Notes

I am indebted to Ariane DeVere for her Sherlock transcripts. Her transcripts could be found at . Without her transcripts, it would have taken me a lot of time to write this fic as I would need to re-watch Sherlock repeatedly.

As this is an AU, this story does not strictly follow the sequence of events in Sherlock. I added little 'twists' in the actual transcripts so don't blink and skip them. While there would be references to other cases in the subsequent chapters, The Study in Pink is the only Sherlock episode where a lot of passages are lifted.

Oh...one more thing...not proofed read *wink*

"He was abominable...and the most alluring, tortured soul I'd ever met."
― Becca Fitzpatrick

It was by chance he met Sherlock and ended up with a flatmate. Dr John Hamish Watson was both bemused and intrigued with the stranger who proceeded to give him a brief history of his life minutes upon meeting him.

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you have got a brother who is worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he is an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I am afraid."

Before John could open his mouth to say a word at the stranger, an admittedly very attractive stranger now that he had gotten a good look at the stranger, he was given an invitation to be a flatmate.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon." The stranger winked and left the laboratory.

John mentally upgraded the status of the stranger from attractive to beautiful. A beautiful stranger with an unusual name. He raised an eyebrow and looked towards Mike Stamford, his classmate at St. Bartholomew's Hospital during his undergraduate days.

"Yeah. He's always like that. A brilliant man though a bit too dramatic and flighty for a Beta," Mike Stamford said.

Dramatic? Flighty?

"If you like excitement, take up his offer," Mike Stamford said, a knowing look in his eyes. "After all, you seemed to enjoy running around abroad and getting shot at."

Excitement? Hmmmm…things were looking up. He would love to get better acquainted with Mr Sherlock Holmes to find out what sort of excitement he could offer him.

John returned to his temporary accommodation, a bedsit catered for returning soldiers. He looked across to the table where his laptop was lying. He walked to the table and switched on his laptop. He clicked on Internet Explorer to access the Google website and typed "Sherlock Holmes" into the search box. The first search result was "The Science of Deduction".

Interesting. Beauty and brains do come together.

Sherlock Holmes. Holmes. A common enough surname. John had mentally catalogued Sherlock as posh, possibly from the upper class judging from his accent and the clothes he wore which he had not mistaken probably were from the most exclusive tailors catered for the obscenely rich and powerful. Sherlock's dramatic exit earlier, however, reminded him of someone. A certain someone whom he was not keen to have any contacts with.

With a slight hesitation, John typed "Family tree of Noble Families in United Kingdom". He scrolled down the list and clicked on "Holmes".

The title of the Holmes Family was held currently by Mycroft Holmes.

He looked at the Holmes Family Tree.

Sherrinford Holmes (deceased)

Mycroft Holmes

William Sherlock Scott Holmes

So the stranger who offered to share his flat was the younger brother of Mycroft Holmes, the Iceman. While the general population was not aware who truly held the power to the country, the bloody power manoeuvres behind the scenes, John was one of the persons who knew exactly who the puppet masters were. John frowned. A dark flickered across his face. Perhaps he should rethink whether to turn up for the flat viewing. He had once sworn that he would not get involved in the power struggles of the Elites from the Noble Families. But Sherlock was a Beta and he was unlikely to be involved in the power struggles which remained the domain of the Alphas. Well, there was no harm to turn up for the flat viewing. He could always turn the offer down. He refused to acknowledge that the tiny John Alpha wearing a fuzzy jumpers who resided at the back of his mind, was doing cartwheels at the prospect of meeting Sherlock again.

Located at a prime spot that came with a special deal from the landlady, 221B would be a good place to rent. John looked around the living room and at all the untidy possessions and boxes scattered around it. It looked as though Sherlock had already moved in for some time. The living room was decidedly middleclass and Sherlock looked out of place with the expensive and well cut clothes he wore. Why would he need a flatmate? Even though Sherlock was a Beta, he was still the younger brother of Mycroft Holmes, arguably the most powerful man in England. Money would never be an issue for Sherlock. John was sure he could afford the most exclusive apartment in the most prestigious spot in London.

"You would need to tidy up the place," John said mildly, looking disapprovingly at the mess in the living room.

"Sure," Sherlock muttered and made a half-hearted attempt to tidy the mess, throwing a couple of folders into a box and stacking the books into one haphazard pile which was in danger of collapsing. A thought struck Sherlock and he threw a suspicious look towards John. "I am NEVER wrong but you do not happen to have OCD right?"

