A/N: than that it's absolutely 100% AU. Not only that, it's a very belated Sherlolly Secret Santa gift for amyutz, who I hope won't be disappointed in this little Christmas smut fest!
Sherlock Holmes was the most obnoxious, annoying, arrogant, arsehole of an Alpha Molly Hooper had ever met. Not to mention condescending, manipulative, arrogant - had she already said arrogant?
Didn't matter, Molly fumed as she stomped her way up the stairs to 221B, biohazard cooler in hand for the head he still hadn't returned to St. Barts even after she'd told him she needed it back for her post-holiday lecture on brain dissection.
Ugh, if it wasn't for the fact that she was hopelessly drawn to him - and not only in the usual Omega-lusting-after-a-compatible-Alpha sort of way - she'd not only take back the head, she'd give him a proper telling-off and ban him from her morgue and path lab, that's what she'd do!
It was a pleasant fantasy that lasted right up until she used her hip to shove open the door to 221B and smelled the most mouth-watering Alpha musk, one that ripped right through her nasal suppressants and apparently her Heat suppressants as well, since she felt a sudden half-forgotten cramping in her abdomen.
Not to mention the sudden gush of wetness between her legs.
Oh God, she managed to think as her memories of her teenaged self undergoing her only Heat before she'd gone on suppressants flashed through her mind. I'm in to deepest of deep sh-
"It can't be, not you!" a familiar voice growled from the dimness of the flat. She turned her head automatically, the cooler tumbling to the floor, forgotten, as her nostrils flared, greedily drinking in the thickening scent now flooding her every sense. Drawing her closer, closer…until Sherlock's harsh words finally penetrated her growing mental fog and brought her to an abrupt halt not ten feet away from him.
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, dressed in a ratty grey t-shirt and sleep pants, a brilliant sapphire blue dressing gown over the entire mis-matched ensemble, the scruff of (auburn?) beard on his chin, his dark curls a tangled mass on his head, blue-green eyes blazing. Molly stumbled back a step, even though (almost) every part of her urged her to move closer, to tilt her head in submission, to whine her need to him, to beg him to give her what she most wanted from him…
"S-sorry," she managed to stutter out, cheeks blazing with humiliation more than even the flush of Heat still overloading her endocrine system. "I'll just, I'll-"
"Don't. Go."
That commanding Alpha growl stopped her dead in her tracks, eyes wide, breath coming in harsh pants, sweat dripping from her every pore and slick still gushing between her legs. Moving stiffly, as if against his will, Sherlock stalked toward her, nostrils flaring, taking in her scent as she had been - still was! - taking in his.
Somehow she found the courage to speak as he stopped directly in front of her. Like her, he was perspiring; like her, he was breathing as hard as if he'd just run a marathon; like her, his face was flushed, pupils dilated, lips parted and tip of his tongue darting out as if to taste the very air surrounding them. "Sh-sherlock, I'm not, I'm not what you want, not really," she said, her voice low and trembling from both her sadness at knowing she spoke the truth and at the intense control it was taking for her to speak that truth. "Please, call John, I know he'll co-"
Some coherence came into those lust-dazed eyes, and Sherlock frowned. "John? Why would I call John?"
"B-because he's your partner?" Molly half-asked, half-said, confusion growing in her at his question. Confusion, and a dawning emotion she hardly dared call hope. "Isn't he?"
"My detecting partner yes; my sexual partner, no," he replied, still in that deep, growly voice that sent pleasant shivers dancing up and down her spine, tightening her nipples and causing another gush of slick between her legs. "Besides, even if he was an Omega - he's a Beta, since apparently you don't know that - he's far too straight to even consider the idea of a male sexual partner."
(Later, she'd remember his precise wording and how he hadn't indicated that he was too straight to consider the idea, but that was later. When it absolutely didn't matter.)
"Then why -" she started to ask, only to fall silent when he took that final, irrevocable step into her personal space, placing his hands on her arms and almost slamming her into the doorframe. "Later," he growled. "When I can think…when I can…"
Then his lips were on hers, his body pressing tightly against hers, his burning erection burrowing into her abdomen through their layers of clothing, even through her winter coat and the pink-and-purple striped knit scarf that was tucked against her body, so hot and insistent she felt as if all she needed to do was spread her legs and he'd be inside her.
Clarity vanished. Instinct, lust, need overwhelmed, and their mouths clashed together in a desperate, passionate kiss. His hands tugged impatiently at her clothes; one minute they were there, the next, it seemed, they lay on a pile on the floor at their feet. His clothes, so much easier to remove than hers must have been, added to the mess but that was all right, that was fine, because now there was no need for her to build a nest for them, all they needed to do was sink down, his body covering hers, mouths still engaged in kiss after passionate kiss, fingernails digging into shoulders, legs spread wide to receive him, the fevered press of flesh on flesh until oh glorious YES! He was inside her, pushing deeply, hungrily, into her eager center, filling her, joining them, bodies moving in a fervor of perfect synchrony, his knot forming, growing, pressing against her, pushing into her, until finally, finally…
"YES!" she screamed, even as he howled his own completion, the mutual orgasms removing every vestige of human consciousness and replacing it with a kind of feral frenzy of pleasure that lasted through each of the half-dozen or so aftershock orgasms they experienced until finally he collapsed atop her and they fell instantly into post-coital sleep.
