Now, that's one way this story could have gone for a Napoleon of Crime. For a Spider King. For a Jim Moriarty, who was never any sort of professor.
But maybe in another reality, a few degrees tumbled of green, a week before Jim was to deliver that tube of cream, Carl's Da was arrested for stealing from the till. Looking at the devastation on Carl's face. The way he curled into himself and wouldn't look anyone in the eye.
It was a delight. It was a revelation to that Jim. To that Jim Moriarty.
Such a revelation that he told his Ma he was going to Dublin to visit the old gang. The useless bint of an Omega wittered on at him being so close to presentation, but he paid her no mind.
Paid her no mind until he went like a bitch into heat.
He was glad his Da had been gunned down in the street. He was glad his Da had never seen him come to this.
Legs slick like an Omega. Begged to be bred by Davie McGuire, one of Da's old lieutenants. Davie grunted red faced over him. Pounded into him with Jim telling him to pump him harder or he'd kill him. Davie's teeth twisted into Jim's neck and Jim loving the mark. Davie knotted tight in him. Jim loving every minute of it. Loved every minute of being filled with Davie's seed.
Afterwards, Jim shot Davie in the face because he was garbage. He dared presume that Jim would be staying. That he somehow owned Jim now.
He put the crime on Rory Tufflins crew, and left without talking to anyone else.
Worse thing was, he was in effing Dublin. Miles from any place where he could get an After Heat pill. He'd been bred and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. The entire ferry ride back from Dublin listening to drunk Swedes sing - he would kill them later - he thought about what had happened.
He was an Omega.
He was a bitch of a slick tailed Omega. Davie's brat clinging to his body right now.
He was useless and weak. He would never be like his Da.
His Da, who'd howled like a mad dog and been gunned down in the streets.
Jim had done that.
He was the one who'd had Da killed. He'd dealt with Carl and he'd taken care of Davie.
He hadn't been weak then.
He thought a lot on that long ferry ride back.
Jim was an Omega with a pretty smile. He had had such a pretty way of talking. Olaf - who was going to die first - kept telling him that. Even after his friends told him to get away from the jailbait. At least Jim thought that's what they were saying. He didn't speak Swedish.
Still, it was fun to flirt and slip something into Olaf's drink. Botulism really was a perfect poison. Olaf didn't die - that would happen later - but it was so very funny that no one questioned him. A young Omega just presented while visiting cousins in Dublin.
The Beta officer he went to complain about those damned Swedes was very kind. Especially with a whiff of Jim's scent already changing with a wee little one on the way, and him so young.
That was worth thinking about. Worth not doing anything about it right away.
He watched the way the Beta women fussed over him and gave him treats. The way the Beta men got up out of their seats so he could sit on the tube. The way the Alphas came sniffing at him. How at school everyone acted like he'd been sorted now. Now that he was having a little one. Now that he was an Omega. Oh, there were some that acted like he was a tart for having one on the way. But wasn't it such a surprise when all their dirty little secrets came to light.
Jim was certainly surprised. Surprised and the centre of attention.
He loved it.
He was made to be at the centre.
His Ma was worthless about it. She kept going on about what were they going to do. As if it wasn't as easy as breathing to give the thing away. Its squished face red as Davie's had been before Jim put a bullet between those pig eyes of his.
He was better prepared during his next heat. For the way in the weeks leading up, the Alphas argued and fought over him.
He laughed and played the game of the world. It was such a sexy world and he was going to have some fun with it.
He was in the middle of scratching an itch with garbage he'd throw away later, when he realized that Omegas were weak maybe three days out of three months. Alphas were led by their cocks all the time. While Betas, so eager to please.
That was when he saw to it his Ma was sectioned. Easy enough to do. Someone who'd let her power be taken away as she'd done, she deserved to be locked away.
He caught his first gang of thieves when he was seventeen, and him on his own with a baby on the way – getting knocked up was worth it to turn that Basque separatist up sweet. Oh that one had a way with explosives that was a wonder to behold. Growling in a language Jim couldn't give an eff about while he pistoned in and out, and locked deep. His voice made Jim think of explosions.
