I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read, and continues to read, my wee little story. It is very lightly brit-picked and not beta'd (although I do try very hard to make sure I catch the typos!). Reviews are wonderful and very welcome. Thank you again! - Blue
John stood at attention, shoulders back and spine ramrod straight. His army issued olive coloured vest stretched taut across his frame, barely accommodating his trim and fit build. The thought had never quite occurred to him that he should be nervous, being called to his commanding officer's quarters after his last shift at hospital. The Omega figured it had something to do with Private Johnson's comment, and the ensuing 'argument'… if one could call it that. John called it a couple well placed punches to that bigoted bastard's spotty jaw.
Earlier in his deployment, he'd had to deal with all kind of comments regarding his gender, or half-gender, as it were. Most of them were relatively innocuous and immature; calling into question his sexual prowess and what he did or didn't have underneath his standard regulation pants. If he wasn't getting catcalls, he was getting the side-eye, or blatantly stared at like a slab of meat laid out before a pack of hungry hyenas. It wasn't that John hadn't ever had to deal with less than stellar treatment based on his gender status; it was that he had nowhere to go to get away from it now.
So the decision was made, quite early and quickly during his service, that the company needed to be taught a thing or two concerning John Watson.
Thus, he found himself stood in front of his commanding officer, Major James Sholto. He looked a little worse for wear, as Johnson had managed to get in a lucky punch or two. But John quickly showed that loud mouthed cunt what it was like to go up against someone with the grudge of a lifetime, who wasn't afraid of getting hurt or dealing out a week's worth of pain in bruises and broken bones. John smiled to himself slightly, only wincing a bit at the cut on his swollen lower lip; Johnson certainly wouldn't be making smart remarks about the Omega anymore.
"Something funny?" Major Sholto's firm voice pierced through John's self-satisfied reflections.
The blond returned his authoritative gaze with a firm one of his own; just enough to make it clear that he was not one to be needlessly ordered about. John would follow Sholto's command, to be sure, but the Major had to do a bit more then stomp about in his boots and glare to gain the Omega's respect.
"Sir, no Sir." John replied, keeping his posture as wooden as necessary. He took in Major Sholto with one long, critical gaze. The man was older and taller than John, but most everyone was, with a build that spoke of time spent running and swimming than lifting weights or long hours at the gym. His hair was extremely fair, a lighter blond than John's own, and cut in standard military style. His eyes were a dusky blue, similar to John's navy, but greyer. That jawline, John mused, was a wee bit squarer and more finely cut than it had any right to be. The shape of it drew John's eyes across the expanse of his handsome face, which then settled, resting on the generous curve of his lips. The man was pleasantly put together, John finally admitted to himself, trying not to accept that fact that by saying 'pleasantly put together' what he really meant was bloody gorgeous.
"Good. You are one of the newest members of my company, and as such I would hate to have you disciplined more than is necessary." Sholto walked around behind the desk and placed both hands down on its cluttered surface. Then he leaned forward slightly, taking in John's presence in a quiet but thorough manner.
"You're a latent...a latent Omega. Is that what this is all about then?"
This wasn't a new experience for John - someone asking a question about his gender - he just hoped that maybe it wouldn't be brought up or that it would take a little longer for Sholto to suss out the truth of today's indiscretion.
"Sir, yes Sir." He answered with a sigh, unable to school his face into impassivity any longer. Let the man see what he wanted, John thought his behavior this morning made it perfectly clear; he had nothing to hide.
"I thought so," the officer sat down slowly in his chair, flattening the vinyl cushion slightly, causing it to squeak in a most unserious manner, "the others aren't saying much, trying to protect their own I'd say. Do you have anything to say to me?"
For a long moment John considered his request. He could tell him the truth. He could tell him that Johnson had made his deployment hell from day one, and he deserved every skin-tearing, bone-crunching blow that landed on his ugly face. Or…he could say nothing and keep his reputation intact with the other men of the company. Here, John was faced with a choice he hadn't had to make since primary school. Did he give in - spill his guts to the authority and stand by as all the others glared behind his back, calling him a traitor, or worse? Or did he suck it up, hold his head high, and deal with his own troubles as they came?
