Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11097642.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/Molly_Hooper, Molly_Hooper/Sherlock_Holmes
  Character:
      Molly_Hooper, Sherlock_Holmes, Molly_Hooper's_Father, Mycroft_Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      Sherlolly_-_Freeform, Omegaverse, Teenaged_sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-05 Completed: 2017-06-07 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 4763
****** Death Becomes Her ******
by MizJoely
Summary
     In a world where Rome never fell, Omega Molly meets her perfect Alpha
     match. The only problem is, she's the lowly daughter of a Mortician
     and he's the patrician son of wealthy Roman parents. Will the scent
     of death that taints her deter him or attract him?
Notes
     This was originally conceived of as a kind of sprawling soap opera
     based in a world where Rome never fell. However, after sitting on the
     parts I'd written for over a year I decided I had better cut back on
     my scope. Thus you now have a smutty two-parter (part 2 is already
     written) with a lot less angst. Enjoy!
***** Flamma fumo est proxima (Where there’s smoke, there’s fire) *****
 
Londinium, 1886
She’s helping her father when she sees him, the Alpha she’s positive is
destined to be her mate. She’s fifteen and he’s maybe a few years older but
what difference does it make when her blood burns for him? She’s had one Heat
and she can tell she’s about to have her second one, right here, right now, and
all because of him.
He scents her presence before he sees her; she watches avidly as his nose
quivers and his eyes dart about the cluttered room, seeking her out in the
semi-darkness. They are surrounded by the trappings of death, here in the
basement of her father’s mortuary. Coffins and death-masks, shelves of neatly
folded winding sheets and trays of copper rounds meant to cover the eyes of the
dead lie all around them. Blank, until her father etches the chosen designs
into the metal. It’s a skill he’s been teaching her, one at which she shows
some small talent and of which she’s extremely proud.
That’s why he’shere, he and his older brother, members of the prestigious
Holmes family. She knows his name is William and she knows he’s meant to be
hers and she’s meant to be his, no matter the differences in their classes.
Those who handle the dead are barely a step above slaves in the eyes of the
nobility; distasteful but necessary.
 She doesn’t care. All she cares about is that her Alpha has stayed behind,
lingering because of her, or so she hopes, while his brother and her father
have moved to the offices upstairs to arrange the details for the burial. Not
of a family member, but a trusted retainer, a slave who’d died in service and
whose ghost must be appeased by a proper funeral even if his station in life is
even more lowly than her own.
Since presenting as an Omega she’s been warned over and over that a marriage
will be difficult to arrange, not only because of her father’s humble position
but because her scent has been tainted by spending so much time by his side in
the mortuary. Her parents never would have allowed it had they believed it
possible for her to grow into anything but a Beta like themselves and their
parents before them.
Her Alpha is still testing the air as he searches for her. “I know you’re
here,” he growls, his voice deep and lovely and warm, as rich as the scent
wafting her way and making her mouth water. She shivers when she hears it, but
remains silent. If he truly is her mate, he’ll find her; it’s all instinct
driving her now. She must hide, and he must find her on his own, prove his
suitability and demonstrate his skill at the hunt.
 He must want heras badly as shewants him.
 She slips backwards, long familiarity with the quirks of the oddly shaped
basement easing her passage between an Egyptian-styled sarcophagus leaning
against the wall on one side and several bulky rolls of fabric – meant to be
used as altar covers – leaning against the other. The door between is narrow,
and leads away from the public areas of the mortuary, into a series of narrow
passageways and small rooms before eventually emptying out into the room where
the dead are actually prepared.
The four metal slabs used to hold bodies during the purification rituals and
other preparations – including post-mortems when the local constabulary need to
discover or confirm cause of death – are freshly scrubbed and covered by simple
white cotton sheets to symbolize their cleanliness. She would know this even
without the evidence of her senses because she’s the one tasked to tidy up
after the bodies have been removed. She climbs up onto the table furthest from
the door, pulls her knees up to her chest, wraps her arms around her bent legs,
and waits.
