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Getting Sherlock

Chapter Text

There are certain facts in life. Fire burns. Mondays suck. Alphas court Omegas.

Actually, everyone courts Omegas. No one can help themselves when the sweet aroma of Omega pheromones hit the air. Though the fact that Omegas only comprise 5% of the population means that Betas don't really have a good chance of winning in the elaborate courting games. Alphas, with their social, political, and physical dominance (not to mention their greater compatibility to Omega sexual needs in the oh so praised knot), are known to literally steal an Omega from a lucky Beta's arms.

So it's really beyond frustrating that Sherlock won't make a MOVE for John.

John hasn't produced so much Scent since puberty what with constantly being around a healthy and virile Alpha. He constantly wants to breed, to have a baby, specifically with Sherlock. He'd go back on the suppressants he was on during his military service if he thought that Sherlock wasn't interested except that Sherlock clearly wants him as well. At least if the constant little touches, the extra deep inhalations of Scented air around John and resulting bulge in his pants are anything to go by.

But that's been the extent of it. There's been none of the traditional rituals Alphas engage in to alert their Omega that courting's started. No luxurious clothes or accessories (traditionally meant to indicate the Alpha's ability to cloth and shelter his/her Omega). No sumptuous meals (meant to raise the Omega's energy reserves before mating). Not even a little growl against other potential suitors (meant to indicate their territorial claim). And Sherlock goes rigid and locks into the most uncomfortable stances anytime John leans into his touches or lightly brushes his bum against Sherlock's erection. It just seems to make him crankier than normal which frankly, is too much for any one person to handle.

It's unheard of for Omegas to make the first move but John is really at his wits end. He's not really old but his breeding cycle is lapsing into less fertile years and at the rate Sherlock's going (which is apparently 0 mph), they'll be no little pitter patter of Watson-Holmes feet running around 221B, ever. He's not really sure if this is a good idea considering how volatile Sherlock can be but it's the only thing he can think of. He can't force Sherlock into anything he doesn't want to do but he can show him that he'll lose out on John if he doesn't pull that genius head out his arse and MAKE A MOVE.

Chapter Text

Molly Hooper: Un-Bonded - Beta

Sherlock's been raiding Molly's lab all day again which makes a perfect opening for John's first attempt.

Molly's perfect for this really. She's un-Bonded, bound to be effected by his Scent. Besides, she's sweet and one of the few people who's managed to stick around Sherlock which makes her someone he'd genuinely like to get to know better. And she's a Beta which means that if John's plan does succeed in getting Sherlock jealous enough to stake his claim, it unlikely to be an excessively violent display.

When he walks into the lab, Molly's hovering behind Sherlock, undoubtedly pushed into helping him with his experiments again. If her frantic texts earlier begging John to help her with Sherlock were anything to go by, she absolutely can't afford to lose any part of her newest cadaver (a Mr. Stevens) to Sherlock today.

"Hi Molly. Sorry I couldn't get here earlier. I figured you'd need a break from Sherlock by now," John says with a wide smile and offering her a cup of coffee from a near-by shop. He had the barista write 'Molly' in flowing loops and draw little kitty prints on the paper cup that elicits a delighted squeak from Molly. Sherlock barely glances up to look at him noting the lack of any other beverages for him and goes back to looking at his slides. There's only a momentary tension around Sherlock's lips indicating his displeasure.

"Oh thanks. It's really not a problem having Sherlock here..." Molly trails off, the unspoken 'as long as he doesn't steal any body parts' portion heavy in the silent gap. John chuckles and for the next few minutes, it's all small talk about the surgery and her new cat until he sees Sherlock getting ready to head home. John needs to make his move now.

"She sound adorable," John croons leaning just a bit into her personal space to drench his Scent (already in overproduction being within arm’s distance from Sherlock) all over her. He feels a little guilty that he’s manipulating her like this. She doesn’t have a chance resisting him so it’s a bit unfair. There’s a reason why he’d been on suppressants for years until returning from Afghanistan. Still, all’s fair in love and war. And he would make it up to her by getting Sherlock to treat her better once he and his Alpha Bond.