He chose the latter.
"Permission to speak freely, Sir?" His voice sounded stilted and strained in the small, drab office, and John wilted under Sholto's unwavering scrutiny.
"Permission granted." The Major leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world as cool and unbothered as possible. John wasn't sure, but he even detected a hint of amusement in the older man's gaze. This did not sit well with him at all.
John wasn't sure if he could stand serving under a man who didn't take gender issues with all the seriousness they deserved. The Omega had suffered all his life under a black cloud of discrimination and thinly veiled gender bias, he'd be damned if he had to deal with this again in the army.
It didn't help that the man was a Beta….well; he was a Beta with strong Alpha tendencies anyway. Major Sholto was literally one steroid hormone away from being a full-blown Alpha, and it showed. It was obvious in his posture, the set of his shoulders, and the tilt of his hips as he took his seat. This was a man in charge, and he knew it. John swallowed convulsively, taking in a breath before he decided to speak.
"Sir, Johnson made a few comments that were unnecessary, and it was dealt with. That is all, Sir."
The Omega closed his eyes briefly, wondering if that quick explanation and admittance of guilt would be enough. He prayed it would be. Going any further into what actually happened would be a painful and ignominious affair.
Sholto stood from his chair slowly, keeping John in his sight as he did.
Did he really have to stare so?
John felt a familiar wetness in his armpits and knew that his sweating was due his nerves getting the better of him. He needed to focus and pull himself together or no one would take him, or his gender, seriously.
"I've never had an Omega in my company before, let alone a latent. I guess you can chalk that up to the new anti-discrimination laws the government was so keen to force upon us all. So, believe me when I tell you that this is something new to me. You're not likely to see many Omegas in the service, regardless of whether or not they can join. It's just not something they generally do."
He began to pace in front of his desk now, a slow, meandering affair that suited the pensive expression on his face.
"I want you to feel safe here, Private Watson, am I clear?" His clear blue eyes were unquestioning in their demand for an answer.
"Yessir, Sir...I mean…Sir, yes Sir." John stumbled over his words. Whatever he was expecting from Major Sholto, this was certainly not it. He felt a rush of adrenaline course through his body, blood rushing through his arms and hands, making his nerve endings tingle and vibrate. Once again, his gaze dropped down to the man's mouth…his perfect, perfectly shaped mouth.
The Beta took another step closer to John, crowding the younger man and leaning dangerously into his space. His voice dipped lower, accessing a register that left John a bit breathless.
What the hell was going on here?
"If something like this happens again, I want to be informed immediately."
John was only able to nod his head once, sharply, in agreement. He ripped his eyes away from their obvious point of interest; Major Sholto's pleasantly flushed lips, and met his ludicrously close gaze. This was observed, of course, by Major Sholto himself who, without any kind of admonishment whatsoever, gave John a small secretive smile.
"If at any time you feel unsafe, you come straight to me. Do you understand?" A delicate layer of sweat broke out on John's forehead, mingling with his short dirty blond hair and threatening to give away any and all secrets currently running through the Omega's head, appropriate and inappropriate alike. It didn't even occur to him that what Major Sholto actually said was a question that needed answering.
"I need you to answer me, Private." Sholto raised a large roughened hand, gently grasping John's chin between his thumb and the padding on the side of his thick index finger. John felt rooted to the spot, dazed, unable to reconcile the fluttering in his abdomen, let alone something as complicated as language.
With the practiced motion of a man who had had many lovers, the Beta tilted John's head backwards a few degrees, lengthening John's golden neck and effectively making the Omega feel even more vulnerable than before. He lowered his head by centimetres, his nose now a hair's breadth away from the delicate skin behind John's earlobe.
"Say yes, John." His voice rumbled, ever closer, hovering above the pulse pounding erratically underneath John's sensitive, shining flesh.
