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There was sweat beginning to bead up on the back of Sherlock's neck. The fine curls there were already damp and clinging, forming a path for the remaining droplets to trickle down until they were absorbed by Sherlock's collar. Watching this mesmerizing process, John felt his mouth watering. He longed to go over there and taste the musky saltiness of Sherlock's skin. There would be just that hint of sugary sweetness, he knew, almost like honey, which betrayed the way that Sherlock's body was preparing itself.
But he didn't dare. For one thing, Sherlock was bent over a very important experiment. This case had been going for nearly five days now, and yet - at least from John's perspective - it seemed like they were no closer to solving it. Sherlock was strung out with frustration and the last thing he'd be interested in was a jaunt between the sheets, particularly with his heat as close as it was. Sex could sometimes be the last little nudge needed to bring heat on, and Sherlock always liked to pretend for as long as possible that this time he might be fortunate enough to bypass it completely.
He never was, of course, but that hardly stopped him from hoping.
John shifted, finally pulling his attention away from his mate's tantalizing neck in favour of doling out some of the Chinese food he'd ordered. "Sherlock, it's been three days since you ate anything," he said, venturing close enough to see that Sherlock was examining what appeared to be a dead maggot. "Come on. You need to eat."
"Go away."
The order was sharp and crisp, and at any other time John likely would have obeyed. Even now he felt the familiar tug in his midsection that suggested that he leave this stubborn man to work, but he held firm against it. He'd spent years learning how to make his opposing natures cooperate, but it was never easier than when Sherlock was doing something that had the potential to harm himself. His inner alpha wanted to care for its omega, and his inner sub wanted to care for its dom just as badly, and for once it was almost like every part of him was in agreement.
It made it easier to set the plate on the edge of the table and meaningfully push it closer until not even Sherlock would have been capable of ignoring it. "Three days," he repeated firmly.
"The human body is capable of going without food for far longer," Sherlock said carelessly, not lifting his head. "You know that it slows me down."
"I know that it makes you dizzy, light-headed and hard to get along with," John countered, feeling a bolt of frustration when Sherlock just huffed something inaudible and shook his head. "Damn it, Sherlock, would you just eat something already!"
The second the words were out of his mouth, John knew he'd made a mistake. It had taken a long time for the two of them to reach a comfortable place in their relationship, one where the give-and-take suited them more often than not, and that was before they'd mated. But even now there were those moments that knocked it all off kilter, and it was never worse than when Sherlock was perilously close to a heat, when he already felt backed into a biological corner that his psychological nature was rejecting.
Sherlock looked up, just a quick glimpse, through his eyelashes. His eyes were hard and glittering with early fever, and his voice was low and cutting as he said, "You want to give me orders, John? You want to dominate me now? That's fine. Go on, then. Be an alpha and do it."
It stung, even though John tried not to let it get to him, because it was something he'd heard several times during the course of his life. How many times had he been told to just man up already? To stop being so pathetic and weak? He steadied himself against the anger and hurt that churned through him and tried to remember that this was Sherlock lashing out because he felt vulnerable. "There's no need for that, you know. I'm just trying to help."
"That's all you ever do is try to help," Sherlock sneered, knocking the plate off the table. Stir fry, orange chicken and fried rice splattered across the floor as he lunged to his feet, towering over John. Up close, the symptoms of pre-heat were even more noticeable: his eyes were slightly dilated, face flushed, his shirt sticking to him with perspiration. No doubt his heart rate had sped up and his blood sugar had dropped to a dangerous level by now.
Idiot.
"Well, maybe if you were more amenable to being helped I wouldn't have to," John snapped.
"Oh yes, because I'm just a stupid omega. I can't do anything on my own!"
"That's not what I said!"
"That's how it sounded to me! You seem to forget I don't need you, John. I was doing perfectly fine on my own before you showed up. I don't need an alpha trying to tell me what to do!"
"I was just trying to keep you from starving yourself, you bastard!" John yelled, finally losing his patience. "But if that's what you really want to do, who am I to stop you? Go on, then, since you don't need me!"
