Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

The Omega	By : themuller Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 3785 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I own nothing; all rights belong to BBC Sherlock and I make no money from my writing.

Chapter List
- 1-The Omega
- 2-Breathe
- 3-Plans gone wrong
- 4-At your service
- 5-Shower
- 6-Hooked
- 7-Baby
- 8-Examination
- 9-O+
- 10-The scheme
- 11-Birth
- 12-Heat
- 13-Epilogue
- 10
- 11
- 12
Mycroft had become very quiet through the last part of Sherlock’s revelations. John wondered how much he really had known about the Professor’s research. There was no doubt in John’s mind that Mycroft had worked with the Professor prior to the murder. Only question was, how much he had known about the Professor’s real plans.
No one said anything after Sherlock had explained the futility of breeding identical Omegas. John put four mugs of tea on the table, and then sat down beside Mike. Sherlock placed himself on the other side of John, protectively. Clearly not liking John to be this close to another Alpha.
Mycroft was fidgeting with the mug, face still pale. Mike was looking expectantly at him. When nothing was forthcoming, Mike’s smile faltered and was finally replaced with a frown.
“Mycroft!” Mike’s voice was deep and demanding, very unlike his normally good-natured, soft-spoken tone.
Mycroft actually flinched in his seat, his head bowed. John reacted as well by closing the gap between Sherlock and himself, needing to feel Sherlock’s body pressed close to him. Sherlock looked deeply fascinated at Mike’s apparent power over Mycroft, putting yet another piece of information to the puzzle of their relationship.
“This has to stop,” Mike continued. “I’ve told you so for years. If you don’t take action now, I’ll personally see to it that this stuff’s on the front pages of every single paper tomorrow morning and for weeks to come!”
Mycroft was sagging even further into his chair.
“Don’t, Mike, this,” Mycroft swallowed, “this can’t leave this room. It’s - I didn’t know.”
Mycroft looked pleadingly at Mike. John had to blink several times, not believing what he was witnessing. Mycroft looked incredibly vulnerable. Feeling oddly embarrassed at seeing this proud man crumble, John left the table, dragging a gloating Sherlock with him to the window, turning his back to Mike and Mycroft. Sherlock looked surprised at John, who just shook his head. John leaned into Sherlock, nudging him until Sherlock complied and gently caressed him. In the meantime Mike was reprimanding Mycroft, at one point jumping up from his chair, raising his voice.
“For goodness sake, Mycroft! Are you even aware of your own stupidity?”
Sherlock couldn’t suppress a smirk, and John threw an angry glance up at him.
“Get back here, the two of you,” Mike’s voice was weary now.
John obeyed immediately, while Sherlock attempted to look casual, eventually following John. Mike took a sip from his tea, sitting down, and trying to calm himself, his eyes throwing daggers at a very subdued Mycroft.
“Two things. John is in the clear now. Not only because of the information, Sherlock presented earlier,” Mike shot a warning glance at Sherlock’s self-righteous smile. “For starters, the laws on parental rights and obligations for the Omega are a total mess.”
“But, I thought -” John started, but one look from Mike and he shut up.
“I don’t know what morons you’re working with, Mycroft, but honestly, our law-making dates further back than the 1960’s. Also concerning gender equality and regulations!” Mike added with renewed emphasis, when Mycroft meekly tried to speak up.
“God, I don’t even want to imagine the amount of havoc you and your minions would have caused if John’s case hadn’t turned up,” Mike shook his head, falling silent for a moment.
None of the others tried to say anything, they all waited more or less patiently for him to continue.
“What would’ve been your next move? Confine every single Omega to a breeding farm?”
Mike’s question was meant hypothetical, but the look on Mycroft’s face said it all. Bloody bastard, John thought angrily.
“I’ve been through the text books, regulations, laws, and rulings of the past - what? A hundred years or so. On that evidence alone, you’ve at least a dozen laws which need clarifications, rewrites, and which in principal contradict existing legislation,” Mike looked at Mycroft, who had regained some of his usual composure. “You’ll have to put a whole army of lawyers to work on this, Mycroft. It’s simply unbelievable that no-one has stopped this madness before.”
