The Watson household lay dormant beneath an ebony sky. The first stirrings of a storm brewed from the north, sending tiny rumbles of thunder from a distance. The impending doom reached John's ears as he waited impatiently in the darkness, doing his best to prevent hyperventilation from destroying whatever semblance of control he still possessed. It seemed like it took forever for the elder Holmes to make his entrance, though the frightened Omega couldn't say he was entirely perturbed by such a fact.

As usual, it was all Mycroft's fault.

He could still remember what happened the previous night after his brief encounter with Sherlock. Visions of his father bloomed in his mind, leaving behind an unsavory aftertaste he couldn't get out of his mouth.

"I appreciate you taking him off my hands, Mycroft. I'm also overjoyed that you agreed with my desire to move up the wedding. I was thinking the children could wed next Sunday. I've heard we might actually see a bit of sun that day. Can you believe it? I almost died of shock."

John blew a breath out from between his parched lips, clutching his stomach as he hunched over, trying to control his breathing.

"Oh, it will be glorious. Can you imagine the publicity we'll get? Most of the town knows about my son and his ridiculous Omegist views. It'll do him good to get fucked and bred full of pups. It sure as hell would teach him his place, now wouldn't it?"

Ichabod's laughter breezed through John's memory uncomfortably, making the nauseous Omega stumble over his own two feet on his trip to the front door. Ripping it open, he threw himself over the front of his porch and vomited into his mother's flower bed. Relieving himself of all his stress was no easy task, but his body refused to let up, forcing his disgust up and out of his mouth until he found himself dry heaving to his own disturbing thoughts. Shaking profusely, John waited until the feeling in his throat and stomach lessened before sinking to the floor in a panic, trying unsuccessfully to cease his rapid breathing.

A sudden and violent need to compose himself without the watchful gaze of Mycroft Holmes analyzing his every move went unmet as some part of his consciousness registered the familiar clicking of neatly polished shoes approaching his huddled form with deliberate steps. It took all of two seconds for the man to stare disapprovingly down at John as if he were a parent scolding their child's unacceptable behavior, making the boy glare back up at him with hatred.

"I was hoping this would be an easy drop off, but it seems I was mistaken."

A flash of lightning, and rain was pouring off the pavement as if for dramatic effect, lighting up Mycroft's annoyed face. John hated that face, and he couldn't help but wonder if Sherlock had the same reaction to his overbearing older brother that he did. Just that fact alone could be enough to unite the Alpha and Omega, a thought that would have made John smile had he been in the mood for humor. Instead, all he felt was fear and rage.

I suppose I should start getting used to that, eh? he thought to himself.

"Oh, for God's sake," Mycroft snapped, interrupting John's internal monologue. "You expelled your insides all over the lady's smock. Those white petals are rare, John. They should be respected and cherished, not used as a punching bag for your abuse. Get up, compose yourself, and get into the limo. I swear, all this getting up and doing my own dirty work is beyond irritating."

Mycroft walked away and left John alone, obviously assuming he would follow. And why wouldn't he? What other choice did he really have? He could resist, but that would only add more fuel to the fire and that was not something the Omega wanted at this point in time. He could, however, make the man's life a living hell. He'd come to the conclusion that he was going to do the same with Sherlock, partnership be damned. Why not give equal treatment to the brother-in-law as well?

It was with great effort and admirable skill that John was able to make it into the limousine without puking the rest of his intestines all over the driveway. It was an incredible feat. John was mighty proud, if he did say so himself. But the victory was short lived when the gravity of the situation finally dawned on him. He was getting married next week . . . to an Alpha. He was being uprooted from his home to the home of someone he knew nothing about. As if that wasn't enough, he was going to have Greg with him. John was always extremely protective of his friends, but how could he care for both himself and another Omega? He could barely save himself from Pontius' clutches when he was a child. How was he supposed to escape his own fate when he had to help someone else escape theirs as well?

