*Clears throat.* It is important to note that on this very day fifteen years ago, two boys met for the first time inside the residence of a Mr. Barnabas and Miss Agatha Holmes, one carrying a kind, yet guarded expression; the other, a shrewd and inquisitive look that quickly morphed into curiosity at the thing standing before him with the puppy dog eyes and shy smile. While it may have seemed that the more calculating of the two didn't particularly care for the prospect of acquiring a new friend, the day, believe it or not, ended up reversing the roles quite dramatically. So much so, that by the end of the play date, the timid child was left strutting around central London with a face that clearly resembled the very definition of pride, while the other stood behind and watched with quiet fascination and rather enlarged pupils at the boy who'd managed to capture every bit of his precious attention.
These two boys, as you may have guessed, were Sherlock Holmes and John Hamish Watson. No, no, no. Don't ask the narrator why she felt the need to include John's middle name. Just accept it and move on. The fact that such an event took place on the very day that the adult version of their "play date" was about to . . . take place, could be seen as either fate, or a practical joke done by the most comedic of gods. No matter the reason, this day would always be an important one for both the boys and the reader, as this marks the beginning of the "Johnlock" relationship; in the past, as well as the present.
As your trusty narrator stands in the middle of Ichabod's study, she-*trips over a bump in the rug*-falls on her fat ass, apparently. My . . . this is, er . . . this is embarrassing. It's okay, though! While we may be here with our lovely John, he is in the past, and therefore cannot see us.
Regretfully, the narrator is now going to have to withdraw from the storytelling and allow John's thoughts to explain what is currently happening in the story for you, as her ego and bum are hurting too much to go on. We shall meet again, reader. Until then, enjoy the show, and may you be blessed with better coördination than that of . . . well, you get the picture.
Sitting on a chair, both arms resting on the ends, was John Watson, staring defiantly at the clock on the wall as it ticked closer and closer to the dreaded time when the Holmes brothers would return to once again wreak havoc on his life. He could feel every muscle in his body twitch with a mixture of irritation and excitement, unsure if he was 100% disgusted with the idea of being so close to Mycroft's infuriating little brother.
John . . . excited to see Sherlock. Wasn't that just bloody brilliant.
It infuriated the Omega to know that there was a part of him that entertained the prospect of getting to know that man. Sherlock may be an interesting fellow, but making John see the appeal was going too far. He was supposed to be the strong Omega that all the others could depend on, the one who refused to be swayed by his oppressors and their disgusting views on what his kind were and weren't capable of. How would it look to Greg and the others if he gave up now and played house with some dominant Alpha who would no doubt spend the rest of his life putting John in his "place?" He'd be seen as a failure. He'd feel like a failure. He'd be a failure.
John's forehead creased with resolve. There was no way in hell that was ever gonna happen. While he had no choice but to be subjected to a dinner surrounded by Alphas, he'd rather die than waste his life with one. When those boys came through his door, he would be polite, yet firm when he told them that he didn't plan on ever giving Sherlock what the world tells him he's supposed to. He'd marry him, sure. He was left with no other option. However, he'd be damned if he was going to sleep with him, cook his dinner, bear his pups, or further inflate his already giant ego. He was an Omega. He was strong, independent, and he didn't need Sherlock to take care of him. He didn't need his money, his influence, or his physical prowess. All he needed was himself.
The ringing of the doorbell disrupted John's thoughts. Glancing once more at the clock, he couldn't help but let a small smile slip when he noticed the brothers were right on time. He didn't expect anything less of them. What did surprise him, though, was the absence of Sherlock when he finally managed to win the fight with his deadbolt.
"He's coming," Mycroft said, barging past John. "Mummy kept him busy with something of the utmost importance . . . to her anyway."
John didn't know what to say to that, so he remained silent.
"So," Mycroft started, looking around the room in distaste. "What have you been up to, hmm?"
It took the Omega some time to answer. He was too busy fuming over the way the older man looked at his house. While the Watson's weren't as well off as the Holmes', he couldn't help but feel a certain pride in the fact that each and every single member of his family worked their bums off for what they had, and seeing an Alpha who was born into money look at John's dwelling as a place of inferiority made him want to scream.
"Oh, you know . . . the usual. Cooking, cleaning, being submissive to Alphakind."
Mycroft smirked. "You really are as fiery as they say, aren't you, Mr. Watson?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am; especially when it comes to my friends."
The smirk on the man's face disappeared.
"What do you want with Greg, Mycroft?"
Emotion flitted over Mycroft's face before he schooled it into his usual mask. "All in due time, my dear boy."
John was going to reply, but it was then that something in the air suddenly shifted, leaving him completely immobile. The wind from outside blew through the entire household, bringing with it a familiar scent that lit John's fire. His skin was tingling with arousal, his bottom lip falling uncharacteristically between his teeth. He didn't have to turn around to know who was behind him. Why would he even bother? His hormones told him of the other boy's presence before he could even get a word out.