Sherlock was amused no end, while John was confused.
“But, I mean,” he started cautiously, observing Mike closely, should he snap at him again, “you said the law was clear on this,” John waved a hand at his belly, before petting it lightly.
Mike huffed.
“Oh yes, it is. As long as you’re looked upon as property,” Mike stated as a matter of fact. John cleared his throat, avoiding looking at anyone.
“But,” Mike leaned forward on the table, lifting his hand, and pointing at John, “if you go back to 1884, you can find a law on how an estate is to be divided between its heirs, taking their gender and fertility into account!”
John frowned.
“A law, which had been in use repeatedly over the past years, because greedy heirs didn’t want to share their inheritance with any neutered bondmates of the deceased.”
“And the point being?” John asked.
“You see,” Mike was enjoying himself now, “the law states unambiguously that an unbonded individual and an individual bonded with a neutered person, no matter what gender, are to be treated as equals! And,” Mike tried to keep the amusement out of his voice, seeing exactly the moment John realised what this meant, “a pregnant individual has priority over anybody else when claiming a share of the inheritance. The reason behind this was, that a neutered person of any gender wouldn’t be able to breed, thus wouldn’t be able to produce offspring and ensure the continuance of the family.”
Mike leaned back, resisting closing his speech with an ‘I rest my case’.
“Yeah, so either I’m a piece of furniture or a reproduction machine?” Despite his sarcastic reply, John’s mind was spinning; in fact the whole room seemed to spin as well.
“Either you have no rights at all, or you’re the one who’s calling the shots,” Mike acknowledged with a wide smile.
“How sure are you about this case?” Sherlock asked, sensing John’s agitation and pulling him closer again.
“I’ve talked with my colleagues, and, well,” Mike chuckled, “some of them were quite upset, because this suddenly sheds a very different light on many cases and rulings. So, if we go to court with this, and I sincerely doubt that because Mr Moriarty doesn’t strike me as a stupid man, the trial would set an important precedent in favour of any Omega.”
Mycroft, who had regained his cool facade, cleared his throat.
“This all sounds very - agreeable,” he said disdainfully, belying his own words, “but if you want changes, we need more than one case and one Omega who, no offence, is far from normal.”
Both Mike and Sherlock sent Mycroft an angry look. John didn’t take offence. He sat deep in thought.
“However, if Mike’s right, we better prepare the case, stopping this Moriarty Omega before your Om-,” realising his slip, Mycroft corrected himself, “before John goes into labour. You better take him back home to your place, Sherlock.”
With that, Mycroft rose and left the room, before Mike could tell him off. Instead he started to collect his things. Sherlock watched Mike closely.
“You should talk with Detective Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock said, apropos of nothing.
“What are you talking about?” Mike asked confused.
Sherlock didn’t say anything, instead winked at Mike who left with a slightly bemused expression. Sherlock turned his attention back to John.
“Lestrade?” John mumbled, turning his head into Sherlock’s shoulder. “That’s the bloke who had been visiting me a few times, when you’re out, right?”
Sherlock nodded. John couldn’t care less right now. He would be able to stay with Sherlock and keep their child. That mattered. That, and an idea, which slowly had been taking, shape in his mind over the past weeks.
“Mycroft is right,” Sherlock whispered.
“Mmmh.”
“We should move home,” Sherlock ghosted his lips over John’s ear.
“Mmmh.”
“Now,” Sherlock said, and pulled John up from his chair.
Sherlock half carried John to the sofa and let him slump into the pile of cushions and blankets. Curling up on his side, John faced the room with sleepy eyes. Drained from energy, he just lied on the sofa, mind blank and peaceful.
xOxOxOxOxOx
The following days were a blur to John. The turmoil of the past months had finally caught up with him, and he was unable to help Sherlock packing. It took four days, before Mike came with the papers and documents necessary to release John from his ‘prison’. Sherlock had left him a few hours every day, arranging the flat for their return, leaving him in the care of Lestrade.
