Oyster
In a way, Sherlock Holmes was just like any other patient: Suffering from a small injury but panicking because it was SUNDAY and thinking that if they didn't see a doctor right NOW, they would probably die. But then Sherlock wasn't panicking. In fact, he was pretty calm about his sprained ankle. He even KNEW that it was a sprained ankle, which made John almost roll his eyes in front of him. Which grown man went to the Emergency Room on a Sunday afternoon because of a sprained ankle?
Mr Holmes had a reasonable explanation for his behaviour, though: "I'm a detective and I have to catch a murderer which usually includes quite a bit of running and I can't run with THIS!" He gestured at his ankle and made a face as if a sprained ankle was something repulsive. John sighed. Another one of those "it hurts and you're a doctor so make it go away" patients. "How did you hurt your ankle?", John asked.
"I slipped in the shower," Sherlock explained. John frowned. By now, this sentence had almost become an euphemism for "my husband/boyfriend hit me" to him, but in this case this interpretation seemed rather unlikely. Still, John felt that there was something wrong with his patient, which went beyond a sprained ankle. This feeling grew when he examined Sherlock. His legs were so thin that he was almost afraid he might break them, he was very pale and the man's fingers were constantly shaking, a fact Sherlock tried to hide by fidgeting and talking during the whole examination.
"When was the last time you ate?", John asked him.
"I wasn't hungry but what does that have to do with anything?", Sherlock retorted.
"You don't usually slip in the shower, do you? And to be honest, spraining your ankle like that isn't exactly everyday for a man your age."
The detective frowned. "What are you implying? That I can't look after myself?"
"I would like to make a few tests, if that's alright," John explained.
He had his suspicions, of course, but getting this man to talk would be hard work. Men weren't as likely as women to be anorexic, but this man showed every sign of being malnourished, maybe even anaemic.
The tests, however, showed something John hadn't expected: Amphetamines. Was the guy doping himself? He didn't look like he was working out but maybe he used it to work longer and harder. John had seen a lot of high-rank managers who used drugs to cope with their massive work load. But somehow he felt this was something else.
Thoughtfully, he went back to his patient who looked like he wanted to pace the room if it wasn't for his sprained ankle. He was just about to ask Mr Holmes if he was using amphetamines when he smelled IT. It had been years since John Watson had last smelled the musk of an omega and he had thought he would never smell it again. For one thing, omegas had means to suppress that smell or to even completely avoid heats by taking The Omega Pill. And then John was taking alpha pills so he shouldn't be able to smell it at all.
Working at a hospital with a disability had been hard enough; he couldn't risk being distracted by omegas who weren't careful. After being shot in Afghanistan, John had to walk with a crutch. He had learnt to walk pretty fast with his crutch by now, but he could still see how people, especially patients, looked at him sometimes. "This doctor is supposed to help us when he's a cripple himself?", was written all over their faces. Mr Holmes didn't seem to mind but now there was The Smell.
"What is it?", the detective asked. He must have seen on John's face that something was wrong.
"Oh nothing, nothing," John ensured him, "I just forgot I need to… make another test." With that, he backed out of the room again.
Not amphetamine, then. The omega hormone looked very much like it, but could be distinguished quite easily. If he had only been looking for it! But it was quite obvious, actually. No appetite for days, increased agitation and sudden weakness were all clear signs of an oncoming heat. And seriously? Ordinary men just didn't come that gorgeous. John usually wasn't attracted to men, but if he was it was usually the tall, slender ones. And then Sherlock had those amazing green eyes. And dark curls, John's favourite kind of hair.
John shook his head to clear it. It would not do to think of his patient like that, omega or not! And quick now, he had to find out how close the heat was and if there was still time to get Mr Holmes home, at least two of the doctors at the emergency room were alphas and who knew how many of the patients!
After he had finished with the test, he hurried back to his patient, only to find him chatting with one of the other alpha doctors. Luckily, it was only Doctor Corday. "Lizzy, can we have some privacy, please?", he asked her.
"Oh certainly Mr Holmes won't mind me staying for a bit, will you, sweetie?"
It wasn't unusual for Lizzy to be a bit flirty, but 'sweetie' was usually reserved for her boyfriend, one of their colleagues. So the hormones had an effect on her as well. Together with the test results that proved that the situation was more than critical.
"Lizzy, please, these test results are rather private."
Mr Holmes, who had watched the exchange with an amused smile, said: "Yes, please do leave. We can talk later, if you want."
Lizzy left, but only after giving him a peck on the cheek.
Before he could check himself, John was leaping forward, growling at her. Lizzy stared at him in shock, then left in a hurry.
Mr Holmes, who hadn't seemed to realize his doctor was behaving strangely, shook his head and looked at John in confusion: "Was I just being NICE to that woman?"
John frowned. "Why, is that unusual behaviour for you?"
"Very," Mr Holmes said.
"Well, Mr Holmes, your test results are also very unusual."
"Sherlock, please, and what's unusual about my test results?", the detective asked, "You don't think anymore that I have been using drugs?"