"Nope, no OCD. Only PTSD," John replied with a cheerful smile as he settled to a comfortable armchair which he mentally tagged as HIS.

He then noticed a skull at the mantle place, a piece of unusual decoration. And from experience, it was a real human skull and not a fake decorative piece. John lifted his cane and pointed at it.

"That's a skull. A real human skull," John said. "Care to share why is a skull doing at the mantle place? I must say it is a highly unusual decorative item."

"He is my muse. The best sort of friend you can have. Never answers you back and bores you with stupid answers," Sherlock replied as he wondered whether the tiny area he cleared would be sufficient for John's stuff.

As Sherlock continued to make a half-hearted attempt to tidy up the living room, John was enjoying the tantalising view of a fine arse encased in tight trousers that fitted like a glove as Sherlock bent over to pick up a magazine which fell off from the haphazard pile where he piled all the magazines. That delicious arse gave a new definition to 'a room with a view'. The view was the main reason why he accepted the offer to be a flatmate. From where he was sitting, he concluded that the arse in front of him was an Omega-worthy arse which was giving him the urge to fondle and caress it.

Mrs Hudson came out of the kitchen reading the newspapers.

"These horrible suicides. Three exactly the same. I thought that would be right up your street, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said.

To John's disappointment, Sherlock straightened his back and walked over to the window and watched as a police car pulled outside 221B Baker Street.

"Four," Sherlock said.

He looked down at the police car and a familiar figure got out of the police car.

"There has been a fourth. And there is something different this time," Sherlock mused, hardly containing the excitement in his eyes.

"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson squeaked.

All three occupants heard someone running up the stairs and D.I. Lestrade, the only long-suffering Beta D.I. willing to put up with Sherlock's interference in crime investigation, appeared.

"Where?"

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What is new about this one? You would not have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"This one did. Will you come?"

Sherlock tried to look aloof and uninterested.

"Not in a police car. I will be right behind you."

"Thank you."

Approximate 30 seconds after Lestrade left 221B Baker Street, Sherlock jumped into the air and clenched his fist triumphantly before twirling around the room happily.

"Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Sherlock exclaimed happily, as his mask of total boredom fell off.

Sherlock picked up his scarf and coat and put them on and looked towards John.

"You are a doctor. In fact you are an Alpha Army doctor."

"Yes"

"Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths."

"Well, yes."

"Bit of trouble too I bet."

"Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much."

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh God, yes."

John followed Sherlock out of the room and down the stairs.

"Both of you are going?"

Sherlock hugged and kissed Mrs Hudson on the cheek.

"Possible suicides? Four of them? There is no point sitting at home when there is something fun going on!"

"Look at you, all happy. It is not decent."

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!"

John smiled as he followed the excited Sherlock out of the house. The game is on indeed. A game he planned to play with Mr Sherlock Holmes.

Greg Lestrade stared at the shorter man standing beside Sherlock. When asked about the identity of the stranger, Sherlock muttered cryptically 'he's with me". Throughout the years working with the self-styled "consulting detective", Sherlock never had a companion with him at the crime scene. Especially, if he had not mistaken, this 'he's-with-me' companion was an Alpha. What made this 'he's-with-me' companion so special?

John knew that people were staring at him. From the Sergeant and Forensic Technician outside the house to the DI whom he had seen earlier at the Baker Street flat. But he was too enthralled watching Sherlock moving around the dead body in the middle of the floor. Sherlock was obviously in his element. Like a dancer, he moved about gracefully as he examined the crime scene. He kneeled and bent over the dead body looking at it intently. Then very slowly, he stretched his back, almost sensuously, his eyes closed, took a few long, deep breathes.

Beta was scentless, unremarkable in live and death. For Alphas, their scent disappeared the moment they died, their body chemical would break down the scent glands almost simultaneously, leaving them scentless, like the Betas they looked down. In death, both Alphas and Betas were equal. Scentless. But for Omegas, the natural scent which made them so tantalising in life, turned to something more pensive. A devastating sense of loss. It was a smell of an Omega's death. Although irresistible in life, nobody wanted to be near a dead Omega. It was said that the scent of a dead Omega would scar one's soul. Even in death, Omega would still haunt the living.

His knees on the floor, Sherlock bent over the dead Omega body and almost reverently, Sherlock stared at it intently. All of a sudden, Sherlock straightened up, arched his back and started to breathe deeply.

IN….OUT….

IN….OUT….

