Sherlock watched John yell at the rugby players again. He had a small smirk on his face as John’s blonde hair was turned nearly translucent with sweat, his clothes clinging to him. John was jogging alongside the team as he made them run laps, yelling at them to hurry up. Sherlock couldn’t help but note with pride, how not a single player dared to disobey his omega coach. A thin stream of smoke curled over Sherlock’s head as he took a break between giving violin lessons. Dark blue eyes met his and a wink was thrown his way. Sherlock flashed a grin at his mate, waved before he stubbed his cigarette out, and disappeared back inside.
Two Years Ago
“Bloody, buggering, fuck!”
A voice echoed down the hallway. One, until approximately two point seven seconds ago, Sherlock Holmes had assumed was empty. His brow arched as he rounded the corner, fully prepared to launch into a lecture about language and how teachers and students were meant to carry themselves while in Hashfield’s hallowed halls. He was met with a compact, blond, irritable ball of wool, drenched to the bone and looking absolutely miserable. But it was the eyes that caught him off guard.
“Do you realize your eyes have several shades of dark blue and even a bit of brown in them?” What the fuck was that, Sherlock?
“Your eyes. I suspect perhaps central heterochromia.” Sherlock pointed to his own eyes. “It’s a genetic predisposition. Likely one or more of your parents has it.”
“Riiight, Okay. I’m just looking for my classroom.”
Sherlock finally snapped out of his seeming idiotic and sudden freeze at having seen the man. “Ah, yes, which classroom would that be? Sherlock Holmes. Chemistry and orchestra.” He held out a slender hand.
“John Watson. Part-time. English and rugby.” The man, John, Sherlock’s brain replaced, answered as he shook Sherlock’s hand firmly.
“Are you-” Sherlock began.
“An Omega? Yes. Hence the only being able to work part-time.” John muttered as he withdrew his hand. “No, I’m not interested.”
A snort sounded from Sherlock as he started to lead John to his classroom. “Actually, I was going to ask if you were going to seriously attempt coaching the pathetic excuse for a rugby team we have. Hashfield is full of academics… we hardly have the bodies to make up a proper rugby team Mr. Watson.”
“Doctor Watson. I did my time and my thesis. If you’re going to go to the trouble of a title, the least I can do is supply you with my proper one, Mr. Holmes. Though, I’d really rather be called John if it’s all the same to you.” John answered as he looked up at Sherlock.
Sherlock stopped at John’s classroom and smiled as he opened the door. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, John. Please, do call me Sherlock.”
John grinned as he slipped past him into his room. “I intend to.”
A grin crossed Sherlock’s face. “Very well, John. The teacher’s lounge is just down the hall there on the right. You’ve got an hour to dry off before students start trickling in.” Sherlock hummed as he moved back to the chemistry lab to set up for his first class.
Three Months Later
“MISTER HOLMES! MISTER HOLMES, I’M SORRY!”
The shouting could be heard down the hall as students and teachers alike peered curiously out of their classrooms.
Sherlock was hauling a hulking Alpha down the hall and paused outside of the English classroom where he tapped on the door. John excused himself from his class and stepped out. He shut the door behind him.
“Now, would you like to explain to Dr. Watson what you said to your omega teammate in my chemistry class?” Sherlock near snarled at the boy he had by the arm.
The boy ducked his head as John folded his arms across his chest. “Charles?”
“I told him-”
When he paused Sherlock nudged him.
“Alright! Alright! I told him if he couldn’t keep up, maybe he should just start having heats, letting the team share them.” Charles swallowed, staring at the floor.
Sherlock let go of his arm and stood to the side as John let out a slow, controlled breath.
“You’ll be at every practice, but you will not play for four games. You will have two essays for me in that time of no less than fifteen pages each. One on omega rights, another on omega accomplishments. Am I understood Mr. Tannersly? I went to school with your mother. I played rugby with him here. He played scrum to my fly-half. Those are our championship trophies out there in those cases… Do you think we didn’t hear things like that?”
Charles’s head came up and he looked ashamed. “I’m sorry, Dr. Watson.”
“Don’t apologize to me. Go apologize to James, since I assume that’s who you insulted. Now go on…” John pointed back down the hallway.
When Charles was gone, Sherlock looked back to John, surprised. “I didn’t know you went to school here.”
“With Mycroft… You really were an annoying little brat, Sherlock.” He winked and disappeared back into his classroom.
The next six months passed without much incident. John and Sherlock were rarely seen without the company of one another when not teaching. School was letting out for the summer and Sherlock looked up to see John standing in the doorway of the orchestra room. He grinned as John let a student pass.
