
mating with an Omega in Heat, but few ever get the chance. Because of Omegas’
rarity and value to Alphas, by law all Omegas must Bond with an Alpha by the
age of 21.
Because of this law, and Alpha competition for Omegas, it became customary to
purchase Omegas. Due to the competition, only the very wealthiest of Alphas
could afford Omegas, who were typically sold as babies. Though externally,
Omegas are very similar to Alpha and Beta males, and don’t Present as Omegas
until their first Heat around age twelve, new technologies have been invented
that can identify the sex of a baby as soon as its born.
Though most Omegas are sold as babies, they aren’t put into service until their
Heats begin. Childhood is spent teaching the Omega its place in society, and
grooming certain behaviors that will satisfy their future Alpha. John was
lucky, because his family did not choose to find out his sex prematurely, so
John grew up with his family and attended school, until he underwent his first
heat at age twelve.
Over the next couple of weeks, John was put up for sale on several respectable
Omega dealing websites, and he attended a few showcases for prospective Alpha
buyers. Within a month, the wealthy Holmes family had bought him as a birthday
present for their 16 year old Alpha son, Mycroft. So, John packed up a suitcase
and said goodbye to his parents and younger sister forever. He belonged to the
Holmes now, and would never see his old family again.
For the past three years, John had lived with relative freedom at the manor.
Obviously he had to serve Mycroft whenever he was needed, but on the days when
Mycroft didn’t want him, he was free to do as he pleased. This usually meant
running around with Sherlock, who was a year younger than John, helping him
conduct experiments and terrorize the neighbors. John even got to eat at the
table with the Holmes family except during formal dinner parties, when John was
expected to sit at Mycroft’s feet wearing a leash, as was expected of claimed
Omegas.
All in all, John knew that for an Omega, he had a pretty good life. He had
relative freedom, he had a friend in Sherlock, and he wouldn’t be expected to
have children for several more years. The one downside was that John despised
Mycroft, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Watching other Alpha-Omega pairs,
John knew that most Alphas doted on their omegas, coddling them and spoiling
them even as they expected total submission from them. Mycroft maintained a
polite distance from John, and never spoke to him unless absolutely necessary.
He barely acknowledged John’s presence outside of the bedroom, let alone
coddled him.
Though Mycroft had mated with John on countless occasions, the two were not
bonded. Bonding only occurs if the Omega is impregnated by the Alpha while in
Heat, and Mycroft was very careful about making sure John kept up-to-date with
his birth control pills.
Still, John couldn’t help but wonder about his future. He knew that inevitably,
and probably sooner than later, Mycroft would move out of the Holmes manor and
buy his own house. John would be all alone there, with no Sherlock to keep him
company. And eventually, Mycroft would marry a Beta woman, as was expected of
men of his station. It would be a strategic marriage rather than for love, but
nonetheless it would happen. Then John would probably be lonelier than ever, as
spouses were usually jealous of their Alpha’s pet Omegas, for giving them
sexual satisfaction in a way Betas never could. John would gradually be
relegated to nanny and occasional sex toy, only shown off during parties. It
was not a fate John was looking forward to at all.
Hopefully, that was still a long ways off, and John still had a couple more
years to enjoy with Sherlock at the manor. He really should enjoy it while it
lasted, and not speculate on the future. John sighed, looking lovingly at
Sherlock’s sleeping form next to him. He turned off the light and sank into a
deep sleep.
***** Four *****
Chapter by Watson221b
John’s soreness faded within a few days, as it always did, and the next few
weeks continued as normal. During the day, John would help Sherlock with his
wild escapades, and at night he’d either return to his cold room in the
servants’ quarters or spend the night being fucked by Mycroft.
One evening, while the family was eating dinner, and both Mr. Holmes and
Mycroft were both present for once (their work kept them busy), Mycroft cleared
his throat loudly.
“Everyone, I have some very good news I would like to share,” He announced
pompously.
“Oh? Do tell, Mike.” Mrs. Holmes asked eagerly.
Sherlock sighed loudly. “It’s obvious isn’t it? Mycroft has been promoted
within the government, and they need him closer to the city for convenience. So
he’ll be moving away in one month? No, two. He still needs to find an
appropriate flat, but the search is underway. Really Mycroft, its not such big
news, you’ve been close to this promotion for months now.” Sherlock said it all
in one breath, and when he finished Mrs. Holmes glared at him disapprovingly.
“Sherlock!” She admonished him. “That was Mycroft’s news to share, not yours.
And it is very big news, and we are all proud of him. Aren’t we, Siger?” She
looked to Mr. Holmes sternly, and he nodded once. Mr. Holmes was not a man of
many words.
“Thank you, Mummy.” Mycroft said, his eyes shooting daggers at Sherlock, who
was unperturbed by all the glares.
John was alarmed. Mycroft was moving out already? He was barely twenty! Sure,
he’d finished university two years ago, but surely a twenty-year-old couldn’t
be so vital to the government that they needed him available at a moment’s
notice?
John had thought he’d have a few years at least, to enjoy the easy life at the
Holmes manor. He wasn’t ready to leave his comfort, leave Sherlock!
Mycroft saw John’s poorly hidden alarm at a glance. “Also, I have been offered
an Omega as a political gift from Sudan. Obviously, it would be in unwise to
refuse such a gift, so the new Omega will live with me in London. This of
course means I have no need for John anymore.”
John was panicked. What? Mycroft didn’t need him? What did this mean? Where
would he go? Nobody wanted to buy a used Omega, what would become of him?
Mycroft continued, ignoring John’s alarm. “However, because it would be
difficult to sell a used Omega, and since Sherlock will be Presenting soon, I
thought we could keep him and he can become Sherlock’s Omega.” John was in
shock. There was no way this was happening.