Far sooner than expected she catches his scent, and a thrill of excitement/fear
shivers through her body. Her own scent seems overwhelming to her nostrils and
she wonders if he can smell her over the lingering whiff of decomposition
beneath the oils and chemicals of her father’s trade.
 She’s sweating beneath her loose tunic and skirt and has an unpleasant itch
between her legs; her underclothes are wet from a combination of sweat and
arousal, and all she wants is for him not to reject her. His reaction when he
comes close enough to separate her personal scent from the lingering odors of
the mortuary - thatwill give her her answer: either he’ll be repulsed by the
fact that it’s been tainted by the death that surrounds her, or he won’t.
 She very much hopes he won’t.
“Found you.” She jumps a bit at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. How
did she not hear him slipping through the darkened doorway, how did he move so
silently she didn’t hear his footfalls on the cold tile floor, or not notice
his scent growing stronger? In the end it doesn’t matter: he’s here, standing
behind her, sniffing at her neck as she tilts her head to allow him access, and
he’s not leaving. No, if anything his own scent - musky, heady, pure Alpha - is
thickening, filling her lungs and making her tremble with want and need for
things she’s never had before but knows now she doesn’t want to live without.
“Your scent,” he says in a low voice, and she shivers, partially from the
rising tide of her Heat and partially from fear that he’s about to reject her
after all. His hands land on her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into her
flesh as he continues speaking. “It’s incredible. But I imagine it’s not
something every Alpha can appreciate.”
 “You’re the first one who hasn’t been disgusted,” she whispers, dropping her
head and closing her eyes in a mixture of shame and relief.
 “You were allowed to assist your father because they thought you were a Beta,
at least until you had your first Heat...six months ago?”
 “Four,” she replies, still whispering.
 “And yet here you are, going into Heat again, two months early.” His breath
tickles her ear; he’s bent his head down again and is nuzzling at her neck. His
hands slide down her arms, capturing her wrists, and she feels the sharp nip of
his teeth as her body flushes fever-hot, spreading from her abdomen outward
until her scalp and the very soles of her feet feel as though they’re on fire.
Sweat prickles at her hairline and between her breasts, sliding down her spine
and pooling in her joints.
 “My brother and your father will be at least an hour finalizing the details of
the funeral.” His chest is pressed against her back now, and one hand has moved
from her wrist to her body, fingers splayed across her abdomen. He presses
against her thighs with the other hand and she obediently lowers her legs so
that they’re lying flat against the cool surface of the narrow table. “Your
Heat will last at least three days, possibly longer. So where can we go? I
don’t know Londinium as well as I’d like to; we’ve just arrived from Rome and
our family manor is in Somerset. I can’t bring you back to the townhouse;
Mycroft wouldn’t approve, he’d try to find some way to keep us apart.”
 “My uncle’s moved to the country to keep bees,” Molly says, a low moan
escaping her lips as her Alpha slips his fingers under the edge of her bunched-
up skirts, gliding them teasingly up her thighs and toward the part of her body
that aches the most for his touch. “H-his house is empty, no new tenants until
the next full moon.” It’s considered bad luck to move into a new home before
then, but their stay will be temporary, so it hardly counts. At least, she
prays the Gods see it that way.
“Tell me your name.” It’s not a request; it’s an arrogant demand, exactly what
she’d expect from an Alpha as strong as she can tell he is.
 “Molly,” she breathes, tilting her head submissively to the side, silently
begging for the scrape of his teeth on her throat again. He obliges her,
nuzzling at the tender flesh below her ear, the hot swipe of his tongue
bringing another soft moan from her throat. He nips at her, sucking hard,
working a red mark into her skin that she’s thrilled to bear, knowing it as the
harbinger of something more permanent.
 No, she reminds herself as William’s fingers dance closer and closer to her
aching cunt. She doesn’t ‘know’ any such thing. In spite of the strong pull
between them, he might choose to deny the Bond, to simpy mate with her and then
slip away, never to be seen again even if he leaves her with child. No matter
what the Queen had decreed, there are unacknowledged children of such liaisons
all over Londinium. And there is the difference in their class; his family will
object if he chooses to Bond with the lowly daughter of a mortician...there is
so much she needs to keep in mind, even as the fever of her rising Heat
threatens to overwhelm all reason.
