“Where are the bodies?” Sherlock demanded.
“Good morning to you, too.” Lestrade lifted the crime scene tape to let him through. “Second storey. Wait--who’s this? You can’t just bring anyone to a crime scene.”
“He’s with me.” Sherlock made it halfway up the stairs before he realized he was alone. He turned to see Lestrade and John staring at each other over the tape. John stood soldier-rigid with his hands clenched at his sides. Lestrade’s tongue peeked out to wet his parted lips.
Sherlock breathed deep to scent the pheromones in the air, and almost choked on the potent mixture. “No no no no.” He marched back down to the pavement. “This case is boring,” he announced. “Double suicide. Mother took the note when she found them to save face.” He ducked under the tape and grabbed John by the arm. “We’re leaving.” He threw a withering look back at Lestrade, who had clamped a hand over his nose and mouth. “Don’t call me again for something so obvious.”
Once in the cab, Sherlock held John against the seat to look him over, despite his protestations.
“That’s really not necessary, Sherlock. I’m fine.”
“He was looking at you like you were cream tea.”
“That’s what the Pull does.”
“Base animal instincts. It’s stupid. If you’d let him, he would have taken you there in the road.”
John pulled away sharply to look out the window, but Sherlock didn’t miss the flush that crept up the back of his neck. “I’m not entirely defenseless, you know.”
“A bit daft, perhaps. If you’ve no wish to bond with an alpha, then why on Earth would you stand your ground and look one in the eye, knowing-- Oh.” Sherlock observed John’s tense posture and mentally reviewed his records of John’s previous behaviour around alphas. This reaction was highly unusual. Conclusion: Lestrade’s attention had not been entirely unwelcome. “You know, the family acquired you for me.”
“At which time you said, if I recall, that I was the worst birthday present you’d received since that wool jumper your Aunt Gladys knitted you.”
“Since then I’ve come to the conclusion that your company is not entirely tedious.”
“Well, thank you.” John looked at his hands. “But you still don’t want to bond with me.”
“I don’t want to bond to anyone,” Sherlock snapped. Then, because although everyone in the family had berated him for that stance, John had not once questioned him or complained, he added, “I’m not built that way.”
“I know,” John said. “That’s not true for all of us.”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John and breathed in his scent. He knew, intellectually, the meanings of the different scents castes could produce, though he wasn’t ruled by them the way most others were. Even he could recognize the need John emitted. He frowned. “You’ve only just met Lestrade. You don’t even know him.”
“I knew I liked you straight away, even though you started rattling off what you thought were your very worst qualities,” John pointed out.
“Perhaps you’re too easy to please, then.” Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin and considered the problem as London rushed by outside the window.
“Well?” John demanded, once Sherlock had been silent for some time.
Sherlock sighed. “If you really like him. If it’s not just ridiculous biological imperative...”
“Then?” John prompted.
“Then we’ll see.”
“Detective Inspector?” The omega-- the man that belonged to Sherlock bloody Holmes--stepped closer.
Not here, not here, not here, Lestrade chanted in his mind. He couldn’t prevent his eyes from fixing on the exposed skin of the man’s wrist. Lestrade wanted to rub against the man, breathe him in, feel the strength in those hands pulling him closer. He kept a white-knuckled grip on the edge of his desk to prevent himself from vaulting over the offending furniture and pinning the man to the wall for a kiss.
“Does your master know you’re here?” Lestrade gritted out between clenched teeth.
“He sent me. To return these files.” The man set a stack of folders on Lestrade’s desk. His neck tilted to the side as he did so. His pulse beat rapidly at the side of his throat.
Lestrade closed his eyes. “Is he mad?”
“You’ve known him longer than I. What do you think?”
“Barking.” Lestrade breathed in through his mouth, trying not to smell the delicious blend of pheromones that had sent his arousal skyrocketing from the moment the man appeared. “I have to say, not to be rude, but you should leave.”
“Do you really want me to?” the man asked. When Lestrade didn’t answer straight away, he took the seat on the other side of the desk.
“What’s your name?” Lestrade managed.
“Dr. John Watson. Late of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. I’m not some delicate flower.”
“Couldn’t be, to hang around Sherlock.” Lestrade looked for a way to ask what he needed to know without sounding like a complete prat. “Sherlock. So the two of you--”
“Not bonded. That’s not his area.”
“I’m no man’s toy,” John said, a sharp edge in his voice. “I won’t be kept behind closed doors, like a trophy--an object to use whenever it’s convenient.”