Mrs. Holmes hummed. “I suppose that could work,” She said thoughtfully. “It
would be such a hassle to buy a new Omega for Sherlock, and the two already
know each other. What do you think, Siger dear?”
Mr. Holmes nodded slowly. “Suits me” He said. He turned back to his food and
resumed eating, signaling that the conversation was over. Mrs. Holmes and
Mycroft returned to their food as well, as if nothing had just happened, as if
John’s entire life hadn’t just turned upside down. He looked to Sherlock, who
was studying his food intently. If John wasn’t mistaken, Sherlock was blushing
a little bit. Sherlock glanced up from his plate at John, and caught John
staring. Sherlock quickly averted his eyes and returned to examining his
chicken. John thought he could detect the hint of a smile.
John felt like smiling himself. In fact, he felt like running up and down the
halls shouting. No more Mycroft! No more Mycroft! Even if Sherlock was
demanding and petulant, he was a giant step up from Mycroft, whose stares were
judging and his voice patronizing on the best of days.
Of course, John would still have to deal with Mycroft for a little while.
Mycroft wasn’t moving for two months, and his Sudanese Omega wouldn’t arrive
until then. But John would gladly endure it, knowing it would be the last two
months he’d spend as Mycroft’s fucktoy.
***** Five *****
Chapter by Watson221b
Chapter Notes
     Hi guys! Sorry, this chapter is really short. But don't worry, next
     chapter will be both long and naughty ;) enjoy!
Almost three weeks went by before Mycroft sent for John. He never went and
found John himself, he always sent either Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson, the
housekeeper. This time it was Mrs. Hudson. She was a grandmotherly-type Beta,
who had a fondness for the young Omega. She had a grandson who lived far away,
and apparently was far too skinny. Because she couldn’t do anything about his
eating habits, she took to heaping food onto John’s plate. Especially before he
went to see Mycroft, she would always force overly generous portions on him.
This time, she knocked on his bedroom door softly. “John, are you in there?”
She called out.
John sighed and put down the book he was reading. “Come in, Mrs. Hudson,” he
replied.
She opened the creaky door and walked in, setting a heaping plate of chicken,
mashed potatoes, and broccoli down on the desk. The chunky gravy heaped on the
potatoes clued John in to her true purpose in bringing him food. The Holmes’
were too fancy a family to allow their gravy to have chunks, but that was the
way John preferred it. The only possible reason the cook would have agreed to
make it would be if Mycroft had sent for John. Though he had never mentioned
his hatred of Mycroft to Mrs. Hudson, she had a motherly intuition, and was
always sympathetic. It wasn’t unusual for her to bring him a special treat
before she broke the news to him. Sure enough--
“Mycroft would like to see you, dear” Mrs. Hudson said, giving John a sad
smile.
“What time should I head over?” was John’s only response. This was the first
Saturday night Mycroft hadn’t been at work in several weeks. John had seen it
coming.
“Just as soon as you finish eating. And I mean finish, I want this plate clean
when I come back,” Mrs. Hudson said with a stern look at John. “You’re still a
growing boy, you need some good hearty nourishment.”
“Okay, Mrs. Hudson. I promise” John agreed with a grin. Every time she made him
promise to clean his plate, and every time he followed through with pleasure.
One thing he could never begrudge about living here was the food. John pushed
himself out of bed, carefully bookmarking his place in the novel. He was almost
at the end, and had been looking forward to finishing it that night. Ah well.
He could always wait til tomorrow night to find out whether the main character
survived.
John sat down in front of his plate and started cutting into his chicken. The
gravy really was delicious. Once Mrs. Hudson was satisfied that he was eating,
she patted his shoulder and left the room.
***
John knocked twice on Mycroft’s door, but when it finally opened, the wrong
person was standing behind it.
“Um, Sherlock? What are you doing here?” John asked, bewildered.
Sherlock stared at the wall behind John’s head. “Um, Mycroft wants me to...
watch. He said he has to teach me how to, um, handle handle things, and since
he’ll be leaving soon…” Sherlock trailed off, still refusing to look John in
the eye.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Sherlock answered apologetically.
Just then, the door pulled open wider, revealing Mycroft’s intimidating form.
“John, hello. I trust Sherlock has informed you that we will be giving him
lessons this evening?”
“Uh, yes he, um, he has,” John stuttered, still unable to comprehend the
situation.
“Well, come in then.” Mycroft stepped back from the doorway, allowing John to
enter. “John, I expect you would like an explanation of how this session will
proceed. First, you and I will have sex, while Sherlock observes. Then at a
later date, you and Sherlock will engage, while I observe and intervene or
assist if necessary. This way, Sherlock can learn properly how to lead a
session with an Omega, as Omegas are vastly different from Betas in the
bedroom, and require special care. Extra domination, for example.” Mycroft
explained it all in a clinical tone, as if what he was saying didn’t cause the
other occupants of the room to squirm in discomfort. “Sherlock, I would like
you to go sit on that chair, where you will have the best vantage point.”
Obediently, Sherlock went over to a brown armchair on the opposite side of the
room, facing the bed. It hadn’t been there last time. He sat down stiffly.
Mycroft turned to John, completely shutting out Sherlock’s presence. “Strip.”
He commanded with a voice of steel. “Then kneel on the bed, facing the
headboard.”
***** Six *****
Chapter by Watson221b
John removed his shirt and trousers, and after a hesitant glance at Sherlock
across the room, he pulled down his pants as well. John looked to Sherlock
again, but Sherlock wasn’t paying his naked body any attention. He was watching
Mycroft, who had gone over to his wardrobe and was digging something out of a
box in the corner.