 “Molly,” he says, and a shiver goes over her at the sound of her name on his
lips, a thrill that sets off sparks in her core and raises the hairs on her
arms and the back of her neck and erases all worries about the future, at least
for now. “Molly,” he says again, his voice a deep growl as he suddenly thrusts
his hand between her legs, seeking out the opening in her modest, knee-length
drawers. Even though it’s only there to make it easier for her to use the
commode, she realizes how perfectly suited the split in the cotton fabric is
for William’s long fingers to stroke against the gathering wetness between her
legs. She arches against his touch, keening high and desperately as she reaches
back to touch whatever parts of him she can reach.
 “No,” he snarls, snagging both hands by the wrists and holding them against
her chest with one of his own. His hands are large and easily wrap around her
slender wrists. “Not here. Not until we’re at your uncle’s house.” His clever
fingers are still moving, sliding up the wet seam of her sex, delving inside,
working her into a writhing, sopping mess.
 She nods to show she understands, even though her hands are aching to touch
him, to feel the warmth of his manhood, to explore the protrusions at its base
that will swell and form his Knot when they mate. She’s never seen them on a
living man, only stolen glimpses of them on the dead that her father prepares.
He would be quite cross if he were to find out about her secret investigations,
not only to answer her curiosity about Alpha anatomy but about how people are
put together in general.
 Of course, were he to walk in on them right now, he’d be more than cross: he’d
be absolutely furious, and William’s brother as well. But it’s hard to focus on
such things when William’s fingers are pressed inside her and all she wants to
do is throw her head back and howl her pleasure to the skies.
 She does spare the energy to wonder if William would be repulsed by her
interest in anatomy, if he’s a typical arrogant Alpha male. She’s seen more of
them than she count in her short life, especially members of the upper classes
who parade by, their Omega mates silent and submissive by their sides. She’s
often wondered if that’s how they behave in private as well, or if they’re more
like her friend Meena’s parents, who consider themselves equals even if the law
doesn’t recognize that profound truth in any way.
 William is nobly born, and from Mater Roma. Will he value her intelligence or
force her to hide it as she has done throughout her young life? There’s no way
to tell without asking, and right now isn’t even close to being the right time
to broach it. Not when he’s bringing her so close to physical bliss she can
practically taste it on the air. She darts her tongue out at the thought and
hears him give a little groan. She feels him shudder and then suddenly he pulls
her body tight to his. It takes her a moment to realize that the hot bulge
pressed so snuggly against her bum is his prick. As soon as she does her body
clenches around the tips of his fingers and she gives a soft, surprised cry at
the pleasure that washes through her, biting down hard on her cheeks to keep
louder noises inside.
 “Liked that, did you?” William asks, sounding pleased with himself. But his
voice is a tad rougher than it was before, and she can smell how his own
arousal has spiked. All she can do is nod, still trembling in the aftermath of
her first...oh, how she wishes she knew the proper word for it! She opens her
mouth, daring to ask him, but he somehow anticipates her question. “Orgasmus,”
he breathes against her ear, licking her as soon as the word leaves his mouth.
“Although the Gauls call it orgasme, or la petite mort, which means…”
 “The ‘little death’,” Molly translates, and she can certainly understand that
interpretation.
 “Clever andwell educated,” William says, sounding approving. Or is that just
wishful thinking? Molly can’t tell; she’s too busy shuddering and shaking as
her body recovers. “I can’t wait to have you, Molly.” He pulls his hands away
and she whines at the lack of contact, half-turning to reach for him. He takes
her hand and intertwines their fingers, his still soaked and sticky with her
feminine juices. “Let’s go. We’ll stop at a market for food and drink on the
way, I presume there is one?”