“Did someone do that to you?” The desk creaked as Lestrade tightened his grip. He made himself keep breathing as the urge rose to hunt down and... arrest whoever had put that wary look in John’s eye. “Who was it?”
“It’s not important.” John relaxed a fraction. He nodded at Lestrade’s ring. “But you’re unbonded, too.”
“My wife,” he explained. “It wasn’t... I wasn’t what she wanted.”
“You relinquished the bond.”
“Yes.” You can’t take care of me, Greg. He can give me what I need. Lestrade breathed through the pain of that memory: his failure as an alpha. The sharpness of that pain allowed him to reassert his reason and cling to professionalism. “Dr. Watson, listen. If you came here to ensure the Pull we felt yesterday won’t interfere with-- “
John stood. Lestrade quickly leaned back in his chair, as if another few inches between him and temptation might improve his ability to resist. “Have you ever felt the Pull like this?” John asked.
“No.” The word was little more than an exhale, because the Pull Lestrade felt now held him like a fist around his insides.
“Nor I,” John said. His eyes were fixed on Lestrade’s mouth. “Do you have a place where we can go?”
Lestrade swallowed hard. “If you think I’d survive getting in a car with you right now, you’re as cracked as your master.”
“I’ll get a cab.”
John had thought that when Lestrade finally touched him, some of the fire that had been simmering under his skin for hours would finally cool. Instead, the simmer became a blaze. He stumbled forward, pressing blindly against Lestrade. He couldn’t stop kissing him. He felt certain that something bad would happen if he stopped even for a second
Lestrade was doing a spectacular job of removing their clothes as John took charge of the kissing situation. How he’d managed to get their shirts off, John couldn’t say, but then his trousers and pants were being discarded to the side of the bed, and yes, that was Lestrade’s hand on his hip, gripping hard.
“I want-- “ Lestrade breathed against John’s mouth. “Let me...”
“Anything,” John said. Arousal had driven him beyond conscious thought, but he could feel every brush of Lestrade’s skin against his, hear every needy noise Lestrade made, see every subtle change of expression as Lestrade’s eyes played over John’s body.
Lestrade slid to his knees, still looking up at John, and licked a stripe up John’s cock with his rough tongue. John let out an inarticulate groan that Lestrade blessedly interpreted as a plea for more. When his mouth fastened around John, the slow-burning arousal that had been climbing ever higher blotted out John’s mind entirely, and all he could feel was Lestrade’s mouth.
And then-- Lestrade’s hand, cupping his heavy balls, then sliding back to squeeze his ass.
When Lestrade slid a finger inside, John’s knees threatened to buckle. His body had been readying itself for Lestrade since he’d first felt the Pull, and now he was shamefully wet: open, needy and dripping.
“Now, now, immediately, Lestrade, I mean it.” John pushed Lestrade away by the shoulders and climbed onto the bed on all fours.
Lestrade was upon him almost instantly with a low, ferral sound. John bowed his head, the traditional gesture of submission, and shuddered with pleasure to feel Lestrade’s teeth against his neck before Lestrade entered him.
Even then, with the satisfaction of being filled and ridden hard, John felt no relief, only an urgent desire for more. Even as John thought it, Lestrade’s hand found his cock and began to work him in counterpoint to his thrusts. John pushed back against him, driving the pace faster.
Lestrade panted against his neck. “John. John, say I can have you. Please. Bloody hell, John, I can’t--”
“Yes,” John gasped. “Yours. Oh god, yes.”
Lestrade moaned and slammed into John. He reached the deepest part of John and stayed there, filling him entirely.
John screamed his release, giving in to all the glorious, messy biological imperative that Sherlock so disdained. His orgasm blazed through him with an intensity that he thought might consume him entirely, and in the bliss of the moment, he counted the trade a fair one.
Lestrade’s teeth sank into the muscle of John’s shoulder, above his scar: hard enough to bruise, but not to break skin, and his arms squeezed tightly around John’s waist. John felt the glorious, painful stretch of Lestrade’s knot inside him as he reached his end.
They stayed where they were for only a few seconds, until Lestrade slumped bonelessly to the side, pulling John with him.
Lestrade’s arms locked around John’s waist. He rested his forehead against John’s hair, breath tickling John’s neck as he gasped for air. “I don’t think.... I don’t think I could give you up, John. If Sherlock means to share you, I... I’d do it. If it’s the only way I can have you, I’d do anything.”
“It’s fine. You’ve got me. It’s all fine.” John settled back against his chest, content to stay in Lestrade’s arms while as long as they were locked together, and after.