John climbed onto the king-size bed and knelt just in front of the pillows,
facing the headboard. He folded his hands in front of him and stared straight
ahead, refusing to think about Sherlock.
Mycroft returned from the wardrobe and set what he had retrieved on the
nightstand. There was a pair of handcuffs, a ball gag, a leather whip, a butt
plug, and a bottle of lube. Mycroft picked up the metal cuffs and secured
John’s wrists to a vertical railing in the headboard. John could slide his
hands up and down the rail, but couldn’t pull them free.
Mycroft unfastened his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, then unbuttoned his
top three buttons. He didn’t remove any clothing. He climbed onto the bed
behind John and squirted some lube into his hand. He massaged it all over his
fingers, then with no warning he plunged his first icy digit into John’s
entrance.
It was abrupt and shockingly cold, and John’s spine ran rigid with the
movement. Mycroft always dove right in; he never wasted any time with sensual
foreplay. And forget kissing, Mycroft had never kissed John in his life, except
in half-bites on his body when John was in Heat. No, Mycroft would never let
John think, even for a second, that there were any emotions involved in this
relationship. For Mycroft, this was purely need-driven. He needed to satisfy
his desires, and he needed to dominate someone. And what better to use as a
submissive sex toy than an Omega?
As soon as Mycroft started moving his finger inside of John, all trains of
thought were forgotten. John may not have been in Heat, but the sex-driven
Omega inside of him was always hovering just below the surface. And oh, that
finger felt so good.
“When Omegas are not in heat, it is important to prepare them. They need to be
loosened before they can handle an Alpha’s girth.” Mycroft explained. At first,
John was confused at why he was narrating, until he remembered that Sherlock
was supposed to be observing.
Mycroft slid his finger in and out of John, adding a second and then a third.
He moved in and out, giving a sharp twist of his wrist with every thrust in.
After a few times, John let out a sharp moan, letting Mycroft know he’d found
his prostate. He continued in that pattern for several minutes, thrusting his
fingers and hitting John’s prostate every time. John was pushing down on the
fingers, begging for more.
But Mycroft wouldn’t give it to him. He stilled his fingers, knuckle deep in
John’s entrance, and watched John fuck himself on them, desperate for contact.
Despite John’s desperate groans, Mycroft slowly withdrew his fingers. He picked
up the butt plug and stuffed it in John, holding him open for when Mycroft
would need it later. John whimpered, because while the plug filled him up
deliciously, it stubbornly stayed quite still inside of John.
“Shhh, shhh” Mycroft crooned, reaching under John to give his straining cock
two hard pulls. John groaned loudly and tried to thrust into Mycroft’s hand,
but it had already withdrawn.
“I thought I told you to be quiet,” Mycroft admonished his Omega. He grabbed
the ball gag and stuffed in John’s mouth, securing the straps around the back
of John’s head. The gag stifled his cries significantly, but could not silence
them.
“Omegas like to be dominated, it’s in their nature. That’s why I taunt them
without giving them release, and of course any form of restraint is useful.
Especially when they are disobeying their masters, and not being quiet like
they were ordered.” Mycroft dictated for Sherlock’s benefit. Oh god, John had
almost managed to forget Sherlock was watching. It was completely humiliating,
having his best friend of three years watch him be stripped down and fucked by
Sherlock’s older brother. There was a part of him though, that John was trying
hard to ignore, that welcomed Sherlock’s eyes on him. Letting Sherlock see him
exposed and aroused. Pretending his moans and gasps were elicited by his
friend’s actions rather than his master’s.
John’s attentions were drawn back to Mycroft as he watched him take hold of the
flogger. He ran the tassels through his fingers admiringly, then lashed out and
whipped John across the back. John shrieked and tugged against his restraints,
but they would not give. Mycroft gripped John’s shoulder and forced him to bend
over, exposing his back to Mycroft.
“Pain is both pleasurable to administer, and welcomed by Omegas. Now count,”
Mycroft growled. It took John to realize that the last part was meant as a
command for him. Mycroft raised the flogger and hit him again.
“Two!” John mumbled around the gag, his words unintelligible.
John squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the next blow. It snapped
down across his right buttcheek, shooting spikes of pain up his backside, and
overwhelming daggers of pleasure down to his groin.
John kept up his count, though with each number it grew increasingly more
difficult to formulate words. His brain was becoming fuzzy around the edges,
diving deep into the sensations. As the flogger landed on John again and again,
the pleasure grew until the stinging from each tassel was engulfed by the sharp
hot pleasure that stemmed from each blow. By ten, John was completely
incoherent, and could only manage an intelligible whimper after each flog.
Mycroft stopped then, despite John’s protests.
“I don’t want to permanently damage you,” explained Mycroft as he put the
flogger aside. “Besides, we have plenty else we can do.”
Mycroft reached under John, stroking his hard cock. Precum was liberally
leaking down the sides, and Mycroft swept it up with his finger then
luxuriously licked it off. John whined, bucking his hips against the air.
Mycroft chuckled darkly at John’s begging.
“Oh, do you want my cock you dirty Omega? Is your arse just aching for me to
fill you up and ride you hard? Is that what you want?” John nodded
emphatically, moaning around his gag.
Mycroft unzipped his trousers and pulled them down around his knees, his pants
following. He rutted against John a few times, and John leant into the
sensation of the hard cock against his backside. Mycroft squirted more lube
into his hands, then ran them up and down his own cock, sighing contentedly.
Once he was liberally coated, he slid out John’s butt plug. He gripped John’s
hip with one hand and used the other to position himself at John’s entrance. He
held on to John’s hips, and pushed himself in to the hilt.