"Sherlock," John murmured.
"John," came a deep voice behind him.
How could he have not noticed the other day that Sherrinford wasn't Sherlock? The reaction he'd had to seeing someone that resembled his Alpha was nothing compared to the pure lust coursing through him now. It must have been the smell. Sherrinford didn't have a smell. Sherlock did, though, and it took every ounce of self-control John had not to bend over like a good little bitch and rub his needy hole all over the Alpha's crotch.
Why am I reacting like this? I didn't react like this the first time, did I?
John turned around slowly, taking in Sherlock Holmes in all his Alpha glory. He looked the same as he did the first time John saw him, the only difference being the absence of his scarf and jacket. His cheeks were tinged with pink from the cold, and his breath shown in the light of the day as he watched John with a twinkle of amusement and a hint of something darker that had the Omega fighting to keep his sanity.
"Sherlock," Mycroft said from somewhere behind John. "I see you've managed to get here in the freezing cold without your coat."
"I'd have it if someone didn't take it without my knowledge," Sherlock replied, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Omega in front of him.
"I did nothing of the sort."
Sherlock stared at John, making his insides turn to jelly. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother mine."
John was having trouble breathing. That smirk of his . . . he knew exactly what he was doing. This was all just some sort of elaborate plan, wasn't it? Make the Omega sex-crazed long enough to mount him and claim him in front of everyone. With the way John was feeling right now, he'd probably let him.
"May John and I have a moment alone, please?"
Oh no. This couldn't possibly be happening. John alone with Sherlock. It didn't compute. Couldn't compute.
The hope that Mycroft would object was shattered when the Alpha walked out of the room and left John without a lifeline, making the boy feel anger and fear in equal measure. This is why Alphas can't be trusted.
Sherlock walked slowly up to John, meticulous steps that reverberated through the walls. His shoes on the wooden floor were so final sounding that it was almost as if death itself was paying the boy a visit. He had no doubt in his mind that he would die here. He would be claimed and violated and all of his hard work would be fruitless. Sherlock would no doubt bend him over, display his dominance and show John that Omegas really were nothing more than sex slaves. It didn't matter, did it? By the end of the night, John would be nothing more than a weakling.
When Sherlock was finally in front of him, John prepared himself for the worst. This is it, mate. Life, as you know it, is about to be over. Accept your defeat with dignity and worry about the consequences later.
Sherlock stared at John for a long time. His face displayed no emotion that the Omega could see, but he kept on waiting for that other shoe to drop. It was only a matter of time now. John just wished he'd get it over with.
After what felt like forever, a hand thrust up and caught John's eye. "Sherlock Holmes."
John looked bewildered, but took the offered hand just the same, reveling in how soft the Alpha's skin was. "Uh, J-John W-Watson."
"Charmed," Sherlock said, breaking away and walking around the room with his hands behind his back. "So . . . it appears that you and I are going to be married."
John blinked. "Appears so, yes."
Silence. Then, "How do you feel about that?"
Irritated. Confused. Defiant. Aroused. "I don't know."
Sherlock gave him a knowing look. "John. You may be able to lie to everyone else in your life, but you can't lie to me."
Something about the way Sherlock uttered those words scared John, like he was about to wed a boy who'd know every thought he'd ever have until the day he died. It was too intimate for his liking, but at this particular moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. Luckily, some of his fire came back long enough for him to speak his mind.
"I hate it. I don't want to have anything to do with you."
"Why is that?"
"You're an Alpha," John said the words as if they were distasteful. "Your entire purpose is to make my kind miserable. You breed us, then make us forfeit our freedom and take care of you for the rest of our lives. I won't have it."
"Won't you?" Sherlock turned around, unaffected by John's opinion on his Alpha status. "What makes you so certain that every Alpha in the world is the way you've described? Have you met all of us?"
John folded his arms over his chest. "No."
"Then how can you be so sure?"
"I just am."
"Really?" Sherlock said, stepping into John's personal space. "You know, I could just as well say that every Omega on the planet is easily manipulated into doing an Alpha's bidding. After all, there is plenty of evidence to support my hypothesis. An Omega is programmed to reproduce, start a family. It's been scientifically proven that they're more emotional than an Alpha, making them highly sensitive to the world around them. It would be so easy for someone like me to implant myself into their psyche, wouldn't it? Make them believe I loved and cared about them long enough to use them for my pleasure and discard them afterwards like the brainless, illogical pests that they are."
John's fists clenched, fury eradicating the lust he'd felt for the man. "You son of a-"
"You misunderstand me," Sherlock interrupted. A moment went by where the Alpha simply stared at John as if he were a work of art, a mystery he was keen on solving. "You, my dear John Watson, have just demolished nearly every opinion I've just stated regarding Omegas. You're kind and compassionate, yet you continually refuse to allow an Alpha access to your extraordinary heart and mind. You're both emotional and intelligent, using a combination of love and logic to make it through this soap opera we call life. You feel an intense attraction to me, but not once have you begged me to take you. You're strong, and you're not afraid to face a threat the world tells you is stronger than you to get what you want. You're utterly fearless, an attribute I admire greatly. When it comes to everything I've said before about your kind, you. Are. Evidence . . . to the contrary."