John was starting to feel like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but he had to move forward, didn't he? It was the only choice he had. He just hoped this entire thing didn't end tragically. With all the hard work he put into making himself the strongest Omega he could be, it would be a shame if his father's words to him when he was younger proved themselves true.

"What's this I hear about you talking back to an Alpha?"

Little John fixed his doe eyes on his father, feeling small compared to the big man staring up at him. "He said I was weak and useless. My feelings got hurt, so I wanted to prove him wrong."

Ichabod's cruel laughter pierced a hole right through his son's heart. "Don't you see? You are weak, John. All Omegas are. It's in your DNA."

John's tears blurred his vision. "You're wrong, dad! You are!"

Ichabod grabbed John by his shirt collar, looking so frightening, John could feel himself shrinking in his chair, bowing his head in defeat. His father smiled. "See what I mean? Didn't take too long to recognize the power of an Alpha, did it? You're a sniveling, sneezing baby. I'm sick of having a willful, disobedient little brat for a child. You are going to start showing Alphas the respect they deserve, son. You're going to learn your place!"

"P-please let me go," John sniffled quietly.

"First, tell me what I wanna hear."

"I-"

"TELL ME!"

He had to say it. He had no choice. "O-omegas are weak."

Ichabod's eyes softened. Patting John on the head, he smiled with happiness, a feeling the boy was convinced only Alphas were allowed to experience. "That's a good lad."

"John?"

John lifted his head slowly when he heard Mycroft address him, haziness clouding his brain. "Hmm?"

The elder Holmes shot the Omega an inquisitive stare. "We're here."

We're here. For some reason, everything around John started to shrink and distort into abstract images he couldn't comprehend. His heartbeat increased, pounding inside his ears as his breathing took on a life of its own. He slapped a palm over his chest, but it did nothing to stop the tightness he felt there, like an anaconda squeezing the life out of him.

Not again. Oh, God, not again.

A voice from somewhere in the distance melded into another, the faint trace of a conversation John could barely hear getting closer to his person until the door beside him flung open and someone was grabbing his body and forcing it to the side. His feet hit the pavement, but he remained seated, sure that he was going to die at any moment.

He could vaguely register his hands being placed in different positions, one on his chest, the other on his stomach. His face was cradled and the one touching him said something he didn't understand. When the message that he wasn't paying attention was received, the person put their forehead up against his, a familiar scent permeating his nostrils. Something about the aroma made him come back to himself, allowing him to finally see the man in front of him.

"John? John, look into my eyes. I want you to breathe in with your chest and out with your stomach."

That voice. So strong. Comforting. So, so comforting.

"S-Sherlock?" he rasped.

"Breathe with me, my Omega," Sherlock responded, holding the other boy's face in his long fingers. John breathed. "Good. Keep your eyes on me, John. Don't go. Stay with me."

John looked into his Alpha's eyes. He saw something there he couldn't quite place. Sure, there was that logical, emotionless rationality Sherlock flaunted, but there was something else beyond that, something John wished he could identify.

The Alpha in question, having realized he was probably showing something he desperately wanted to conceal, put a lid on whatever it was his Omega was observing and extinguished the fires of something remarkably akin to gentleness with one drop of icy liquid, leaving behind that familiar coldness John was becoming used to, much to the boy's chagrin.

"He's going to be fine," Sherlock said, addressing Mycroft. "Nothing more than a panic attack. By the looks of it, he's been having them for a while."

"Well, that's just fantastic, isn't it?" Mycroft hissed, annoyed. "God, the things I put up with for the sake of this family."

John ignored the man's disrespectful attitude and struggled to his feet, the fog in his head slowly fading away as he took in Jim's house in the distance. "So, this is Moriarty's house, yeah? Greg already inside?"