 She nods, too far gone to argue with him about anything. All she can feel is
the ache between her legs, the fire in her blood inflaming her senses and
stealing her ability to think. Less than five minutes later they’re gone,
slipped out the back while Molly leads him to the market center nearest her
uncle’s closed-up home. William never lets go of her, showing his teeth to the
few Alphas they encounter who sniff eagerly at her and make smacking noises
with their lips. A few times she thinks it might actually come to blows, but
he’s clearly superior to those who challenge him, and her heart sings in
triumph. She’s chosen well, and their child - dare she hope ‘children’? - will
be magnificent.
 
***** Ubi concordia, ibi Victoria (Where there is unity, there is victory)
*****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
In total it takes them a little over a half-hour to make their purchases and
reach her uncle’s home, slipping inside through the kitchen mews. William does
something to the locks when she belatedly remembers she has no key, then
they’re inside with the door closed behind them. He latches it securely,
setting the little bundle of supplies he’s purchased on the wood work table
beneath the window before pressing her against the door and kissing her
hungrily.
She kisses him back with equal fervor, clumsily at first, but quickly finding
the proper way to move her lips and tongue. The tongue part startles her for a
second; it’s vulgar,  common , but she likes it very much and happily follows
his lead. The truth of the matter is that, right now in this moment, she would
allow him to do anything he wanted to her. If he demanded she raise her skirts
and let him rut against her while they remained standing, like any common
street whore, she’d gladly submit.
Instead, he pulls away, breathing heavily, as is she, and stares at her as if
he were starving and she were the last morsel of food on the dinner table.
“Upstairs,” he growls, groping for their supplies. Food only, no need for drink
as her uncle’s house has running water. She remembers telling him that,
explaining that it was one of the things that makes her uncle’s house such a
desirable property in spite of the neighborhood. Even if he didn’t seem to care
about her rambling words - and she did tend to ramble when nervous or excited,
and today she was both - at least he’d listened to her.
She leads him up the stairs to the smallest of the three bedrooms, the one
meant for guests. He nods approvingly at the sight of the sheet-draped bed and
dresser that make up its sole furnishings, then turns to give her an appraising
look. She flushes even redder as his eyes travel over her from head to toe, and
it’s all she can do to hold back from flinging herself into his arms.
He nods at her feet. “Your shoes,” he says hoarsely. “Take them off. And your
clothes.” He clears his throat, nods at her again. “We need to take off our
clothes.”
He suits words to actions, bending down to unlace his boots, tilting his head
to watch as she does the same. When they’re both in their stocking feet, he
begins to undress himself, stripping off his jacket and waistcoat, yanking at
his tie and nimbly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
She can’t stop watching him even as her fingers move to tug her tunic over her
head, to loosen the ties of her skirt and allow it to fall around her ankles
along with her petticoats until she’s wearing nothing but her demi-corset,
drawers and knee-high stockings. He shrugs out of his shirt, and the sight of
his bare chest spurs her into action. She reaches around to tug at the laces to
her demi-corset, fumbling in her haste.
“Let me,” he says, and she turns, twisting her neck painfully in order to keep
her eyes on him.  “Turn around,” he orders, and she does, whining a bit in
disappointment.
The disappointment is swiftly replaced by a shivering sort of pleasure as he
begins undoing the laces, dipping his head low in order to place his lips on
her neck. “Take down your hair,” he commands as she feels the demi-corset
loosen, and she reaches up to pull the pins from her hair, dropping them
haphazardly to the floor and allowing the coils of brown hair to unravel and
fall across her naked shoulders.
His kisses have grown more fevered as he continues to wrestle with her laces;
she hears him snarl in frustration before finally getting them loose enough to
remove the offending garment. Once it slides down her chest she hurries to slip
it over her hips, kicking it away as soon as it drops to her feet. Her
undergarments are next, and suddenly she’s completely naked with his hands on
her breasts and his hard, hard prick again pressed tightly against the curve of
her bum. This time he allows her to reach around and rub her hands over the hot
bulge, and makes no objection when she eventually turns so they’re face to
face.
