Sherlock dragged himself up the stairs to the flat and practically stumbled into the sitting room. He'd just wrapped up a case that took him halfway to Nottingham and back in the course of eight hours and he could feel exhaustion tugging at his muscles. He rolled his eyes as he saw the doctor curled up awkwardly on the couch with his laptop almost falling off his lap. He stumbled over and rescued the laptop setting it lightly on the coffee table before feeling something clench in his chest. He shook off that feeling and pulled the afghan off the chair and wrapped it lightly around his flatmate.
The clenching returned as the doctor stirred and snuffled softly blinking into the dim light catching sight of Sherlock and smiling slightly.
"Back then?" John said. "How was your trip?"
"Eventful enough." Sherlock replied. "You should be in bed."
"So should you." John countered. "See you in the morning then?"
"Did you want a cup of tea?" Sherlock asked hurriedly before realizing that that question was abnormal.
"No." John said confused. "Why? Did you do something to the kettle? I thought I said that was off-limits?"
"Right." Sherlock shuffled awkwardly. "Night then."
"Night." John said rising with a groan and meandering slowly toward the stairs. If he would have looked back, he would have seen Sherlock watching his progress with a faint smile on his face, but he didn't.
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"Sherlock," John said rubbing his temples roughly. "There's a reason unbonded Alphas are not allowed in an Omega clinic."
"I don't see why that should include me." Sherlock huffed angrily. "I want nothing to do with that domestic twaddle."
"Yes, we're all very aware that you're above all that." John cajoled. "But that doesn't change the rules of the clinic. If you want to get a hold of me, you can text me."
"You don't always answer your texts." Sherlock accused.
"That means I'm with a patient." John snapped.
"How was I supposed to know that?" Sherlock growled. "You could have been kidnapped. I can't believe I got tossed out on my arse for being concerned about your safety."
"Alright." John said tiredly. "Let's just break that little diatribe down, shall we? One: You have the bloody GPS turned on in my phone. You can check to make sure that I'm still at the clinic. Two: That's what the Security Guards do. They toss out people who aren't authorized to be here. Three: When, in any other instance of our acquaintance, have you been concerned for my safety? I distinctly remember you using me as bait at least twice in the past six months. I'm hardly going to buy the whole 'concerned flatmate' routine. Now what is it you want?"
"We're going to dinner tonight." Sherlock said simply. "Surveillance work."
"You've got a new case then?" John asked.
"Angelo's 7pm." Sherlock replied with a quick upturn of his coat collar.
"Why couldn't this have been discussed when I got back to the flat?" John asked smirking at the Alpha's inherent attempts at intimidation.
"I had to make sure you didn't make plans to try and trap someone in your deceitful Omega web." Sherlock scoffed.
"Yes, well." John said, giving as good as he got. "As long as you can contain yourself from pissing on the corpse next time Anderson's around as a possessive marker, I think I can promise that."
Sherlock smirk was answer enough as he strode back down the sidewalk.
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"You complete and total idiot." John grumbled as he cleaned the wound on Sherlock's forehead.
"I had the situation well in hand." Sherlock grumbled and winced as John applied the rubbing alcohol.
"Obviously." John said sarcastically. He worked quickly and competently on Sherlock's cut. He hardly even realized that as he used one hand to carefully clean the area he was using his other hand to rub soothing circles over Sherlock's pulse point. He was unaware of it at least until Sherlock leaned away from the touch and sighed heavily.
"John…" Sherlock breathed, his voice dropping to a lower register. "You might want to stop that."
"Shit." John said quickly, dropping his hand quickly and blushing furiously. "Sorry, so sorry, didn't quite realize…"
"It's fine." Sherlock said clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably. "Just…ah…let's get this finished, alright?"
"Of course." John answered still unable to get rid of the faint pink on his cheeks.
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"For Christ's sake, Sherlock." John panted heavily. "Would you just get in bed already?"
"Are you propositioning me, John?" Sherlock said fervently, wrapping his arms around his waist and clutching tightly. "Because I thought I'd already informed you that I consider myself married to my work…"
"The fact that you don't know whether I'm propositioning you or not is evidence enough of why you shouldn't fucking take cocaine. Or whatever else you seem to have taken as well." John huffed. "Now would you please let go so I can drop you on the bed."
"The classic fireman's carry." Sherlock babbled. "Is there a fire, John? If so, this is not the time for sex! We must leave at once!"