A look between the brothers was exchanged, leaving John with a sinking suspicion that Mycroft never told the younger Holmes about their intended destination. Their silent battle of wills was astoundingly childish to John, but he found himself unable to look away. Sherlock in particular seemed rather perturbed by John's reveal, though for what reason, he could not say. Why Mycroft would choose to keep something that seemed so trivial to John from his brother was a mystery he was keen on solving. Why did those bastards insist on keeping so many damned secrets? And what was it about those Holmes brothers that always had John questioning everything he knew about, well, everything? Damn Alphas.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock said, voice quiet and deadly. "May I speak with you alone for a moment?"

Mycroft shot John a threatening look. "I know this is all sudden right now, Sherlock, but do try to trust me when I tell you that I know what I'm doing."

"Really? Is John aware that you're bringing him into the home of a killer?"

John's head shot up, brows contorting in a mixture of anger and bewilderment.

"You have no idea what's going on here, brother mine."

"Then maybe you'd better tell me," Sherlock replied coldly, devoid of all emotion that wasn't covered in ice. "I knew you were up to something, Mycroft, but this? I need to know where the Omega is at all times. It's how I ensure his safety. Now that I do, you think I'm going to allow you to place my mate in the arms of Moriarty? John won't last a second in Jim's presence. He'll chew him up, spit him out, and then I'll have to kill him. I don't want blood on my hands, brother. It stains."

"Your . . . mate?" Mycroft inquired, curiosity and disgust battling for dominance within the depths of his intimidating face. "Is that how you plan to refer to him from now on? Oh, how touching."

"Alright, enough of this," John interrupted, trying not to roll his eyes at the nauseating stench of Alpha pride. "I've had just about all I can take from the both of you. First of all, how did you get here, Sherlock? You weren't in the limo."

"I followed you in a cab," Sherlock said, eyes on Mycroft.

John scoffed. "Ah, 'Course you did. Anyway, it doesn't matter. As fascinating as it is to stand here and watch you two clowns fight like babies over something I don't think I'll ever understand, and as much as I'd love to find out why it is I'm here exactly, the only thing I give a damn about right now is finding me mate. Now, are two going to come with me up this walkway here, or am I going it alone?"

John didn't know why he bothered waiting for an answer, but when it became apparent that they'd rather stare at each other than help the poor little Omega stranded in the middle of nowhere, he threw his hands up in exasperation and headed in the direction of the mansion in the distance without once looking back to see if the Alphas had decided to follow. When he'd reached the double doors, he knocked with all the strength he could muster and waited for an answer, trying his best to ignore the little tidbit of information relating this Moriarty to a cold-blooded killer.

When the barrier between John and the inside of the house was removed, it took him a moment to realize he was staring into the face of a boy who couldn't be any older than sixteen, with hair the color of chestnut, the bangs of which fell down one side of his face in loose strands that he pushed back with his well manicured hands. His glossy hazel eyes carried a hint of gold surrounding the pupils, oval shapes framed by long, thick eyelashes that fluttered from the caress of the cold Autumn air. He was of medium build, skinny, but strong, with small ripples of muscles that twitched from the boy's obvious agitation at being interrupted from whatever he was doing before John came to the door. His attire consisted of torn up blue jeans, light brown boots and a tight white t-shirt that accentuated every bit of lean muscle he possessed, leaving John to wonder if his clothing carried an immoral purpose.

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice much deeper than the Omega anticipated, and heavily dripping with distrust.

"Uh, y-yes. I'm, er, looking for a Jim Moriarty?"

The boy looked John up and down. "You Watson?"

John watched his semi full lips move. Was he chewing gum? "Yes, I am."

"Follow me," the other responded, leaving John to follow his lead.

John walked inside with trepidation, something about the boy rubbing him the wrong way. This entire scene reeked of something sinister, leaving him to wonder if he'd knowingly walked right into the lion's den. He felt no comfort from the fact that Sherlock was somewhere close by. Alphas were of no use to an Omega when they were in peril. They were of no use to anyone at all, really. Not unless you were an Omega in heat who needed their knot.

"So," John began, forcing very dangerous thoughts of Sherlock's knot on the back burner,"tell me about this Moriarty. He a good lad?"

The boy didn't respond. Interesting.