"They always have so much personality. I love cats."

John hates cats. They're obviously hell-beasts intent on world domination. Still, it gets Molly to respond exactly as he hoped. It doesn't matter that she's had a crush on Sherlock for years. She's squirming at the attentions of an Omega.

"You should come over to my place. We can have dinner and play with the pussy!" Molly's eyes blow wide open as she catches the double entendre. "That is. I mean. With the cat! Play with the pussy cats!"

Molly’s nearly hyperventilating at this point and he feels he needs to end this quickly before she splashes hot coffee all over her hands with her manic hand gestures. So just before Sherlock breezes past them, John winks at her and says, "It's a date." Sherlock stiffens (success?) for only a second (no success) before resuming his march.

"Come along, John!" John’s annoyed at the lack of signs of possessiveness or jealousy. He expected Sherlock to do something, ANYTHING more to show SOME displeasure.

It's not until later that night that John gets the evidence he was hoping for. Mr. Steven’s head is in the fridge. He hopes Molly doesn't get into too much trouble over it.

Chapter Text

Sally Donovan: Un-Bonded - Alpha
(Anderson: Bonded - Beta)

John didn't want to flirt with Anderson. Ick. Just, no.

The plan had been to hit on Donovan and Donovan alone when he and Sherlock got to today's crime scene. It made sense. Sherlock loathes Sally. (Something about being a 'Bond-meddling incompetent.') Anyway, Sherlock clearly doesn't feel threatened enough by his “date” (actually spent talking about Sherlock and trying to get Molly’s cat to stop digging it’s claws into his trousers) with Molly. At least, that's what John assumes considering the lack of any CHANGE in his relationship with Sherlock but Sally's an Alpha.

She's as aggressive and dominant as the stereotype gets. Just look at Anderson. He has a Mate but that hasn't stopped Sally from pursuing him until he finally caved. If the gossip pool's anything to go by, Anderson's on the verge of getting a Bond-Severance for Sally even though it's going to take a boatload of hormones to sever the Bond. John really should have kept that last bit of info in his mind when he calculated how things might go today.

It's not that Sally isn't responding to his coy smiles and flirtatious words. It's just that she's clearly thinking more along the lines of a three-way than an one-on-one encounter. At least, that's what it seems like to John since she crooked her finger at Anderson to beckon him over while gazing up and down John's body like she wants to eat him whole. Anderson might actually be drooling a bit and John is pretty sure the entire crime scene crew is gaping at the scene they're obviously making.

It makes John's stomach lurch a little. Just the thought of either of them touching him like that makes his skin crawl but a side-glance at Sherlock prompts him to up the stakes by putting a hand on Anderson's (flabby) bicep. (Jeez! What did Sally see in this man?)

The point is, Sherlock is livid. He's gripping his phone so tightly that John can practically hear the casing crack. He's rushing through his scene deductions with his eyes screwed shut and through clenched teeth at a bewildered Dimmock. The young Beta keeps shifting his glances between John and the clearly unstable Alpha before him.

Just as Sally uses the excuse of slipping her phone number into John's back pocket to squeeze his arse, Sherlock roars "John! We're leaving!" Sherlock grabs his wrist and proceeds to drag him towards the nearest cab. He trembles with barely controlled Alpha rage throughout the cab ride pressing John close to him, resting John's head to his chest. He's obviously working on bringing down his heart rate but it's not really working and John can't help but grin like a maniac at that.

John is thrilled when Sherlock has them dropped off at Angelo's and orders him half the menu.

Chapter Text

Greg Lestrade: Bond-severed - Alpha

John is frustrated. It's been a week since he’s made a complete spectacle of himself in front of half of NSY to get Sherlock to react. He doesn't regret it. Sure, he’s had to ignore half his incoming phone calls and sneak out of his own flat every day this past week to avoid Donovan and Anderson but it got his Alpha to start courting him and that’s what really matters.

