Disclaimer: Not owning 'em. All rights to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the producers of BBC.
Where Pathways Meet
3. Interlude
Chapter 4: Heartstrings
~oOo~
John moaned, feeling Sherlock's fingers digging into his body.
His body was already moist with the lube from his gland, which soothed the pain.
Sherlock's lips hovered all over his body: neck, chest, stomach, waist, leg, thighs.
His lips were hot. John flinched every time it touched his skin, with need and ecstasy.
John felt Sherlock pushing another finger inside.
"Ah... Sherlock- Please- ah-!"
John moaned. He was almost whimpering, with pleasure yet with pain.
The air was already burning hot, dense with their pheromones which muddled with John's head.
Sherlock's alabaster skin was gleaming in the misty dusk filling the bedroom.
John admired the scene, while his mind was clouded with lust; beads of sweat sparkling on the pale white skin, sky blue eyes clouded with desire.
And the lips. John wanted to kiss them, but Sherlock's hands were holding him down firmly.
The fingers started to move. It was quite rough, considering he was a virgin, but John was already overwhelmed by the pheromones.
He was enslaved by them, moving in sync with Sherlock's raid, rocking his hips and moaning loudly.
Only his moans showed John's pain. It was teary, hoarse and desperate.
The touching didn't last long. Sherlock was already hard enough. He whispered into John's ear, his silky baritone deep and rough.
"Turn around."
John obeyed, like a behaving omega would do for his alpha. He kneeled on his fours, one hand holding on the headboard.
John felt Sherlock's long fingers grabbing his bottom, pulling them open; and then, pushed his aroused cock inside with one movement. John screamed.
"Sherlock- ah- argh-! No, Sher- no- ah-"
Despite John's moist glands, despite his aroused heat, Sherlock's crude movements were too rough for a virgin body.
John held tight onto the headboard; if not, he felt he was about to crush down.
His cheeks were streamed with tears-the salty beads, bore from his eyes, lined down his face and died at his screaming lips.
John encoutered his first heat like that-crying, moaning and calling out Sherlock's name.
~oOo~
It hurted. It hurted so much. John slowly opened his eyes. Every part, every inch of his body ached. Even sunlight felt sore on his sensitive skins, from the aftermath of the intense heat. The heat. Thinking of the word, John pushed his eyes wide open.
What have I done?
And then, his memory of four days poured on his mind.
John remembered Sherlock climbing onto his bed. Remembered the beautiful eyes, the sparkling blue with a dazed look of lust. Remembered, himself, leaning down on his back for Sherlock, opening legs and-
- Take me.
remembered his lips, betraying his own reason.
John buried his face into his hands. Reality was unfathomable for him. The person sleeping next to him was a bloody Sherlock Holmes, completely naked.
The scene was something John craved even in his dreams since he was Fifteen years old, but he wasn't happy at all.
Panic started to permeate his mind.
What have I done?
John quietly asked himself. Something whispered in the corner of his head.
Why, of course, you tempted Sherlock into bed.
John trembled.
He took a glance at Sherlock.
He saw the reflection of the alpha, looking down at him last night.
- Mine.
Sherlock whispered in his memory. John answered.
-Yours, Sherlock. Yours. Forever.
For four days, the omega inside him whispered to Sherlock.
But it was never satisfied. It dug up the deepest emotions, guarded by John's reason; the most sensible part, and pushed it out through his lips.
For four days, John blurted out all of his heart in front of Sherlock.
It got out, compressed into three words:
-I love you.
For four days, John whispered that to Sherlock.
He slowly sat up. Reality was hard to fathom for the fragile omega.
John silently chanted in his head. This is just a nightmare. Just my worst nightmare.
His back hurted so much. John felt something sticky running down his leg.
Horrible pain cut through his spine the instant he stepped down on the floor.
John fell to his knees, but he managed to get up on his feet. His legs trembled, but he stumbled further.