"Oi. I'm talkin' to you."

John's companion looked at him as if in a daze, a flicker of something unfamiliar invading his eyes. "You don't want me to answer that question."

Seriously? That was all he got? Everything about this situation was harrowing enough, but to get that kind of an answer to a question about the Alpha John would be staying with was going too far.

"I, uh . . . I think I do, actually."

The boy smirked. "Moriarty is a man who gets what he wants; no exceptions, no mercy. He's ruthless, predatory"-he paused to smile at John-"sexually aggressive."

Oh, dear God. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

"But you don't got to worry about that last bit."

John gulped. "W-why not?"

"He only ever wants me."

John's mouth opened slightly in understanding. So, that's who this was? One of Moriarty's . . . playthings? Were they even in a relationship? Or was he some kind of male escort there to satisfy all of this Jim's disgusting fantasies? Only time would tell, he supposed.

John's guide took him up a very long spiral staircase to a room whose space consisted of rows upon rows of what looked like a library's worth of books lining the many shelves. Windows displayed the sky, black as the night John was in, without a star in sight as if to tell the hesitant Omega he was swimming in treacherous waters. The storm from earlier hadn't dissipated, but the lightning was gone, leaving behind an abyss of ebony that was staring directly into John's weary expression. The room definitely looked like a library, but bigger, with a shelf, followed by a space with a window, then another shelf, and on and on the pattern went, making John dizzy. It wasn't until he reached the end that he noticed a small door being opened by the boy, leading him to a smaller room with more books and a cozy fireplace. A small chair was placed strategically in front of it, holding the weight of someone John assumed was Moriarty.

"John Watson," the boy's voice rang out monotonously. "Jim Moriarty."

The man in the chair turned his head, almost in slow motion, until his eyes locked with John's, the lack of reaction on Moriarty's part making John nervous. The terror rushing through him clashed with his determination not to let an Alpha get under his skin, leaving him confused and cursing his biology with the spite of a serpent's hiss.

Oh, God. He's getting up. Why is he getting up?

Moriarty's gait was raptorial. Every step was littered with determination, the nature of it intimidating without even trying. He was a small man, yes, but not weak. There was no such thing as a weak Alpha. Everything about him, from his slicked back brown hair, to his brown eyes, to his well-tailored suit screamed class, but there was something off about his sophistication. His eyes held a bit of madness which mirrored in his contorted lips, a hint of crazy penetrating his form in a silent signal to John that said only one thing: beware.

He stared at John for a long time, neck twitching with derangement. The Omega held his ground, hiding his fear by hardening his face, body posture going on the defensive. Alpha or no Alpha, one thing was for sure: he wasn't gonna go down without a fight.

Except there wasn't one. Not the one John was expecting anyway. No, this one didn't involve physical violence. It was rather passive aggressive in nature, a rare thing for an Alpha, though Sherlock and his brother tended to fight that way. A silent battle was being waged in this room, challenged by Moriarty and accepted by John. The boy whose name John didn't know stood beside him. He could feel the kid's body tense, John's peripherals picking up on the slight tinge of weariness plaguing the poor Omega's features. Yes, the boy was definitely an Omega. John could sniff out his kind like nobody else. It was a shame that he allowed an Alpha to bully him in such a way. John and Greg really were alone with this Omegist thing, weren't they?

The thought of Greg was what finally made John speak up, taking a bit of pleasure in the fact that he was breaking the rules by speaking without an Alpha's permission. "Hello."

Moriarty's mouth twisted into a smirk. "John Watson. It's an honor to meet you."

His voice was so different from what John had imagined in his head. It was high-pitched, almost childlike. "Who's the Omega?"

The kid beside him started to breathe heavily, eyes lidded with what appeared to be unwanted desire. Moriarty's eyes didn't leave John's, though the mention of the boy caused a small flash of lust to grace his features. "Sebastian Moran. He's a special boy."

"Very attractive, too," John said, wincing slightly at the sudden jealousy that overtook the Alpha. Why was he so possessive of the Omega? A man like that couldn't love . . . could he?

