Chapter 4 – Omegas Rising
Summary: Sherlock and John are instantly famous after taking down David Caroll and more high-profile cases further their popularity even more. Their relationship runs smoothly, too - until a family emergency commands John's attention.
Author's Notes: I am utterly sorry for the delay! Thank you all for your lovely reviews and favourites and follows :) it's great to see you are enjoying this!
xXx
Sherlock and John become celebrities overnight.
John goes to bed after bringing Sherlock what he requested and staying until the nurses kicked him out, only to wake up the next day in a world where there are reporters camping out in front of 221B Baker Street.
"Mrs Hudson!" he calls, having slammed the front door in the cameras' lenses.
"Oh, haven't you read the papers today, John?" she asks and he follows her into her kitchen where she hands him a copy.
Like Greg predicted, Sherlock and John were spotted at the crime scene, Sherlock on a gurney, John soaked in blood.
"They are calling you heroes, John, say you saved a girl's life and caught that awful man who has been terrorising London. My neighbour even called! And I couldn't tell them anything since it was so late when you returned. What happened, John? Is Sherlock alright?"
John nods, putting his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. "He was stabbed but he will be fine. He had surgery-"
"Surgery?!"
"Yes, but he's going to be alright. And yes, we caught the murderer."
"Thank God. Are you going to the hospital now?" John nods again. "Give Sherlock my love and he better eat the food they give him; the way I know him he hasn't been eating while that serial killer was at large."
John smiles, squeezes Mrs Hudson's shoulders and boldly fights his way through the hoards of reporters and photographers on the street.
xXx
Somehow, Sherlock manages to get himself released from the hospital in five days instead of ten (and judging by the nurses' looks they are glad to see him go, no matter how much damage control John tried to do; well, they should have known better than to send nurses who sleep with married doctors after the first two days) and by that time, the public has been well informed about what happened at King's College.
Perhaps the repercussions hadn't been so severe if John and Sherlock weren't who they are, namely the former Alpha leader of the Resistance forces and his former Omega hostage who also ensured the Resistance's victory over the Traditionalist.
As it now is, though, the press is having a field day, turning Sherlock and him into the paradigm of modern society: An Alpha and an Omega, working together as equals. The fact that they are apparently in a relationship is an added bonus.
The hits on John's blog spike, especially after he posts "The Solution in the Eye" and both of them are bombarded with requests to take over cases.
Sherlock turns down 70 per cent on the spot, solves another 20 per cent within the first five minutes of meeting the postulant, and takes over the remaining ten per cent. Greg contributes his own share of intriguing cases to keep them busy.
John follows as he always has, even provides helpful ideas from time to time, puts his military expertise to good use and blogs about their successes.
The most publicised is the case of a kidnapped millionaire which Greg forced upon them, despite the emphatic "Boring!" the crime received from Sherlock in the beginning. John is glad he was able to persuade Sherlock to take it nevertheless; it did bring in quite a nice amount of money to supplement John's government wages for training the recruits and consulting in meetings regarding new legislations and reforms whenever he can.
While Sherlock has never mentioned John's declaration of love that day in the hospital since then, John can tell that Sherlock believes him and that he, in his own particular way, returns the sentiment.
Sherlock doesn't tell him, though he lets his actions speak for themselves. It is in the small gestures, in the way he looks at John when they wake up side by side, when he initiates a kiss just to kiss him and not to start anything and the way he trusts John with his life over and over again.
"Still, why can't he just say it, for Christ's sake?" Greg wonders loudly, but then he is at his fifth pint that night.
"I don't need him to say it, Greg, I know," John replies with conviction.
The DI sighs into his glass and the miserable look is back. Sherlock deduced his wife Judy is cheating on him after only three months of marriage.
"Sherlock's right, that wanker. Of course he's right. I checked her text messages; she's sexting with her tennis instructor."
"I'm sorry," is all John can say. He briefly wonders what he would do if Sherlock cheated on him, but the thought is so far-fetched that he can't treat it seriously.
"And I wanted to talk to her about kids, you know," Greg rambles on, emptying his pint and promptly ordering a sixth. "Always wanted to be a father… What about you two? Your kids should be a handful, what with Sherlock's brains and your brawn."
John snorts at the thought. "We're not having kids, Greg."