And there he was-the reflection, on the mirror.
His whole body was covered in hickeys and teeth marks. Some ended up in bruises.
But what broke his heart was the white, sticky liquid marks engraved upon his inner thigh.
John wanted to believe that everything was false. He wanted to believe that he was looking into the wrong mirror.
But it was real, as real as the sound of Sherlock breathing peacefully on his bed.
John swayed his way into the bathroom. He faced with yet another mirror.
The cold reality was laughing at him.
- They always have to seduce others, full of lust. How can they manage a normal life?
John turned on the shower. Water poured down. John dazed at the things washed down from his own body.
The omega he feared his whole life, finally took over his reason.
His basic instincts won over, revealing his inner self. The self John never wanted.
Sherlock. All John could ever think of was that name. Everything else was white.
It hurted so much. John could hardly sit up.
It, hurted.
The cold breath of reality whispered into his ears.
- This is where omegas should be.
The endless biased statements John had to face through his life slowly stranged him.
It hurted.
It was okay till then. John thought himself was not such 'omega'.
As long as he suppressed his emotions for Sherlock, as long as he concealed his instincts,
as long as he did not tempt anyone into his bed, he believed he was clean.
He saw the white liquid Sherlock left on him was washed down into the drain.
A part of John wanted it to stay... but it was crazy, anyway.
It hurted so much. John wanted to cry, but it hurted more.
John buried his head into his arms.
Every time John was hurt from the biased words, he ran to Sherlock. Then Sherlock solved everything with one sentence.
- You're not like them.
John stared at the white walls of the bathroom.
I'm sorry, Sherlock. It seems that you're wrong this time.
~oOo~
John's eyes trailed the letters on papers. It was more of a 'staring' rather than 'reading'.
John's nerve was all concentrating on the moving organism on the opposite side of the living room.
The moving organism, taking on his coat, stepping out of the flat.
The article was bickering on something about yet 'another suicide case,' but John could not care less.
It wasn't until the skirt of Sherlock's coat disappeared upon the threshold when John let out a sigh.
When John came out of the shower three days ago, Sherlock was absent from the bathroom.
John cleaned the room, and called a worker to repair his broken door. When Sherlock came back, every memory of the twisted heat was gone.
It was since then John was avoiding Sherlock.
Sometimes Sherlock gazed long at him, its meaning unknown; but John 'read' books or left the flat every single time.
It was two days ago when John called up his sister.
When an omega have an unprotected sex on his first heat, there was a 90% chance that he could be pregnant.
If one bonds during the intercourse, it jumps up to 95%.
John knew the meaning of the red teeth mark Sherlock left on his shoulders, the 'bonding site.'
John talked to Harriet.
- Do you have the 'after-pills'?
Without any question, Harry brought the pills with her two hours later.
John was at the local café. Alone.
It was one of the few occasions that John came out of the flat alone.
John thought the occasions may be more frequent from now.
He saw a blonde alpha striding in confidence into the café. Some omegas sent a flirting glance to the blonde beauty, but nobody dared a shot at her.
She was bonded, anyway. The wedding ring was gleaming on her fourth finger.
Harry sat across from John. She rummaged through her bag, then produced a white box.
John's eyes never left the box.
- Those are Clara's.
Her voice was leaking of concern. However, she was still asking nothing.
- Is she okay?
Taking up the markless, white box, John asked quietly.
Harry carefully perused John. Her deep blue eyes were marked with concern. Her eyes were marine blue, unlike the silver blue eyes of a certain alpha.
There were waves in her eyes, but Sherlock's eyes are as fresh as a clear autumn wind blowing from the mountains.
John carefully barred his thoughts from heading into the black-haired alpha's direction. Who he should be focusing on, was Harry.
Even though she was drunk during most of her teenage years, rehab helped her to find a second life.
However, the biggest strength was Clara.
