Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out . . .

This isn't working.

Damn.

The shaky legs that barely managed to hold up the body of John Watson finally gave way beneath him, causing him to fall to the floor in one semi-big pile of limbs as he tried to contain the panic attack destroying whatever remained of his self-control.

Marriage. An arranged marriage. Bloody hell!

*Narratorus interruptus* Ahem . . . before one can explain John's freak out over his impending marriage, one must first go back to the day he was born. As some of you may have deduced from the previous chapter, talk of such an event has been whispered in the ears of every single member of both families since John and his betrothed-who shall remain nameless until the proper time for dramatic effect-were brought into this godforsaken world. Through the gossip trickled down over the years, John, of course, learned that he was bound to be married. As one might imagine, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea.

The discussion of a mating between an Alpha and Omega must obviously prompt a few quizzical stares, and so we shall now delve into the differences surrounding the Alphas, Omegas, and Betas. Yes, we must never leave out the Betas, for it was one Beta in particular that served as a referee for a different coupling that the reader will certainly see at a later time, one which John will be very much involved in-

Wait, what? Of course he'll be involved in someone else's love life. He'll have a hand up every couple's skirt that features in this story. He's the main character, for God's sake. He's everywhere! Now, if you are quite done interrupting the narrator, we can now continue with the explanations . . .

Huh? Oh, fine. We'll just leave it up to the story to do that for the you. You people certainly know how to make a narrator feel special, don't you? Cretins.

"John! Goddammit, John! Open the door right this instant!"

"Oh, dear."

"Well, Mycroft told us he'd react this way, didn't he?"

"Do shut up, Irving!"

So many voices. Too many voices. Not enough oxygen. Yelling. Jesus, why are they yelling?

John clutched his stomach and breathed deeply.

Marriage. Just the word alone was enough to send him into paroxysms of terror. That word meant the end for Omegas everywhere. Being married to an Alpha meant being mated and being mated meant becoming a house Omega. A house Omega, for fuck sake! Could you imagine? Poor little John, standing in front of the kitchen stove with a belly full of pups baking pies while his big, strong Alpha got to go out into the real world and live the life he'd always dreamed of. It was barbaric! It was unfair! It was boring. But how does an Omega say no to an arranged marriage that not even an Alpha could break free from? The answer was simple . . . they couldn't.

It was official: John was fucked.

"I'm gonna count to three, John, and if you don't open this door right now, I swear I'm gonna-"

John got up off his ass and turned the knob without even thinking, shoving his panic so far deep down inside of himself, he would have been surprised if it popped up again before next Tuesday. "Yes?"

Everyone stood in silence until Ichabod broke the ice. "And just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I was trying to take a shower."

"Are you alright, Dear?" Olivia inquired dreamily. "You just stormed off when we brought up the marriage. One might have thought you'd disapproved."

"Disapproved?" John repeated stupidly. "Oh, no. Quite the opposite, actually, yeah. As long as he's a rich Alpha with a big knot, that's about all an Omega can hope for, wouldn't you say, father?"

The fake smile, the raised eyebrows, the carefree attitude . . . it was all supposed to be mocking, and some part of Ichabod must have realized that when his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he looked at his rebellious son, pissed as all hell that he couldn't figure him out anymore than the rest of them could. "I don't know what you're gettin' at, boy, but you will be the one to make this work. The families are on the brink of war. Your marriage could be the key to saving us from certain destruction. I don't give a rat's ass about the Holmes' but they're too much of a threat to ignore. Now, I've invited them all over for dinner, including Barnabas's youngest son, so you'd better make yourself presentable before 9:00 this evening and if you even think about disobeying me, I will fucking destroy you. Have I made myself clear?"

John responded by shutting the door in his face, his laughter muffled by the sound of running water.

Barnabas was distraught. No, more than that. He was livid.

His conversation with Mr. Watson about John was quite . . . disturbing, to say the least. The boy's reaction to the marriage was an odd one, and there was something about the way his emotions hit extremes that made the old man question how he was going to react when meeting his son for the first time. He knew that, despite John's seemingly careless attitude toward his impending marriage, the way he'd supposedly ran to the bathroom upon first hearing the news of his betrothal gave away his true feelings on the subject, feelings which regretfully weren't ideal for a loving partnership.

Mycroft knew this would happen, but that didn't make it any better hearing the truth from Mr. Watson's lips. He'd hoped that this pairing would not only unite the families, but also help his youngest boy know the joys of true love. However, it was apparent that Barnabas Holmes was cursed with two sons who would never know the meaning of sentiment, nor compassion and kindness. They refused to even entertain the possibility that they could be like everyone else. 'Course they wouldn't. They'd rather die by their own hand than let all those pesky feelings get in the way of their superior intellect. They were machines, nothing more, and it was with a heavy heart that Barnabas finally decided that, regardless of whether or not this marriage successfully put aside everyone's disagreements, there would still be a war. The difference is that it would only be between two people instead of a dozen.

Sighing internally, Barnabas got up from the chair situated in front of his desk and went to his bedroom, smiling when he saw the clothes he would wear for the night laying on his bed, perfectly ironed.

Oh, my darling Agatha. What a saint you are.

"There's still hope," he heard from behind him. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but maybe we're doing the best thing for everyone and we just don't know it yet. There's no need to worry your pretty little head over it just yet, hon. Everything will be just fine."

Barnabas turned to smile at his beautiful wife, feeling more optimistic by the second. "Yes. Yes, I'm sure it will, dear."

Under his wife's influence, Barnabas began to feel more at ease.

It's just a dinnner, he thought to himself. What could possibly go wrong?