"Really? Yeah, well, the Guardian would love you for raising kids. But only if you get married first; now that Omegas can, you know."
"Greg, we're not getting married and we're not starting a family. Have you met Sherlock?" Greg chuckles, swaying slightly in his seat. "Besides, we get enough media attention as it is. I don't understand how people would want to see so many pictures of me, it's annoying. Would I get away with shooting the reporters?"
"Keep saving millionaires and you just might," Greg jokes, accepting his sixth beer.
xXx
Sherlock is in his bedroom, respectively his laboratory, checking on the jars he has been cultivating smelly stuff in. By now, John doesn't even ask, yet banishes some of his experiments from the kitchen when they turn into a health hazard.
John pauses in the doorway, observing how Sherlock's long fingers dance over the surface of a tablet (gift from the millionaire along with rather ugly cufflinks), probably noting how the smelly stuffs' colours developed over the past twelve hours or something similarly arbitrary. Well, arbitrary to John.
"Stop watching, John, it's distracting."
"Perhaps that is my intent."
"Put your libido on hold for another fifteen minutes, if you please."
John smirks even though Sherlock can't see it with his eyes trained on the screen. "Alright; shall I warm up the bed? Or are you in the mood for defiling the sofa tonight?"
John watches Sherlock swallow hard with satisfaction. "What would said defiling entail?"
"Me rimming you within an inch of your sanity and then shagging you until all you remember is my name."
Sherlock wets his lips, fingers pausing over the screen, and tries to control his body but John knows it will be only a matter of moments before Sherlock pounces on him.
"I'll be on the sofa, then. Come out whenever you're ready." John doesn't leave right away but opens the bottoms of his shirt, nice and slow, tugging it out of his trousers before he proceeds into the living room and continues to undress.
Sherlock is out of the bedroom, already naked, before John can step out of his trousers and sinks to his knees in front of John, long fingers slipping underneath the waistband of his pants and tugging them down, freeing John's already hard cock. John sported an erection ever since he got into the taxi at the pub; his thoughts already at home with Sherlock spread out naked and begging.
Sherlock takes his time, teasing the shaft with his tongue, playing with John's balls, kissing the slit and licking his lips to catch the precome. Sherlock draws it out until John is seconds away from grabbing Sherlock's hair and fucking his mouth and his partner is fully aware of this. They know each other too well by now, is the last coherent thought John can form before Sherlock swallows him down in one go, relaxing his jaw and taking him in until his nose is in John's pubic hair.
Sherlock pulls back, twisting his tongue, then heat engulfs John once again and all he can do is hold onto the sofa's backrest for support to stay upright as Sherlock sucks him off with the incredible focus and determination he brings to cases. He tongues the spot where his glans meets the shaft, then moves up to the slit and John's hip buckle forward. Sherlock takes him into his mouth again, increasing the pace.
John's breath is coming in erratic gasps by then and when he feels Sherlock's lips sucking at his balls, he swears loudly. Sherlock swallows his cock again and when John can feel his throat convulsing around the tip, he spends himself deep down Sherlock's throat with a strangled moan.
Sherlock oozes complacency when he rises but John swiftly wipes the smirk off his face by moving him around the sofa and shoving him onto his stomach. John covers Sherlock's body with his own, sucking at his neck so hard he leaves a bruise behind and Sherlock is rutting into the cushions.
Like he promised, John licks a wet trail down Sherlock's spine, counting every vertebrae, until he reaches the cleft of his firm arse. His hands cup each cheek and pull them apart, granting him access to Sherlock's hole. John laps at it, teasing the rim, enjoying the taste of Sherlock's slick on his tongue. John's lips close over his hole and he sucks, swallows the fluid Sherlock's Omega physiology provides like it is nectar and he hears Sherlock whine above him.
Only now John pushes his tongue inside, loosening the ring of muscle, his hands holding Sherlock's hips in place so he can't rock back into him. John explores every inch of Sherlock, maps it out and pulls out again, sucking in the slick that is flowing more profusely now. Sherlock has never been this turned on outside his heat and John's chest swells with pride as he swallows.
"Please, John," Sherlock begs and John's cock twitches between his legs. John doesn't oblige right away; instead he licks a path down to Sherlock's balls and sucks them into his mouth until Sherlock is swearing into the sofa cushion.