Of course, if that particular gang had paid their cut to Jim then he wouldn't have had to turn them in. He smiled for the photographers with his prettiest smile with one hand on his belly. Of course, he was too young to keep it, but there would always be someone willing to take the thing off his hands. That was what the world was for.
Now he was a bit miffed when he went to uni and said that he wanted a degree in Criminology, his academic advisor acted as if he'd said he wanted to walk on the moon. As if he wasn't the top of the food chain. Useless Beta. Still it would be a bit obvious if half his professors ended up dead so he smiled sweetly and looked down. Because that was the game. Still a fair number did get arrested, divorced, and fine he did kill Professor Katzienfeld, knotless wonder that.
He planned crimes and kept his distance from getting his hands dirty. Except when he wanted to be dirty.
He caught criminals. The paper's called him the Thief Taker General. Since the name was his own idea, he smiled to see it. There were the ghost written books about his life. Pretty lies. The reality television shows with the catchy theme songs.
The first series was exciting enough, but season two went international. Went viral like plague.
Season opener, there he was in Paris with another one on the way – it played well in the ratings – with "the" Siger Holmes, alias Jack Prendergast, alias Rex Stoute, alias Arsène Lupin, international thief of mystery in cuffs. Slick tailed Meg should have paid Jim his cut, was as if Siger didn't realize that Europe was Jim's.
They went in for their close up and last words from Siger, and damn but the cameras were in love with him. The bitch looked Jim right in the face and said in the most musing sort of way, "Maybe, I'm the aberration. It's not as if we Omega men were made with breasts to give our children suck, but the moment they put my children in my arms, I knew I'd do anything for them, but you. Look at you. You haven't any heart in you." He made a rolling gesture with his fingers meant to encompass the curve of Jim's belly, as if that curve somehow defined Jim. His cuffs clanked as he moved.
Jim stayed well back. Siger had killed a man once with a paper clip. He kept his smile on. The Eiffel tower in the backdrop would be looking scenic for the kids back home.
"You just pass your children off to a Beta and move on. Biological success." Siger smiled for the camera and Jim could just see how this would play. There were at least six mobiles filming the whole thing – effing Japanese tourists.
He wanted to snarl that of course that's what he did. That's what Betas were for. That's what the world was for.
"Or maybe it's that you're a throwback. To before humans knew how to love." The fucker winked at him and threw him his own tagline. "Hey, sexy. I'm ready for prison now."
Jim unfroze the eff up. "Of course I'm not a throwback, sweet heart. I'm an Omega in control of my own sexuality." And scene.
Pity Siger died on his way to trial. More's the pity that Jim had to end that episode with a shot of him with his little brats and a few extra appearances to children's charities, what with him being a concerned modern Omega and all. A shiv to Siger's back had been too good.
Still his star was on the rise.
If his Da could have seen him, he wouldn't even have comprehended the empire that Jim had built. Jim was Catherine the Great. He was Cleopatra. He was even better.
There was no end in sight when he found the best pets roaming feral at a party in the V&A.
Sherlock was there examining the quality of the security. Oh, the way he sniffed around was a joy to behold. He looked at everyone and everything. He hardly saw Jim. But then, he was all Alpha and Jim was playing up his flirty side. Jim said, "Hey, sexy," and Sherlock looked right through him with his big Alpha cock and his "I'm the most important thing in the room," attitude. Jim would be training that right out of him, he would. Even better when he got the packet on him, Sherlock was Siger's Holmes precocious precious youngest. Too bad the bitch was dead. What was going to come next really would have killed him.
Oh, Irene was there too. Sleek Omega with her deep songbird's voice and her eyes on plucking the secrets out of a very specific prize. She wanted to sing in the Paris Opera house. She wanted so many thing. She took one look at Jim and she knew him. She brought him a glass of champagne and held it out to him like tribute. The curve of her lips said she knew exactly who he was. Pretty bird.
He wanted them.
He wanted both of them. They'd make such pretty sounds when they broke.
Jim always got what he wanted.