"Y-yes…"
"…and the nausea and abdominal pain has been present since, when?" John glanced across the rickety folding table to the pale and frail looking Omega sat on the stool opposite.
The reluctant patient shrugged his bony shoulders; an action so blasé even John questioned why the boy bothered to seek his help at all.
"I dunno, a few weeks, mebbe a monf or so." His accent was thick and indicative of some of the rougher, more dangerous area of London. This unfortunate was not one of John's usual cronies and he didn't make his shelter underneath the bridge. He must have been referred by someone who knew John only as the Good Doctor, helper of those who couldn't help themselves.
"And the bleeding?" John prompted, trying to get as much information as he could from the surly youth. Nausea, vomiting, spots of rectal bleeding…they could be symptoms of, quite frankly, an alarming number of medical maladies. John would have a difficult time pinning it down with the limited equipment available to him.
"Um…the same? I dun' really know. Sorta 'aven' been payin' 'tention." Again, he rolled his shoulders slightly, glancing around the dingy bungalow.
John couldn't help but exhale a frustrated sigh. "Okay, why exactly are you here? How do you need my help? You don't seem very keen."
Brandy and Julia had come through with the cleaning equipment for their broken down, abandoned little bungalow. After a few days, it was almost presentable, and if one didn't inhale too deeply, one could completely overlook the musty smell of bird's droppings completely. Still, it was a place to work. Their little group had managed to rummage a bit and procure a few bits of furniture that wasn't destroyed, waterlogged, or otherwise completely useless. It wasn't much, just a folding table, a couple of stools and a very dented and chipped filing cabinet. John had made do with less once, in his RAMC days.
"Well, y' see, I jus' started takin' these new pills righ'? An' they don' make me feel so good." The emaciated Omega, unformed like John, dug around in a filthy satchel and brought forth a silver stamped blister pack of pills. He placed it on the table with unsubtle prejudice, glaring at the bubble containers like it contained all the ills of this world. John furrowed his brow in curiosity, gently grasping the sheet, turning it over once to read the printed label.
"Hmmm," he bit his lower lip in thought, then flipped it back over, peering inside at the rows of pills with a well practised eye for medications. "I'm not familiar with this drug, I've never even heard of the name. Uh…Clomidrel, is it? What's it for?" John slid the blister pack back across the table. The other Omega let it lay there, seemingly unwilling to pick it back up.
"I dunno, sumfin' t' do wif fertility, they said."
"Jimmy, that's your name right?" The boy wobbled a bit on his stool in displeased surprise. He had made it quite clear he preferred to remain anonymous during this consultation. That was all well and good (John thought with an inward roll of his eyes), but perhaps he shouldn't have shown John the blister pack with his name clearly printed along a sticker on the back.
"You're taking these drugs for fertility but, as an unformed Omega, you must know the chances are slim to none that the pills will work. Have you thought about the side effects? Where did you even get those? They don't sound like any medication on the market I've ever heard of."
John leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs; he was currently dressed in a worn pair of jeans (rather baggy on his thin frame now), and one of his least threadbare jumpers. He tried to wear his cleaner, nicer clothing on consultation days, if he could. He had sent the pyjama bottoms and striped jumper back to Sherlock's residence by way of Raz, the same little punk that managed to get John's face punched in. That was two weeks ago, and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the enigmatic detective since. It was just as well, John was beginning to feel rather strangely around the apex Alpha. It was very much like how he felt with Major Sholto (James), and John was more than certain he did not want to go down that painful road again.
John's injuries had healed fairly quickly, and he counted himself lucky that even though he was a bit malnourished, he was otherwise healthy for a man his age. There was only a faint green and yellowish reminder of the bruises around his neck, jaw, and cheekbone; and those would also soon fade.
"Dr. Adler, I fink her name wos," the other Omega twitched inside his overlarge jacket. "She's par' o' the group, y' know."
"What group?" John leaned forward and pulled a pen out of a crumpled folder sat on the folding table in front of them, he didn't have much for supplies, but he made do. Procuring a piece of paper from the same folder, he began to take notes.