Only then John pushes into his hole again, working his tongue in and out in a quick rhythm that has Sherlock's back arching. John takes good care to stretch Sherlock at the same time to prepare him for John's cock which is starting to fill again, fuelled by the sounds that escape his partner's throat.
John adjusts his grip, spreading Sherlock's cheeks wider so he can press deeper inside Sherlock, working his tongue in as far as possible. He alternates between sucking at Sherlock's entrance and fucking him with is tongue furiously and in no time Sherlock shudders with release.
John allows him a few moments to catch his breath, then pushes Sherlock a little further onto the sofa so he is on all fours. John drags the tip of his leaking cock over the twitching hole and Sherlock rocks back.
"You're eager tonight," John purrs, leaning back so that his cock doesn't enter yet. "Do you want my cock so much?"
"Yes," Sherlock pants, "fill me up, shag me until I'm hard again, please, John!"
John rams into Sherlock with one well-practiced thrust and buries himself to the hilt inside Sherlock. The Alpha in him roars with pleasure and John doesn't stop his knot from filling when it does. John pulls out and pushes back in, adjusting his angle to hit Sherlock's prostate. Sherlock cries out, throwing his head back and John leans forward, sucking on the already forming bruise again, revelling in the sight of the mark on Sherlock's pristine skin.
The movement pushes John's knot against Sherlock's body and it elicits a full-body shudder from the detective.
"You like the feeling of my knot against my arse?" John whispers in Sherlock's ear and bites his other shoulder.
Sherlock moans in response and John pushes in deeper, forcing his knot harder against Sherlock's entrance.
"Please," Sherlock begs and John couldn't have waited if he wanted to, his Alpha instincts taking over at the sound of his Omega begging to be knotted.
John withdraws and slams back inside with enough force to push the swollen base of his cock inside Sherlock's hole. He gasps under him, arms giving out and Sherlock lands on his elbows, bowing his head. John licks a stripe up his spine, then tongues Sherlock's pulse point which always makes him writhe and this time is no exception. Sherlock wriggles and clenches on John's cock, sending jolts of intense pleasure through his body.
John's next thrusts are shallow, stretching Sherlock a bit more so he will take his knot with less resistance when he pulls out and presses in again.
Sherlock positively whines when John's knot leaves his body only to moan deeply when he feels it inside him once again.
John can feel his orgasm building and he reaches down, wrapping a hand around Sherlock's cock but it only takes a few strokes and Sherlock is coming for the second time that night, his arse convulsing around John's cock and knot. The sensation is too much and he climaxes deep inside his partner.
When he moves to withdraw Sherlock's hands on his hips stop him, demanding him to stay, lock their bodies together and with a swiftness that surprises even him, he changes their position and arranges Sherlock without ever slipping out so that they are chest to chest.
Sherlock's head flops down onto John's shoulder and they breathe in the smell of their mixed scents. John pulls Sherlock closer, craving more skin to skin contact and Sherlock wraps his arms around his neck, holding on tightly.
John kisses Sherlock's neck and whispers, "I love you" because it is true and he doesn't need to hear the detective saying it back to know the feeling is mutual.
Sherlock withdraws a little and their eyes meet and John knows he is right. Sherlock closes the distance between them and kisses him passionately and it is a perfect moment because it is also uniquely Sherlock.
They doze off like this, bodies knotted together, chest to chest and incredibly sated.
xXx
Their next case earns them the most publicity. After Scotland Yard received an anonymous tip concerning a long-lost painting of William Turner, Greg tasks them with its retrieval.
Why Sherlock took the case is a mystery to John; there was nothing to go on except the anonymous tip yet somehow, the detective was intrigued enough to warrant a two week adventure across Britain, investigating black markets and high society gatherings.
Sherlock's heat strikes somewhere in Cardiff and it costs them two days, not that John minds too much. After all, it's just a painting.
In the end, they discover a large ring of smugglers who wanted to sell the painting to the highest bidder. Sherlock deduces that the anonymous tip stems from a bidder at the auction who lost to someone prepared to spend more.
Sherlock is thrumming with energy when he and John unveil the painting after the criminals have been knocked out and bound to conveniently located pipes in the basement of the old warehouse, because naturally the smugglers would chose an old warehouse, John muses with a smile.