Oh Jesus, the scene in front of him was bordering on...indecency but John did not have the will to look way. There was something intimate and almost...erotic about it, forcing the other occupants in the room to be unwilling voyeurs. Sherlock was on a high...as if he was alone and on the verge of orgasm as he breathed in and out deeply. Tiny sounds escaped from Sherlock's mouth and John's cock hardened uncomfortably and as he felt the rush of hot blood to his cock. Dark desires, unbidden, rose suddenly and John's Alpha mind started to whisper...MATE...CONQUER...RAVISH... It was as though he was back in the battlefields in Afghanistan, his mind clouded with bloodlust. The bewitching creature in front of him was prey...he wanted to mark it... to see blood on the pale skin...

John found himself breathing in tandem with Sherlock. At the back of his mind, he noted that DI Lestrade, who had blocked off access to the room where the dead body was found, had refused to look at Sherlock ever since Sherlock started to examine the crime scene, clearly uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. With a grunt, John cleared his mind of the thoughts what his Alpha mind commanded him to do. Jesus, what was he thinking? It had been a long time since his libido went out of control as a hot-headed 18 year old Alpha when he fucked his first and only Omega female, a remarkable lady who carved a niche in the world for herself despite her gender. Perhaps it had been far too long since he last fucked that he got hard at a crime scene with a dead body.

Sherlock lowered his head and opened his eyes, looking at John from under his eyes and long eye lashes, his eyes seemingly landed on the hard budge in front of John's trousers. A small secret smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock's mouth. He then raised his head and stared directly into John's eyes, challenging the Alpha's authority.

"Re-mar-kable," Sherlock drawled his words slowly, breaking the spell which momentarily called upon John's Alpha's instincts to pounce on the enticing creature in front of him and rut. "Dr Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the body?" John asked, proud that his voice remained steady as he moved towards Sherlock. He lowered himself to one knee, close to Sherlock. He stole a glace at Sherlock's neck and had the irrational need to sniff it, even though as a Beta, Sherlock would be scentless. John ignored his innate Alpha instincts and examined the body in front of him."Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure, possibly drugs."

"Victim is in her late thirties. Rich, going by her clothes although she seemed to have an alarming fetish with pink. Pink clothes. Pink shoes. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase. Could you smell anything on her, Dr Watson? Other than the Omega scent of course," Sherlock asked, transforming from the alluring creature he was earlier to a professional consultant, calm, logical and devoid of all emotions.

"Suitcase?" Lestrade asked as he listened carefully to Sherlock's analysis. "What suitcase?"

John bent down and sniffed. No Alpha scent. The scientists had tried but no one had managed to develop a scent suppressant which would block the pheromones of an Alpha. The Alpha pheromone was a biological imperative to attract the Omega and it had proved to be resistant to all human's attempt to suppress. If the killer was an Alpha, his pheromones would still be on the victim for at least one day. Since the victim died only a few hours ago, it was unlikely that murderer was an Alpha.

"Only the victim's scent. I could not smell any Alpha pheromones on the victim or in this room," John said. "Perhaps the killer is a Beta or possibly an Omega who has injected the Beta serum."

"Of course, the killer is a Beta. The killer is clever. Logical. Calm. A mere Alpha would not be able to devise such a diabolical plan. The Alphas can only think with their lower part of the body. No aptitude for being a serial killer which actually required brain cells to plan that Alphas plainly lacked. A DNA defect, I am afraid," Sherlock sniffed disdainfully. He then added grudgingly, "The perpetuator could also be an Omega injected with the Beta serum. Omegas are more likely to be involved in a crime of passion. But there is always a first in everything." Sherlock brightened momentarily at the thought of an Omega serial killer. It was his professional opinion that Jack the Ripper was an Omega although it could never be proven since the killer died two hundred years ago. Perhaps the killer could be the first modern day Omega serial killer?

'What SUITCASE? "Lestrade asked again, trying to hide a smile. It was pure Sherlock. He just had to insult the only Alpha in the room, even though the said Alpha was the first Alpha companion he voluntarily bought to a crime scene. Not to mention that Sherlock as a Beta, actually needed an Alpha to confirm whether there were any Alpha pheromones. As a Beta, Sherlock would not be able to smell it himself, something which must have irritated him no end. All the Alphas in New Scotland Yard had refused to work with Sherlock since Sherlock had insulted every one of them.

