John has finally done it.
After the long and arduous task of trying to hold himself together, John Hamish Watson has finally managed to hit rock bottom. He'd tried so hard to hold on to the tiny sliver of hope that perseveres in the minds of independent Omegas everywhere, but it was obvious, as evidenced by the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his throbbing temple, that he failed miserably. What was once his weapon against a society that threatened the freedom of every living Omega on the planet has now become the key ingredient in his soon-to-be demise.
The funny thing, though? None of this would be presently happening if it wasn't for the jackass on bended knee beside him. Once upon a time, John could have taken one glimpse at those dark locks and piercing blue eyes and retched in disgust, but now? As much as every part of his mind wanted to hate him, all John could feel when he looked at the bastard was love. It filled him with unwanted admiration and idolatry, the unmistakable scent of his Alpha making the inner Omega within him purr in contentment . . . asshole.
At this point in time, you as the reader are probably inquiring as to just how in the hell Mr. Watson go to this point, but you need not fear. Everything will be explained with as much gusto as a narrator can manage when recounting a tale of this magnitude. A story of passion, betrayal, and cold-blooded murder awaits your eager eyes, so this story shall now begin with what one hopes is an interesting scene to bear witness to, involving an eve of darkest night that sets into motion the harrowing journey of one John Watson, and the arranged marriage that would either be his salvation . . . or his downfall.
*Laughs maniacally*. . . ahem, sorry.
"Put something on that, quick!"
In the corner of the room, far away from the prying eyes of its occupants, a burly gentleman of forty-seven and a half stepped in view to gaze confusedly at the panicking old man before him. "What?" he asked, accent heavy with disdain.
"Cold compresses!" the other man admonished, outstretched fingers pointing to the sky. "An ice bag, a slab of meat. Something!"
Kneeling at the feet of a damsel in distress, he placed his hands on her thighs in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, concern and unmovable devotion shining through his eyes. "Are you quite alright, my darling Agatha?"
Agatha Holmes clutched her cheek with care, breathing deeply as she ran the digits of her other hand through what was left of the old man's white hair. "There's really no need to fret, Barnabas. I'm just . . . sore." Agatha, being the overly dramatic woman that she was, then made a show of putting both of her palms against her face in feigned sorrow, sighing forlornly. "Oh, so sore."
"Oh, my darling," Barnabas wept, kissing her knees. "My poor, sweet Agatha."
As Mr. Holmes comforted his wife, the burly man from earlier was about to voice his displeasure with the couple when someone from behind him said, "Oh, for God's sake. Can we cut the dramatics and focus on the matter at hand, please? I'm missing my bridge game!"
Turning around, the man-who's name was Irving-nodded emphatically. "Yes, Mr. Watson. We shall continue with the proceedings." Casting one more disapproving glance at the elderly, Irving addressed Ichabod Watson with intent. "I assume both parties have finally agreed to contractual terms?"
"Negative," Ichabod replied. "The Holmes's still haven't provided an amount regarding the Omega token we'll be receiving as payment for the loss of our son."
"And just how much do you think he's worth?" Barnabas asked loudly, craning his head to better watch the Watson's.
"Fifty thousand pounds."
"FIFTY THOUSAND POUNDS?!" the Holmes's shouted.
"Oh, it's not that unreasonable, dears," Olivia Watson chimed in quietly. "Why, it's much cheaper than the amount that was paid for me-"
"Do shut up, Olivia," Ichabod spat. Whipping his head to Irving, he said, "Fifty thousand and not a pound more!"
The room fell silent as the stench of greed filled the air. Across the street, the sound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata could be heard through the open window, ivory keys darkening the atmosphere with their woeful lamentations. With wind rustling the pale orange leaves of trees made bare by fall, the issue that determined to be taken care of was given nature's soundtrack so that it may know of autumn's understanding and willful participation in giving voice to the urgency of resolution.
Heeding their call, Barnabas sighed, and, after exchanging knowing glances with his wife, acquiesced. "We accept."
"Right," Irving stated. "Now that we finally have this settled after years of discussion, I'm happy to inform you all that we can now cease negotiations regarding the Omega known as John Watson. I shall draw up the papers at once for both parties involved to sign, and then we can marry the two kids off. Now, uh . . . if there's nothing else-"
From the back of the study where everyone was gathered, a man stood with his legs and arms crossed as he leaned against his father's desk. His dark hair and even darker expression immediately put the lawyer in the very awkward position of shuffling nervously in front of his general audience while being interrupted with, "Do you people honestly think this marriage is going to change a thing?"
Everyone in the room tensed at the sound of such a smooth and reptilian voice. With great reluctance, they all acknowledged the threatening presence of such an intimidating character as one would a snake: with caution.
"Mycroft," Barnabas gasped softly. "I didn't even realize you were here."
"Tell me," Mycroft said, walking slowly toward the people basking in the glow of chandelier bulbs, "what exactly is it that you people expect to get from marrying him off to some worthless Omega who won't last more than a week in my brother's presence without wanting to kill himself, hmm? Do you think that by ensuring the bond between these two particular kids that you can somehow mend the rift between our families? Do you truly believe you can attempt to right such wrongs without consequences?"
Ichabod swallowed. It was no surprise to anyone that Mr. Holmes's oldest son was the only person in the world Mr. Watson feared. "Uh . . . well, yes. Look, Mycroft, I know you love your brother, but-"
"My love," he interrupted, placing an emphasis on "love" as if he loathed the very thought of such a concept, "is reserved for myself alone. 'Love' has nothing to do with this. Given that you lot are thoroughly incapable of thought, the burden of rationality seems to have fallen on me now. Logic may escape the minds of goldfish, but it most certainly remains a prisoner within the metaphorical bars of my own. This contract you've agreed to might as well be a death warrant. My brother will never love the Omega the way an Alpha is supposed to. Given your Omega's penchant for independence, he is more than unlikely to accept this marriage anymore than my brat of a sibling will. All this is going to do is stir up more conflict between the Holmes's and the Watson's, resulting in an all out war. Surely, you must know that."
At the blank faces staring back at him, Mycroft sighed as if he were patiently suffering fools. "Am I the only one around here with a brain? Nevermind. Do what you will, but when this whole thing blows up in your face, don't say I didn't warn you. And if you think you're going to come knocking on my door thinking Mycroft is gonna make everything all better then I strongly suggest you put that notion to bed this very instant. I've never been a shoulder to cry on and I don't intend to start now. Well, then. If you'll excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to."
As Mycroft departed, Barnabas let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. The words of his son hung heavy in his heart. He knew deep down that the man was right, but he also knew that he couldn't just sit by and watch the future he'd struggled to secure for his family crumble to the ground because of a petty feud that's been going on for as long as he could remember. While he understood Mycroft's frustration, he felt as if he had no choice but to try the one thing that would enable his lineage to continue unscathed by the Watson's. Knowing that Olivia and Ichabod felt the same gave him peace and strengthened his resolve. No matter what his children said, he would secure the marriage of his son and John Watson, and if it lead to bloodshed, then at least he could say he'd tried everything. Still, only one question remained . . .
How do you get an Alpha and an Omega who don't want love to mate?
As the reader can probably guess, good old Barnabas Holmes was about to find out.