“You’re perfect,” he says, and there’s a tone of wonder in his voice that sends
another shiver down her spine, raises goosebumps on her flesh that have little
to do with lust. No one’s ever spoken to her like this, looked at her the way
he is now, as if he could devour her whole. His eyes are dark with desire, and
when he moistens his lips with his tongue and runs his hands down her back to
cup her bum, she gives into her need to be closer, and draws his head down for
another kiss.
She’s nearly dizzy with her Heat now, and in her clumsiness her teeth catch his
lower lip. Before she can stop herself she bites down hard enough to draw
blood. The taste and scent of it seem to throw him into a frenzy, if not a full
Alpha Rut; he kisses her back, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in that
vulgar manner but oh, she likes it, she likes it very much. When the backs of
her knees hit the bed she realizes he’s maneuvered them there, and she clambers
onto the sheet-covered mattress with a great deal of eagerness.
She watches breathlessly as he undoes his trousers, kicking them off along with
anything he’s wearing beneath them, then quickly pulls off his socks and crawls
onto the bed next to her. She inches her way back toward the headboard, her
eyes never leaving his, rejoicing at the hunger of his gaze. He lunges forward
and covers her body with his, his mouth on hers, sucking hard at her lower lip,
nipping at it until she opens and allows his tongue to sweep inside again. She
tastes blood and that heady, indefinable Alpha taste she knows is uniquely his,
and instinct causes her to wrap her legs around his body and hold tight to his
shoulders.
“You’re mine,” he growls as he pulls back to stare down at her, eyes wild and
hair tangled from where her fingers have tugged at it. “Say it, Molly. Say
you’re my Omega.”
“I’m yours,” she replies breathlessly. “I’m your Omega, William. Always,
always.”
“Sherlock,” he corrects, a purely Alpha growl in his voice that causes the
hairs on her arms to stand on end and her cunt to clench. “Call me Sherlock.
Only my parents call me William.”
“Sherlock,” she repeats obediently, the syllables feeling oddly at home on her
lips, her tongue, even though she’s never heard it before.
William - Sherlock - shows his approval by falling upon her with snarl, his
mouth everywhere: her lips, her throat, her ears, her collarbone, and
ultimately her breasts. His mouth is perfect, his lips and tongue teasing her
nipples into a beautifully aching hardness. Her hands find his hair again, that
soft, lovely dark mass of curls, and she croons her approval of his every move.
He’s pressed one leg between hers; his prick is thick and heavy against her
thigh, and all she can think about is having him inside her, taking his Knot
and his seed and filling the ache in her womb.
Sherlock, it would seem, shares her desires wholeheartedly; he takes himself in
hand, lowering his body over hers and pressing the head of his prick against
her opening.
She’s been taught that women were made to receive men, and Omegas are
especially made to receive Alphas; now she finally understands what that means.
Sherlock is filling her, stretching her; there’s a slight burn but no pain. If
anything, she feels better than she ever has in her life; the fire in her veins
is soothed by their joining, and the scent of him saturates the air, filling
her nostrils and causing her to dig her fingernails into his shoulders. She’s
drawing blood again; the sharp, metallic tang mixes with his own uniquely musky
Alpha scent, and she growls and moves her hips impatiently. She’s not quite
sure what she wants, but it’s more than him just being inside her.
Her movement spurs his own; suddenly he’s snapping his hips, leaning down to
press a sloppy kiss to her lips. He’s resting on his elbows but she wants -
needs  - him to be closer, and tugs at him, scratching his shoulders when he
doesn’t move quickly enough for her. He lowers himself so that they’re touching
along the entire lengths of their bodies, and it still isn’t enough. Not until
she wraps her legs around his lean flanks, joining them at the ankles behind
his back, is she finally satisfied.
He seems to enjoy the new angle as well; he growls and nips at her throat, then
sucks hard at the spot above her racing pulse. Sweat is pouring freely from her
body and his, and the sounds of their joining are an obscene melody to rival
any music-hall performance she’s ever heard.