John yelped at the sudden intrusion, but Mycroft didn’t give him time to
adjust. He pulled out so that just the head was still in, then he slid back
into John. Gradually, he quickened the pace and thrust deeper, until every
thrust shook the bed. John gripped the railing he was cuffed to, to steady
himself against the onslaught. Mycroft quickly found John’s prostate, and soon
their grunts were in unison with every rut. John pushed himself deeper onto
Mycroft, his muscles clenching around the thick cock buried deep in him.
When Mycroft’s thrusts became irregular and desperate, John could tell he was
close. He felt a shiver run through Mycroft’s body, and with a shout he came in
John, thrusting erratically as each wave rolled over him.
As John felt Mycroft’s semen spurting into him, filling him up, it was enough
to tip him over the edge. John cried ou as he exploded all over the bedsheets
below him, getting some on his stomach.
When both of them had calmed and returned to awareness, Mycroft carefully
pulled out, and flopped onto the bed, panting. He leant over and unclasped
John’s handcuffs, allowing the Omega to collapse flat, paying no heed to the
sticky mess of his own ejaculate that he was now laying on top of.
“Omegas like it rough, which is good because it would be hard to restrain
yourself with such delicious pheromones tempting you.” Mycroft’s voice was
steady despite the fact that he’d been completely out of breath only a second
ago. Throughout all of Mycroft’s explanations, Sherlock hadn’t made a sound.
John chanced a look over at him, in his chair across the room. Sherlock was
staring at John, absorbing every inch of his naked body spread out for the
world to see. He drank in the sight of John’s now flaccid cock, and let his
eyes travel up to John’s face. The two locked eyes, and Sherlock’s expression
froze. He quickly averted his eyes, and pretended he wasn’t blushing furiously.
John was sure his face was as red as Sherlock’s.
After a few minutes, Mycroft sat up and examined John critically. “Sherlock, I
think it would be best if we let John’s injuries heal for a day or so before I
let you try. No one wants a broken Omega.” Sherlock must have nodded, because
Mycroft dropped the matter. He pulled up his trousers, redid his belt, and
walked out of the room.
***** Seven *****
Chapter by Watson221b
Chapter Notes
     Sorry I wasn't able to update last week, I was on vacation and found
     myself unexpectedly without computer access.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Sherlock cautiously got up and
went over to John. John moved a hand over his groin, but it didn’t help with
how exposed he felt. Neither of them could look the other in the eye.
“Are you okay?” Sherlock blurted. “It’s just, the marks on your back look
really bad, do you want help bandaging them?” Sherlock risked glancing at John.
John was relieved. He’d feared Sherlock would want to talk about what had just
happened, and John was in no way ready for that. Nor would he ever be.
“Thanks,” John said in response to the offer. He attempted a smile, but it came
out more of a grimace. He made to sit up, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand
on his chest. He quickly withdrew, after realizing he had his palm flat on
John’s bare chest.
“No, you lie down. I’ll go get the supplies.” Sherlock explained. He
practically ran out of the room.
Oh god, oh god, why is this happening to me? John bemoaned. It was bad enough
having Sherlock watch him have sex with his older brother, now Sherlock was
going to help him and coddle him afterwards. While John was naked. Well, at
least something could be done about that.
Quickly realizing that moving was not an idea that his battered body was
looking forward to, John simply rolled over in bed so that he was lying on his
stomach. He awkwardly reached around and draped the corner of the blanket over
his legs, covering his arse.
Just as John finished getting situated, Sherlock burst in with a box of medical
supplies. He perched on the bed next to John and took out a small tube. He
uncapped it and spread the cream on John’s back, apologizing every time John
winced at the stinging.
“These marks actually aren’t as bad as I first thought,” Sherlock conceded.
“They barely drew blood, and I’m confident they’ll be totally gone in two
weeks.” Sherlock took out a small stack of bandages and stuck them onto John’s
back, covering the worst of the wounds.
“Thanks for doing this, Sherlock.” John said, smiling up at him.
Sherlock shrugged instead of making a real response. “Mycroft will probably be
back soon, do you want to stay in my room again?”
Great. First John has to lie down and let Sherlock bandage him up, now John’s
too weak to even make it all the way across the house to his own bed. It was
true though. John wasn’t sure he could handle the long trek back to his room.
“Okay,” John agreed. He swallowed the remnants of his pride and allowed
Sherlock to help him out of bed and down the stairs, and into Sherlock’s room.
John was very conscious of the fact that he was still completely naked. He slid
under the covers as quickly as possible, wincing at every sharp movement of his
back. And arse. And wrists.
Sherlock seemed to notice what John was thinking, so he retrieved a pair of
pyjama bottoms from his drawer and handed them to John, who gratefully slid
them on under the blanket. Sherlock then pulled on his own pyjamas, and though
he had his back turned to John, John still blushed at seeing Sherlock’s exposed
back and legs. Of course, the reaction was only a result from all of the
uncomfortable things that had happened last night. It had absolutely nothing to
do with how muscular his back was, which John had never noticed, and how, erm,
pleasant his arse looked in those red pants. John averted his eyes and stared
determinedly at the ceiling, willing himself to rid those images from his mind.
After turning off the light, Sherlock climbed into bed next to John, and was
asleep almost instantly. John lay awake for awhile. His brain just couldn’t
turn off after the events of this evening. Not only had Mycroft summoned him,
they had sex while Sherlock was watching, with instructions for Sherlock to
fuck him next time, and on top of all that, Sherlock bandaged him up and took
him back to his own bedroom, so John wouldn’t have to limp back to his own room
alone.