Except, it’s not really all that matters. By now, they should be shagging. A lot. For hours at a time. Possibly on every suitable surface of 221B, and some less than suitable surfaces he can think of. He should be lying in bed weak with exhaustion, fucked out of his mind, and starving from all the energy he’d expended.

Instead, he’s never been so bloated in his life. It’s like Sherlock’s decided that now that he’s started courting, he’s going to get this step PERFECT. Every meal, there’s been delicious food being delivered to the flat or the surgery. They’re constantly going out to eat (even though Sherlock mostly just stares at his mouth which just prompts John to lick various utensils as wantonly as possible). Sherlock's not budging though. Pretty soon, he’s going to be too heavy to do much bouncing on his Alpha's cock at all. Clearly, his Alpha needs another nudge to get him moving.

Which brings him to his current predicament. Strictly speaking, it’s not the safest thing to get an Alpha mid-courting cycle jealous. There are usually bones going ‘crunch’ and nasty property damage. But Sherlock’s restraint, when it comes to mating, had been ungodly. John had planned to count today a success if Sherlock so much as grunted a little at Greg, do that territoriality claim thing Alphas like doing so much.

Greg, you ask? Yes, Greg. Lestrade's Bond-Severance papers came through a couple months ago and he’d been looking at John with interest. John didn’t think it’d be much of a chore to stand being chatted up by the silver fox for a bit, unlike last week's ordeal. Lestrade’s been pretty respectful in his advances and it’s all for a good cause. So John had put in a little extra attention in his attire today, worn a little Scent-enhancing product, paired it with that black and white stripey jumper both Sherlock and Lestrade seem fixated on. Yes. Clearly the stripey jumper of catastrophe is what's causing Lestrade to pour Alpha pheremones all over him in the middle of the NSY office pit. And it has nothing, to do with the fact that Lestrade showed up to work in a leather motorcycle jacket. Nothing at all.

But trying to figure out where things went awry is proving futile. Greg's been making small talk to John for the past few minutes, hours, days. John's not sure. He hasn't heard a word Greg's been saying answering with non-committal "hmms" and "uh huh." He's too busy trying not to squirm like a little Omega-in-heat towards the Alpha smelling like leather, a hint of engine oil, and not even the slightest hint of his former Bond. Greg's leaning casually against one of the many generic cabinets that line NSY offices, slim hips angled towards him, the bulge of his endowment presented like wares at a market. John's supposed to be building to a 'scene' here. To tick Sherlock off just as he got back from raiding various NSY offices for "non-atrociously boring" cold cases. But mostly, he's just trying not to do anything that'd get him arrested for public indecency. 

It's not until Greg's leaning into John's space with a sultry tone that John starts catching what he's saying. "...novan & Anderson were walking around all last week with a chip in their shoulders saying that you were on the prowl and they're ready to serve. I didn't realize you swung that way."

"Huh? Oh no! No. no." Ok, John. Focus. Time to lay the scene. "Well, what Omega doesn't want a capable Alpha around to help out with his 'Times' but a threesome with a Beta is a bit too kinky for my taste. I'm afraid I'm an old fashioned, one Alpha to Omega sort of guy." John drops his gaze down coyly crossing his wrists in a subtle gesture of submission. It's not even an act this time. Greg smells so good he wants to start licking the DI down in the middle of the busy room. A peak from underneath his lashes confirms what he knew his falsely demure reference to his heats would elicit. It's almost funny how Greg's nostrils flair with deep inhalations of John's Scent but mostly, the lust laden gaze just makes him wet with want. "So, you ARE looking for an Alpha?" Greg asks.

He's about to answer something blatantly sexual when alarms start screeching through the building and cries of "Oh my God! Fire!," "Someone get the fire extinguisher!" and "Lestade's office!" fill the air. Before either John or Greg could react, Sherlock appears out of nowhere and throws his Belstaff over John's already jacket clad shoulders in a clear gesture of 'MINE!'

