To Belong Chapter 1: Strays in the Alley, a sherlock fanfic

John slowly swiveled to face the man – Sherlock – slumped on the ground struggling to remove his coat. God, was he high right now? "No." John exhaled slowly, struggling to keep his voice steady and slow, "Sorry, Sherlock's in a bit of trouble."

John was certain these late nights were going to be the death of him. The cold, bitter brown liquid he just polished off was at least the fourth refill of coffee since he sat down hours earlier. He glared blearily at the dregs clinging to the bottom of the paper cup before he set it aside and drove his now free fingers through his already tousled hair – he was in desperate need of a trim. He scrubbed a hand over exhausted eyes and hunched over the book laid out in front of him, attempting to refocus on the printed diagrams, but the text was nothing but one big blurry blob of nonsense. It was time to go home.

He flipped the textbook shut and leaned back, body stretching over the stiff library chair. His last – biggest – exam was in two days and he felt no more prepared than he had four, no, six hours ago. John grimaced as he double-checked the digital clock on his phone. Definitely time to go home.

He packed up the Atlas of Human Anatomy as well as his scattered notes into the black hole that was his backpack. He slung the thread barren thing – its days numbered – over his shoulder and headed for the exit. God, that reminded him. The Christmas holidays were closing in and he needed to ask for additional shifts at the coffee shop. Anything to bloat his meager income; a new bag was just one on a grand list of things John needed.

The night air kicked John out of his tired musings the moment he cracked the library door open. He wasn't exactly dressed for the temperature drop and the crisp air bit through his thin coat no matter how close he wrapped it around himself. His fingers curled into jacket pockets and his shoulders rolled in an attempt to clear the ache that had built through hours stooped in old library chairs. There was nothing for it, better just to toughen up and get home quick, so John steeled his resolve and began to walk.

Most of the buildings he passed were dark now and the usually crowded pavements were empty. In an effort to save money, he opted to rent a flat with roommates instead of taking residence in the dorms. Back when he was just starting university he'd been lucky to stumble into Mike Stamford in his quest for a cheap room; John was a stranger to London, and his gender really didn't help – not everyone was exactly eager to bunk with an alpha they didn't know. Not when Alphas tended to be territorial and violent when angry.

It had been a year and a half since he moved in and the four of them somehow managed to survive each other, not that there weren't the occasional tiffs. The flat wasn't exactly grand in size and privacy was a struggle sometimes. In fact, John was looking forward to having the flat alone this Christmas. Come the end of exams he would be the only one not traveling for holiday. Perfect.

John's lips twitched into a quick grin at the thought. Mike was kind enough to offer an invitation to his parent's for Christmas dinner after John mentioned he was staying in for the holidays, but John had politely declined. He'd as little interest intruding on another family's Christmas as he'd in intruding on his own. Mike had taken it in stride and promptly announced they would all have a farewell night at the pub once exams were over, and didn't that sound grand? Something to put the long semester behind him.

A brisk wind picked up around him, his shoulders hunched against it and the weight of the weathered bag shifted uncomfortably against his back. These last few months hadn't been completely terrible, admittedly. His grades were decent – better than decent – and he just needed a good result on this last exam to finish the semester with honors. Yet, there were several long years still ahead of him now – this future he had mapped out for himself felt like a mountain looming in front of him. He knew he wanted to help people, he wanted to save lives. He knew the challenges coming into uni, but regardless, the cost of it alone was –

John's thoughts shuttered to a halt as hushed voices reached his ears: low, but harsh and rough. His gaze lifted to the empty street in front of him, shifting from one side to the other until they settled on the gap between two darkened buildings. The sounds were coming from the alley in between and John's steps slowed while he strained to listen.

Only the street lights and shop windows lit the road, leaving the alleyway in shadows; if he walked across the entrance, he'd be a sitting duck for thugs waiting to mug hapless, sleep-deprived medical students. Were they muggers? Not very good ones, making so much noise like they were. He thought maybe it was a drug deal, but this was hardly the prime location. The closer John crept the clearer the voices became, but all he could discern so far was that there were two of them, and they didn't sound like they were playing nice. He could hear scuffling now, someone shoved someone else, stumbled steps dragged along the concrete. John pressed his back against the bricked corner and tilted his head towards the opening, hoping to see more. Maybe they weren't facing the entrance and he could walk by unnoticed? But it sounded as if someone was in trouble.