Sherlock actually growled at him, which brought all of John's alpha instincts, already simmering, flooding to the surface. But before he had the chance to growl back, Sherlock spun away and grabbed his coat. He jerked it on and stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind him so hard that several pieces of mail fell off the mantelpiece and a picture fell from the wall. John winced at the shattering of glass and felt his anger draining from him as quickly as it had come as he surveyed the mess that his mate had left behind.
Thank God that Sherlock only went into heat four times a year. John didn't think that he would be able to handle it happening any more often than that. Granted, it wasn't usually this bad. Being unable to solve a case always made Sherlock more difficult to deal with; he took it as a personal slight when he wasn't able to come up with the solution within the first 24 hours, and the longer a case dragged on the worse his temper got. And when the idiots at Scotland Yard got it in their heads to start making slights about omegas who didn't belong in the workplace, well.
Then it was really bad.
John just hoped that he would have the good sense to stay away from the met right then. The scent of heat was still subtle, but within a matter of hours it would be full blown and unmistakeable. Amusing as it would be to watch Sherlock's dom side come out and put the betas and alphas that made up Scotland Yard in their place, it wouldn't do anything to bolster his mood.
He sighed as he crouched down and gathered the larger chunks of plate, setting them aside on the table as he swept up the food and smaller pieces. Cleaning the floor distracted him for a few minutes, but the scent of omega going into heat was just too strong in the flat for him to ignore. He was uncomfortable and half-hard, and finally he tossed everything in the bin and grabbed his own jacket. So long as he had his phone, Sherlock could call him when he finally came to his senses.
The blast of freezing night air that slapped him in the face was a delightful reprieve and John inhaled deeply, pleased when his nostrils tingled from the chill. Away from the flat and the pheromones that were making his heart do funny things, he felt a little silly. He knew he should've done a better job at keeping his temper. Sherlock loathed his heat. Unlike John, who had been forced to face his opposing natures head on from a young age, Sherlock mostly ignored his omega side. But four times a year, that no longer became an option for him.
He should've just left the flat when it started. Heat brought out the worst in both of them, as John's inner alpha demanded that he care for his omega and Sherlock's ability to think clearly started to deteriorate. Some time apart would've given them both some time to cool down, and the flare-up that had just occurred would never have happened.
"Oh well," he muttered, folding his arms across his chest and deciding that he might as well go pick up some milk while he was out and about. Sherlock would return eventually, hopefully with the case solved, and together they would ride out his heat the way they always did - with John flat on his back and Sherlock on top, riding him for all he was worth.
Just the thought of it was enough to make his cock harden again, and he swore under his breath. He drew his jacket more closely over his crotch, wishing that he'd worn looser fitting trousers that would do a better job of hiding his state of arousal, and didn't sense the men coming up behind him until it was too late.
&
Sherlock was in a fury as he blew into Bart's. It took nearly forty minutes for him to set up the experiment again, precious time lost because John couldn't keep it in his pants. He huffed as he sank down into his chair, putting his eye to the microscope. Did John not understand that this case was vital? There was a serial killer running around with children as his target, and the pressure Scotland Yard was putting on Lestrade - and subsequently Sherlock - was enormous.
There was no time for a ridiculous biological reaction, never mind one that would put him out of commission for up to five days, and every time John started this ludicrous mother-henning it just made everything that much worse. He could practically feel the process speeding up when John hovered over him; his body temperature rose, it became harder to concentrate, his stomach ached with cramps, and he had the frustrating desire to tip his head back and let John bite him.
Fortunately, his other nature always kicked in before that happened, and he usually reciprocated by barking out an order of some kind. John would usually obey, even if it was with much grumbling, and the warm glow of satisfaction Sherlock received from that little ritual was enough to lessen the impact of his heat, however temporarily.