The maniacal grin on his face is a dead giveaway as to the cause of the incumbent chaos. "Lestrade. It seems that your computer has spontaneously combusted. Really should go see to that. Or are you too busy milling about trying to steal other Alpha's Omegas. And really John. I can't leave you alone for a second."

As Sherlock sheppards him out NSY, John can't help but wince for Greg as he thinks, 'success?'

Chapter Text

Mycroft Holmes: Bonded - Alpha

The problem with playing high stakes mind-games with a self-proclaimed sociopathic genius Alpha is that it's really easy to lose control of the situation. He thinks he might have gotten a bit cocky after the results of the Anderson-Dononvan episode, probably shouldn't have rushed things quite so quickly with Lestrade but it seems to have pushed Sherlock into running away rather than towards him. Sherlock's disappeared.

They'd gotten home after the 'Lestrade incident' where Sherlock had pushed John onto the sofa and proceeded to kiss and lick down John's mouth and neck. Things had just gotten hot and heavy with Sherlock starting to undress John when John, in his hormone induced daze, had uttered the words of apparent doom.

"Oh Sherlock. Please. Please fuck me. Breed me."

Sherlock had gone rigid at that, staring down at John for a full thirty seconds as if the full implications of what they were about to do finally hit him. He'd jumped off of John, grabbed his coat and phone on his way out of 221B. For three days now, John's frantic text inquiries to Sherlock have only been answered with a terse 'Settling affairs. - SH' The response doesn't make much sense but can only be interpreted as a push off since there's no other reply.

So that's it then. Sherlock couldn't have made his rejection any clearer. Stupid. Stupid. John should have known that whatever attraction between them wouldn't be enough for Sherlock change his whole life to be saddled with an Omega and a baby. Now John's lost his best friend AND he's going to have to find a new flat. Every step he's climbing up 221B is another reminder of his failure. What kind of Omega is he if he can't even get a mid-courting Alpha to bed him.

John's so miserable mulling over everything that he doesn't notice someone sitting in Sherlock's chair as he enters the flat, not until Mycroft effects a soft throat clearing noise. Looking up, John sees Mycroft resting his cup of tea next to an untouched plate of biscuits. Mrs. Hudson's been up. Mycroft's sharp gaze is quickly assessing everything that's happened and his heart feels like it's breaking again. Never has he been so thankful of the Holmes' brothers' all seeing eyes until Mycroft's face softens and he beckons John into his open arms. His voice is gentle with that inherent Alpha need to soothe distressed Omegas. "Oh, John. It's alright. Everything will be fine."

John's never been attracted to Mycroft but his scent (so similar to Sherlock's at its basic level) and his tender reassurances are too perfect to reject. In a second, John's curled himself onto Mycroft's lap, burrowing his nose into the wrong Holmes neck, the wrong pair of Holmes hands running up and down his back in a gesture of comfort. He's not sure exactly how long this has been going on but John's calmed from his earlier acute anguish to a mind-numbing buzz when he's unexpectedly being ripped out of Mycroft's lap and crushed to Sherlock's chest.

"What do you think you're doing with my mate, Mycroft! John is mine! MINE! " Sherlock's fury is redirected at John now who he's just pulled away far enough to stare into his face. "And you! Enough! Enough flirting with everything that moves. That's my bonded-brother you're hitting on! What more do I have to do to get you to commit! What more could I possibly do to prove myself to you!"

Sherlock is making zero sense. He disappeared for three days and obviously, an alternate universe version of him stepped into 221B. What the hell is this alien on about? The creature in front of him ::definitely smells like Sherlock:: is still ranting and sputtering about how he's been trying so hard to do things properly and something about John's cruelty to him when a biscuit bounces off the Sherlock shaped being's head.