"Judging from the age and state of the wedding ring, the victim has been married at least ten years, but not happily. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she removes her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them but none of them knew she was married," Sherlock ignored Lestrade's question and continued with his deduction. In the past it would be unheard of Omegas having any extramarital affairs after bonding. With the Omega Liberation Movement, a lot of things had changed, including Omega's attitude towards sex.

"That's brilliant!" John said admiringly, even though he was one of the Alphas whom Sherlock had insulted earlier.

Sherlock looked momentarily shocked and then nodded approvingly at the compliment as his due.

It reminded John of a cat his mother used to own. A proud creature that made it clear to everyone that it was the centre of the universe and all the lowly creatures shall bow and worship it. He wanted to pet and kick the cat simultaneously.

"I hate to interrupt. But what suitcase?" Lestrade asked for the third time, almost shouting. "How'd you know she had a BLOODY SUITCASE?" He blamed his rapidly greying hair on Sherlock. All those cryptic deductions before revealing them and making everyone around looked stupid had tempted more than one officer into punching Sherlock.

"Back of the right leg. Tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get the splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread," Sherlock pointed down to the victim where her tights had small black splotches on the lower part of her leg. "Surely even you could see that, Lestrade."

"There wasn't a case."

Sherlock whipped around and stared at Lestrade.

"Say that again."

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

"Ah, a mistake finally! The killer must have driven her here and forgot the case was in the car," Sherlock said as he made his way down the stairs to the front door and disappeared without another backward glance.

Forgotten and ignored by all the police officers who now moved into the room which contained the murdered victim, John slowly made his way down the stairs and walked out of the building. Looking around, he could see no signs of Sherlock. He walked towards the police tape and Sgt Donovan which he met earlier saw him.

"Freak is gone," Donavan said.

'Who? Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yeah, he just took off. He does that all the time."

"Is he coming back?"

"Right," John said, unsure what to do next. Perhaps he should find a cab to take him back to Baker Street.

"Who are you? You are the freak's…" Donovan saw the disapproving look on John's face who exerted his Alpha Dominance slightly and amended her words quickly, "Sherlock's friend? No. You are not his friend. He doesn't have friends. So who are you?"

"I'm….I'm nobody. I just met him," John said, he would love to know about the alluring creature and be more than Sherlock's 'friend'.

"Okay, a bit of advice then. Stay AWAY from that guy."

"Why?"

"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, especially it involves Omega murder victim, the more he gets off. You know, we had a bet earlier when you arrived here with that freak…I mean Sherlock."

"A bet?"

"Yeah, a bet to see how long you would last before you would be beaten and thrown out."

"Really, why?"

"Nobody wants to near to an Omega murder victim," Donavan said, waving her hands, "you know, it makes anyone feel….uncomfortable…..like you lost someone important even though you might not even know the victim," Donovan said. Leaning closer to John, she whispered. "Did you see how Sherlock acts around the victim? The way he would sniff at the victim and looked as though he was on a high, like having an orgasm? It is…obscene."

Oh yes, John certainly remembered how sensuous Sherlock looked. He almost pounced on him.

"Look around you. Did you not notice that we have no Alpha police officers here? Lestrade would not allow any Alpha officers at a crime scene where he wanted Sherlock's presence. The last time we had an Alpha officer here, he attacked Sherlock when Sherlock did that sniffing thing." Sgt Sally Donovan looked earnestly at John. "He plays a dangerous game. He knows what buttons to press and he thrives on it. Flaunting it. He is even affecting the Beta officers…and we don't really succumb to this type of…desires," Donavan said, a mix of dark desire and loathing on her face. "Lestrade is the only one I know not affected by him. But you know what? The freak...I mean Sherlock... is playing with fire. One day showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing around a body Sherlock Holmes will be the one that put it there. If there is a serial killer of Omegas, he would be my number one suspect on the list. He gets off being around dead Omegas."

'Why would he do that?"

"Because he is a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored."

"Donovan!" Lestrade called from the entrance to the house.

"Stay away from him," Donovan whispered urgently. "If he is not the one doing all those serial Omega murders one day, he would be the one murdered. He is a Beta. But he drives all of us crazy. He is capable of calling out the dark desires hidden in us, doing violent, nasty things to him that would make him dead. He knows it and he is constantly tempting the people around him. That Alpha police officer who assaulted him would have raped and killed him that day. If you stay around him, one day, you would be tempted and you would be the one killing him."

John stared after Sgt Donovan who turned her back and walked towards the house. A small dark smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Sherlock. Something inside him stirred, the primitive and vicious side that he had kept in check in the civilised world. Prey….the Alpha inside his mind whispered.