In this case, however... he growled again, low under his breath, and hunched his shoulders in increasing frustration. John had yelled back and the hint of alpha red suffusing his eyes suggested that he was not going to be so easily led astray this time. His alpha was too close to the surface, which was why Sherlock had made the (rare) decision to stage a tactical retreat. His inner dom and John's alpha rarely had the opportunity to clash anymore, but the results could be explosive to say the least. That little fight was nothing compared to what had happened in the past.
He dropped his gaze to the microscope again and spent several useless minutes staring into space before his phone rang. Startled, Sherlock jerked away and nearly sent the whole thing to the floor. Annoyed, he grabbed his phone and barked out a stern, "What?"
"Sherlock, we think John's been kidnapped."
It took way too long for Sherlock's brain to process that vital bit of information, and when it did he gripped the table for stability. "What?"
"I got a text," Lestrade said. He sounded tired. "It was from the serial killer. He wants you off the case."
Sherlock chuckled. "Of course he does."
"This is serious. He sent me a picture. It doesn't... look good."
A dull roaring in Sherlock's ears made it a little difficult to hear Lestrade, but he managed. "I am not quitting this case, Lestrade. If he has resorted to these desperate measures, then it means I'm getting close to an answer. Besides, do you think he will just give John back?" He closed his eyes briefly, stomach churning as photographs of the serial killer's work flashed before him.
"One could hope," Lestrade muttered grimly. "But I thought I would point it out to you anyway, just to make sure that you were aware and to cover my arse when John gets back. I have someone trying to trace the number the texts came from right now. I'm not sure how successful they'll be, but I figured it was worth a shot. And I'll keep trying to trace the GPS on John's phone, just in case he manages to turn it on."
"Yes," Sherlock said, only half-listening. It was getting difficult to think for an entirely different reason now. Very rarely did his natures come together in cohesion, and yet right now both of them were clamouring with the desire to find John immediately. Find him and bring him home, back to the flat, and he gripped the table harder to keep himself from bolting blindly out of the room. Until he knew where John was, he was better off exactly where he was.
He blinked, suddenly realizing that Lestrade wasn't speaking anymore, that there might have been silence over the line for a minute or more.
Then Lestrade said, very gently, "We're going to find him, Sherlock."
"I know," said Sherlock. Normally he would not have hesitated to fly into a rage over Lestrade treating him with anything less than professional courtesy so close to his heat, even though there was no way Lestrade could have known about his state right then. Lestrade was a beta dom and surprisingly accepting of Sherlock's status - he'd never once made a reference to giving Sherlock a good hard fucking to show him his place, the way many doms and alphas did - but in bad times even his physical nature could get the better of him.
But he didn't. For once, a cooler voice that sounded suspiciously like John's prevailed, pointing out that Lestrade's help was imperative right then. Sherlock couldn't afford to say anything that might upset the detective and hinder their progress in any way.
He wiped a hand across his increasingly damp forehead, grimacing, knowing that it wouldn't be long at all before the omega side of him took over and drove him into a state of pure lust. Nothing would sate the flames licking through his body but an alpha; that lesson had been burned into him a long time ago during the agonizing heats he'd spent on his own, refusing to bow to anyone, and it would be worse now that his body had come to expect an alpha's attention.
For John's sake and his own, their time to get John back was limited.
"I'm just working on some experiments that I believe will yield information as to the killer's identity," he growled into the phone. "I will contact you if I find anything useful."
Without waiting for Lestrade's response, he hung up. He took a deep breath and sat at the counter. After a moment of careful analysis through the microscope, he scraped a bit of his sample onto a different slide, added a chemical and set it inside the computer. He pressed the tips of his fingers together and waited for his suspicions to be confirmed or denied.
If it weren't for the fight that morning, he and John would have been at home right then. For all of his mother-henning, John was usually very respectful near the start of a heat. His unique brand of patience and stubbornness came out in full force and somehow, it just worked. Right about now, the two of them would likely have just showered - because John was nothing if not practical, knowing that for the next few days they would be hard-pressed to separate for more than five minutes at a time, never mind shower - and would be settling down in bed together.