"You IDIOT." Mycroft hurls another biscuit at Sherlock. To John's knowledge, Mycroft never calls Sherlock an idiot. The Holmes brothers openly acknowledge exactly two shared aspects of their lives, 'mummy' and their genius intellects. Also, Mycroft's never struck John much as the throwing-random-food-products-at-the-object-of-one's-vexations type so this is a bit surreal to John. "How is he supposed to know what you were up to? Why didn't you tell him what you were doing?"

"Don't be ridiculous Mycroft. Of course John knew that I was arranging our bonding ceremony and the purchase of this building. I did text him that I was settling affairs."

Huh? What? How? John is confused. Mycroft looks exasperated and is massaging his temples with a hand like he's fighting off a headache. "Sherlock. Why would 'settling affairs' mean you were making these arrangements to John?" He sounds like he's talking to a two year old child or a guest on Jeremy Kyle.

Sherlock looks slightly embarrassed as he explains. "John finally agreed to be my mate and to have our baby. I wasn't expecting the latter though so I wasn't prepared. Obviously, I had to go see mummy to arrange our wedding and that ancient solicitor you refuse to replace to arrange a buyout of Mrs. Hudson's interest in this building. Why doesn't he understand electronic filing! He took forever!"

Mycroft doesn't even acknowledge the last bit as he continues to ask "Why was it necessary to procure the building, Sherlock?" John suspects Mycroft already knows the reason but is continuing this line of questioning purely for John's benefit.

"How else would I get construction permits for the new lab and the baby room. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't let that scale of work by tenants slide. Some of my experiments are extremely volatile. We can't have baby Hamish's safety compromised and obviously, we're not going to stop taking cases." Sherlock drops his head into John's hair while adding a peevishly muffled, "You're the one who's always going on about the proper way to care for a mate."

Mycroft sighs and turns to a gaping John, still captured in Sherlock's iron grip. "My sincerest condolences on your choice of mate, Dr. Watson. I'm sure there'll be plenty of occasions where you'll feel violently inclined toward my brother but please try not to hurt him too visibly. Airbrushing bruises out of wedding photos are terribly gauche. I'll see you two at the ceremony next week. Good day." With a twirl of the ubiquitous umbrella, Mycroft steps out of the flat.

The flat falls into an awkward silence except for Sherlock's shifting. John has questions.

"So... we're getting married?"

"Yes. Next Saturday. At the family estate. Mummy and Anthea are taking care of the details. Your tux fitting is at noon tomorrow."

"You... bought us this building."

"Yes. The contractors are starting construction work while we're on our honeymoon."

"We're... going on a honeymoon?"

"You said you wanted some sun last week, on the jewelry heist case. We're going to southern Spain for two weeks."

"And we're naming our future son 'Hamish'?"

"After your middle name or 'Mary' after my mother if we have a girl. Unless you object."

"And you decided all this without telling me any of the details because...?"

Sherlock cocks his head to one side looking perplexed. "I assumed you understood I was taking proper steps to ensure our future together. I was under the impression that an Alpha should prove to one's intended Omega that they can provide for their mate and offspring. Legal marital status and acquisition of an appropriate home seemed the best way. Was it necessary that I offered details? Anthea seemed to quite enjoy it when Mycroft surprised her with his arrangements."

"Oh." John's a bit lost for words. He's been going crazy for the past three days for no reason at all apparently while Sherlock was out doing everything John's been working towards for the past several weeks. "Sherlock, no more surprises. I'm not Anthea. I'd like explicit notices on any major events in our relationship you plan from now on."

"Yes, John. In that case, we're going to have sex now. For the next several hours in our room. I bought flavored lube."

"Ok." John thinks, 'It's nice to have an Alpha.' Just as Sherlock promised, neither of them leave their room for hours that night and great sex is had.   

Chapter Text

Epilogue

:: Six weeks later ::

Six chairs are arranged in a circle in a generic conference room.

"Welcome to group therapy. My name is Irene Adler and I'll be facilitating today's meeting. Why don't we start from my right. Please introduce yourselves and explain why you're here today." The psychologist turns to the adorable Beta forensic pathologist next to her and thinks 'Yum.'

