There are instances in an Omega's life when they are completely at the mercy of an Alpha. Certain times include:
1. When they're in heat (a condition that makes them incapable of logical thought).
2. When they're being forced.
3. When they've found their mate (it is important to note that this process includes a certain pheromone that's given off by both the Alpha and the Omega, signifying to both parties that they're meant for each other).
Of the three possibilities mentioned here, only two of them have ever been experienced by Mr. John Watson. Was he bitter about them? Absolutely. However, he'd learned early on that acceptance of the inevitable makes life much more bearable for everyone, and it was this undeniable truth that made ridiculous things like heats and knowing your martial arts so you don't get raped by an Alpha nothing more than basic life lessons necessary for surviving what he called the "Omega Ordeal." Unfortunately for John, the moment he suddenly found himself in had him facing a second undeniable truth, one which he was NOT ready to accept . . .
John had finally found his Alpha.
The man in question, standing in the doorway with the kind of posture a statue would envy, seemed completely unaware of the aroma he unconsciously emitted into the atmosphere. His attention was instead riveted on the dead body in front of him, pupils expanding mercilessly to the gruesome sight. John used the Alpha's obliviousness of his Omega to study his physical appearance, trying very hard to hide his displeasure at being ignored.
To say that his Alpha was attractive wouldn't be too far a stretch, though the term "unconventionally handsome" might be a better way of describing what John considered rather odd features. The man's eyes, the first to catch John's own, bore irises of an icy blue hue peppered with flecks of green and gold, each color surrounding a sphere of black that both enlarged as he looked at Pontius, and deflated when he looked away. The shape of them slanted in a way that reminded the Omega of an alien, picture made clearer by the prominent cheekbones protruding and tilting in perfect harmony just below them. His raven locks fell in wavy strands across his scalp, twitching only slightly from the cool October breeze (John couldn't help but wonder if the Alpha's hair was as immovable as he obviously was). A knotted blue scarf covered most of his neck, and the long, black coat he wore made John believe his clothes were cloaking his skin just as the Alpha appeared to cloak his emotions, assuming he had any to begin with, that is. All in all, the man was rather intimidating (not to John, of course), and the way he demanded attention and respect without having to voice it infuriated John more than anything Pontius could have ever done. Damn Alphas and their God complexes.
"Sherlock," Barnabas whispered, stunned.
The men in the doorway shared a look, followed by a chuckle from the elder. "I knew something like this would happen, though I must say, they all far superceded my expectations by introducing a murder to our little circus."
John felt an involuntary shiver climb up his spine when the younger Alpha's gaze met his, eyes narrowing in a slightly predatory fashion. "Indeed."
The man beside Sherlock followed his lead and glanced at John with a smug expression, lips forming a smirk different from that of Pontius Watson, less unpleasant but far more obscene. Whereas Pontius looked at John like he wanted to devour him alive, this person looked at him the way any Alpha looks at an Omega: like the person before him was inferior. The rage John could feel building when Sherlock walked through the door morphed into defiance as he took a competitive stance. The other man noticed the change and his smirk grew, making John feel as though he were looking into the depths of his very soul.
Bastard.
"Boys!" Agatha exclaimed, shock slowly fading enough to where she could speak. "I smell cigarette smoke! Were you two being naughty again?"
John wanted to laugh at the terrified expressions that came over the men's faces, but the insinuation that they were both brothers was more than a little alarming.
"It was Mycroft," Sherlock said suddenly. The look of betrayal and the promise of revenge in his sibling's eyes had Sherlock smiling briefly before turning his attention back to the body of Pontius Watson lying beside his upturned chair, watching him in a way that a scientist might look at something under a microscope. Taking a quick inventory of the room, Sherlock made his way over to the "crime scene" with an ease not normally known to people who observed such macabre images of death, bending down and retrieving a magnifying glass out of his pocket to better see what the naked eye could not.
"He's not a detective," John said bitterly. "What the hell is he doing?"
"Might as well be," Agatha replied. "My boys are extremely gifted, you see. They can see things that others cannot. Oh, you just wait until you get to know him, my dear John. He'll shock and entertain you in ways no other Alpha will ever be able to."
John turned his attention back to Sherlock, folding his arms over his chest. "Can't wait," he mumbled sarcastically.