John had no clue how Sherlock knew that but let if pass for the moment. There were more important things at stake right now.
"You're about to go into heat," he explained.
Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "I'm WHAT?"
"When have you last taken your pills?"
The detective seemed even more confused. "I've never taken any omega pills, if that's what you mean. I'm not an omega."
"So you haven't presented yet?" This was most extraordinary. Omegas usually presented during puberty. Sometimes this could be postponed by a dramatic event, the death of a loved one, for example. But he had never heard of anyone presenting THAT late.
"How old are you, Sherlock?"
"30, why?"
"When was the last time you had sexual intercourse?", John asked. He hated being that personal, but there was no way around it. He wasn't an omega doctor, but this was an emergency and he had to act as quickly as possible.
"I'm not interested in these kind of things," the detective explained.
Strictly speaking, this was actually possible. Omegas were, if anything, more interested in sex than alphas or betas. But they could suppress that need. Was it possible that that man had suppressed his heat for that long?
"Have there been any important changes in your life recently?", John asked. He was just fishing now, but he rather wanted to avoid getting a psych consult. He knew the psych consults who where working at the hospital and most of them were of the opinion that being an omega was a 'disease'.
"Not really." Sherlock frowned. "You think I'm an omega then?"
"Yes, it seems the only reasonable explanation for your test results. I will find you an omega who will explain everything to you and then you can go home, ok?"
The detective just nodded. He seemed rather calm now. Maybe knowing what was 'wrong' with him was doing the trick. But John didn't fool himself. Soon this man would be a sweating mess who would throw himself at every alpha who came his way. It was already too late to suppress the heat. If the detective didn't get home soon enough, the only way out would be to give him Omega Blockers which could cause massive side effects, risking some serious damage to Sherlock's psyche. And Sherlock already seemed to be less than emotionally stable, suppressing everything he was.
Molly, he would get Molly, she was an omega herself and would help Sherlock to get to terms with his nature and give him some advice for when he was back home. Before John could get to her, though, three criticals came in, which meant everyone was busy saving lives and didn't have time to consult a late-blooming omega. Swearing under his breath, John hurried back to his patient. He would just have to hand him a dildo and tell him to get home as quickly as possible.
But when John entered the room he had left Sherlock in, the detective wasn't alone. Doctor Moriarty was with him, the second other alpha doctor John knew of. Moriarty, who was smaller than Sherlock and probably weaker under normal circumstances, had grabbed the detective's hands and held them above his head while trying to bite the omega's neck. Sherlock was trying to cringe away, but he was already bathed in sweat and panting with need.
John suddenly saw red. He grabbed Moriarty by the neck, the first weak spot he could think of, and squeezed. At first, this didn't seem to have any effect, but then Moriarty suddenly became limp and sagged to the floor. John shoved him out of the way to get to Sherlock.
"Are you ok?", he asked.
"I'm hot," Sherlock said, "and I feel strange. I want to go home. Can I go home, please?"
At that moment, Doctor Corday burst into the room. "I just saw Doctor Moriarty rush past me with a manic expression in his eyes, are you ok?"
"For the time being, yes, but we need to get him out of here," John explained.
"Alright, can you walked?", Lizzy asked Sherlock.
The detective just rolled his eyes.
"Not with a sprained ankle and in his current condition," John explained, "Can you carry him?"
Even though Doctor Corday was a woman and quite a bit shorter than Sherlock, it was very likely that she was strong enough to carry him, his omega hormones giving her a further boost.
But when Lizzy stepped closer, Sherlock moved away until he was almost hugging the wall. "No, not her! Get away from me!"
"Oh, dear, he hasn't marked you?", John asked. If Moriarty had bitten Sherlock he would refuse to be touched by any other alpha.
Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "I don't know what you mean, but I don't want her to touch me! You can carry me, if you want."
John looked down at his leg, then made a decision.
"Here, hold onto that for me, please," he said and handed the crutch to Lizzy, who was just staring at him.
Omega hormones or not, what he planned was almost impossible and would certainly be more than painful, but if it was the only way of getting Sherlock out of the hospital then so be it.
He stepped closer to Sherlock, carefully putting more weight on his damaged leg. It didn't hurt, so he might already be in some sort of adrenaline rush, but he could only hope the leg would be able to carry his weight as Sherlock's. He held out his arms and Sherlock moved to the edge of the bed he was sitting on, wrapping his arms and legs around him.
John felt himself getting hard, but he wasn't even ashamed. His leg didn't hurt either and suddenly his alpha instinct kicked in. He hadn't felt this strong since he had gone to war in the hope of coming back a hero. But this time he wouldn't fail.
He lifted Sherlock up effortlessly and carried him out of the emergency room, Lizzy holding every door open which was in his way. Outside the hospital, they rushed to Lizzy's car, which was closest. And after John had gotten himself and Sherlock into the back seat, Lizzy dashed off, following the detective's instructions to his apartment.