He played them both. Such a complicated game.
He screwed them both. He even bonded with them. Not at the same time, of course. Although, he probably should have had Sherlock spayed. Or was that neutered. Jim couldn't be bothered to remember. In any case, bad pet, no biscuit.
Well, no. He couldn't stay angry with his cuddly puppy. Damn, but Sherlock put attention to detail even in rut. His intense way of narrowing all that focus down to little ole Jim, who was born to be at the centre. Who was made to receive that kind of attention. It wasn't necessary to give commands, Sherlock paid attention to detail. Knotted when it was perfect. When Jim was ready to just throw his head back and feel the pulse inside of himself.
He couldn't stay angry with Irene. It their bonding day and she looking for ways to rise her star. As if Jim wasn't the centre of the firmament, and everyone else was meant to kiss his firmament, which she did with sweet lips and calculating eyes and tongue and control. Oh, the control. Pet trying to trade it. Not knowing, Jim was just letting her sing for a little while.
He should have savoured it. He should have made it stretch out for years.
But they broke so very easily. Little pieces were all over the floor and what was a Mummy like Jim to do, but sweep them away. His song bird stopped singing. Well, he'd seen to it that she couldn't. Dreams were made to be crushed. He took his song bird's voice.
He took his puppy's freedom – for about five seconds - his dog was a slippery one. He really needed to look up if that was spayed or neutered.
It was a shame about the baby really, but the ratings went through the roof for the episode where he lost it. The time the infamous Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler died the first time.
He broke Sherlock's older brother as an after-thought. That Omega bint was more vulnerable then he pretended, and his unnamed government agency was ready made for a good Omega to step into his bad slack.
That really was the sweetest bit.
Wasn't it lovely to find his pets weren't dead.
Seeing them again was like seeing sad little baby wolves wave their little paws after their teeth had been pulled. Although, as metaphors went didn't really work. Perhaps if his Irene wasn't a bird anymore, perhaps she was a rattlesnake, foolishly giving her prey fair warning and Sherlock was… not as cold blooded as he liked to think.
They were just adorable with their little schemes and jobs.
Except. When. They. Crossed. Jim.
He ended up very cross with several people and they were some unfortunate deaths, which had to be deleted from the ultimately short lived reality show about his home life.
Which was unfortunate. He'd really hoped to add that to the in depth investigative show and the little show he privately called, "Pay up or You're Under Arrest." Naturally that wasn't its actual name. The home show would have brought a sense of humanity to the Thief Taker General. Also, the theme song had been simply adorable.
His tag line might be, "Hey, sexy," but there was no reason for certain papers to behave as if he were some sort of homme fatal. After all, there was nothing wrong in this day and age for an Omega to be raising their children without an Alpha. That's what Betas were for.
Oh, who was he kidding. He was such a kidder. He loved it when they called him that. He made Colonel Moran keep a book of clippings.
"If only the world wasn't full of morons," he said to Colonel Moran.
She put down the glue stick and kept her eyes down as if he'd ever hurt her, his right hand Alpha, why he'd had her brat and everything. "Yes, sir."
Still, at least it wasn't boring. At least it wasn't dull.
Still, it was adorable seeing his Sherlock think he'd be allowed to pair bond with a little Omega, some bitch of a Doctor. Sherlock actually thought he'd be allowed to knot around breeding whoever he wanted.
So adorable that Jim smashed all the equipment in his headquarters. Sherlock was his pet. Neutered. The word was neutered.
It was almost a little disappointing when he had them where he wanted them. Little bitch Johnny tied up where Jim could play with him later. Sherlock mad with grief at the death of his bitch – wasn't that the sweetest part. Irene in prison clothes bantering with him about orange not being her colour.
His only thought really when she cut open his throat was she hadn't given him any warning. He didn't really have time to decide what kind of bad pet that made her before he lost consciousness.
He'd have been disappointed to know that he was killed by a faceless employee, a Beta, while hooked up to machines.
But he was dreaming of puppies chasing their tails and never knew.
Death being a dreamless sleep when the long trick was over.