“Doctor Watson, always a pleasure. How can I help you?”
John smiled. “Well, I was wondering if you’d go as my date to the end of year soiree.”
Sherlock looked surprised before smiling. “I would love to. Pick you up at seven?”
“See you then.”
As John walked away, Sherlock couldn’t help but shake his head. He was good for the omegas of the school, proving old conventions wrong repeatedly.
When Sherlock arrived in his suit, at ten till seven, he wasn’t expecting the sight that met his eyes. He’d fully expected John to dress in a suit, to eschew the old trappings of omega dress. What he found was John resplendent in expensive, well-cared for ‘silks’. A misnomer, really, as John’s silks were made of soft, high thread-count cotton. The blues, greens, and yellows of the Watson tartan brought out John’s eyes and skin tones in a way that had Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
John’s smirk said he knew the exact effect the tartan layered and wrapped around his body had on Sherlock. He shifted the wide swath of fabric that went over his right shoulder, nearly brushing the floor behind him. The long tartan kilt hovered at his ankles, revealing delicate sandals.
“Comfortable... Strength and beauty are not mutually exclusive traits. Wouldn’t you agree, Sherlock?”
Sherlock’s tongue slid over his bottom lip and he swallowed before he could speak. “Absolutely not.” He offered John his arm. “Shall we?”
There was a soft rustle of fabric as one draped arm slipped into Sherlock’s. He led John down to the dining hall where everything had been cleared away and decorations hung. Music played as they entered, all the trappings of a typical secondary school gathering going on. The chatter of the students died out as their attention fell on John.
He looked up with an arched brow and cleared his throat. “Do any of you think I can’t take you to the field right now and make you run laps dressed in this?”
There was a scattered murmuring of ‘no, sirs’ and John winked at them before holding out his hand to Sherlock when a slow song came on. Sherlock swept him into his arms and waltzed him onto the dance floor set up.
“You never cease to amaze me, John.” Sherlock murmured as they danced.
John chuckled. “You once called me a ‘thick headed, arrogant, prat’ you know?”
Sherlock arched a brow and John nodded.
“You did. I came to visit over spring break once, because poor Mycroft had the misfortune of being paired with me for our chemistry project. I told you that you were too little to assist us…”
“Mm, and now I teach it here…” Sherlock paused. “That was the spring I blew up my- oh… that was your suitcase I blew up?”
“And my pants. All my pants, Sherlock. Every single pair I owned, save for the pair I had on my arse, were in that suitcase when you blew it up… you even plucked my dirty ones out of the laundry hamper. You did it on purpose!” John huffed despite the smile on his face.
Sherlock grinned down to him. “You told me I couldn’t possibly understand the chemical reactions you were theorizing. I proved to you I could.”
John shook his head, laughing as the song ended.
“How could I have forgotten that was you?” Sherlock murmured.
“You were still a foot shorter than me, Sherlock. It was nearly fifteen years ago…” John shook his head. “I don’t think you even bothered to learn my name at the time. Let alone anything else about me.”
Sherlock hummed and led John to the refreshment table, gathering them both a glass of punch. They spent the evening watching the students and bickering and joking with one another like a mated couple over things as they always did.
When Sherlock dropped John off at his room that evening, John put a hand on his arm to stop him, before pulling Sherlock down into a slow, sweet kiss.
“School’s officially out for teachers in two weeks. Part time and full time faculty alike.” John grinned and flicked his tongue against his lower lip.
“Yes, it is.”
“My heat is in three.”
Sherlock couldn’t help the possessive growl the words drew from his chest as he pulled John against him again and kissed him. He didn’t stop until they were both panting and John’s lips were swollen and red.
John put his palms against Sherlock’s chest, pushing him back in a gentle, but firm way. “I’ll take that as a yes?”
It took Sherlock a moment to find his voice, rough though it was. “Yeah… yes, I mean. Yes.”
A smile lit up John’s face. “Good night, Sherlock.”
“Good night, John.”
Sherlock watched the door shut behind him and stood there, looking dumbstruck before grinning like an idiot all the way back to his own room across the courtyard in the Alpha hall.
Two weeks later Sherlock helped John load the last of his things in the car they were sharing back into London.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asked, brow arched as Sherlock slid into the driver’s seat.
“Share a flat?”
“Yes. That… I realize we’re going to share a heat, but-” John shut up at the glare Sherlock shot him.
“Don’t be an idiot, John. Of course, I’m sure. It’s a two bedroom, so there is a spare if you don’t want to stay in my room. Where would you be going for the summer? Back to Hashfield? Ghastly? Bedsit? Absolutely not!” Sherlock muttered.