And hardest of all for John to comprehend was that this was Sherlock who did
all this. Sherlock, who had alienated everybody within a five mile radius for
his scathing remarks and rude behavior. Sherlock, who did whatever he wanted
with no care for social protocol. Sherlock, who never considered anyone other
than himself, under any circumstance. Sherlock, who hadn’t gotten bored of John
tagging along, in all the years John had lived here. Sherlock, whose only photo
on display was of him and John. Sherlock, who took care of him after sessions
with Mycroft even though it was in no way his responsibility.
John looked over at Sherlock’s sleeping form, realizing for the first time that
maybe Sherlock did care about him more than he let on. John allowed a small
smile to creep onto his lips, and cautiously he brushed Sherlock’s shoulder
with his fingertips.
Sherlock groaned in his sleep, turning over and throwing his arm across John’s
torso. He nuzzled his head into John’s chest and sighed, then his breathing
returned to normal.
John froze. “Sherlock, are you awake?” He whispered, but Sherlock gave no
response. After a few seconds, John relaxed. He wrapped his arms around
Sherlock and closed his eyes, finally letting himself drift off.
***** Eight *****
Chapter by BakerStreetBabe_(Watson221b)
Chapter Notes
     I don't think I'll be able to update next week, I'll be away. But
     don't worry, I'll be back the next week! And to tide you over, this
     chapter is longer than usual :)
When John woke up the next morning, Sherlock was gone. Light streamed through
the windows, and a plate of french toast lay on the table next to him, with his
daily birth control pill sitting on a napkin. That had probably been courtesy
of Mrs. Hudson. John checked the clock and groaned. It was already almost noon!
He sat up carefully, mindful of the wounds on his back. He gobbled up his
breakfast and popped his pill, then headed back to his own room to finish his
book.
Stairs still weren’t fun for John’s battered body, but sleep really had done
wonders for healing. The redness in his wrists from chafing at the handcuffs
had disappeared, and his back and arse weren’t in nearly as much pain as they
had been in yesterday. However, he’d probably worsen again soon, since John was
all too aware that tomorrow Sherlock would have his chance with him.
He tried to shove the thought away, but it simply wouldn’t be ignored. John’s
heart clenched at the thought; he’d never been with anyone but Mycroft and he
had no idea what to expect. Plus, this was Sherlock, his best friend of the
past three years! John was capable of making the situation impersonal when he
was with Mycroft, but he had no idea if he’d still be able to when the person
fucking him into the headboard was his sole confidant, the person he loved-
- erm, liked-- most of all in the world.
The rest of the day passed painfully slowly. At some point, Mrs. Hudson came up
and brought him a heaping plate of grilled cheese, carrots, and potato crisps,
which John scarfed down. The two made polite conversation, but John could tell
that Mrs. Hudson knew what was coming for him soon, and the untouched subject
sat heavy between them. John was at least grateful that she was making an
effort to pretend she didn’t know, and trying to take his mind off of it for a
few minutes
That evening, he finally finished his book; the ending was disappointing and
left way too many loose ends for John’s taste. After he set down the novel with
a sigh, John realized he had nothing else to do. This was his last book until
he was able to order another from the Library. Usually when he was bored he
went and found Sherlock, but that wasn’t really an option this time. John
didn’t think he could face him, knowing what the two of them would be doing the
next day.
John went to bed early, and after lying awake thinking about the next day he
eventually fell into a deep sleep. When John woke up the sun was streaming
through the blinds of his windows. There was a plate of food on the table next
to him. Finding food waiting for him seemed to be turning into a common
occurence, John noted. This time it was a plate of scorched scrambled eggs
covered in ketchup. For a moment John was confused, because Cook had never
burnt a meal before, and no one knew he liked ketchup on his eggs besides
Sherlock. Then when John saw the medical textbook lying next to the plate, he
understood.
Sherlock must have made him the eggs. And of course he would have realized that
John had finished his last book, so he brought him one of his own. With a
smile, John realized it was the same textbook he’d been looking through a few
weeks ago in the shed-turned-laboratory. Sherlock was engrossed studying
something or other through his microscope, and John had picked up the medical
textbook that was lying around. He didn’t get very far into it, but it was
interesting. As soon as Sherlock finished John put down the book and followed
him outside, without a second thought of the book. John hadn’t realized that
Sherlock even noticed what he was reading.
With a smile, John picked up the plate and forced himself to eat the rubbery
blackened eggs. The ketchup did help a lot with covering up the taste. When he
had eaten all that he could, he opened up the medical book and dove in with
interest. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn’t concentrate.
Each sentence he read reminded him that Sherlock had brought him this book,
that Sherlock had noticed him reading it in the first place, and that he had
remembered it for all this time. Thinking about Sherlock brought up a whole
tangled mess of feelings that John had neither the time nor the courage to even
begin to figure out. He shut the book with a sigh. There must be something that
could distract him from Sherlock. But it seemed everything in the whole house
had a connection to Sherlock, or a memory.
Eventually John just decided to grab a snack from the kitchen and watch some
tv. There was an empty servants’ room downstairs from his own room, and John
had unofficially claimed it as his own. When the Holmes’ had gotten a new tv a
year or so ago, John had taken the old one and put it in that room, as well as
a couch they were getting rid of and a table with a wobbly leg. He’d propped up
the leg with a few newspapers and it was good as new.
John sank into the tattered red couch with a groan, careful not to spill his
bowl of popcorn. He flipped around the channels aimlessly, not looking for a
good show but rather an adequate distraction from the anxious thoughts pinging
around in his skull. Nothing exciting was on tv, so he settled on a reality
show about weird addictions. He watched for over four hours; the show was
having some kind of marathon. It almost but not quite allowed him to forget the
fear coiling in his abdomen, ever tighter as the hour drew closer. As it neared
five o’clock, John realized he hadn’t been paying attention to the show for
some time. He didn’t even know what the addiction of the newest guest was.