John wondered about that, but didn’t protest. Lestrade was one of the few Alphas John had met in life, who didn’t try to put him down or ignore him all together. In fact, John hoped they would keep in touch with Lestrade, since Sherlock had been able to help him on a few cases. Through the past months, John had realised that Sherlock got easily bored. Working with Lestrade on some of his cases, Sherlock’s mind had been occupied with deductions, not needing other kinds of entertainment. John still feared the moment, when Sherlock realised that John wasn’t half as exiting as he seemed to think.
But working with Lestrade also gave Sherlock the possibility to gain experience for his work as a consulting detective. John couldn’t picture Sherlock as anything else now he had seen him work. The only reservations he had were of the economic kind, which Sherlock had dismissed as entirely unnecessary.
In the end, it was Lestrade, who followed them down to reception when the release papers came through, exchanging phone numbers and addresses with Sherlock before they left the Met. Lestrade promised to keep Sherlock in the loop if any interesting cases should show up. Bidding their farewells, Sherlock and John climbed into the waiting cab and drove off.
Sherlock’s flat, well, John thought, their flat contained a living room, a bedroom, kitchen, and a bathroom with both shower and tub. John was too tired to explore it more than just superficially, toppling into the large bed and relishing in the softness of the duvet and sheets. He fell asleep within minutes, leaving a worried Sherlock standing in the doorway, wondering if this was normal for a pregnant Omega.
He had contacted one of his former acquaintances form university earlier, hoping he could persuade her to take care of John’s healthcare and the birth. She had agreed to come by a few days later; wanting to do some research on the subject, before she committed herself to the task.
Sherlock had discussed her with John, and he had agreed on ‘anyone, as long as it wasn’t the doctor!’ Both knowing whom John was talking about.
John had been sleeping most of the day, when Molly arrived in the early afternoon. He was still on the sofa, curled into the heap of pillows and blankets; he had managed to locate in the flat. He didn’t get up, letting Sherlock do the introduction.
Molly was intrigued by Sherlock’s account about John’s pregnancy. He left out the bit about John’s other Alpha, as well as how the actual impregnation had been accomplished. As far as he was concerned, John’s child was his, full stop.
Getting off the sofa and making tea was close to an ordeal for John by now, but somehow he achieved to produce three mugs of tea, knowing that he had to move even if only for a few minutes at a time. He hadn’t been outside of the flat, though, afraid he wouldn’t able to with the unknown sensations in his current state. The move from the police station to the flat had already upset him more than he had expected.
Molly was chatting with Sherlock about their shared university year, and Sherlock was getting more and more impatient.
“Excuse me,” John broke in, hoping to avoid some kind of rude behaviour from Sherlock, “but, well, how much do you know about male pregnancies and, maybe more importantly, about giving birth?”
Molly blushed and started to stutter.
“Ehm, I, well, you see,” she said, nervously giggling, “I’ve been helping with a few childbirths. Being a Beta and everything,” more giggles, “but, well, I’ve had,” she broke off, looking from Sherlock to John, and back at Sherlock again, who had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.
“You’ve done an autopsy on a male Omega once,” Sherlock reminded her.
John almost spat out his tea.
“Wh- what?” Disbelieving, he looked at Sherlock, who looked calmly back at him.
“Oh yes,” Molly continued, much more cheerful. Far too cheerful, John thought.
“You see, I got this Omega male in the morgue.”
“You work in a morgue?” John glowered at Sherlock.
“Yes,” Molly acknowledged enthusiastic, “as an assistant. Helps me get the experience I need. To become a forensic ex-”
“Yes, thank you, Molly,” Sherlock cut her off, before John got totally unnerved, “the male Omega?” Sherlock proposed, getting Molly back on track.
“He had died while giving childbirth,” she explained, gesturing with her hands. “The child was fully developed, but he hadn’t been able to give birth, because it got caught up in the wrong position,” Molly was talking fast now. “When the doctor decided to do a caesarean, he messed everything up.”
Again, Molly used her hands to emphasise her story. John sat wide-eyed.
“I don’t know what he had been thinking, but he ended up cutting through several arteries, and damaged most of the vital organs. The Omega died of loss of blood, while the child had died before due to lack of oxygen.”