The smell struck him so sudden that John's knees nearly buckled from under him. Omega. His nostrils flared, his eyes widened, and his entire body was suddenly drumming with alpha anticipation. It was an omega in the beginnings of a heat.

The smell drifted from alleyway in waves. John's fingers curled into fists as a mantra of dread swarmed between his ears – his body buzzed with a need to fuck and his trousers were suddenly too tight. Hissing out a breath between his teeth, John tried to calm the lust that was steamrolling his logic, there was something wrong: he was picking up the scents of another alpha. Gods, what had he stumbled into? This sort of thing was illegal – and it didn't sound consensual.

John gathered up his resolve and lurched forward without a second thought to the danger. The lights were at his back as he stepped into the alley, eyes squinting at the shadows. He couldn't pinpoint anyone in the dark, but he could smell them, one as heavenly as the other one hellish.

"Enough!" He shouted into the dark, focus turning quickly to two shadows that jumped at the sudden noise. Two men, John could barely see now, one pressing the other against the mildewed brickwork. John's march didn't falter until he was close enough to present an obvious threat. Neither had a weapon John could spot, the omega was shoved against the wall and he wasn't fighting back at this point – whatever protests John had heard outside the alley had ended with his appearance. The omega's scent saturated the air here and his head was slumped back against the brick. Light from the street barely reached the three of them now, but John could see dark curls a striking counter to the pale face it framed.

From the moment he laid eyes on that shadowed face, John ached to touch, to run his fingers through that hair, to slide them down and – John's gaze turned down to the omega's broad chest, his coat had been shoved back, his shirt forced up, and the offending alpha's hand's were frozen against his pale skin at the curve of his hip – pinning the omega with fingers stuffed down trousers. No. No, that shouldn't be happening. John let out a threatening growl, his scorching gaze focused once again on the looming alpha.

"This isn't none of your business," The man swung around to face John, one hand still pressed into omega flesh. He stepped between John and the helpless omega and John got a better look at the guy, he was tall – taller than John – but gaunt with an unnaturally hollowed face and stringy brown hair. Drug addict? Diseased? Homeless? All the more reason to remove him as a threat – this was so obviously not consensual.

"He isn't any of your business, either," John must not have appeared very threatening in his thin coat, bookbag still slung over one shoulder, but he was all too ready to fight the bastard off. His lips curled back, baring his teeth at the man, "Get away from him!"

The alpha sneered back, sunken eyes glazed with lust flickering between the omega and John as his tongue darted out, licking nervously at dry lips. The man's hesitation was clear as day. He was a good twenty years John's senior, and looked too lanky to be a real threat and maybe he knew that. Maybe he was smart enough not to fight.

"I'll snap your bloody neck," John bit out between clenched teeth, he was surprised at his own fierce words, but they kept coming. "Wouldn't be hard. Maybe I'll break your legs, let you drag yourself home." As he spoke he took another step and this time the man retreated in kind, the words enough to drive him from his claim. With the next step John took, the man turned and ran.

"Fuck it, you can have him," the man yelled in retreat and John only allowed himself to relax when the man was out of sight. God what was he thinking, that man could have had a knife, or something worse, and yet he was disappointed; his blood was singing. He would have won that – he'd have proven himself better for his claim. His fingers ached as he unclenched his fists and his eyes snapped back to the omega. Right. More important matters.

The omega man had slid down the wall while John was chasing off the alpha, his head was tilted back now, exposing a long column of neck and his chest heaved in deep gulps of breath as he writhed and squirmed. He was unequivocally beautiful, and he smelled of paradise.

"Amazing," John whimpered, his own cracked voice shook him from his revelry and his words caught up to him. Shit, he was in trouble here. He bit down on his tongue and stepped back from the vulnerable omega, "Is there someone you can call? Anyone that can get you somewhere safe?" John tried, hoping the man was coherent enough to get himself help.

A deep, shameless moan resonated through the alley as long, pale fingers worked down the omega's thigh. "Hot, I need.." The man's voice dripped out like syrup, deep and desperate, and John could feel his cock throb in sympathy.

"Y-yeah," John muttered, tongue darting out to wet dry lips, teeth biting at his lower while he tried to think. "You've got to have a phone, come on." John edged forward, eyes darting one way then the other to ensure they were still alone before he crouched over the omega and reached for his jacket pockets. As he dug, the omega tilted forward, trembling fingers digging into John's coat to latch on. The icy air was suddenly entirely too hot as a sultry breath caressed his bare neck.