John's head was swimming. Sherlock was coming closer. Why did he insist on coming so close?
"Don't be so quick to judge Alphas, John. We're not all like how you imagine. You're not the only one unwilling to conform to society's standards. I am too, and as much as you'd like to reject me, I will be your husband. There's no way around it. We might as well make the most of it."
John's face hardened. "How?"
"A partnership. My brother, as you well know, practically owns the British government. He uses his power and influence to find me crimes the detectives can't solve."
"Where does that leave me?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed. After searching the other boy's face, he replied, "I require an assistant."
"Assistant?"
"Yes. You remain by my side, aiding me in my endeavors, and in return, I'll provide you with the freedom you so desperately seek."
"What kind of freedom?"
"You're as easily bored as I am, Omega. I knew it the moment I first saw you. Imagine the adventures we could have, John. You'd no longer have to sit here all alone, caged by these walls surrounding you now. There would be no pups, no housework. Just you and I against the world, defying our families, getting into trouble, putting criminals behind bars. Don't tell me that doesn't interest you."
John looked at Sherlock as if he'd grown a third leg. "You're serious."
"Of course. I may not be able to stop this wedding from taking place, but I can at least make what happens afterward bearable for the both of us. It's an extremely generous offer, one which I hope you'll accept with limited reservations."
Limited reservations? He couldn't possibly be serious.
All of John's thoughts flew out the window as Sherlock came impossibly closer, so close that the Omega could feel his body heat through their clothing. While Sherlock's offer was more than tempting, John just couldn't see why he should trust someone he barely knew enough to put his life into their hands. What if he was lying? This could just be some play on his emotions, couldn't it? Although . . . if that were true, what reason could Sherlock have for lying? It was clear that he didn't want to get married anymore than John did. What if he really was being sincere? While John found it incredibly hard to trust an Alpha, Sherlock made an excellent point about them not all being the same. What if he was different? What if he deserved more credit than John was giving him?
"John Watson," Sherlock said, bringing the boy back to reality. "Will you be my Omega?"
"Will you be my Alpha?" John asked saucily.
Sherlock's mouth twitched in barely concealed amusement. "Yes."
"Then," John said hesitantly, gazing into Sherlock's eyes, "I accept."
"Good."
The next thirty seconds passed by in a blur. John didn't have time to process much, but the next thing he knew, the Alpha was at the front door, poking his head inside to glance briefly at John. "Until next time."
It took the Alpha slamming the door in John's face for him to realize their time together had reached its untimely end. John was shocked to discover he was rather disappointed. God help him, but he actually didn't want Sherlock to leave, and the impact of the boy's departure was felt almost instantly, like a hallow emptiness had wormed its way into John's soul and found a home there against his will.
"Bastard," he whispered to himself.
"My thoughts exactly."
John whipped his head around to peer at Mycroft, sighing loudly. If Alphas had to take a test to see which one of them had the skills to be a ninja, Mycroft would pass with flying colors. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough. I suppose you want to discuss Gregory now, though I don't know how much I can disclose to you at this time."
The thought of his friend associating with Mycroft in any way, shape, or form had John stewing in anger. "What the hell do you want with my friend?"
Mycroft's expression was intense, too intense for John to think the man's involvement in Greg's life was something he could just will away. "Absolutely nothing."
"Then why bring him up?"
"I want you to take care of him. I can't explain, and I don't want you to say anything to him about this, but the boy has included himself in something that runs deeper than you can ever imagine. I've taken liberties to make sure he has a safe place to stay, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to accompany him on his journey."
The pieces from John's conversation with Mycroft on the phone the other day finally fell into place. "When you told me you'd talk father into letting me go away . . . the part where you told me it would be a place of my choosing . . . you lied to me?"
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a baby, John. So I manipulated you. Don't feel so special. I do it to everyone."
"You people are fucking crazy! Why the hell do you want to drag me and my mate to some random location? What has Greg done, huh? What could he possibly be involved in?"
"That's none of your concern," Mycroft replied tiredly. "Just . . . make sure he's safe. If you care about your friend, it has to be this way. Now, are you going to help me convince Ichabod or not?"
John's head slumped in defeat. Of all the bullshit he'd had to deal with the past couple days, this definitely took the cake. "I don't see what choice I have."
"Good. I'll go fetch your father."
"Wait! Can you at least tell me who we'll be staying with?"
Mycroft stopped walking, huffing quietly. Turning around, he looked John in the eye with the intimidating stare he'd always be known for, and uttered a dreadful name that, looking back on it now, would have made John's skin crawl if he knew then what he knew now. It was a name that belonged to the craziest son of a bitch in the world, a name that John still despised to this day.
"Jim. Jim Moriarty."