She paused to get her breath back. John stared at Sherlock, who looked utterly fascinated by Molly’s story. Taking a deep breath, she continued.
“I did the autopsy on the case. It was really fascinating, because the doctor obviously wasn’t aware of the many differences between male and female Omegas. Did you know,” Molly began to elaborate upon the physical differences between male and female Omegas, side tracking on how Betas and Alphas differentiated as well, just to return to the specialities of the male Omega. A truly fascinating subject, according to Molly - and John was sitting entranced, the idea he had been entertaining for some time now becoming more and more tangible.
“... it took me three days and I don’t know how many attempts, but I managed it finally,” Molly declared proudly. “I got the baby turned and got him out of the uterus. I’m sure I could do that again, eyes closed, and everything. It was great, when I realised how the muscles and sinews were keeping the baby in place.”
Molly’s eyes were bright, when she took a sip of her tea, not heeding John’s shocked expression. Sherlock quietly pointed out to Molly to please refrain from using the ‘b’ word again while she was looking after John. Sherlock didn’t give any explanations, and Molly apologised without losing her happy smile. John’s breathing became even once more, cursing himself for being so wimpy about a simple word.
“To be honest,” Sherlock said, “I would’ve preferred you having more experience with living male Omegas.” Oh yes, John thought, me too!
“But you’re probably better suited to help John than any of the doctors, my obnoxious brother had been suggesting,” Sherlock pointed out, Molly seemingly not noticing the implied insult.
Embarrassed, John hid his face in his hands, and then looked up at Molly who was totally absorbed in trying to get Sherlock’s attention. It was obvious she had come because of Sherlock, not because of John. Yet, when she examined him, she was very gentle and careful, explaining in detail what she was about to do, and telling John to stop her, if she was hurting him in any way or he felt uneasy.
John had to admit that he never had experienced a more professional and thorough check-up before. Molly put John’s fatigue down to the progression of the pregnancy, prescribed some pills to help him rebuild his red blood cells, and was firmly instructing Sherlock to make sure, John was allowed to rest during the day.
Remaining on the sofa, John contemplated the idea that had been festering in his mind for some time now. He still didn’t know how to put it into words, much less into action, and at last let his drowsiness took over, letting him drift into a light sleep.
A few days later, John had a cleaning spree. Sherlock escaped when John had ordered him to move his chair for the third time. John finished about two hours later, for once feeling elated and curiously excited, having no idea what caused it.
The flat was clean. Every little spot had been scrubbed and cleared. Lying on the sofa, John felt very satisfied with himself. He fell asleep before Sherlock returned home, and he didn’t see the tender smile on Sherlock’s face on seeing John.
When he woke, John felt peculiar. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, but John was sure he was in the flat, probably the bedroom. Relieving himself in the bathroom, he suddenly cringed, feeling a stabbing pain in his abdomen. It felt like the start of a heat, and John shook his head in disbelief. This was just not happening to him. Not a heat, not now, for goodness sake! He was almost sure that a heat was a bit not good for their child, or John himself, feeling like a stranded whale most of the time.
The pain subsided. And John waited a moment, before he left the bathroom, hoping the pain was just down to some kind of indigestion.
Nothing happened and John tried to sneak into the bedroom in an attempt to not disturb Sherlock. In vain, because the man was sitting fully awake in the bed, reading a book.
“You should be sleeping, John,” he said kindly, scooting to one side of the bed to make room for John.
John didn’t answer. He climbed in beside Sherlock and cuddled into his side, falling asleep before he could say good night to Sherlock.
An hour later, John jerked up, feeling the stabbing pain in his stomach once more. No, he scowled at himself, not a heat, not now. Sherlock was fondling his hair, and the pain eased after a short while. John relaxed, and was close to sleep again, when the next wave of pain hit him. He groaned, buried his head in Sherlock’s lap, and cursed his biology.
“John?” Sherlock asked quietly.
“I think I’m going into heat,” John sighed, when the pain had subsided again.