"You smell nice," The deep, mesmerizing voice rumbled centimeters from his ear; a warm wetness swiped across John's prickled skin.

"Oh Christ!" John lurched into reverse, jerking away from the omega and nearly tumbled onto his own arse. His fingers held tight around the phone he'd ripped from the omega's pocket and he stumbled to a stand, away from the omega's reach. Those pale eyes lifted to his and suddenly John felt pinned where he stood. Suddenly, those eyes were bright and clear as they darted over him, piercing down to his very soul, and John was helpless to stop it. As soon as it began the moment passed, the omega's eyes flickered, then closed as he moaned his discomfort. John didn't know what to do, his mind buzzing with static. He wanted, so badly, but there was a man in there, beyond the desperate hunger. He saw it in that brief moment of clarity. John could run? No, he couldn't leave this man here.. wanting.

"Please..." The sultry voice begged, shifting, legs spreading, presenting to John. "It hurts. I need you. Your cock."

John could. He could so easily, that was the problem. His eyes squeezed shut and he struggled to turn around. "No. No, no, no, no," The words came quick as his focus shot down to the mobile. He was better than this, than his base desires. He quickly scrolling through the phone book, "You're not in your right mind and fuck... neither am I," his gaze flickered over the contacts, but no names stood out – no hints to who could save them both. Instead, he went to last called (Lestrade, it so vaguely labelled) and jabbed the redial button.

As he pulled the phone to his ear, he took in a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, it did little when all he could smell was the fog of want floating off the omega. God help him. Nothing prepared him for this, "Pick up, god damned you.."

"Sherlock?" A voice came over the line after four rings, groggy and a bit miffed. Lestrade, he assumed, "Please, don't tell me you're high again."

The first thing that went through John's mind was 'Sherlock? Who names a kid 'Sherlock'?'

The second was 'Oh shit, he's an addict.'

"What? Who is this?" Lestrade snapped, he sounded wide awake and suspicious now. "Sherlock alright?"

"He's fine," John answered, eyes skittering between alley entrances once again and, once again, they were alone. "He was having a bit of a row, but don't worry, I broke it up. He's... he's a bit compromised. He's gone into – he's... well, he's in heat."

"Shit," Lestrade spat out, his voice strained, "Where are you?"

John glanced toward the mouth of the alley. What street was he on again? Fuck, he took this road every day, why couldn't he remember? His eyes flickered back to Sherlock; the man was successful in removing his coat, but now he was staring fervently at John while he attempted to strip his already torn shirt. John swallowed thickly. "James Street."

There was a groan and a curse on the other side of the line, "He lives two roads away from there. Can you get him back yourself? I'm already on my way. I can text the address."

John's brow furrowed as he watched Sherlock. Had he been on his way home when he was jumped? What the hell was he doing out in the first place if he'd known his heat was coming? Shit. John squeezed his eyes shut, "Yeah. Yeah, I can get him there. Just hurry?"

"Call if anything happens," There was a pause before the line dropped off and John suddenly felt like an idiot. Why hadn't he told Lestrade the truth? He was an alpha and he was a danger to Sherlock, he should just walk away now – no, he should call Lestrade back and tell him to come get Sherlock himself. If he didn't, John could do something he and Sherlock would both regret… in a day or two. The way he was staring at John, it was becoming harder and harder to think that was such a bad idea.

He couldn't leave – other alphas would come. Someone else would claim him before he got to safety. NO. John snarled out into the cold air. No one else could have him! The phone buzzed at him and his eyes jerked down, thank fuck the address was close.

"Come on," John snapped out, his gaze roaming over Sherlock once more. Sherlock. What a weird name, it seemed to fit the man in front of him though. The tall, dark haired man with eyes that smoldered with heat and maybe whatever drugs he might have in his system. A drug addict. Unbelievable.

"Come on," He just had to focus on getting Sherlock on his feet and back home. Once they started moving, everything would become easier, so he crouched down in front of Sherlock and tugged Sherlock's shirt back into place from where Sherlock had almost managed to get it off. "Keep that on. You'll catch something, otherwise." John warned, but it sounded hollow to his own ears as he snatched Sherlock's jacket and wrapped a hand around the man's upper arm. Sherlock's skin burned under his cold fingers and John tried to ignore the whined protests as the omega was wrenched awkwardly to his feet. The man was tall. He loomed, then stumbled and slumped against John's shorter frame, his head buried against John's neck. His breath was hot and John staunchly ignored what that did to his already aching manhood. With a strained grunt, John dragged Sherlock from the alley and back into the light of the deserted street.