He closed his eyes, imagining the scene perfectly. John sprawled out underneath him, his flesh still dotted with beads of water from a lack of drying. He always looked so gorgeous when his hair was plastered to his head, turning the fine blond strands almost brown. His eyes would be glassy with lust from the pheromones; the knot around his cock would be hard and ready to pop at the slightest additional stimulation. And he would be growling, eyes bright with that glint of possessive alpha red as Sherlock ground down against him, teasing them both.
It never frightened him to see John's alpha come out to play when they were in bed. Not when Sherlock still knew that he could order the man down with enough intent. If anything, it excited him more to see the control John had learned to exercise to bring his natures into enough cohesion to not go insane when they were both so close to the surface. It was as much a mental exercise as it was physical and the blend was enough to make Sherlock even more excited than his heat alone would dictate, not that he'd ever let on as much to John.
Sherlock had met one or two other alpha subs in his time, mostly due to his brother's interference - Mycroft, never one to accept no an answer, had been trying to get him mated since Sherlock had presented and made it clear that he would not be accepting the attention of any alpha or beta doms. He'd never clicked with a beta sub, or the handful of alpha subs Mycroft had managed to dig up.
But then, he had never met someone like John, and he knew he never would again. He had to get John back and he had to make sure whoever had taken him would pay.
He turned his head slowly as the computer beeped.
&
At least he wasn't aroused anymore.
That was the first thought that went through John's head, along with the realization that his shoulder was killing him and his wrists were getting sore. No matter how many times his hands were cuffed behind his back, he never could get used to it.
He grimaced, lifting his head a little, and heard faint whispers.
" - don't think it was a good idea -"
"It's too late now. I sent it while you were out."
"That was stupid! We've managed to dodge them so far, but now they have a direct link to us -"
"You idiot, I didn't send it from my phone. I'm not stupid. Besides, what do you think an omega is going to do to us?"
A lot more than you think, John longed to say. He swallowed the words, knowing that it would do him little good. God knew he'd heard enough comments about himself spoken in a similar vein; besides, if these idiots were willing to underestimate Sherlock Holmes, that was their problem. Not his. It wouldn't be John who ended up sentenced to a life in prison for murdering people.
He propped himself up on an elbow and ran his fingers along the cuffs, pleased to realize that he recognized the make and model. For once, it seemed that one of Sherlock's exasperating experiments would actually be helpful. One afternoon about five months ago, Sherlock had whined and begged and pleaded until John agreed to be handcuffed several times so that Sherlock could test how long it took for him to get free each time. After all that practice, this would be nothing.
And at least this time he could actually concentrate on the cuffs as opposed to a consulting detective between his thighs that was slowly sucking his cock as a distraction.
There was enough debris on the warehouse floor that John easily found something to pick the lock on the cuffs. In a matter of minutes he was sitting up and gingerly rubbing his aching shoulder. The whispers in the other room hadn't abated, and he wasn't sure what he was having more trouble with: that he had actually let himself be kidnapped by those two, or that Sherlock had been unable to figure out who they were. Because from the sound of it, neither one of them was terribly bright.
"It has to be luck," he muttered to himself, slowly flexing his arm. It hurt, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. He got to his feet and switched his phone on - for God's sake, they hadn't even bothered to remove it from his pocket! - and loudly cleared his throat.
The conversation in the other room finally stopped. Then there were footsteps, shuffling rapidly towards John. He watched with his best bored-Sherlock impression as two men stepped in. Both of them were taller than he was, well muscled and scowling, and now he could understand how they had killed so many people. One of them had a gun, but curiously he had chosen not to point it at John. It hung loosely by his side. The other possessed no weapon at all. John found out why all too quickly.
"Kneel!" barked the one on the right, letting a curl of alpha dom into his voice. It was the sort of command that would've sent an omega sub to their knees instantly.