The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. Moriarty's smirk was gone, and John's Omega senses detected that danger was near. He could tell right away that his observation of the boy was a huge mistake. Complimenting an Omega was a tricky thing when done in the presence of their Alpha. John would never have done it had he known the man would react in such a way. So much for Omega intelligence.

John was bracing for a fight when the door burst open and in walked a very stern looking Sherlock, the sight of him doing something strange to John's insides. One whiff of Moriarty's scent, and John's Alpha narrowed his eyes, telling the man to back off without even opening up his mouth.

"Sherlock," Moriarty exclaimed gleefully, his sudden excitement making him sound even crazier. "Why, I haven't seen you in ages."

"Indeed you haven't," Sherlock said, looking around the room. "I see your tastes haven't changed."

"Bit of a traditionalist, I'm afraid. Father was just as drab."

Sherlock gave a tiny smirk. "Which one?"

At the sight of Moriarty's evil glare, John realized something significant was going on here, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. It was clear the two Alphas knew each other, but to what extent? What was it about this whole thing that put John on edge?

"Where's Mycroft?" Jim asked, distracting John from his worries.

Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose. Walking around the room, he ran his exceptionally long fingers over the stack of books on the table, settling on one and flicking through the pages. "He went to go look for Gregory. Bit of history between them, it seems. I'm 100% sure they're supposed to be mated, though Mycroft would rather die than admit it to me."

John whipped his head to stare at Sherlock, horrified. Sherlock looked back, rolling his eyes. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. I thought you were smarter than that."

Smarter. Seems John wasn't as observant as he'd originally thought. Everything that's happened to him so far has made him question everything he'd previously thought about himself. He thought he was strong, yet Moriarty had managed to intimidate him. He thought himself intelligent enough to observe the intentions of others, yet he hadn't noticed anything even remotely off about Mycroft's apparent relationship with his best mate. How in the hell did Greg keep a secret that big from him anyhow? Were the bonds of friendship not as tight as they once were? Was Greg pulling away from John? And just why in the hell was he here anyway?

All these things were floating around in John's head, driving him mad with intrigue. So mad, in fact, that he somehow found himself disappearing from the room he'd originally inhabited to go off in search of Sherlock's brother, leaving a very different pair of Alphas doing the same bullshit display of power as the ones outside not even a half hour ago. Despite the size of the mansion, John quickly found what he was looking for, determination coursing through his veins at the sound of hushed voices just on the other side of the corridor.

Creeping up on his best friend and Mycroft Holmes was a lot harder than John could have ever imagined, yet he somehow managed to make it work. What he hadn't counted on, though, was the extent to which the conversation he was about to bear witness to would affect him, both physically and mentally. Apparently, the exhaustion that comes with an arranged marriage, a mentally abusive father, and a shared habitat with a deranged psychopath is nothing compared to the shock and devastation of finding out the bloke you've known since you were a child had killed your pedophilic uncle. Who knew, right? Ah, the joys of being John Watson.

"What more do you want from me, Mycroft?" Greg was whispering, folding his arms across his chest defensively. The anger and hurt on his face wasn't exactly subtle, making John wonder what it was that could have caused such a distressed look to plague his friend's features. "First that shit happened at dinner, then you come into my home and threaten my parents into bringing me here, and now this?"

"I allowed them to come along, didn't I?" Mycroft responded, sounding as casual as ever. Bastard. "I try to accommodate you in every possible way, yet you continually dismiss my efforts. It is I that should be asking you such a question."

"Really? You had someone hold my folks at gunpoint, Mycroft! You know, all I wanted was your help in getting me on the right path to pursue my career. I never thought that a simple visit to your house would result in my murdering Pontius Watson or being forced to reallocate myself and my parents to the home of a fucking nutcase! Mum is terrified of him, and so am I."

Mycroft's eyes became hard. "I'd never allow him to hurt you."

"Oh, that's rich coming from you."