"This is exquisite," Sherlock whispers as his eyes rake across the canvas. To John, it looks like a scene from a pirate film. One group of people is attacking a ship, slitting men's throats, while the rising sun drowns the sky in a bloody red. All is done in a strange style which seems to emphasise the landscape more than the characters.
"What is it?" John asks eventually. He never had much of a thing for art and couldn't distinguish expressionism from romanticism.
"Omegas Rising. It's believed to have been destroyed by the government after Turner presented it since it shows Omega slaves revolting against British rule. Apparently, someone saved it and hid it for almost 200 years."
"So that's why they wanted to sell it now? With the new laws and such?"
"Obviously. If caught, they wouldn't have had to fear to be hanged for treachery."
Sherlock's eyes are still on the painting so John produces his mobile to give Greg the good news.
xXx
When the medial backlash eventually dies down, John is incredibly relieved. More than once over the past few weeks he wished for a way to turn back time and stop Sherlock from ever taking that case.
Alpha John Watson and Omega Sherlock Holmes finding a lost piece of Reformist art was the topic of every newspaper and talk show for two straight weeks and then again a few days ago when the Tate Britain unveiled it for visitors to see. With heavy security in place, of course, since a few Traditionalist fundamentalist still abound in London and they might just try to send a message by stealing or destroying that painting.
Sherlock is forever the Rising Hero in the eye of the public and even John is asked for autographs when he shops for groceries.
"Why don't you reap the benefits?" Greg asks that night. The DI is in a very good mood since Judy came clean about her affair and begged for forgiveness which he granted. "Go on a few shows, give interviews, take their cash. I bet they're offering quite a bit."
John shudders at the thought. "I'm a soldier, Greg, not a politician. And Sherlock won't be bothered by such tedious stuff as interviews."
"Well, my luck, isn't it then? I was afraid you'd let me solve my cases alone and start catering to all those offering you more money for your help."
"That would never happen, at least as long as your problems are still the most fascinating."
"Cheers to the criminals of London for their innovation, right?" Greg quips, rising his pint and they clink glasses.
xXx
After they solve their next big case, Sherlock is so euphoric that he pushes John against their apartment door, devours his mouth and then proceeds to shed their clothing at staggering speed.
He all but shoves John into the armchair, which is easier accessible than the sofa and climbs into his lap immediately. They are both naked and hard and John can positively smell Sherlock's hole leaking.
The next thing he knows it that Sherlock sinks onto his cock, taking him in without any preparation, only the slick provided by his body easing the way. Sherlock bites his lower lip and John pulls him down so he can lick into his mouth.
He lets Sherlock set the pace which is brutal and Sherlock is wild above him, throwing his head back and working off the adrenaline of the case in a way that leaves John breathless, fingers digging into the armrests.
John faintly hears Sherlock's mobile ring but neither of them cares as John tilts his hips which makes his cock hit Sherlock's prostate at ever movement.
John's phone rings next and they ignore it just as well; he doubts that Sherlock even perceives the noise in the state he is in, beautiful and feral and incredibly erotic.
John palms Sherlock's erection in time with the Omega's thrusts and soon Sherlock can't decide whether to fuck himself on John's cock or to thrust into his hand, so John sits up and takes over, thrusting upwards into Sherlock, keeping the angle and increasing the rhythm of his hand and within minutes, Sherlock is arching his back and shooting his come all over John's chest.
Sherlock, still coherent even post-coital, never allows their movements to falter and leans forward, licking his own seed of John's chest, gazing up at him through long lashes and swallows.
That's it, John comes undone, spilling himself into Sherlock's body. He focusses on willing his knot down as Sherlock slumps into him, panting hard.
Then, the doorbell rings.
"Go away!" Sherlock shouts.
"They can't hear you downstairs…" John remarks but Sherlock snorts derisively.
Suddenly, they hear voices - Mrs Hudson must have opened the door and before John and Sherlock can move, footsteps John identifies as Greg's sound from outside the door.
"Greg, don't enter!" John calls out, hoping that Greg will listen.
The steps pause on top of the steps. "Do I want to know why?"
"We have just engaged in carnal activities and are lacking sufficient clothing to welcome respectable members of the Yard into our flat," Sherlock explains loudly.
Someone sniggers outside.
"Bollocks, he's not alone," John groans, burying his head in Sherlock's shoulder.
"Could you please, uh, remedy the clothing situation and open the door once you are decent? It's really urgent."