At one time John would've been affected by that kind of order, too. Alpha or not, he was a sub too and the desire to obey was ingrained as deeply within him as anyone else. But the army had gone a long way towards curing him of that particular affliction. With pigheaded alpha doms dying to put the alpha sub "in his rightful place" surrounding him at all times, he'd had two options: learn to deal with it and work through the instinctive reaction or quit.
John Watson did not quit.
He suppressed the urge, forbidding his knees to buckle, and stood strong. "No."
"He said kneel!" the one on the left growled. He too, was an alpha dom, though less powerful. Made sense as to why he was the one carrying the gun. Over-compensating. John smirked a little.
It probably wasn't his wisest move. Both of them looked equally pissed, but it was the one on the left that moved first. In a handful of steps, he was looking over John and the gun was pointing squarely in his face. The muzzle was so close it was brushing his lips, and a shot from so close would definitely be fatal. Despite that, John let his eyes trail slowly up the barrel, looking the alpha straight in the eyes.
"No," he said again, softer but no less firm. Now he knew why he'd been the one kidnapped instead of Sherlock, and although it wasn't surprising it still made him angry. Omega, beta or alpha, subs were always considered the weakest.
The alpha trembled with rage. "Then I'll shoot you."
"No!" the other alpha snapped. He approached and grabbed for the gun, pulling it away from John. "If you kill him, we won't have any leverage. I'm not going to prison, man."
"You're right," John said, though he find it amusing that these two would still believe they had any chance to escape prison. "You keep that up and you're not."
He lashed out, punching the alpha with a weapon in the face - army basics, neutralize the enemy who was most dangerous first. The guy went down with a pathetic little cry, dropping the gun. John kicked it with his foot, sending it spinning across the floor and out of reach. Then he spun to intercept the other alpha who was lunging at him with a roar.
It was almost too easy. If John had learned one thing over the years, it was that the old saying about being bigger and falling harder was actually true. He met this alpha was a solid blow to the stomach and then a knee to the face, watching with satisfaction as the guy hit the floor on his back with blood gushing from his broken nose.
By that time, the first alpha was back on his feet and pulling another gun from a holster on his ankle. He pointed it at John and cocked the trigger. "I'll fucking shoot you, I swear!"
"Go ahead. It's not the first time I've been shot," John replied. Even as he spoke he knew it was a stupid thing to say, but he couldn't help himself. He was damn tired of every alpha dom thinking that they could either take advantage of him or bend him to their will just because of his sub nature. They always seemed to forget that he was an alpha, too, and a damn good one at that.
The alpha looked at his friend on the floor, then back at John. For a moment John honestly thought that he was going to be shot again. But then the alpha turned on his heel and took off for the exit.
John watched him go, not making any move to go after him. He'd already noticed what the two alphas had not, and that was the familiar lights of Scotland Yard shining through the windows as cars screeched to a stop outside. That alpha was going to run straight into the arms of the police, and he had no interest in wasting his energy running after him.
Instead, he walked over to the gun that he'd kicked away and picked it up, automatically switching the safety on. The alpha on the ground was whimpering so pathetically over his broken nose that there was really no need for a weapon to keep him under control. Still, John kept the firearm close and waited.
It took about ten minutes for the police to actually enter the building. Lestrade was one of the first, wearing a look of profound relief as he spotted John. "Thank God," he said emphatically as he strode over.
"Good to see you too -" John began.
Lestrade cut him off. "Take that bloody omega of yours home and just - do something with him before he makes someone else cry. Not only is he pissed that you got kidnapped, he's throwing a tantrum over the fact that he didn't catch these idiots before they kidnapped you. It's like trying to make a cranky toddler behave, honestly."
John couldn't help it; he laughed as he handed the firearm over. "Does that mean you want to wait to take my statement?"
"Just go," Lestrade said, waving him off. "If I need to track you down, I know where you live." He wrinkled his nose, adding, "And I'll be sure to knock first."
"Probably wise," John said with a nod, already walking away. His shoulder was still sore and the back of his head was throbbing a little from the physical exertion, but none of that mattered right now. Not when he could already smell the first sweet notes of heat, even from this distance. He headed quickly for the exit.