John growled. “Sherlock Holmes. You are, as of this moment, not my alpha. You don’t get to make those decisions for me… and even if you were my alpha, they are decisions we would make together. Am I clear?”
Sherlock looked sheepish as he started the car and nodded. “My apologies, John.”
With a small smile, John reached over and took Sherlock’s hand. The trip into London was shared in companionable silence for the most part. Sherlock spoke on occasion, pointing out little tidbits of trivia he knew about different buildings or roads until they came to Baker Street. He parked out front and rang the bell.
Mrs. Hudson greeted them with her little placard for the car. Sherlock kissed her cheek before hanging the little handicap sign in it long enough for them to unload the vehicle. John scowled at him, but Mrs. Hudson cut his fussing off by bragging on how often Sherlock went and fetched her shopping for her while he was home.
“Oh, let me look at you, John. Sherlock’s said so much about you.”
She fussed over John as Sherlock unloaded the car. Smirking as he brushed past him.
“Mrs. Hudson, please allow me to assist Sherlock with our things.” John finally said after she’d inspected his hips for the fifth time.
“Oh my, but you are a progressive one. He warned me. I like it… You’ll do him a world of good, you will, John Watson.” She kissed his cheek and disappeared back into 221.
Sherlock smirked over to John as he grabbed the heaviest of their bags, toting it into 221 and up the stairs.
“She likes you,” Sherlock murmured later as they leaned together in the cab with the shopping after having returned the rental car.
“Who? Oh, Mrs. Hudson?” John grinned. “I like her too. Bit overbearing…”
“She was my nanny-” Sherlock cleared his throat. He waved his hand. “That’s why she’s so…”
John laughed and shook his head. “And where was she when you blew up all my pants then?”
Sherlock huffed at John. “On vacation. Are you sure we have everything we’ll need for the heat?”
“I have done this a few time in my life, you know.” John teased as the cab drew to a stop outside Baker Street and they paid the fare before gathering everything.
Sherlock’s phone chimed as they headed up the stairs. “Ugh, Mycroft’s tone. What could he want?”
When they’d finished putting away everything they’d need for the coming days of John’s heat, Sherlock pulled John into his lap and pressed his chin to John’s shoulder as he read the text.
Should I expect a happy announcement by the end of next week? You realize you owe him pants, yes? Red pants, if I recall correctly. Tell me, does the good doctor still favor bullying Alphas to get his way in projects?
John blushed and cleared his throat. “It’s not my fault he was too pig headed to admit my idea was the reason we got perfect marks.”
Sherlock had gone silent and John turned to peer at him. “Hey… Sherlock. What is it.”
“I didn’t ask- did you, did you want to bond during this?” There was a look of hope mixed with sheer terror on Sherlock’s face.
“Whoa, Sherlock. Calm down, breathe for me.” He took Sherlock’s face in his hands. “I am not ready to bond with you. That doesn’t mean I find the idea objectionable. But I think we need to see if we can tolerate one another in the same house for a while before we make that kind of commitment. Let’s try this summer, here, see how things progress.”
John searched Sherlock’s face and Sherlock nodded, so John pressed on. “If all goes well, we’ll apply for one of the flats at the school. If we can spend this next year together without killing one another… next summer we will come back here and bond.”
Sherlock blinked as he stared up at John before pulling him down into a slow, gentle kiss. He whispered against his lips. “You are far too wise and too good for me, John Watson.”
A small chuckle escaped John and he kissed Sherlock.
Three days later John woke in a sweat and whined. Sherlock came in with a bottle of water and pulled the sheets back with a low rumble. “Ah, hit a little early.” He climbed into bed over John and nosed along his neck. “I have you…”
John whimpered to Sherlock and nodded. “Not quite all the way started yet. Should probably eat some fruit and drink that water.”
Sherlock kissed John’s head as he sat up. Sherlock slipped to the kitchen to retrieve a banana and some grapes before returning to find a naked John sitting atop the duvet, sipping water.
A smile crossed his face at the sight. “Look at you all sprawled out on our bed.” Sherlock murmured as he crawled back into the bed with John.
“Our bed is it now? Last night when I had the covers you were threatening to send me out of your bed if I remember correctly.” John teased as he snuggled close, taking the banana and peeling it.
“Yes, well, you were completely rolled up in all of them, leaving me a corner of the sheet and that was all.” Sherlock answered in a petulant tone as he nipped John’s ear.
“Let me eat, you berk. I’ll have no strength to keep up if you don’t.” John laughed as he ate the banana.