"Y'now, the study group," Jimmy sniffed, the sallow cast to his face making him appear even more disagreeable
"What group is this? Is it…the London Clinic, or maybe Lister?"
"Naww, d'you really fink they'd 'elp the like's o' me? Is sum' new study I saw on sum' piece o' paper."
John sat up, brow furrowed in concern.
"You've seen the flyers?" Quickly, he leafed through the tattered folder and pulled out the original leaflet given to him by Sherlock. It looked the same, worn soft by the touch of many hands, and ripped at the bottom where several people had taken mobile numbers.
"This one?" He passed it over to Jimmy, a questioning (and somewhat worried) look in his kind blue eyes.
"Yeah, dat's de one." Jimmy grimaced and squirmed on his stool, a tell-tale sound coming from his abdomen. John couldn't tell if the man was suffering from hunger pangs or gas.
"So you've volunteered for this study and they're having you take these pills, yeah? Did they tell you anything about them? I mean, did they say what they're actually supposed to do pharmacologically?"
Jimmy regarded him a bit oddly; perhaps John was using words a little too large for the simple teen to understand.
"Naw, I jus' go in twice a week for physical, they take summa me blood, and das' it. Been doin' it now for a littl' ovah two monfs. But I'm startin' t' not feel so good." He raised a bony hand to his abdomen, face drawn tight.
"Right, do you think I could get one, one of the pills I mean? In the meantime I'd recommend an anti-emetic for your nausea. Then maybe some paracetamol, something simple you can get from the chemist." John pulled out a prescription pad, the only thing of any worth in the entire run down bungalow. Some of the more creative of their group had managed to get one or two of these printed, and John learned never to underestimate the ingenious homeless. They weren't all crazy, nor were they all alcoholics or drugs addicts. Some of the people who called the bridge home were educated, had degrees; even had businesses at one point. Life, this ridiculous game of yes and no and rise and shine, had a tendency to be cruel but always left hope for those that could help themselves.
Jimmy passed over the blister pack and John popped one of the pills out onto his palm. It was a capsule, clear on one side and opaque orange on the other. Inside he could see tiny little pink spheres (of course it would be pink). On the outside of the orange half there was printed 'WMM 50' in blue lettering. Other than that it appeared rather innocuous. He squirreled it away in the front left pocket of his trousers, thanking the young man.
"Well I can't say for sure it's the new medication or not, but they do generally come with side effects. Didn't they tell you?"
Again, the young man only shrugged noncommittally and pulled his filthy parka tighter around his slim frame. John ripped a piece of paper off his pad and slid it across the table where it was quickly snatched up by the other Omega.
"Fanks Doc. I'll tell me uvuh friends 'bout ya." Jimmy smiled a mangled toothy grin, probably for the first time since greeting John for their appointment. The older Omega took a moment to consider the possibility of perhaps referring him to a really, really good dentist. Someone looking for a challenge, perhaps.
"Alright then Jimmy, come back if you need to…and don't forget to get that filled at the chemist."
Jimmy nodded and slumped his way out of the bungalow. John shook his head, youth these days. He wondered if his parents and other relative authority figures had ever thought the same about him when he was in his younger days. Probably not, John had always tried to be a good kid, regardless of whatever trouble his gender caused him.
Turning his mind back to the mystery at hand, John reached into his jeans and pulled out the small capsule. He rolled it around in his palm a few times; testing the weight and distribution, but found nothing out of the ordinary. A thought suddenly popped into his head, maybe…
In the southwest corner of the bungalow lay John's harried and forlorn looking army duffel. Stuffed deeply in one of his side pockets was the small, rather fancy, mobile that Sherlock Holmes had seen fit to gift the petite Omega. It had been difficult not to text or call the enigmatic self-proclaimed consulting detective over the last few weeks. If John really wanted to be truthful with himself, he would admit that he was bored (beyond bored), and the only excitement he'd seen in ages had been within the company of the infuriating man and his infuriating cheekbones.