The problem with adrenaline was that you had to keep it flowing. So John started rubbing Sherlock's leg to keep his hormones busy. The detective didn't seem to mind this at the least. It also seemed to have become even more difficult for him to sit still by now and he was constantly humping the air, his arousal being obvious through his tight trousers.
When they arrived at his apartment, John carried Sherlock again, Lizzy leading the way. As soon as John had put Sherlock down on the couch, the detective started taking his clothes off. John was almost overwhelmed by the smell. Hastily, he turned to leave.
"No, please, don't leave," Sherlock begged.
"You don't want me to stay. You are not yourself anymore," John explained.
"Yes, I do," Sherlock said and pointed at the desk, "there's a note for you over there."
John stepped over to the desk and indeed there was a note heading "dear John".
John frowned and read: "Dear John, I've been watching you for a while now. I'm generally not interested in a partner, but you are different in so many ways… One might say, the other alphas are empty shells but you are the one with a pearl inside. (I've done some research on romantic poetry and that comparison seems to be the only expectable one.) I've realized that you are opposed to mating, so I've conducted an experiment in the shower. Thinking of you excessively seemed to increase the omega hormones in my blood. If everything goes according to plan I'm in a heat by the time you're reading this and yes, John, come over and do me already!"
When John was finished reading, Sherlock was already naked and… more than ready. Mesmerized, John stared at the glistening hole which was presented to him and for a fraction of a minute he forgot what he was supposed to do.
But then Sherlock moaning loudly brought him back to reality and John hurried to get out of his clothes. Only a very small part of his brain realized that Lizzy had left and an even smaller part cared if she was there or not. He needed to touch, rub, take!
When John was finally naked, the detective was arching his back and nothing else but "please, please, please, John!" came out of his mouth.
John walked over to Sherlock, not even a slight limb in his step and leaned down to him. Their first kiss was frantic and John had to hold the detective's head still so there lips wouldn't loose each others. Their tongues tangled, their teeth clashed and by the time John ended the kiss, Sherlock's lip was bleeding.
The couch was too small for both of them, so John pulled the detective down to the floor, then went back to snogging his new-found omega. Sherlock was still moaning and arching his back and soon John couldn't hold back any longer.
He let his hand roam over the detective's chest, only stopping to pinch his nipples, and then moved it lower until it reached Sherlock's leaking cock.
It was big, bigger than any omega's cock he had ever seen – and as a doctor he had seen many. But this wasn't what struck John. Sherlock's cock felt GOOD in his hand and oh so right. He had been with a man before and with many women, but never with an omega. John had always thought that taking an omega in heat was somehow a breach of the omega's rights. He had never believed people who had said it was 'meant to be'. But this felt just so right, it couldn't be wrong. Even if Sherlock hadn't planned it all.
Without thinking, John had started stroking Sherlock's cock and while he was doing that, his mouth moved from the detective's mouth to his neck, nibbling. "Please, please," Sherlock begged, "take me. Mark me. Come on, please, John!" This last exclamation of his name almost drove John over the edge already and he bit down on Sherlock's neck. Hard.
The detective moaned loudly and came all over them. But John didn't stop stroking him, knowing full well that an omega's refractory period was close to zero. Sure enough, Sherlock was soon hard again and trashing underneath him. John moved his second hand to the detective's hole and pushed two fingers in, checking how wide the omega already was.
"I'm ready, John, do it!"
The doctor positioned himself between Sherlock's legs, grabbed them and then pushed in in one move. So far, he had managed to be almost silent, but now he completely lost control. Moaning loudly he pushed even deeper inside until he found the detective's sweet spot. Sherlock rewarded him with a shout.
"Touch yourself," John moaned. He wasn't sure how long he would last, but he didn't want the omega to have to wait too long for his own release. The detective complied and John started moving rhythmically, moving out so far that only the tip of his cock was inside and then pushing in again.
It felt like heaven. Warm, wet, tight heaven. And Sherlock was so beautiful, John had never seen anything so beautiful! Those eyes, those lips, the hands which were gripping the doctor's arse. John increased his pace, already feeling his release building. But if it wasn't enough, he would just do his omega again. And again. And again.
Under him, Sherlock suddenly stiffened and came for the second time. His mouth was wide open but no sound escaped, his eyes were blown wide and his fingers dug into John's arse. The doctor shouted his release, coming deep inside the detective. Then, he could feel himself swell even further. His knot was building!
Sherlock moaned, his cock already interested again, and John shot another load inside of him. "Yes, yes, yes!", Sherlock moaned, rubbing his cock until it was fully erect again. John wet his lips and said: "Next time we're doing this, I'm gonna make you come down my throat and then I'm gonna fuck this perfect mouth of yours until we both can't take it anymore."
"Yes," Sherlock moaned and came again.
John didn't know for how long they were doing it, but afterwards he didn't know what he had ever done with his partners before. It couldn't have been sex if THIS was sex.
Completely drenched, John sank onto Sherlock's chest. It would get cold, sticky and uncomfortable soon, but for now he just couldn't be bothered to move. "You compared me to an oyster", he murmured and fell asleep.
His limp never came back.