"Give us a minute!" John calls back.
"Why can't they just go away?" Sherlock asks, sounding like a petulant child rather than an adult detective with an IQ well over 150.
"Because there is a case and they need their Rising Hero, so climb off, now."
"Imagine if you'd have knotted me. They'd been standing outside for thirty awkward minutes."
John chuckles at the thought. "I'm sure Mrs Hudson would have made them tea." Then he raises an expectant eyebrow at Sherlock who is still on top of him, with John's cock still in him.
"I don't want to climb off," Sherlock explains. "Can't you knot me now, give us an excuse?"
"We can hear you, you know!" Donovan's voice comes through the door and they both lock eyes for a second before they burst out laughing.
It takes a while until they calm down again and then they are still chuckling.
"Sherlock, a government agent has been partially skinned. We need you there as soon as possible."
Greg's comment receives the wanted reaction. Sherlock stills, sobering up in the blink of an eye, then is off John and into his trousers in record time. John has just closed his belt but is still missing his shirt when Sherlock opens the door with a suave, "Now why couldn't you have lead with that."
Donovan raises an appreciative eyebrow when she catches sight of John's bare chest and abs.
"Donovan, please don't ogle my partner. And rest assured that the sex was spectacular."
John splutters, blushing furiously, and retrieves his shirt as quickly as he can from the floor.
Greg grimaces, closing his eyes. Donovan smirks, not at all cross.
John, buttoned up and less flushed, steps closer. "So, now what is the problem?"
"A man with the skin taken off his right arm, that's the problem. Grab your coats and come on." Greg waits for an affirmative nod from John and descends the stairs again. Donovan lingers until Sherlock growls and shoos her out the door, coat in hand.
John takes a moment to process how this has become his life and follows obediently.
xXx
Greg leads them to the top floor of an office building with view of the Thames. The top three floors are under construction, which explains why the body has only been found today on Tuesday night by the security guard who took the time to sweep the entire building.
"The construction workers are currently located two floors below this one; that's why no one found the body," Greg explains as he leads them around a pillar.
John sees Sherlock open his mouth, probably to argue with Greg's assumption, yet the words die in his throat when they glimpse what exactly Greg meant by "skinned".
The victim is strapped to a surgical chair with special rests for his arms and legs. The man, an Alpha, is naked and bloodied but the worst sight is his right arm which is void of skin from the fingertips up to the shoulder.
It looks like something straight out of Body Worlds which John never visited since he has seen his fair share of people's innards in Afghanistan and the Revolution.
Sherlock, unsurprisingly, is looking at the body in awe and approaches it, circles around the corpse to take stock for a moment before he looks expectantly up at Greg. Sherlock's lips are threatening to curl into a smile and John hopes for everyone's sanity that this is not going to happen.
"James Sterling, 43, Alpha, government agent. We have trouble receiving more intel on him and whether he has been missing, but Anderson estimates time of death occurred about 24 hours ago."
"Cause of death?" John asks.
"Isn't it obvious?" Donovan asks back, her face rather green.
"Not particularly," John tells her and steps closer, inspecting the incisions, the clamps which suppress blood flow, the myriad of wounds on the body. "Whoever did this has to have medical training; the murderer took great care that the victim didn't die from the skinning."
Sherlock doesn't say anything, but his eyes sparkle with praise.
"I've got to concur." Anderson, in full forensic gear, appears from behind another pillar. "The victim's oesophagus lining is damaged and he has particular bruising around the stomach area."
Sherlock narrows his eyes at the officer as if seeing him for the first time. "Are you indeed suggesting the man has been tortured by means of the water cure, Anderson?"
"Obvious," Anderson bites back in a uncannily accurate imitation of Sherlock's own catchphrase.
"Water cure?" Greg asks, looking from Sherlock to his officer to John who volunteers an explanation.
"Forced ingestion of large quantities of water. The bruising means the attacker beat him around that area to ensure he vomits the water back up. I saw one case in Afghanistan; the soldier was healthy but the water cure screwed up his electrolyte balance and cost him his life since we didn't have the medicine to deal with the problem; and even then he might have still died."
Silence falls, only interrupted by the sound of Sherlock's steps as he inspects the room and the body.
"Christ, why can't the killers just use a bloody gun?" Greg groans, shaking his head.