As he watched the Alpha across the room, he noticed that his body had become tense without warning, and it was all he could do not to gasp in surprise when Sherlock's head tilted slightly to the left, matching John's terrified expression with one of his own as he looked at him over his shoulder. The stunned Omega could read the curiosity in the man's eyes, but it was nowhere near as dangerous as the one just behind the intrigue, taunting him with words that clearly screamed challenge accepted into his bleeding ears until it was all he could hear. He could feel a connection buried deep beneath the surface between him and his Alpha, binding them together in a tangled web of biological inevitability that sparked both his excitement and his anger. After all, being forced into a marriage was one thing, but experiencing an actual bond? John would die before he allowed that to happen. One way or another, he was going to find a way out of this marriage. He'd make sure of that.
"Sherlock," Mycroft said softly.
"Yes?"
"The body."
With the trance between them broken by fatality, Sherlock went back to examining the body, much to John's relief. The Omega watched with morbid fascination while his Alpha picked up the cup Pontius drank from and sniffed its contents, glancing back and forth between the tea and the cookies laid out beside the dead man's plate of Salmon. A wide smile graced the Alpha's features.
"Of course," he said. "Almonds."
Everyone in the room stared at him like was crazy.
"Ah, yes," Mycroft murmured. "Cyanide."
"I beg your pardon?" John asked.
Mycroft looked at John. "Whoever killed him provided almond cookies to mask the almond taste of the cyanide in his tea, my dear John."
John tried to hide his panic. "But that's impossible. I made those cookies, and I can assure you, I'm not the one that killed the guy."
Sherlock stood up, ignoring the Omega. "You're Olivia Watson," he said, fixing his icy blue eyes on John's mother. You're related to this man, judging by the resemblance. Most likely your brother, considering how close you two are in age. The flour still present underneath your fingernails suggests that you were the one who, in fact, made those cookies and that your son is obviously trying to cover for you. The look of disdain present on John's face every time he looks at the deceased lets me know that he disliked him immensely, but did not kill him, as the laughable way he tried to hide his alarm at my accusation regarding the sweets did not go unnoticed-"
"Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted, side eyeing his brother. "I'm winning."
John didn't have the mental capacity to wonder what Mycroft meant by that. He was too stunned by his brother's deductions to care about anything other than the intelligent Alpha in front of him. The quickness of his words and the way he'd just dissected both John and his mother without taking a breath did something strange to the Omega's brain, filling it with an admiration that he couldn't quite control.
"That was bloody brilliant!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself.
John felt Sherlock's intense gaze before he saw it.
"Sorry," the Omega mumbled under his breath.
He could have sworn he'd detected a small smile creeping up on the Alpha's full lips, but it was gone by the time John really had a moment to process it.
"But I didn't kill anyone," Olivia spoke up quietly, addressing Sherlock with the same numbness she gave to the rest of her surroundings. "I liked Pontius. He was a good man."
John flinched at that.
"I know," Sherlock responded. "I don't know how yet . . . but I know."
Ichabod, who'd been silent up until this point, laughed humorlessly. "Well, what the hell are we supposed to do now? Our families have been fighting for as long as I can remember. The marriage we still need to plan was going to fix all that, but now we have to worry about a murder that one of you committed in my own house! How in the world do you plan on solving this one, Sherlock Holmes? A case so close to your own person? All of this funny business surrounds yourself and your Omega!"
"I am NOT his Omega!" John snapped, earning a fierce glance from Sherlock.
"Quiet," Ichabod hissed at his son. "You don't get to speak after the nonsense you pulled before your Alpha came through that door."
"Everybody shut up," Sherlock said, looking bored. "I'll figure this out eventually. Right now I'm hungry. Mycroft?"
"Famished," the older man replied happily. "Will the Omega be joining us?"
It was then that both brothers acknowledged John for more than a brief flickering moment. He could feel a weird sensation spread through his belly and up his spine, attacking his head with a tingling reminiscent of the heats he'd grown used to spending alone. It took him some time to realize that what he was feeling was on account of the strong scent permeating his nostrils, assaulting him with the possessiveness Sherlock no doubt experienced the moment John denounced him as his Alpha. The idea that Sherlock could feel any of that toward John was enough to make him back away in an odd combination of fear and hatred, hating himself for responding to the man's exquisite aroma.
Sherlock, who'd no doubt observed every second of this internal struggle, simply smirked and walked out of the room without a word. Just when John thought he was safe, the infuriating Mycroft had the nerve to whisper, "He likes you" in the Omega's ear before turning around, and, after peering curiously at someone out of the corner of John's eye, abruptly slammed the front door.
Fucking asshole.
"So," Greg piped up from some random corner of the room. "What are we gonna do with the body?"