Sherlock was waiting outside, arms crossed and scowling ferociously at the alpha in the backseat of the police car. "I would have caught them," he announced as soon as John was within earshot. "I got my test results tonight and deduced that there was two of them and that broke the case, right before Lestrade called to tell me they'd been able to trace the GPS in your phone."
"I know," John said, attempting to sound consoling and not like he really wanted to jump Sherlock. Up close, Sherlock's scent was incredible. It was a true testament to Sherlock's self-control that the omega dom didn't appear to be affected at all. Or at least, not unless you knew him the way that John did. He could tell that Sherlock was unravelling, and his pulse was thumping from sheer excitement.
"Are you hurt?" Sherlock demanded, turning to look at him. "They sent Lestrade a picture. Your shoulder..."
"It's fine. I just want to go home. If," he added, making his voice softer, "that's what you want, too." He hoped so, but after the events of the night he wasn't sure if Sherlock would want to be touched or not. Wasn't even sure if that was a choice. But he would try if that's what Sherlock wanted.
"Yes," Sherlock said, after what seemed like an impossibly long silence, much to John's relief. It wouldn't be long before either one of them were unable to hold back. "Let's go."
&
Because it was John, and he had the annoying tendency to take his duties seriously, he still insisted that they shower when they got back to the flat. Sherlock didn't have it in him to argue, for once, silently stripping his clothing off. He grimaced as he pulled his pants down, displeased by the sight of the slick that had practically glued the material to his thighs. It was an unpleasant feeling at best, especially because there was more slick slowly oozing out of him.
He kicked his clothing into a heap and turned to find that John was watching with a hungry look in his eyes. The smell of lust was pungent in the air and Sherlock swallowed. But he didn't reach for Sherlock, instead turning to switch the shower on. Steam began to fill the room, and so it was Sherlock who closed the distance between them. He took John into his arms and kissed him deeply, letting his own hunger surge to the surface for the first time since the tell-tale cramps had hit him yesterday morning.
John sighed into the kiss, his arms coming up automatically around Sherlock's back. His fingers were gentle, his touch light, as he skimmed the length of Sherlock's spine. Sherlock tensed a little, but John made no move to let his hands drop any further. Even though it had to be torture, because the alpha in him would have been yearning to claim its omega, John wouldn't touch until Sherlock told him it was okay.
And that wasn't just about the dom/sub aspect of their dynamic, either. That was just John.
Sherlock purred, pleased nonetheless, and pushed until John obeyed and stepped blindly backwards into the shower. That broke the kiss between them, and when John tipped his head back into the spray Sherlock caught a glimpse of his shoulder. There was no outward trauma, or rather nothing new, but there was some swelling, and he could tell by the careful way John was moving that his head hurt, too. They would have to be careful.
But that was fine. Unlike most omegas, Sherlock was capable of that kind of control. John was his to protect and he would be as cautious as necessary. Even though he felt the ache of emptiness, a hollowness that dogged his every thought, he focused on getting them both clean. Or at least, getting them clean enough that John wouldn't fuss.
It didn't take long. Barely had the last trace of soap been washed away did John growl, his eyes taking on that faint hint of alpha red. He was fully hard now, the knot around the base of his cock ready to swell and lock them both together, and Sherlock breathed out shakily in response, clenching his thighs together in need as the surge of raw want washed over him. The hot water felt almost cold compared to the heat inside of him.
Half of him wanted to roll over and present like a bitch in heat, but the other half of him demanded that he not give in. It was a conflicting set of impulses, even stronger than usual because of the arousal burning through him, that gave him pause as they stumbled into the bedroom, both of them still dripping wet.
John, on the other hand, knew exactly what to do. He sat down on the bed and gripped Sherlock's thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He pulled Sherlock down on top of him, giving Sherlock no choice but to fall.
"Come on," John hissed, his hands pushing Sherlock's thighs open, not letting him squeeze them shut again. "I want you."