As they move together Molly feels a sense of completion, as if she’s been
waiting for this moment her entire life, as if this is what she was born to do.
Their families and society and the world in general may frown on their joining,
but it brings Molly nothing but a sense of completion, the emotion exquisitely
matched by the physical sensation as she feels Sherlock’s Knot forming. “You’re
mine,” he growls again, grabbing her hair and yanking her head back, exposing
her throat.
She arches her back and feels hot tears spring to her eyes as he bites down,
sharp teeth worrying at the flesh above her pulse point. When he bites down,
punching his Knot into her at the same time, another  orgasmus  overwhelms her.
She cries out in ecstasy as he fills her, his hot seed pouring into her womb,
his prick pulsing and throbbing deep within her, his soothing purr filling her
ears. She feels the blood on her throat, sees it staining his lips and chin and
pulls him down for a wild, desperate kiss.
They’re Bonded now; no matter what their families think about it - especially
his - they’re mates.
Afterwards, with the haze of Heat temporarily at bay, they lay on their sides,
legs tangled, arms wrapped around one another, Sherlock’s Knot tying them
together as they gaze at one another. “We’re mates,” she whispers, reaching up
to stroke a finger along the line of his jaw.
He nods, his green-blue eyes staring at her with something like awe. “We are,”
he agrees, and she hears the same awe in his voice. “I never really believed
the stories about finding your perfect Omega, thought it was just biology
overriding reason...but I was wrong.” He smiles softly. “You’re intelligent and
you want to do more with your life than just be a wife and mother and that’s
fine, that’s perfect. I can bring you medical books to study, get my tutors to
teach you as well, make you our House physician and -” He breaks off with a
sudden snort of laughter, and Molly cocks her head inquisitively.
He raises one hand and waves it weakly before pulling her close for another
toe-curling kiss. As he does so a secondary climax claims then both, leaving
them panting and mindless for a long, blissful minute. When it passes, Sherlock
chuckles and continues speaking as if they hadn’t been interrupted by their
bodies shared need. “My brother’s going to completely lose his mind, but my
parents will be thrilled. They’ve been dying for one of us to find a mate and
give them grandchildren.”
Molly gnaws at her lower lip at the mention of his parents. “What’s wrong?” he
demands, brow creasing in a frown as his eyes rove intently over her face. He
wraps his arms back around her, holding her close. “You needn’t worry about my
family, even Mycroft,” he assures her. “He’ll be too busy running the Britannic
Senate from behind the scenes to care about me for a change. And my parents
will love you.”
Every word pierces Molly to the core. She knows Sherlock must be able to sense
it through their newly formed Bond, just as she senses his growing concern. She
lowers her head, the scent of her shame thick and cloying in her nostrils. His
brother is a Senator, his parents wealthy Romans, and she… “They won’t,” she
whispers. “The daughter of a Mortician? Who smells of death? They’ll hate me,
send me away, only let us be together during my Heats, take our children away
from me…”
He eases her growing hysteria by tilting her heat up and kissing her soundly.
“No. Even if my parents were like that - and they’re not - they would never do
that to my Bonded mate. Ever. I’d run away with you first.”
She gazes at him with cautious hope. His words, his emotions, his very scent
reek of raw honesty. “Truly? You’d give up your life of privilege just for me?”
He kisses her again, softly, slowly, until the tension in her body finally
eases. “You’re my mate, Molly. I’d pretty much do anything for you - and you
know what? I don’t hate that idea the way I always thought I would. Being
Bonded doesn’t limit you, doesn’t diminish you…”
“It makes you whole,” Molly finishes, kissing him again and feeling a cautious
hope for the future. No matter what obstacles they face, at least she knows
they’ll face them together.
Chapter End Notes
     Thus endeth this sagalet. Many thanks to allthebellsinvenice for
     helping me with Victorian underclothes and betaing. Just as many
     thanks to broomclosetkink for her betaing and cheerleading, and
     thanks to everyone for reading and commenting. Even if it's just "I
     liked it", all comments make writers happy.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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