Clara McKenzie. The Scottish omega, with blazing red hair and grass-green eyes, was Harry's bond mate. She was one of the sweetest omegas John ever met in his life. She came from the same high school Harry went to, and was working as a nurse in Harry's rehab.
Helping Harry to recover from alcoholism brought them closer; on the first anniversary of Harry's release from the rehab, they married.
John remembered Harry's smile from that day-brighter than ever.
- ...She's okay.
Harry was still gazing at her younger brother.
The after-pills were not hard to acquire. After the 'omega-humanitarian law' was kick started two years ago, any omegas were able to acquire the 'after-pill' from their closest omega clinic, in condition of taking a pregnancy test.
However, John wasn't sure enough he was able to face a doctor. No, solely a human being. He wasn't sure he was able to talk about this.
He wasn't in mood for a pregnancy test, either. He believed he wasn't strong enough to face the results. He wasn't brave enough to erase the child even after he know he is actually pregnant. What will he do, then? Sherlock will never want a child, at least from John; and John couldn't stand the tragedy of raising a child as a single parent, especially one of Sherlock.
Finally, Harry asked.
- Who, on god's earth, is it?
John stared back into the defiant alpha's face.
Harry was always his shining knight in armour. Thankfully she was blessed with the destiny of an alpha, so every time somebody picked on John-mostly because he was omega-she always beated up the child, risking the chance of punishment. It bothered their mother sometimes, but Harry always tied things up well.
Most of all, she was the first person who John talked about his 'emotions.'
- Is... it him? The Holmes?
John looked down. He saw Harry's hands curling into fists.
She growled slowly, with her teeth clenched tight.
- He forced it, right? That crazy bastard. I always hated him. What did he do? Did he dragged you into his bed, using his family name?
- Sherlock did nothing.
John looked up from the table. Despite his words, Harry was still frowning.
- I started it first.
Harry gawked.
- What happened?
She suddenly launched towards John, her speed quite impressive.
Even before John managed a blink or two, she tore off John's shirt buttons.
She saw the bond mark Sherlock left on John's shoulder.
John dropped his head.
- ...It was a mistake. I forgot taking the suppression pills. Sherlock came to the flat, and I was the first...
John stopped, and took a breath.
- ...the first to, tempt him into bed.
- Take me.
Any living soul could not charge Sherlock of any responsibility under the circumstance.
Even when the omega resisted, clearly under intention of denial, the alpha-the assaulter- was declared innocent on the court.
The sole reason was that the omega never said 'no'.
John's words was an invitation for anything in this biased world.
John believed Harry knew that.
However, Harry banged her fists into the table.
John felt some eyes turning in their direction.
- Do you think that make sense?
John sealed his lips.
- John... You still craving? Mom told us. They never leave an omega by their side. It's a miracle that you're living in a bloody same flat with him. Don't seek after that bastard, look for another. There would be a plenty of alphas out there, wanting you more than anything.
John's lips were still sealed tight. Harry sighed.
- And John... you're not 'that' kind of omega. You told me.
- I was wrong, Harry.
John lifted his head. He looked into Harry's deep blue eyes, which were trembling.
John smiled, with the air of self-contempt.
- Omegas should stay where they should be. You're an alpha... you'll never know.
John stood up. Harry was seated still, gaping.
- Thanks for the pill. I owe you one.
John blurted out, his words somewhat sharp. He strode out of the café.
Just before he crossed the street, he turned back.
Harry was watching him, as if he was declared a death sentence though innocent.
John turned around, staring far into the London atmosphere.
Please, don't, Harry. Everything is my fault.
A/N: First of all, sorry for being too late. I was sooo busy. Still busy now. I was concerned that some may waited for the next chapter... there would be none, but who cares. Here it is!
So, now the Interlude is over, a new case is going to be developed. It is not from the BBC, purely based on canon.
Something of a 'league'... you know it, don't you? *nudge*
Then, please let me know what you think! I always appreciate any review, long or short. ;)