Chapter 1: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
It was an unusually quiet night inside 221B especially with the fact that its two occupants were at home.
John was minding his business making his tea when it all broke out. One moment, John was stirring his tea, the second he was being pinned down by a muddled eyed Sherlock, his teeth buried into John's scent gland ripping through sensitive skin.
"What the hel—" John was silenced by a growl coming from the Alpha.
'Bloody hell, he's in rut!' John thought to himself. He mentally calculated how long it had been since Sherlock's last Rut, and boy was it a surprise? It had exactly been six months since then. How can they miss that very important detail?
Oh right, they'd just had a bloody exciting case which no doubt had taken their minds off of the bloody date.
Realizing what it meant to fight an Alpha in rut, he just lay there compliant to whatever the Alpha did.
Finally releasing his neck, the Alpha licked the mark he had made instinctively reassuring the Omega that everything will be alright. The now instinct driven Omega gave out a small whine in response now nuzzling the Alpha above him.
John, through his hazed consciousness felt the Alpha pick him up and he felt himself being carried somewhere and was laid down to a soft mattress which he now registered as a bed.
Clothes were removed as the Alpha continued scenting and licking him all over.
~X~
Two days later found an anxiously pacing Alpha inside that same bedroom.
"Sherlock?~" Sherlock stared into the Omega's eyes.
Sherlock ran into the man's side as he saw him have a bit of difficulty sitting up. He helped him up with gentle hands only to be stunned to see the Omega's full upper body as the blanket fell from it's place.
There sat John Watson, his best and only friend, body full of bruises that didn't need Sherlock's deduction to know who and how all of those were made.
HE left them there. In the throes of his lust filled Rut, he had hurt John. He had hurt the only person he'd sworn to never hurt again after he faked his death.
Sherlock ran out of his bedroom—from their flat away from Baker Street, and away from John.