"John," Sherlock said, not sure whether it was supposed to be a command or a plea. His arse and his legs were drenched with more than just water, slick literally dripping out of him. He was shaking as he squirmed, trying to get into position.
John helped, taking hold of his cock, using his free hand to find Sherlock's hole. He pressed his cockhead to that greedy place and Sherlock gasped at the promise of fulfilment, his legs going weak at both the feeling and the look of desire on John's face. He sank down from lack of support and John's cock slipped in, just a few inches, before John's hand around his cock stopped their progress.
They were breathing together now, though not very well, and the hunger in Sherlock overcame him. He snarled and reached down, knocking John's hand away, roughly sliding down until almost all of John's cock was inside. Only the knot remained, and Sherlock rocked slowly back and forth in consideration of the tantalizing promise as John moaned so prettily beneath him.
"Damn," he whispered once he'd caught his breath, staring up at Sherlock with glazed eyes. "You always make this so difficult, but you feel so good."
Sherlock managed to smirk, but he was more preoccupied with the fact that it wasn't enough to just have something inside. He'd learned that lesson years ago. Anything less than a knot while he was in heat was like looking into a petty theft as opposed to a really intriguing murder: unsatisfying. And this was John, which made it better still. He mustered his strength and lifted himself up, but couldn't bear to go more than an inch or two before he dropped.
Some omegas liked it when their alphas teased them, and some subs didn't have the choice. Sherlock had never been one of them. He was all about the instant gratification; John had what he wanted and he was going to get it. He began fucking himself ruthlessly on John's cock, fighting to get his body to soften up just that last little bit so the knot could fit inside.
John moaned again, his fingers clamped onto Sherlock's hips. He helped as best he could, though his shoulder was clearly paining him whenever he tried to lift Sherlock's weight with his left arm. Sherlock rested his hands on John's biceps to stop him, relishing in the way that John's moans grew even louder when Sherlock pinned him down. He was so alive, his face flushed red and his mouth hanging open as he panted, his chest heaving and his hips shifting.
Even in the midst of the frenzied lust that had temporarily taken over his mind, Sherlock found himself rubbing a slow circle on John's arm with his thumb. For a split second their eyes caught and held.
Then John gritted his teeth, put his feet flat on the bed and thrust up with all of his strength.
A choked groan escaped in spite of Sherlock's best efforts to hold it back as the knot shoved inside, caught and held. His arms trembled and he fell against John, struggling for air as a familiar rush of dampness filled him. Against the burning of his heat, it was a cool feeling that seemed to dim the fire. Sweat trickled down his forehead, but he was no longer consumed with the horrible wanting.
"Don't," he warned, already knowing what would happen next.
John just grunted, his hips moving in tiny circles as he pumped come into his omega, and shifted a hand between them to reach for Sherlock's cock. After all these months he knew exactly how to touch Sherlock, how to be tender and unrelenting when Sherlock tried weakly to shift away, and it was only a matter of minutes before Sherlock came with a breathless sob.
"I hate it when you do that," he rasped, his face smushed uncomfortably into John's ribs. If he could have, he would've got up and flounced out. As it was, they were stuck together for at least a half hour. First knots usually lasted longer, so it could be as long as an hour. He scowled as the body beneath him shook with laughter.
"I don't care. You can't go through three to five days of heat without coming, Sherlock. That's not how it works. Not only is it physically impossible, it would be uncomfortable at best and cruel at worst. I'm supposed to take care of you, you know."
Sherlock shifted enough to give him a glare, but John just smiled fondly. He let go of Sherlock's cock and cupped the back of his head instead, asking for a kiss.
"I could do it," Sherlock muttered childishly even as their lips met. When the kiss broke, he allowed John to move them both to a more comfortable position on their sides. Like this, he could reach up and carefully, slowly stroke John's hair as the adrenaline faded from them both. The tension gradually faded from John's body, and he relaxed as he curled in closer.
After a moment, he chuckled again, and his voice was warm when he murmured into Sherlock's throat, "The point is, you don't have to."