"There's no fire, you hopped up idiot." John breathed. "Now let go so we can get you to bed. You're going to start coming down soon."
"I'm not going to go down on you, John!" Sherlock said aghast. "I'm the Alpha here! It should be the other way round."
"Bloody Christ…" John groaned before growling out, "You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes, you let go right now."
Sherlock seemed to go quiet for several seconds before slowly letting go of his waist and hanging there like dead weight.
"Thank you." John said gratefully. He quickly tossed him back over his shoulder onto the mattress. Sherlock's gaze seemed to follow his hands as he quickly took off his flatmate's shoes, socks, and trousers. John pulled the bedclothes up over his waist before unbuttoning the shirt quickly. Sherlock finally cooperated as John removed the restrictive button-down and maneuvered a soft t-shirt over his head. He eased the genius back down on the bed before moving the bedclothes the rest of the way up his body tucking them firmly under his chin.
"There." John said. "All sorted. I'm going to get some supplies. It's going to be a rough night. Stay here."
"Of course." Sherlock said absently as he started to rumple the sheets so he could run his fingers over the smooth fabric. John left him quickly to get his medical kit, some washcloths, a bucket and giant pitcher of water and a plastic cup. When he returned, Sherlock was curled up facing away from the door and shaking slightly. He jerked as John accidentally knocked into the doorjamb.
"John," He said, sounding tired. "There seems to be something in my hair."
"Yes, I'm not that keen on discovering what it is." John answered him, setting up shop on his dresser. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Please, John." Sherlock said, trying to claw through his hair. "It will stick and then I'll have to get a haircut. I look ghastly with a buzz cut."
"Vain, ponce." John sighed before going to the bathroom and grabbing a brush. He returned and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed as he began brushing through Sherlock's ratty, tangled curls. "It looks like puréed banana."
"I do recall stopping at the farmer's market." Sherlock answered leaning into the touch.
"You were gone for three days." John said heavily. "I was worried about you."
"There was no need to fret." Sherlock said, his voice getting softer as he drifted toward sleep. "I was always going to come home to you."
John felt something heavy pull on his heart as he watched his genius drop into unconsciousness.
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"Are we actually going to talk about what just happened?" John asked curiously. He watched Sherlock pace rapidly back and forth between the door to the flat and across to his music stand. The Alpha was frazzled and twitchy and couldn't keep still for more than a few seconds at a time. John rubbed his hands viciously over his face at the detective's responding growl.
"That's incredibly helpful." John quipped. "Do you maybe want to try again? With actual words this time?"
"I'm thinking, John!" Sherlock practically shouted.
"And I'm just trying to figure out what the hell just happened!" John yelled back.
"It doesn't…you don't…" Sherlock said ripping at his hair viciously. "Just bugger off! I'm trying to focus!"
"I don't care if you're trying to stop a runway train while wearing a poncho, you arrogant twit!" John bellowed. "You will tell me why the bloody hell you decided to have a fucking midnight rendezvous with a fucking crazy arse in a swimming pool without telling me!"
"You weren't supposed to be involved." Sherlock answered. "I didn't factor you into the equation."
"I realize that I'm not actually integral to your giant fucking mind palace thing." John growled, fighting off the lurch in his gut. "But it would be helpful to know when you're going to bugger off this mortal coil. I can go ahead and start looking for another flatmate ahead of time."
"Don't be an idiot, John." Sherlock sneered. "I couldn't very well allow you to come with me to face down a psychopath!"
"Allow me?" John yelped. "Allow me? Sherlock, I know it must be incredibly hard for your overbearing, egotistical Alpha brain to comprehend, but you don't actually have one fucking say in the choices I make. Also, considering the actual result of our fun little jaunt with Semtex and snipers, I think that I'll continue to trust my own judgment regarding crazy people."
"I was trying to keep you safe!" Sherlock growled.
John felt all of the fight go out of him. Jesus, this was exhausting.
"Sherlock, just because I'm an Omega…" John began at a much lower decibel.
"It's not about that." Sherlock answered.
"Then please." John said exhausted. "Just tell me what happened tonight."
"I miscalculated." Sherlock said quietly. "Won't happen again."
"You know, Sherlock." John said, tentatively. "I like working with you. I like going on cases with you, but if you don't…want me there…"
"I do." Sherlock said firmly.
"Alright. I'm off to bed. At least try to get some sleep." John sighed slightly before turning to the staircase and heading up to bed calling over his shoulder as he went, "Night, Sherlock."