The next few minutes passed in silence, soft touches and teases giving way to bolder strokes and grazes of nails down sensitive flesh until John was arching and moaning under Sherlock’s hands.
John tugged at Sherlock’s pyjamas with a whine. “Enough… enough, Sherlock. Please.” He gazed up at him, the plea evident in his face as well as his tone.
Sherlock didn’t hesitate, a low, gentle rumble escaping him as he shifted away long enough to shed his pyjamas and send them flying across the room. He crawled over John and captured his lips in a rough kiss, cherishing the way John’s hands felt as they slid around his back and down to his hips.
They spent several minutes kissing fervently until John was truly begging, breathing ragged as he reached between them and stroked over Sherlock once. Sherlock leaned up and snagged a condom off the nightstand, carefully slipping it on before looking to John once more. Shifting their positions, Sherlock groaned as he sank into John, leaning in once more to kiss him, teeth tugging on his lower lip as he did.
John moaned into the kiss, rocking up against Sherlock. John locked his ankles behind Sherlock as he took John. His nails dug into Sherlock’s back as a rough, needy pace was set, the two of them moaning and gasping against one another.
Sherlock pressed his forehead against John’s collarbone as he fucked him, awash in the sensations and the pheromones in the air. His teeth grazed over John’s skin, keeping care not to break it, not to risk a bond, but doing enough to make John cry his name and arch against him. Sherlock thrust harder, balancing on one arm to reach between them and stroke John. The moans and whimpers he got in return were beautiful.
The sounds of slick body parts slapping against one another and the whimpers of an omega in the throes of heat filled 221B as Sherlock truly took John. Sherlock felt John start to tense and backed off with stroking John, not wanting him over the edge too soon. When Sherlock felt his knot start to swell, he eased in, listening to the sharp, staccato cries of John as he shortened his thrusts.
Sherlock worked his swelling knot into John and took up stroking him again until John was tensing and crying out under him in and a spectacular orgasm. Sherlock had only a moment to admire how John looked, wracked with pleasure before John was wringing his own from him. Sherlock gasping and moaning John’s name as he dropped his head to John’s neck, burying his face there and clinging to him.
It took what seemed like hours to come down from their orgasms. Sherlock shifted so he was draped over John in a way that would not squish him as they laid there, joined together. John’s neck was warm and Sherlock kissed and licked along it. “Beautiful,” he murmured after a few minutes. “Absolutely stunning.”
John chuckled softly. “Not so bad yourself, you know…”
Sherlock raised his head and looked at John. He smiled warmly before dipping his head and kissing him slowly and softly.
The heat passed in much the same way, though the pair did manage to explore the majority of the B flat, including the room upstairs, breaking in the bed properly after Mrs. Hudson banged on the ceiling during a particularly raucous three AM session.
The rest of the summer went by entirely too quickly for either of their tastes. Before either one of them was ready, Sherlock was pulling a car up in front of 221 Baker Street in order to pack them off to school again. John came flying out. “Sherlock! Sherlock! Headmaster Lestrade just called!”
Sherlock’s head popped up over the roof of the car. “Oh? And what did he want?”
“We’ve been approved for the flat. We get to stay together this year.” John grinned at him across the car.
With a delighted laugh, Sherlock moved around the car and swept John into a hug, spinning him around and kissing him before letting him down. “Wonderful news.” He kissed John’s forehead. “I suppose we will need to bring that box of pots and pans after all… For when we don’t have mess hall duty.”
“I’m still not doing all the cooking. I mean it, Sherlock, just because you blew up the kitchen once with your experiments does not exempt you from all cooking…” John huffed at him.
Sherlock just grinned and headed upstairs to start packing the car.
The start of the school year was maddening as always, but soon the season was underway and Sherlock, who had previously attended almost zero of the school’s games, was suddenly at all of them the star and much applauded omega coach John Watson was present for. Someone had even managed to snap a picture of Sherlock screaming and waving a flag with the school’s colors for the newspaper. After the fifth player begged him to sign it, he’d stormed down to John’s classroom.
John had gently soothed Sherlock’s ruffled feathers and sat with him while he signed a copy for each of the disbelieving rugby players and that had been the end of it.
The school year was going well when a particularly virulent strain of influenza hit. The flu vaccine had missed it and nearly the entire school went down. Several of the boys had to be hospitalized. John and Sherlock spent a miserable week huddled together in bed, clinging to one another through it, hacking and cursing their luck.
Having survived the flu, they went back to work and John led the team to a stunning victory, sweeping the championship game and finding himself toted off the field on the shoulders of his players, despite only being the assistant coach. Sherlock had watched from the sidelines, beaming with pride… even if he did still claim rugby was a terrible, pointless game.