They awoke less than an hour later, Molly first, then Sherlock. She braced herself for the inevitable Sherlock version of "wham-bam-thank-you-ma'm" and started scrambling for her clothes, only to be stopped by his hand on her wrist.
"When I said it can't be you, I didn't mean I didn't want it to be you," he said. Comforting, but not quite an explanation, and she was sure her expression said so since he added with a scowl, "It's just that I wasn't ready for you to know that I, you know." He gestured between them. As if that addition was all the explanation she needed.
"No, actually, I don't know," she replied, and his scowl deepened.
"Then maybe this will tell you what I'm trying to say," he snapped, taking her head between his hands and kissing her. "Rut and Heat have been temporarily satisfied, we're back in our right minds, and I still want to kiss you. What deduction can you make from that, Molly Hooper?"
Joy flooded her mind. "Oh!" she exclaimed, the penny having not only dropped but virtually exploded as she realized what he was telling her. "Oh, that's lovely!" She threw her arms around him, hugging him as tears began to sting the corners of her eyes.
"Yes, yes, emotions, tedious, but I suppose it's to be expected," he said, not quite managing his usual air of bored disinterest. Not when Molly could feel how hard his heart was pounding in his chest. "Now if you don't mind, we could both use a turn under the spray - together even, to save on water, then some food and something to drink and into the bedroom instead of out here where anyone could walk in on us."
Laughing, Molly nodded and allowed him to pull her to his feet. Pausing only long enough for another lingering (loving!) kiss, they headed for the bathroom.
As the door closed behind them, a listener might have heard Sherlock murmuring, "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper" and the sounds of her happy laughter echoing through the small room.
oOo
Returning home from errand-running about an hour later, Mrs. Hudson recognized the smell pervading the entryway to 221B as soon as she opened the door. She'd gone off both nasal and Heat suppressants once she'd entered the Omega equivalent of a Beta's menopause, back in her mid-sixties, but even if she'd still had those powerful nasal blockers, she'd have recognized that familiar reek.
"Well, it's about time," she said with some satisfaction, only to turn and stare at the sound of a key in the latch behind her.
"About time for what?" John Watson asked as he stepped into the foyer, shaking the snow off his shoulders and closing the door behind him. "Merry Christmas, by the way, sorry I didn't, that I - erm, Mrs. Hudson? Is something wrong?"
Then he wrinkled his nose, a furrow of confusion between his eyes. "Am I smelling what I think I'm smelling?"
Mrs. Hudson could only nod, her eyes drawn back up the stairs to the door to her tenants' flat. Where she had been positive that the smell was coming from Sherlock and the man standing in front of her. "Oh, dear," she murmured, turning sympathetic eyes back to meet John's. "I'm so sorry, dear, I have no idea who it could be, up there with him."
By the widening of John's eyes and the look of stunned comprehension on his face, he, however, did have an idea. And by the pleased grin that stretched his lips while she watched him, he was actually pleased at that idea.
He turned that pleased grin on her, took her by the shoulders, and planted a loud kiss on her cheek, causing her to blush and give him an affectionate swat. "Enough of that, John Watson, just tell me who you think is up there and why you aren't upset about it!"
His grin never faltered as he told her, "Because I happen to know two things you might not. One, that Sherlock locked himself in his bedroom when I left for the hospital this morning and announced that he wasn't coming out until his supply of nasal suppressants arrives. They're due tomorrow, if not the day after, serves him right for overusing the damned things and running out before he should have."
"And two?" Mrs. Hudson prompted after a second.
"And two," John continued, still grinning up at the door to the flat, "I happen to know that Sherlock gave one other person a key to the building, and it wasn't his brother." With a twinkle in his eye at her growing scowl, he added, "Sorry, Mrs. H, but it's not my announcement to make, it's theirs." He nodded toward the flat he shared with Sherlock, and shook his head. Still grinning like an idiot, the silly boy.
"At least let me know if it's a man's clothes I'll be washing or a woman's, when they finally come out of their mating haze," she grumbled.
John gave her another kiss on the cheek. "A woman's," he conceded, throwing a jaunty salute toward the door at the top of the stairs. He chortled suddenly. "A woman with a good head on her shoulders - not to mention, in the fridge."
With that enigmatic - exasperating! - statement, he pulled out his mobile, punched in a number, and was talking even as he waved goodbye to her and pulled the door open again. "Hey, Sarah, I know we weren't supposed to meet until this evening, but something's come up and I won't be able to use my flat for the next couple of days. Mind if I stop at yours?"
The door closed before Mrs. Hudson heard any more.
Shaking her head, unwrapping her scarf from around her throat, she headed into her own ground-floor flat, wondering where she'd put those ear stopples she kept on hand for just such a situation.
Better stock up on my herbal soothers too, she thought absently as she closed the door behind her. If they're anything like as…enthusiastic…as my Frank and I used to be, I'll definitely need them!