"Ah. Ok. Hello. My name is Molly and I have a John Watson problem. It's been 63 days since our date and I can't stop blushing or get any work done when he's around. He always smells so nice and he brings me coffee with kitty paws on the cup and tries to make Sherlock be nicer to me. Anyway, that's why I'm here."

Irene jots down on her notepad, 'Stuck in adolescent stages of sexual/romantic development. Promising subject for growth. (If not patient, would absolutely shag her.)'

"Hi Molly." An chorus of disgruntled greetings echo through the room. Obviously, everyone desperately wants to be here.

"Hi. My name is Anderson and I have a John Watson problem. It's been 51 days since I last got to lay my hands on that perfectly toned..."

"Ehem!" Irene clears her throat to shut THAT train of thought down before things get out of hand. Not that Irene doesn't understand. She's been around John. He smells fantastic.

"Yeah well, it's a problem getting crime scenes secured when that psychopath mate of his shows up and starts messing with everything.  And ever since we lost John, my girlfriend won't sleep with me. That's why I'm here."

Ah. Down on legal pad she write, 'Submissive half in co-dependent relationship. Low self-esteem regarding career and sexual prowess. Seeks validation through Dominant half's interest.'

"Hi Anderson." Amused greetings this time.

"Hello. My name is Greg and I have a John Watson problem. It's been a month since I was at the wedding but I think he was really interested before then, and it makes me wonder what could have been if I'd just moved a little more boldly. The regret's eating me up inside and so, that's why I'm here."

Ouch. More words on the pad. 'Fear of relationship failures becoming a routine based on most recent rejection and likely previous failure in long term relationship.' Hmm. Maybe the adorable Beta on her right and the silver fox Alpha across her...? They definitely smell compatible.

"Hi Greg." Mostly sympathetic voices greet him.

"My name is Sally and I have a problem that the Freak got away with our Omega. John doesn't belong with that Freak! He belong with Anderson and me!" Irene's pen stops moving after writing, 'Heightened aggressiveness due either to Alpha hormone boosters or serious anger management issues.'

"Sally. Please refrain from using derogatory language at this session. Everyone here understands that losing the chance to be with John has been difficult for everyone. That's why we're here, to try to figure out a way past this and be able to grow into more fulfilling relationships."

"Then why am I forced to attend this inane ritual?" Sherlock's irritated voice rises above Irene's. "I haven't lost John. We've Bonded. We have sex regularly. We're trying to get pregnant." Sherlock practically oozes smugness as the rest of the attendants wince. Irene's patience drops another notch as she imagines chucking her notepad at one of her oldest clients. She has enough notes on Sherlock's behavioral issues to fill a small library and only very severely resents Mycroft for calling on her services again.

"You're here because you're suffering from your own brand of John Watson problems," Irene glares at Sherlock as she pronounces. "The John-is-mine-and-I'll-torment-anyone-else-who-so-much-as-thinks-of-him-syndrome." She can see Sherlock's about to make some smart-ass comment and cuts him off with a "Yes, that IS the official name of your condition. John has already made his position clear about how he feels about your behavior to the rest of this group, correct?"

Sherlock responds with a pout. "Yes. But it's completely unreasonable to threaten to suppress his next Heat just for refusing to attend these useless 'sessions' with these idiots. I don't have a problem and haven't done anything wrong!"

"YOU haven't done anything WRONG?! You replaced my Viagra with sugar pills! I thought I was IMPOTENT for weeks!" Sally shrieks.

"You set my computer on FIRE and spray painted my motorcycle HOT PINK!" cries Greg.

"You stole FOURTEEN pairs of thumbs just because I told John that his TAN was nice!" Molly whines plaintively.

"You broke into my house and stole ALL my DINOSAURS!" An awkward silence fills the room as all eyes fix on Anderson and Sherlock grins triumphantly.

'Ohh dear,' Irene thinks. 'This is going to take much more work than I thought.' She turns to Anthea seated at a corner of the room.

"Tell your mate I need a raise."