With a sigh, John turned off tv and wandered down to the kitchen. There he
found Cook starting on dinner, chicken breast with prosciutto, pesto, and
cheese. She was always nice to John; she fed him the scraps while she cooked
and often piled extra cheese onto his helping. John only ate dinner with the
Holmes if everyone was there. Often Mr. Holmes or Mycroft worked late and
didn’t come to dinner, in which case John ate in the kitchen with the help.
Thankfully, tonight Mr. Holmes was stuck at the office, so John ate at the cozy
table with Cook, a new maid named Molly, and Mrs. Hudson. He was sure the three
of them all knew what was going to happen that night; it was impossible to keep
secrets from the help. They were polite enough not to bring it up, so the meal
was spent asking about Mrs. Hudson’s various children and grandchildren, the
topic of which she could go on for hours.
John didn’t pay attention as much as he should have. His eyes kept glancing to
the clock, ticking ever closer to the dreaded moment. When the meal was over,
John helped the cook wash the dishes, then he wandered back to his room. He
supposed Mycroft, or rather Sherlock, would send for him soon. It was seven,
and usually if he was summoned it was around seven thirty or eight. After all,
one would want to digest before any sort of physical activity.
John fretted about what to wear. He was currently in a loose grey sweater and
old jeans, which normally wouldn’t be a problem. He’d take it all off as soon
as he got there, so he never bothered to dress up for his visits. But this was
his first time with Sherlock, it would be different. He felt he should look
nice this one time, but he also didn’t want to act like this was anything less
than a normal session. In the end, he combed his hair and put on a slightly
nicer pair of jeans, but kept the sweater. It was almost seven thirty now. Mrs.
Hudson would knock on his door any minute.
John perched on his bed, facing the door. He bounced his right leg up and down,
then stood up and walked to the other side of the room. He stared out the tiny
window at the vast grounds of the estate, glowing in the soft moonlight. He
walked back to his desk and picked up a pencil, tried twirling it between his
fingers. After a few tries he gave up and started going through his drawers,
looking for something to do.
There wasn’t much in his drawers, at least nothing personal. He hadn’t been
allowed to bring anything from home when he moved here, and it wasn’t like the
Holmes ever gave him presents or anything. He didn’t even go to school. After
all, what was the point in educating an omega when they were only going to live
their life as a rich alpha’s fucktoy. No one wanted an educated omega, because
then they might not be content with their submissive life. No, it was far
better for omegas to quit school once they were sold.
Just as John closed his last drawer, there was a quiet knock on the door. John
froze.
“John, dear?” Mrs. Hudson’s voice called through the door. John’s body turned
to lead and sank into the floor.
“Come in,” John said, his eyes glued to the door.
Mrs. Hudson walked into the room and gave John a small smile. “Honey, it’s
time.” She said gently. “And he would like you to please go to young master
Holmes’ room this time.” Oh god. That hadn’t even occurred to John, that it
would have to be in Sherlock’s room. He supposed it made sense. After all, when
Mycroft moved out, that was where it would be every time, so they might as well
get used to it now.
Somehow John managed to smile, though it probably came out closer to a grimace.
“Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.” he said in a flat voice. She looked at him for a long
moment, sighed, then left the room. John took one last glance around; by the
time he returned his life would be completely different. He followed Mrs.
Hudson out the door.
John stood in front of Sherlock’s room, trying to steel himself to knock.
Before he could even raise his hand the door opened, revealing Mycroft in the
entrance. Sherlock stood behind Mycroft in the middle of the room. His eyes
were fixed on his fingernails that he was studiously picking at, occasionally
glancing at the ground, but never at John.
“Welcome, John” Mycroft said, with a sinister smile. No matter what the
situation, John had never seen Mycroft smile for real. It was always a
placating smile or a sarcastic smile or a condescending smile. It was fucking
creepy.
John walked into the room, but stayed near the doorway. His eyes kept
flickering towards Sherlock, but after their eyes met once, Sherlock simply
became more engrossed in his nails.
“No need to be shy, Sherlock” Mycroft scolded. “What on earth is there to be
nervous about? It’s not like there’s a chance John will reject you.” Sherlock
glared at Mycroft, but made no response. “Go on, Sherlock. This can’t work if
you stay five feet away the whole time.”
Reluctantly, Sherlock moved forwards until he was standing in front of John.
John looked into his eyes and saw terror. Huh. John knew why he was so scared,
but as Mycroft had said, there was no reason for John to be.
Just then, Mycroft’s phone rang. Mycroft’s eyes widened as he looked at the
caller ID. “Sherlock, you will have to continue without my instructions. I have
to take this call. Don’t disappoint me.” And with that, Mycroft hurried out of
the room. John could hear him talking in a hushed voice as he strode down the
hallway, probably off to his study.
John looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock was still staring at him. “Well, shall
we get on with it?” John asked, attempting a smile.
“John,” Sherlock said softly. “I don’t want to-- I never want to make you do
anything you don’t want to.”
Of all the things Sherlock could have said, that was the last thing possible
John could have imagined happening. “Um…” John stalled, unable to think of a
response.
“John, we may very well end up spending the rest of our lives together. And I
see the way you look at Mycroft, how much you hate him. I don’t want you to
hate me, John. I want you to always be happy, because I-- well just because.”
Sherlock said al in a rush. He stared just to the left of John when he
finished. His face was bright red.
“Because you what, Sherlock?” John asked, though he knew what Sherlock was
going to say.