Sherlock looked down at John, who was trying to stretch out, just to let out a low whine and curl up again. Sherlock drew in a deep breath and frowned. Then he deliberately sniffed John. His frown deepened.
“John?” Sherlock sounded concerned now.
“Hmm?”
“You’re not going into a heat,” Sherlock stated firmly.
“I’m. Know how it feels,” John’s voice was slurred and he sounded tired.
“No, John,” Sherlock insisted, and John tried to curl into Sherlock’s lap.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“John!” Sherlock put his book aside and sat up, causing John to slide down his lap and growl angrily.
“You’re not in heat!” Sherlock repeated annoyed.
“Definitely heat,” John slurred back, wincing when he was hit by another cramp, at the same time trying to move up into Sherlock’s lap again.
“You’re in labour,” Sherlock tried to explain patiently.
John suddenly stilled. He lifted his head, eyes still bleary from sleep, mind foggy, so he shook his head.
“No,” he said, “heat.”
Then he cramped up again, whimpering, apologising.
“Why are you apologising?” Sherlock asked surprised.
“No good for use until body is ready. Hurts a lot,” John tried to explain, voice sounding off.
Sherlock sighed.
“JOHN!” he didn’t shout, just put some firmness behind the words. “You. Are. In. Labour!”
Sherlock got up and very gently rolled John over and under the duvet.
“I’ll call Molly, you just stay here.”
That was an order John had no intention to disobey, being wrecked by yet another flare of pain.
Sherlock was torn between staying and calling Molly. He stayed, stroking John’s back, telling him when to breath in, when to breath out. After a few minutes John was breathing evenly, tension leaving his body. He was sleeping again.
Sherlock hurried to the phone, calling Molly. She sounded sleepy, but told him, that she would be there an hour later. Sherlock went back to John, lying down and spooning him, warming and calming him with his body pressed around John’s.
Somehow Sherlock managed to soothe John, letting him sleep as much as possible. John was hoping to be able avoid a caesarean. They had discussed the risks of natural childbirth, but Molly’s story hadn’t helped John to feel any better about a caesarean.
While Molly hadn’t been able to find more data about male pregnancies or births for the past decades, Sherlock had looked through the Professor’s records. As he had suspected, the Professor had described several cases of both in his notebooks, giving Sherlock a picture of the difficulties these births entailed. The male Omega was in labour for a longer time, and the delivery often caused severe damage to the orifice. What the Professor had omitted from his descriptions was the physical health of the Omega prior to the birth, as well as how much help the Omega was receiving during the birth. Sherlock suspected that many of the pregnant Omegas just had to cope with poor accommodation and food. He had seen pictures and read accounts about the camp, where John’s grandfather had been interned.
The Omegas, who had been experimented on, were kept apart from the others and under slightly better conditions. But the Professor had obviously not had any qualms about using other Omegas in heat for the entertainment of the guards and other personnel of the camp. Several of those heats resulted in pregnancies and even children, who would be a lasting reminder of the terror. John’s father had been such a reminder, Sherlock thought, getting his focus back to the present.
When Molly came, she had taken her boyfriend with her, leaving him in the living room without introducing him to Sherlock. John was having contractions almost constantly by now, and Sherlock didn’t leave him for a second. Molly’s boyfriend fetched water, food, and towels for them, not getting close to the bedroom, since his scent would disturb John’s concentration and probably would cause Sherlock to react viciously.
With every new contraction John could feel part of his muscles relax, while other parts pulled together, opening the birth canal for the child. After a short examination, Molly could tell them that John was at the beginning of the dilation phase. It had been two hours since Sherlock had told him that he was in labour.
John winced at the prospect of maybe ten more hours of continuing and growing pain, forcing his mind to focus on the reward; he would have their child in his arms when all of this was over. He didn’t allow himself to think of the alternatives, being brought brutally back to the on-going labour by yet another excruciating cramp.
Sherlock’s soothing baritone talked him through the stabbing pain. It helped, having someone to tell you when to breathe, when to relax. Still, seven hours into labour, John was weary, losing his concentration, and was more than once taken by surprise when the violent spasms wrecked through his body.