This was a test of his will, John decided. Being so close to Sherlock now, John no longer doubted the power omega's scent wielded over alphas like John. He'd had never been near an omega in heat before – days before, or days after were much more common. In school, it was easy to sniff out the omegas who were skirting the edge and sometimes the professors would have to pull them out of class but it never turned into this, a mistake of waiting too late, getting caught exposed and vulnerable… he dated omega's, one in secondary and twice now in uni, but things never worked out. They all smelled lovely, unique in their own way, but none of them were like this, nothing was like this. This was positively overpowering and John wanted to drown.

Sherlock sank in his hold and John paused to readjust Sherlock's weight, and in those moments he allowed himself to bask in the scent. His head tilted towards Sherlock and he breathed in a deep, searching breath. Sherlock smelled overpoweringly like sex, liquid sex that John could taste of if he opened his mouth, a smell that pulled at the deepest, most primal part of John. Sex and sweat and a bitter sweet pheromones thick like honey. Under that it smelled of cigarette smoke, rain and tea. There was something else there, some vague undertone of burning chemicals – was that the cocaine? He let out a huffing breath and Sherlock tried to crowd closer to him as if afraid John would pull away. "Relax," he whispered, hand smoothing down Sherlock's back and they walked again.

They couldn't have arrived sooner. John thanked his lucky stars he had made it this far with the mad man clinging so tightly to him, whimpering in his ear. Everything was so much sharper around him, but his head was swimming with images and thoughts and needs so much so that he could hardly remember what he was doing before Sherlock dropped into his lap.

John dragged Sherlock up to the door and gripped the knob. A sudden terror ripped through him when the door didn't open. Keys. Right. Keys. John reminded himself to breath and he quickly fumbled with Sherlock's coat pocket, fingers searching their depths. What he found first was decidedly not keys. He tugged free the small bag of white powder and stared at it for a few uncomprehending seconds before he hissed, "This is terrible for you, Sherlock."

"Doesn't matter," Sherlock's hips rolling against him as his arms tightened around John's waist. Christ, he could feel the bulge pressing against him. Sherlock needed him.

"Fuck me," The omega pleaded against the shell of John's ear, the searing tongue sliding down his neck, ripping him open, pouring his insides onto the pavement, "I need you."

"Oh god..." John let out a positively desperate moan, if he could just.. "No! NO!" He snapped, a hand shoving Sherlock back against the door, "No. Fuck. Yes, but no," He choked, gaze dropping as the lean man whined at him, whispering pleas with those sinful lips.

John pocketed the white bag and searched the second pocket with shaking hands. Success! He tugged out a small ring of keys and picked the most likely candidate for the door, cursing that it took two shaky tries before the key sunk into the lock. He nearly sobbing with joy when it turned and the lock clicked open. Point for John. He elbowed the door open, pushed Sherlock inside, and slammed it again behind them both.

Sherlock pounced just as John managed to flick on the lights. The back of John's head hit the door moments before Sherlock's lips were on his in a mad rush of heat, tongue, and teeth. John groaned fervently as his hands pressed into Sherlock's rolling hips. There was something, John tried to remember, something he was suppose to do. A low groan echoed between the two men, bubbling up from John's chest. Shit. Sherlock's smell, it was heaven.

"Incredible," He gasped as the kiss broke, dragging Sherlock closer as his hips thrust up, his cock pressed roughly against the protrusion in the other man's trousers. It was too much and not nearly enough, too many layers of fabric sat between them. The omega groaned out his dismay.

"You are wonderful," John babbled as his nose ran along Sherlock's jaw, sliding down his neck and stopping at the crook where that amazing smell was the strongest. "Beautiful, Sherlock, " his tongue slid against hot skin to taste what he could smell, a hand pressed down to grope clumsily at the belt keeping the omega from him, "You're gonna be mine. All mine. Your smell..."

Sherlock quivered and writhed against him, "Hurry, please," that deep voice sobbed, rough and raw and getting worse with every passing second. John was doing this to him, and yes he liked that very much.