John breathed in slowly to a count of five, and then exhaled to a count of the same.
Alright, he couldn't just stand by and do nothing after receiving information that could be vital to an ongoing murder investigation, even if that meant he had to spend more time with the apex Alpha that featured in his most explicit daydreams (and night dreams, for that matter).
He knelt down next to the duffel and pulled out the mobile, hefting it in his hand and pressing down on the power button to turn it on. It was an iPhone, and brand-spanking new to boot. John didn't even want to know how much it cost, let alone why Sherlock bothered to spend that kind of money on a useless, homeless ex-army doctor. All self-deprecating thoughts aside, he had tried to keep it as charged as possible; but that was difficult when his only access to electricity was the Day Centre and the few ChargeBoxes he came across. Of course, the latter required money, which he kept in a tight fist.
Finally, the Apple logo disappeared and the screen came to life. It was a far cry from the old Vodafone he used before he went into the RAMC, that model was as simple as it could get. It had a small drab colored screen with buttons, and that was really all John had needed.
This new mobile, however, was miles away from that. It was colorful, loud, and held a number of tiny, square little icons that John had no idea what to do with.
"Now…if I just wanted to make a call…" John furrowed his brow and sat cross-legged on the scuffed hardwood floor. Sherlock had not given him any kind of user manual, of course, so he would just have to make do on his own. The tip of his pink tongue protruded ever so slightly from his thin but well-shaped lips as he booted up areas of his brain filed under 'electronics' and 'mobiles.' There wasn't much there.
Not twenty seconds after the phone finally reached full functionality, John's ears were inundated with beep after beep of some kind of alert noise coming from the small contraption. It had to have been around twenty notifications, he counted, and a little window popped up onto the screen. Oh, apparently he had text messages. Lovely. He touched the window to view the texts.
He immediately wished he hadn't.
Every single one of the texts was from Sherlock, of course. They appeared, one after the other, in a seemingly never-ending queue of commands, demands, and the like.
If you have need of me, I prefer to text – SH
You do know how to text don't you? – SH
No new bodies found on the latent Omega case – SH
Have you come across anything? – SH
I want my pamphlet back – SH
I don't understand why you won't take the extra room in my flat – SH
I assure you you're girlish sensibilities are under no threat from me – SH
Why aren't you answering my texts? – SH
I'm bored – SH
John – SH
Do I need to send Mycroft? – SH
Did you let the mobile die? – SH
John – SH
John – SH
John – SH
…and so on, and so forth.
John laughed out loud, long and hard. He didn't know why, but he found this entire situation to very, very amusing. No, John had not let the mobile die, but he hadn't had it turned on much since he had it either. He didn't really see the point, as he hadn't made up his mind to help the apex Alpha in his investigation or not. But, considering the information that had just come to light, John figured he had to contact Sherlock now. He still wasn't sure if he was willing to become a human sacrifice in the name of science and the British government, but if he could help the investigation he would.
John's laughter died down and he huffed at the rectangular menace, digging deep into his brain matter, thinking there must be something in there that could help him operate this shiny piece of technology.
"Don't bother. I thought I'd pay you a visit myself, since you seem to have forgotten how to communicate like any decent person."
John looked up abruptly, fancy mobile forgotten in his lap, and laid eyes once more on Sherlock Holmes. He tried to ignore the lurch in his stomach, the flutter of his heart, and the instant beads of sweat that erupted upon his brow. Sherlock cut such a dramatic figure in the doorway, the dim sunlight outlining his person in hazy amber relief; it would be hard not to romanticize his sudden entrance into John's bungalow, what with his coat and his collar and his cheekbones.
"Sherlock wha…? What…?" Oh god… John, pull yourself together. The Omega flushed most unattractively and cleared his throat. "How can I help you?"
Sherlock stepped inside the makeshift office and gave him a long, appraising look.
"Would you believe," he began in his toe-curling baritone, "that I have a headache."