Molly had conducted an exam on him every hour. The dilation process had been slow, much to John’s dismal.
When the next attack came, John bid back his fatigue, and asked both Sherlock and Molly to please be silent. He needed all his remaining strength to concentrate on his body. Sherlock had enveloped John in his arms, leaning back against the head-post of the bed, John slouching against Sherlock’s chest whenever he had a short reprieve from the pain.
Once the labour had started for good, Sherlock had felt John’s contractions like a dull pain in his chest. He had never felt this close with John, almost like becoming one person, fighting through the agony together, to ensure the healthy delivery of their child.
When the contractions changed three hours later, John cried loudly for the first time. Sherlock looked concerned at Molly.
“The contractions are changing. He’s fully dilated now and he’ll soon be ready to push,” she whispered.
John shushed them, eyes closed, brows knitted. Sherlock caressed his forehead, and John tried to smile, only to grind his teeth together when the next contraction started. He felt something give way inside of him, and his eyes flew open in fear, only to see Molly jump backward with a yelp, wet all over her front.
His questioningly look was answered by Sherlock with a small smile.
“Your water broke. It took Molly by surprise,” he told him, holding his trembling hand, when the contraction continued its onslaught.
John could feel the body inside of him push further down. And after a short break between the waves of pain, the next cramp was fierce. John pushed and screamed at the same time, feeling the body inside of him move closer to his orifice. He could feel the stretch of his skin, and panted hard, feeling as if he had to keep pushing, to keep going.
“I can see the back of his head,” Molly exclaimed cheerfully.
“Her,” John panted, before the next contraction forced another scream out of him, the head of the child pushed out and the rest of the body following smoothly.
“A girl, you’ve got a ba- a girl, a little girl,” Molly was smiling and laughing, gently placing the girl on John’s tummy, taking care of the umbilical cord after Sherlock cut it with the offered scissors. John felt the fatigue and pain drain away; his body was being flooded with relief and an unbelievable happiness.
Sherlock was speechless. The little girl squirming on John’s abdomen was perfect - exquisite, fragile but strong, making small noises, groping with her small fingers and trying to lift her head. John looked equally stunned at the little person, very, very carefully holding her, making sure she wouldn’t slip from his belly. He looked up at Sherlock with wide, wondering eyes.
Molly was all worked up, but when John flinched, having yet another contraction, she remembered he had to push out the placenta as well. It went out easy enough, and checking it, nothing was missing, showing it to both Sherlock and John, before disposing of it.
John was reluctant to give their little girl to Molly, but she had to be cleaned up, and both Sherlock and Molly made sure, she was as healthy as she looked. Being parted from John had her crying in no time, making John very nervous. Cleaned up, she was put back on John’s chest, where she immediately started nuzzling to find his nipples. John helped and a few moments later the sound of a healthy sucking was filling the room. Molly silently slipped out of the room, only to return a few moments later with two cups of tea for John and Sherlock. Sherlock had again joined John on the bed, curling his arm around him and pulling him close to his chest. He was caressing their daughter, too perplexed to say anything.
They both took a sip of the tea, leaning into each other and curling up around their little daughter, who was still sucking noisily.
Without any warning Sherlock and John suddenly felt drowsy, and both of them drifted off, feeling their limbs getting heavy.
They weren’t able to move when James came in, a wicked grin on his face. Sherlock’s clouded mind was screaming at him to protect his Omega and his child, but his body wouldn’t obey his bidding. He was helpless, when James took a syringe and drew blood from John. John was unconscious, the exhausting labour and the drug leaving him at the mercy of James.
When James stuck their child, she started to cry, fury welling up in Sherlock, who managed to throw himself at James. But it was futile. James had gotten what he wanted, and left the three of them alone, just taking the two blood-samples with him.
John had stirred, when their child cried, but he was left utterly helpless. Sherlock was able to crawl out of the bed, finding Molly unconscious in the kitchen. He made it to the phone and called Lestrade, mumbling ‘Moriarty’ before his body had to give in to the drug as well.
- 10
- 11
- 12
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Omega