John got little to no sleep that night himself. He spent his time shifting uncomfortably and displaying incredibly violent behavior towards his pillow. It seemed appropriate considering the mood of the previous evening. At a quarter to five he decided to give up the whole venture as a bad job and make himself some tea. He putzed around his room for a few seconds, grabbing his robe and putting on some lounge pants before opening the door and jumping in surprise. Sherlock was sitting against the opposite wall, legs splayed willnilly and his head drooping at an incredibly uncomfortable angle. He was snoring slightly and about three degrees from toppling over down the staircase.
"Sherlock," John whispered. "Come on, wake up."
Sherlock jerked suddenly and opened his eyes, suddenly fully alert and staring at John with bright gray-green eyes.
"Couldn't sleep?" John asked.
"Not with any long-term success, no." Sherlock grumbled stretching and groaning as his muscles and bones protested his position.
"Cup of tea?" John asked after helping to pull the gangly man to his feet.
"Lovely." Sherlock answered, turning to hobble down the stairs. "Much obliged."
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"You complete and total prat!" John shouted as he stomped from the kitchen and into the sitting room to glare at his flatmate.
Sherlock glanced up from his laptop confused before doing a quick analysis of his flatmate.
"Did the mother not realize that feeding her nauseous child purple kool-aid would result in a rather artistic display of sick?" Sherlock said with a grin.
"Where in the bloody hell are my shower supplies?" John bit out practically seething.
"Oh," Sherlock said blandly. "I needed them for an experiment."
"Sherlock, those were my beta body washes!" John shouted.
"Obviously, John." Sherlock continued. "I needed them. A person's alibi depended on it."
"Did you happen to go and get me more?" John said angrily.
"Why would I purchase beta body wash?" Sherlock asked confused.
"Because you used up all of mine!" John answered.
"Buy your own body wash." Sherlock scoffed. "I'm not your servant."
"The pharmacy's closed!" John huffed. "And I desperately need a shower. Can I use some of yours?"
Sherlock's brain seemed to short circuit. Just the idea of John washing with his supplies, smelling like him, every inch of him marked with his own scent sent a pulse of arousal straight to his cock.
"NO!" Sherlock shouted.
John stood their flabbergasted for several minutes before sighing heavily and stomping up the stairs to his room. He returned minutes later changed into lounge clothes with a jacket and a bag over his shoulder before heading out of the flat without another word to his flatmate.
Sherlock quickly sprinted to the window and watched as John got a cab east, no doubt heading for his sister's flat. He shrugged in attempted apathy before picking up his violin and working furiously to rid his mind of some delicious mental images of a suds-covered doctor.
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"I can't thank you enough, Greg." John sighed heavily.
"It's no problem." Greg said with a commiserating grin. "The wife and the kids are away at her mother's this week. As long as you don't mind the sofa, you're more than welcome."
"Ta, mate." John said. "Do you mind if I have a quick shower?"
"Of course not." Lestrade answered pointing him in the direction of the master bathroom. "I'd have to you take one in the kids' bathroom but then you'd smell like bubblegum."
"Much appreciated." John said heavily, dropping his bag.
"I'll have a few beers for us when you get out." Lestrade said closing the door behind him.
"You're a right peach." John called through the door stripping out of his sweats and turning on the water. John showered quickly washing away the grime and sick from his day using Lestrade's soap. He'd have to go to the pharmacy tomorrow and pick up some new body wash, enough so that he could stash some away for emergencies. He'd been living with the crazy man for six months and he's still learning how to adjust his life to make allowances for that git's eccentricities. Not that he actually minded that much, to be honest. Sherlock was…well…he was captivating. Christ, he was hopeless. Every day he seemed to get a little more attached to the genius. Not that it mattered. Sherlock clearly wasn't interested and what did John honestly have to offer an Alpha? Not a damn thing. So, his little crush was harmless. Sherlock would never have to know and they could just carry-on as is. It was fine, all fine.
John finished up and donned a t-shirt and new pair of sweats before adding a high-necked pullover. It wouldn't do to have Lestrade see the bondbite. He'd grown so used to the layers throughout his life and he had to be especially careful with his flatmate, but it was becoming more and more obvious to John that Sherlock was selectively ignorant of some things which worked out just fine for John. He wandered out into the living area to find Lestrade with a couple of beers and the telly on some non-descript talk show. John settled next to him on the couch and they watched the show in companionable silence. Lestrade was wrapped up in a blanket and John soon found himself listing off toward the arm of the couch and a pillow. He barely remembered Lestrade maneuvering him around so that his legs were tucked up and the blanket that Lestrade had was curled around him.