John's teeth were playing against the man's collar bone when three heavy knocks echoed from behind him. Immediately he tensed, a deep territorial growl leaving him before reality came crashing down around him. Silence filled the room in the wake of that growl, and John jerked his head away from Sherlock. He was an idiot, he was about to make the biggest mistake - he - Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. With sudden, painful clarity, John pushed the omega back and tore out the door before he could second guess his resolve. Fuck, he had almost–

"Oi!"

John jumped in surprise at the man standing in his way, body tensed as his lips parted and he took in a sharp breath. Omega. Bonded. Safe. The smell doused John's panic and he released the lungful of air as he studied the stranger: older, hair just starting to grey, looked tired and angry – angry at John. John didn't blame him.

"Sorry," John rumbled low and rough, he coughed and tried again, "Sorry." That sounded better. "I didn't do... I didn't do anything..." He winced at himself, "I'm the one who called you. Lestrade, right?"

He kept his gaze trained on the man; the omega was safe, but John still felt the need to guard the door against him and he hated that he couldn't resist the urge. God, what would have happened if Lestrade had been an alpha? The man regarded him with a suspicious gaze and John could see the moment the man's nostrils flared, he must smell Sherlock all over him – not sex though. Christ, if it had gotten that far, John would have to have been dragged away kicking and screaming.

"You brought him all the way?" Lestrade sounded dubious and John couldn't blame him for that either.

"Yeah, wasn't easy." John shrugged a shoulder as nonchalant as he could manage. Both his and Lestrade's gaze shot to the doorknob when it began to rattle. The heavy wood pulled open and John scrambled to grab onto the handle and slam it shut against Sherlock's pull. He'd resisted once, but he was no superman – if that man got out again, his frayed resolve would snap in an instant.

"...Fine." Lestrade shook his head, sounding tired again, "Thanks mate, but you really should go home. Now." He sidestepped John and reached for the door, hand hovering over the doorknob and he paused, waiting. John was frozen as he stared at the handle, and Lestrade's hand held over it, for far longer than was appropriate. Let go, John commanded, it's better this way.

"Right," John shook himself free of the stupor and took in a shaking breath. An ache coiled in his chest and every bit of him was screaming out in protest as he released the door, letting Lestrade take over. John immediately stepped passed the omega and onto the street, rapidly losing faith in his self-control as the door opened and closed behind him, the lock clicking soundly in place. John looked back at the door, but there was nothing to see. Sherlock was safe and he felt like shit.

Better this way. John took his first clean gulp of air and tried to clear his head while turning to march on. Each step hurt a little bit less than the last.

When John finally reached his flat ten minutes later, he was eternally glad that all the lights were out. Immediately he fled to the bathroom and stripped himself of his clothes, frantic to get away from the scent. His cock had ached all the way home and showed no signs of fading yet, it stuck out red and swollen with the base of it puffing out more than John ever remembered it capable. It didn't help that Sherlock's smell rolled off his skin as if had seeped into every single pore. Maddening. He turned the cold up full blast and dove under the spray. The action almost brought a scream from his lungs, had they not seized in shock.

The glacial cold chased away the need and lust and his shower gel washed away the last of Sherlock from his skin. His cock gradually deflated against the vicious attack, but John held out no hope that the memory of the night was going to be so easy to eradicate.

He stepped out of the shower fifteen minutes later feeling cold, miserable, and completely drained of energy. Even before he crossed the alley he'd been exhausted, but now he was certain he was going to die if he didn't find his bed soon. Shivering and dressed only in a towel, John snatched his clothes and trudged back his room. The clothes would need to be washed, but for now he grabbed a bin bag and stuffed them inside before his cock got any more ideas from the lingering scent. He tried to hurry, but his fingers paused when he felt the phone in a pocket of his compromised coat.

He quickly shifted the coat around and went to grab for it, his gaze locked on his hand when he tugged out two unexpected items. The plastic bag of white powder and Sherlock's phone sat staring back at him. He groaned in misery as he dropped the items on his bedside table and stuffed the coat deeper into the bag than necessary. He tied it off, tossed it in his closet, and finally crawled into his bed.

There was comfort in a nest that smelled so completely John and nothing like any miserable, unobtainable omega. He curled up under the duvet and swallowed down the hollow ache rolling through his unfulfilled, exhausted body. He knew he would feel better after some sleep, so he took comfort in his own familiar scent and pushed Sherlock out of his head until morning – or, better yet, after the exam. Sherlock could wait.

Thanks so much to CrackshotKate over at ao3 for betaing for me. Without her, my chapters are only half as good.