“Um.” Sherlock awkwardly cleared his throat. “Well, because I love you. And I
know you don’t love me and that’s okay I don’t expect you to, but I still want
you to be happy, and maybe, maybe we could be friends.” After he finished, he
looked back at John, waiting apprehensively.
“Sherlock, I think I love you too” John said, and in that moment, he knew it
was true. He knew that was what he’d been hiding from, what he’d refused to
think about. But now it seemed so obvious. Of course he loved Sherlock. He’d
loved him for a very long time.
Relief shone on Sherlock’s face. “You do?” He asked, beaming. “Really?”
“Of course I do.” John reassured him. Sherlock strode forward and wrapped John
in a hug. John lifted Sherlock’s face up with his hands, and looked deep into
his eyes. Sherlock’s eyes flicked between John’s eyes and his lips. He leaned
in, and John closed his eyes. Their lips met, and John realized he was
experiencing his first kiss. Sherlock’s lips were soft, and gave in to John’s.
It was a sweet kiss, chaste. After only a few seconds they pulled away.
Sherlock was grinning widely, and John could feel that he was too.
Sherlock was the first to break the silence. “So, what now?” He asked.
“No offense, but I don’t really want to- you know,” John nodded nodded vaguely
at the bed, and Sherlock understood.
“No, of course not. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with,”
Sherlock reassured John. “So then, I guess you want to go back to your room?”
“Well, I was kinda hoping I could stay here for a little bit…”
Sherlock positively beamed. He nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes of course you
can.” He said, and reached out for John’s hand. John slid his fingers between
Sherlock’s and they stood like that for a minute, stupidly grinning at each
other with their held hand swinging back and forth.
Mycroft never returned that night. It must have been an important call. John
and Sherlock stayed up late, sitting criss-cross on Sherlock’s bed, holding
each other’s hands and talking well into the night. When Sherlock could no
longer keep his eyes open, John turned off the light and the two slid into bed.
John wrapped his arm around Sherlock, who was curled into him, resting his head
on his chest. John watched Sherlock as he fell asleep and traced swirls through
his hair. Eventually, he too drifted off.
***** Epilogue *****
Chapter by BakerStreetBabe_(Watson221b)
Chapter Notes
     And here concludes my story. I really enjoyed writing it, and I hope
     you guys liked it as well!
As it turns out, the phone call that Mycroft got that night was a matter of
national security or something equally confidential. By the time John and
Sherlock woke up the next morning, Mycroft had rushed into the office and
decided that now was as good a time as any to move into his London address.
Mrs. Hudson shipped his belongings to him; apparently whatever it was was so
important Mycroft couldn’t step away for some time. And once he was located in
the city, work seemed to consume his life even more.
He hardly ever visited the Holmes’ manor, except for holidays. Whenever Mycroft
did make one of his rare appearances, Sherlock would keep John occupied and
away from Mycroft until he left. Sherlock was no happier to see his brother
than John was, after everything Mycroft had done to Sherlock’s boyfriend.
And they were boyfriends. In the excitement of confessing their feelings for
each other, John and Sherlock had forgotten to discus what would come next. And
of course, a week later when it came up after Sherlock accidentally called John
his boyfriend, that matter was happily resolved. The two shyly began to
navigate their new relationship. It wasn’t really much different than before,
except there was more hand holding, and whenever Sherlock got excited his first
reaction became to kiss John passionately instead of run off and forget to tell
John where he was going. The laboratory shed in the backyard became their
favorite makeout spot.
A year later, Sherlock solved a crime he saw on the news just by watching the
people interviewed by the journalist. He called the tip in to a thoroughly
impressed sergeant Lestrade, and after two more similar occurrences, Lestrade
officially asked him to unofficially help him out with cases. Sherlock became a
perennial appearance at all the crime scenes, and everyone on the team got used
to having a gangly arrogant teen hanging around with his sidekick. Because of
course, wherever Sherlock went, John went too.
 
Sherlock bugged his parents until they got John a private tutor, who not only
got him through the high school curriculum, but gave John extra lessons in
anatomy and biology. John was beginning to dream of becoming a doctor, though
of course he knew his situation and would never voice those impossible dreams
aloud. Obviously, Sherlock knew anyways, but he was kind enough to pretend he
didn’t.
 
For three years life went along happily, with Sherlock solving crimes and John
learning anatomy, and the two of them almost never being apart. Until Sherlock
was seventeen and looking at universities, and John realized he had no idea
what would happen to him when Sherlock left. Omegas obviously did not go to
uni. Would he stay behind in the Holmes manor, so that Sherlock could visit him
on holidays? Or would the Holmes family find some other use for him in the time
being?
All of John’s worry turned out to be for naught. Sherlock got accepted to
Imperial, and John pretended to be happy for him while dying on the inside.
Then, two days later Sherlock burst into John’s room holding a fat envelope. It
was addressed to Mr. John H Watson, and the return address was Barts and the
London School of Medicine and Dentistry.
Without John’s knowledge, Sherlock had applied to Barts in John’s name- and he
got in! Sherlock had pestered the dean until he broke down and allowed an Omega
to enroll, on the condition that he be kept on scent masking pills during his
enrollment. John agreed happily, and the next fall he and Sherlock bought a
flat together in London, equidistant from Barts and Imperial.
Their new flat was an adorable place next door to a cafe, 221B Baker Street.
Mrs. Holmes was worried about Sherlock living on his own, so Mrs. Hudson would
be moving into the flat downstairs to keep an eye on them.
John and Sherlock got to their new home a few days before school started to
settle in. Their first night in the flat was the first time they had sex.