"Because this particular killer had a personal relationship to the victim or at least to something he had done," Sherlock supplies, probably not identifying the rhetorical question for what it is or simply ignoring it.
"What do you mean?"
"One; this took a great deal of preparation, not only finding the location but gathering the surgical equipment which would have been necessary. Two; the murderer focussed on the right arm and shoulder which has to be relevant to the motive. Three; it might have been sexually motivated since the Alpha has been forced to knot after which the killer attached a cock ring, keeping both knot and cock erect which must have been incredibly painful."
"Theories?"
Sherlock glances at the victim's face. "You said he is a government agent but you haven't received more information on his occupation?" Greg nods. "I doubt you will receive anything substantial; he probably was SIS."
"What?!"
But before Sherlock can dive into his condescending monologue about how he deduced this particular detail, John asks Greg for the victim's ID. The DI hands the evidence bag to him and John snorts.
"His ID says Universal Exports. He isn't merely SIS, he is MI6."
"And you know this, how?" Donovan's eyebrows threaten to disappear underneath her hairline.
John hands Greg the evidence back. "I consult in military affairs. You pick up a few things about how the SIS operates."
"Don't forget the fact that Bhabha asked you to join," Sherlock adds with a smirk.
Greg's eyes widen and John tries to communicate that he wasn't at liberty to tell his friend anything about it and that Sherlock, that bastard, of course knew it the moment John returned from that particular meeting.
The DI shakes his head and sighs. "So we have a dead MI6 operative on whom we won't get any intel and who has been tortured and skinned as a part of what, revenge?"
"So it would seem at this time," Sherlock states. John can tell by the excited tension in his partner's body that this one will be a hard case to crack.
"Well, I can tell you right now that we won't get any more information on SIS employees; not if I go through the proper channels." Greg pointedly looks at John.
Of course, the Secret Service will deny all affiliations to James Sterling, if that even is his real name, after his death and it won't make a different if a simple yet renowned DI asks. John Watson however, might.
"We'll pay them a visit tomorrow," John agrees and he drags Sherlock off with him, given that they need the autopsy results as soon as possible and all Sherlock will accomplish is delay the process.
xXx
Sherlock invites himself along to Greg and John's trip to the MI6 headquarters and it only takes an hour and a half to be allowed into the office of the woman in charge who seems deeply moved by the death of her agent if one believes Sherlock's deduction.
She agrees that MI6 will provide a slightly less censored version of the classified files on James Sterling provided the case stay absolutely secret and doesn't land on the front page of the Sun and provided that the Met doesn't receive copies of the files.
Sherlock is annoyingly smug on the cab ride back to their flat where they tackle the files.
Hours and a lot of swearing at blackened paragraphs later, they have several leads which mostly involve family members of criminals James Sterling eliminated in the line for duty.
It is late but they set out for the Met nevertheless to present their finding to Greg and retrieve the autopsy results.
xXx
Richard Lubitsch is a competent operative and a deadly opponent. That is, if he isn't highly intoxicated after leaving his brother's birthday party.
Well, that's what he tells himself later, when he picks himself and his dignity up from the pavement where the thug shoved him onto.
He lives only a few streets from his brother, so naturally he walks home instead of hailing a cab. He can still walk and as it turns out, he can still break the nose of anyone who attacks him from behind.
That is, however, the limit of his abilities that night and the attacker slams him into a wall again, pressing the cold barrel of a gun against his head. Lubitsch waits for a sign of what the man - tall, muscled, black clothes, Beta, sunglasses - wants from him.
A moment later, when he can be sure the agent won't fight back anymore, he leans closer and whispers in his ear.
"I got a message for John Watson. If he wants to find his sister, he has to discover the Den of Inequity in Peckham. But he might not recognise who he finds there."
The thug shoves him to the ground and runs off before Lubitsch has a chance to stand up and find his balance. By the time he is ready to go after him, the attacker is nowhere in sight.
xXx
End Notes: The case of James Sterling inspired by the wonderful 00Q fic "Vita Mortis" by Marquestate and TABrown. If you like that pairing, please check out the story, it is worth your time. ( /works/659911/chapters/1203339). And no, this is not going to turn into a Bondlock crossover ;)
For those interested, I have posted the Sherlock Fandom Survey Results on my tumblr: survey-results