Sherlock and John sneaked home to Baker Street for a quiet Christmas with Mrs. Hudson, who managed to tease it out of them, that they intended to bond come summer. She’d fussed over them and filled the flat with so many baked sweets, the boys at school had loved John for days as he’d had to give them out for prizes in class.
Spring came early and Sherlock only managed to blow up the chemistry lab once. Though he insisted it had been contained until the fight broke out over a late blooming omega. John had rushed in, worried for his Alpha, only to have to box two of his players about the ears while Molly Hooper, the nurse, rushed another off to the office. Poor Joshua Wilkerson had thought he was a beta for sure…
The last few months of school passed by quickly and soon Sherlock and John found themselves saying goodbye to yet another set of students and packing up their little flat at the school. John hauled a bag out to the rental car and Sherlock caught him about the waist, stealing a kiss from him. John looked up at him in question.
“Do you really wish to be mine, John Watson?” Sherlock asked as he nuzzled John and held him close.
John smiled and kissed Sherlock’s jaw. “For as long as you’ll have me, Sherlock Holmes…”
The trip back to London had been uneventful and they’d come home to a fully stocked 221B. Compliments of Mrs. Hudson, and surprisingly enough, Mycroft. The week and a half between coming home and the start of John’s heat passed in a blur. It was full of unpacking and paperwork. Intent to bond paperwork was filled out and sent in, an announcement made, and gifts received. They’d gathered the last round of blood test results, insuring they were both clean and John had taken his latest birth control shot as well.
By the time it was over, that Sherlock had complained so much, John had finally sent him off to buy a new microscope with some of the money they’d been gifted just to shut him up. He’d come home toting signed editions of Old Man’s War and Ghost Brigades for John.
John had snogged him so hard Sherlock thought he’d pass out.
The heat came on slowly, waking Sherlock first with the change in scent. He moved to the kitchen and fetched John toast and water along with a banana. When Sherlock came back he woke John gently, nuzzling along his neck. “Wake up, love. Time to eat.”
There was a large amount of grumbling as John sat up and yawned. He scooted back against the bed and tucked into the small meal Sherlock had provided. When John had finished, he nuzzled into Sherlock’s side, allowing him to wrap his arms around John.
“John, I love you.” Sherlock murmured as he kissed his head.
John looked up and smiled, a small, warm smile. “I love you too, Sherlock.” John nipped along Sherlock’s jaw, pulling him close as John pushed Sherlock’s dressing gown from his shoulders. As Sherlock’s pale skin was exposed, John chased it with his lips.
Sherlock moaned when John grazed his teeth over a nipple. A low, rumbling growl escaped Sherlock as he reached out and started stripping John. The tee John had been wearing went flying, followed swiftly by the boxers. Sherlock nosed down John’s body to nip at his thigh as John squirmed. Sherlock’s tongue trailed down until he was lapping at the heady wetness John was already producing.
A small cry was torn from John as Sherlock’s tongue teased him. John arched off the bed, curling his fingers in the sheets. “Sherlock, Alpha… please.” Sherlock bit John’s inner thigh, drawing another sharp, moaning cry from him. The heat was still building and Sherlock took his time, using his tongue and fingers to work John open completely, until John was begging, nearly in tears with the need for Sherlock.
Sherlock crawled over John, gazing down at him, taking in the sight of the blond hair and blue eyes, the tanned skin. Sherlock observed John, just drinking in the sight of him until John growled. “God damn it, Sherlock. Fuck me.”
With a rough thrust, Sherlock sank into John, drawing moans from both of them. Sherlock leaned down, kissing John as he wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s hips. They moved together, Sherlock nosing down to John’s neck, seeking out the gland he would need to burst to trigger the bonding process.
Teeth dragged over the gland as Sherlock felt his knot begin to swell and John begged, half out of his head with want and need. His nails raked down Sherlock’s back. When Sherlock’s knot caught, he bit hard. John cried out as he came, spilling between them. The scent change and the heady rush of endorphins, combined with the pleasure of John pulsing around him, milking him sent Sherlock into such a sudden orgasm he nearly passed out, face buried in John’s neck.
After a few minutes of ragged breathing and whimpers from John that Sherlock soothed with tender kisses and licks, Sherlock eased them over to their sides. They lay there in the morning light filtering through the windows and a small smile dawned on Sherlock’s face as he gazed at John.
“Mine.” Sherlock growled as he nuzzled and kissed John’s brow.
John huffed a small, gentle laugh and murmured, “Always, Sherlock… always.”