For a long while after they started dating, neither of them were ready for it,
and even after they wanted to, John admitted to Sherlock that if he had sex
with Sherlock, it would feel like he were just being used. Though of course
John wanted to wholeheartedly and he knew Sherlock loved him, knowing that they
were doing what John had been bought to do turned him off of the idea. Sherlock
agreed it felt weird, so they’d waited. But now they were out from under the
Holmes’ roof, and John no longer felt like a pet or a possession. He could fuck
Sherlock if he wanted and it would never be just because he had to.
They hadn’t planned it per say, but Sherlock had bought some condoms on their
way to the flat, just in case. Then, when they walked in the door and fully
realized that all of it belonged to just the two of them, Sherlock was glad
he’d come prepared.
After peeking in all the rooms and checking to make sure the stove and fridge
were in working order, John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him back to the
living room.
“What are you up to?” Sherlock asked, following John. John smiled and wiggled
his eyebrows but made no response. He backed himself up against the wall next
to the door and grabbed Sherlock’s collar, drawing him in for a kiss.
They kissed for a long while, content in the give and take of one pair of lips
against the other, the tongues sliding in and out and licking lips and tracing
teeth, and biting and sucking on lower lips. John’s hands twined in Sherlock’s
curls while Sherlock braced his hands against the door, framing John’s head.
As they kept going the kissing grew more intense and desperate. Sherlock would
leave John’s mouth to kiss trails down John’s neck only to have John interrupt
and start sucking at his ear. Sherlock grabbed John under his arse and hoisted
him up, so that John wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock pressed
his body against the door for balance and slipped his hands underneath John’s
waistband to grab at his arse.
Eventually they made their way over to the couch, with Sherlock still carrying
John wrapped around his waist. He dumped John down on the couch and John pulled
Sherlock on top of him to resume the kissing. Sherlock ground against John and
John arched up to press himself against Sherlock’s bulge, now straining at his
jeans. John made quick work of those jeans, pulling them down to Sherlock’s
knees to free his tented cock. He ran his hands up and down the shaft and
Sherlock groaned obscenely, leaning into the pressure. John paused and looked
up at Sherlock.
“Sherlock,” he whispered, “I want you inside of me.” Oh god. Sherlock realized
in that moment he had been waiting his entire life to hear John say those
words.
“I want this too,” he responded, and pulled John into a deep kiss. He pulled
off John’s jeans and pants and dug a condom out of his jacket pocket. “Are you
wet for me?” Sherlock asked in a voice rough with arousal. He ripped open the
packet and slid the condom onto his cock, red and straining against his stomach
with lust.
“You tell me,” John said. Sherlock smiled and reached his left hand around,
between John’s legs. He could feel the lubricant leaking down John’s thigh, and
when he nudged his finger into John’s hole, more liquid gushed out. Sherlock
dug his finger in and curled it, causing John to gasp and arch his back.
He slid in a second finger and massaged them around, then gradually added a
third. “God, Sherlock, more!” panted John. Sherlock grabbed John’s cock and
lined it up against his own. He wrapped one hand around both of them and moved
in time with the hand inside of John. Now both of them were moaning obscenely.
and John was rutting against Sherlock desperately.
“I need you inside of me,” John groaned. Sherlock let go of their cocks and
slid his hand out of John, then licked each finger individually as he stared at
John.
“You sure you’re stretched open enough?” Sherlock asked after he licked off his
last finger. John nodded emphatically and Sherlock drew him into a kiss, John’s
scent mingling between their tongues. After a few seconds they drew apart. The
two switched positions so that Sherlock was underneath and John sat on top of
him.
John lifted himself up with his knees and grabbed Sherlock’s cock so that it
was positioned under him. He angled himself and sank down onto it, then sat
still for a few moments giving himself time to adjust to the sudden girth that
filled him up so hotly and thickly.
Sherlock grabbed onto John’s hips and John slowly started to draw his hips
forwards and rock them back. Each time he picked up speed until he was snapping
his hips roughly with each move. Sherlock wrapped his hand around John’s length
so that each thrust brought his cock relief as well as his arse. He rode
Sherlock like that for awhile, until his movements weren’t forceful enough for
his own desperate need.
Sherlock lifted himself up and flipped around, drawing John underneath him
until their positions were once again as they had started out. Sherlock grabbed
two pillows and stuffed them under John’s hips, then leaned over him to brace
his hands against the armrest of the chair. Using that leverage he began to
thrust into John with the speed and force that couldn’t be achieved from their
previous position. Sherlock slammed into John, faster and faster, until any
semblance of rhythm was lost and both were incoherently panting and moaning.
With one final thrust, Sherlock shouted out John’s name and came. Seconds
later, John followed. He let the waves of white hot pleasure roll over him and
fill his body with the exquisite sensation. His vision blacked out and faintly,
he was aware of shouting out Sherlock’s name accompanied by several expletives.
He spurted all over Sherlock’s chest, not that Sherlock noticed since he was
experiencing a rapture of his own.
When they came back to their senses, Sherlock tenderly pulled out of John and
slid off the condom. He tied it into a knot and threw it over his shoulder,
then collapsed on top of John. He lay with his head on top of John’s chest
while John stroked patterns through his hair, until both of their heart rates
slowed to normal.
Sherlock lifted his head and looked up at John, grinning devilishly. “You know,
I think I’m gonna like this apartment.”
“Gosh, can’t imagine why,” John retorted, smiling back at Sherlock. “It got
your boyfriend into bed with you.”
“Well technically, into couch with me,” Sherlock pointed out. “No, really
though. I’m going to enjoy living here, going to college. Being with you.”
John had to agree. When he was twelve years old and sold to the Holmes family,
he never would have imagined that he could be this happy. And yet here he was.
“Yeah, I guess I like it here too.”
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