It was lunch time. Sherlock was doing his best to enjoy the sandwich but being under the gaze of John's parents was unnerving. He could tell John's mother was trying to figure out when he would next be in heat, and that John's father was unsure if the money he spent was worth it. Sherlock glanced at John.

John gave him a small, reassuring smile, nudging his knee against Sherlock's leg.

"So... father... how is business?"

"You don't really care, John. Don't try and impress your new boyfriend."

John looked at his plate and pulled his knee away. Sherlock spoke up.

"What exactly do you do Mr Watson? You never mentioned and John hasn't told me." He smiled at him, though behind the facade he wanted to punch his lights out.

"Unsurprising. John knows as much about business as a goldfish knows about flying." His father chuckled. John resisted the urge to roll his eyes; if he had a penny every time his father made that joke he could buy the business out. "My company purchases and sells lots of unspoiled land. In fact, this weekend I shall be meeting with some native "chief" who refuses to move his little camp elsewhere. He requires some more... intense persuasion."

"Hm." Sherlock simply looked back at his food. Suddenly he didn't want it.

John sighed. And now Sherlock knew what John would be doing the rest of his life, and what he'd no doubt become.

"Yes," his father continued, "this land is rather vital to us. Since my... son's sister decided to abandon the charming family we tried to marry her into, we lost the land in China. I need a lot for an oil refinery within the next month..."

"Because god forbid she be happy." Sherlock said, placing his hands on his lap and sitting back in the chair.

John's hand tightened around his fork, not looking his father in his wide, flaming eyes.

"... Excuse me?" his father hissed.

"Sorry was my suggestion that you care more about money than your daughters happiness too vague?" Sherlock said, smiling as Mrs Watson looked like she was going to faint.

"You dare to question me... you, a plaything we bought for our son, dare to question me? You know nothing of the world. You are merely a prostitute who should be very... very grateful to be associated with this family."

"Prostitute..."

Sherlock looked ruined. All emotion and colour had drained from his face and his hands clutched each other tightly in his lap.

"My daughter would have been very happy indeed if she had stuck with our plan. Lance was a charming young man, but she threw it all away to chase some..." he shuddered, "god, the shame of it. John may be... simple, but he's obedient."

John's mouth had gone so dry he could barely swallow. He slid his hand over and placed it over Sherlock's.

Sherlock raised his head suddenly.

"Lance? Lance King?"

"... Perhaps... though I dare say such a prestigious name should not be uttered by your kinds tongue."

Sherlock roared with laughter.

"He visited the hovel I lived in several nights a week! Lance was in love with one of my fellow whores! He let Harriet go because he didn't want her; you're the idiot that sold your daughter to a gay man!"

John's father looked remarkably a savage beast who had just spotted his pray. He spoke softly and calmly, "John... your omega is acting out... what did we teach you to do?"

John stared at him, "No... Father, I... can't."

"John... do it, or I will..."

Sherlock looked at John.

"John?"

John stared at his plate, shaking slightly, "Father, please..."

"Decide or I will."

"John what is he asking you to do?" Sherlock asked quietly.

His father pressed his fingertips together, "Surely you know that omegas need discipline... regularly?"

"I was not aware anyone required discipline for telling the truth." Sherlock responded, his eyes narrowing.

"Speaking out against your betters requires very severe discipline."

"What makes you my better?"

"Everything."

Sherlock paused. There were 100 things he could do to antagonise Mr Watson further. But they would all hurt John and him further. He decided submission was best.

"I'm sorry." he bowed his head. "Please forgive me."

"Hmm... well, I gave your mother a second chance when we first met... very well."

John breathed a sigh of relief.

Sherlock kept his head down, clutching John's hand.

"You will remain in John's bedroom for the remainder of today. John, you will continue your lessons alone."

Sherlock stood and left the room without looking at anyone.

John's mother, who had been strangely quite throughout this conversation, finally spoke, "John... would you like some more salad?"

"Not hungry..."

"Do as your mother asks, John."

"But... she didn-"

"Do not answer me back!" his father snapped, "You are a selfish, immature, weak little boy. And not a suitable heir for my company... not yet."

Sherlock sat on John's bed, staring at the calendar he'd taken off the wall. His hand rested on the square two days from now. He flung himself backwards, slamming his back onto the bed and throwing the calendar into the door.

John stared down at his text book. The words were all there but they were meaningless. He was 50 minutes into the lesson and he so far hadn't taken in a single thing his private tutor, Patrick, had said. Luckily Patrick's teaching techniques were simply to talk ceaselessly while John read everything he said in a text book.

Sherlock was now draped on the edge of John's bed, his head resting on the floor and his arms laid out in front of him. He wondered how long John's lessons lasted.

An hour later, John was dismissed. He hurried to his room before anyone could find him and slipped inside. He turned to Sherlock, "... hey..."

Sherlock looked up at John from the floor. He'd slipped about 45 minutes ago and was now trapped in an awkward position at the end of the bed. His head was flat on the ground, his arms pinned behind it and his legs stuck up awkwardly in the air.

"Hello." Sherlock said seriously, like he wasn't in some ridiculous yoga pose.

"Um... are you trying to seduce me or..?"

"...if it's working, yes. If not...no I just feel stupid and light-headed."

John smiled and shook his head, "here... let me help you." he moved over and pulled Sherlock up by his shoulders, "there. Better?"

Sherlock sat on the floor, moving his shoulders and arms in an attempt to get the feeling back in them.

"Thank you. How were your lessons?"

"I honestly can't remember what it was even about." John shrugged, sitting down next to him, "Listen... about what my dad said..."

Sherlock waved his hand.

"No. Don't talk about that."

"I'll never do it. And I won't let him do it either. I swear I will not become like him..."

"I know you won't."

"... I'm sorry you're stuck with us."

"I like being stuck with you." Sherlock smiled.

John smiled and looked away, "Thanks. But, being stuck with my parents... believe me; I know what that's like... you don't have to pretend.

"Oh yes that's hell." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Yep. It gets easier, thought." he swallowed, "... okay, it hasn't yet, but I'm still hoping..."

Sherlock stood, taking one of John's hands.

"Hope is the dream of a waking man, Aristotle."

"... What?"

"It's a quote John." Sherlock chuckled.

"Whoa... what from?"

"Aristotle. He was a philosopher and p-oh for fucks sake will you just kiss me already?"

"Oh, well if you insist." John grinned, jumping up and planting a kiss on Sherlock's lips, "Happy?"

"Quite." Sherlock grinned.

"Good." John smiled, "I, um... haven't kissed anyone before..."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Oh...I mean...there's nothing wrong with that, I've only kissed one other person."

"Oh, who?" john asked, genuinely curious.

"His name was Richard; he was a much younger omega where I stayed. It was the night before an auction and he'd heard he already had interested parties. He sobbed all night terrified about it, and told me he was scared of losing all of his firsts to them. So I kissed him, so they couldn't have that first." Sherlock replied.

John blinked, "... Wow... that was a really great thing you did."

"You sound surprised." Sherlock said, wrapping his arms around John. "I'm nice."

"I know. I'd just... given up hope in humanity a while ago..." he rested his hands on Sherlock's chest, "nice to be proven wrong."

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Sherlock asked. "Not sex," he quickly corrected "just the two of us in the same bed?"

John chewed on his bottom lip, and then nodded, "I'd really like that."

Sherlock kissed John's forehead before looking at the discarded calendar.

"So would I."