"Gregory, I may have asked you to do something you didn't want or understand, but believe me when I say I have the best of intentions with regard to you and your family. No harm will come to any of you. Now, you asked me to give you what you wanted and that's exactly what I did. All I asked in return was that you responded in kind."

"If you've done what I asked then why haven't you gotten me into ABO yet?"

Mycroft smiled. "I have."

John frowned. ABO University was a school that allowed students of any dynamic to attend, be it Alpha, Omega, or Beta. Coincidentally, they had the best classes in criminology, psychology, and sociology, leading to the brightest and the most ambitious of students leaving school to become the best detectives in the country. Greg's father, Monty, had graduated from that school, and was one of the most revered-and retired-detective inspectors to ever grace London. He saw things, not in the same way Sherlock did, but close enough that everybody respected him almost to the same extent they obviously respected John's infuriating Alpha, who'd made a name for himself with the help of his brilliant mind and brilliant sibling. Not that John had done his research on the other boy or anything. That, of course, would have implied that he cared.

The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place, and Greg's motivations and relations to Mycroft became more and more clear with each passing moment, much to John's dismay. Greg came to Mycroft's house for help, knowing that his parents had mysteriously lost everything, and that Mycroft's reputation would ensure that he got what he wanted. Mycroft responds by telling Greg that he'll get him into ABO and help him achieve his goal of following in his father's footsteps, but only for a price: killing Pontius Watson. Why Greg would accept, John wasn't sure, but he knew there was no way in hell Greg would go that far just to become Inspector. Mycroft must have told him about John and Pontius. But how did he know? John had never told anyone about that. Sure, his parents knew, but they were much too embarrassed and worried about the stain a pedophile would leave on the family name to admit the damage he'd inflicted on their only son to anyone. So, once again, how did he know? It just didn't make any sense.

Then the whole bit about Mycrot holding Greg's parents at gunpoint and forcing them to move both themselves and their son to Moriarty's for . . . protection? Mycroft had said something about how Greg needed protecting and this was the only way it could be done. But who would Greg need to be protected from? Why would he need John's help? If this was all about his friend, then how did John get mixed up in this mess? Did Sherlock know anything about his brother's intentions? Was he even the least bit suspicious that his brother kept more secrets than a pregnant schoolgirl?

"You did?" Greg gasped, eyes lighting up.

"I may withhold information from you, Gregory, but I have never lied to you, and I don't intend to start now. I've enrolled not only yourself, but John as well. You're going to need your friend around to watch your back. Things can get pretty gnarly with the other Alphas in that place. The last thing I need is for something to happen to you, Omega. The injury of any one of us will set off a chain reaction nobody wants, I can assure you. Now, have we finished here?"

Greg couldn't keep the smile off his face. "For now. But don't think this is gaining you any brownie points."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Mycroft replied dryly.

John turned and headed off, to where, he didn't know. His head was swarming with even more questions now than when he'd first entered Moriarty's humble abode. While Greg's story was starting to come into play, his own remained a huge mystery, one with enough twists and turns to keep him guessing until the bitter end.

Mycroft was one hell of a secretive man, but John was patient. While he may have been able to keep so much inside of him for so long, it was only a matter of time before the now angry Omega discovered every single one of Mycroft's guilty secrets. He makes his friend commit murder, drags him and John into a mess they don't understand and manipulates them on every turn. After what he'd just heard with Mycroft and Greg, John was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of Pontius' death. While John didn't hate to see the man go, Pontius was obviously involved in something that could have possibly implicated Mycroft, leading the man to have him murdered. But why make Greg do it? What role did John have in this? Could it have something to do with the strange phone call Ichabod received about John? Were John, Greg, and possibly Sherlock the only ones in the dark here?

It seemed there were many mysterious surrounding the lives of the Watsons and the Holmes', and one way or another, John was going to find them out, and when he did, he would make sure to burn the entire foundation of their families to the ground.

He just hoped he didn't destroy himself in the process.