The next thing he knew, Lestrade was nudging him slightly at some god-awful time in the early hours of the morning.
"John," Lestrade whispered. "I gotta head out, crime scene. Sleep as long as you like."
"Okay." John murmured. "Thanks, Greg."
"No problem." Lestrade said, before leaving quickly out the front door. John drifted back into a deep sleep.
He awoke several hours later feeling more refreshed than he had in ages. He quickly folded up the blanket and adjusted the couch cushions back to normal before grabbing his bag, making a quick stop in the loo to brush his teeth, and slipping out the front door, locking it behind him with the hide-a-key in the rock. He caught the tube back to Baker Street and walked up the stairs quietly, hoping that Sherlock was finally sleeping. The man was a bloody insomniac. John had even considered drugging his damn tea after almost four days of nothing but a few twenty minute cat naps under Sherlock's belt. He tip-toed into the flat determined to have a cup of tea and watch telly on the sofa all morning when he spotted Sherlock at his chemistry set in the kitchen. He slid his jacket off and deposited it and his overnight bag on his chair before making his way into the kitchen.
"Morning." John said amiably.
"Morn-" Sherlock started to say not even glancing away from the microscope, before John watched his nostrils flare and a slight growl escape from his lips.
Without any other warning, Sherlock had stood up so quickly, his stool had tipped over; crashing to the ground and the detective had started stalking John out into the living room as John began backing up quickly. He was pinned to the wall with Sherlock's hands on either side of his head and he felt his pulse jump as Sherlock leaned in to sniff his neck.
"Oi!" John said angrily. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!"
"You smell like him." Sherlock said darkly, leaning in further and resting his nose against John's throat. "Why the bloody hell do you smell like Lestrade?"
"I crashed on his couch, you git." John huffed, pushing at his crazy flatmate. "Would you please back off? Crazy Alpha hormones…"
Sherlock snarled fiercely before grabbing John's wrists and slamming them above his head. And, oh, didn't John just feel that all the way down to his cock. Shit. John struggled in vain trying to break Sherlock's grip but his thrashing was cut short when he felt Sherlock's tongue slide roughly, wetly against the skin of his neck. John let out a weak keening sound and prayed that Sherlock wouldn't feel his erection swelling in his pants. That would be completely embarrassing.
His thoughts were brought up short when Sherlock crowded that extra few inches closer so their bodies were pressed together from chest to knee and John felt the…rather impressive…outline of Sherlock's own cock against his stomach. Sherlock was attacking his throat with tongue and teeth and John was having a hard time doing anything but breathing heavily and moaning softly. Sherlock's hands had traveled south and were holding him close by his lower back allowing the taller man's hips to grind into him.
"You're mine…" Sherlock growled. "You can't smell like anyone else…just me…always me…mine…"
John knew what this was. He'd learned about it all those years ago at the Institute. This was an Alpha giving into their primal urge to own, to mark, to possess. He tried hard to pull his mind back from the brink of ecstasy as his flatmate's hands tugged at his clothing. There was a reason why this was a bad idea, he just knew it. But he couldn't think, couldn't focus. He could feel his body responding, lubricating, opening. Something he hadn't experienced in years. He couldn't think past the pleasure and the heat and the desire to do this. This one thing.
Sherlock bit down at his pulse point and John let out a rough moan as he bucked up against Sherlock's hips. Sherlock leaned in close sucking a bruise onto his skin and lifting his shirt up to run his long fingers of John's overheated skin. John leaned into the caress and was just about to start working on Sherlock's own clothing when the taller man froze like a statue before slowly tracing his fingers over John's lower abdomen.
And that's when John remembered, like a lightning bolt to his brain, why this was a terrible idea, why he couldn't allow this to happen, why Sherlock would never actually want him around, once he knew, once he understood.
Sherlock pulled back before tugging at John's clothing to see for himself, the awful truth.
"Sher—Sherlock…" John whispered plaintively, trying to tug his clothing over his scarred skin once more.
John got a good look at the feral rage forming on Sherlock's features before Sherlock turned him around to face the wall, with a hand on his lower back to hold him still before wrenching John's collar down spotting the faded bondbite at the very base of his neck. John's legs felt weak and he collapsed to the ground as Sherlock practically jumped away from him before grabbing his coat and almost running from the flat.