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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
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John didn't want to wake up. For once his nightmare had ended with the dream of a safe place, even if this place included an unbonded Alpha in a locked room. Drifting in and out of sleep, he could still smell the intoxicating scent of the Alpha. He continued to feel the warmth from the Alpha's body beside him. John cuddled himself into that body, willing his dream to continue a little while longer.
Body? As in a body with arms, now draped around him? And legs, entangled with his? Fully awake, John pushed back hard and fast. Too hard it turned out, finding himself sprawled out on the floor. A moment later an amused face surrounded by black, unruly hair peered at him over the edge of the bed.
Panting, John tried to collect his thoughts. Not a dream, then. Those eyes, dear God, those eyes should be illegal. The way they roamed over John's body, as if dissecting him. He felt naked despite being fully clothed.
Gathering his limbs together and sitting up, he checked if he had collected new bruises or injuries, others than the one he was sporting already from the last time the Professor had disciplined him.
John looked up at the young Alpha. Christ, he didn't look older than seventeen or eighteen, barely of age for an Alpha. John shook his head. You're 'barely of age', he reminded himself. Two more weeks, two bloody weeks, and he would have been twenty-one, coming of age as an Omega, getting more leverage against the Professor. Maybe having half a chance to get to college, get a proper education. But now? Shifting into a less painful position, John decided he might as well try to get some answers.
"Good morning, Mr?" John ventured.
"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes," the Alpha answered, amusement in his voice. And what a voice. The soothing baritone had John almost neglecting the meaning of the uttered words. He sat up straighter, once the meaning had sunk in.
"There are two of you?" he asked disbelieving.
The Alpha sat up on the bed, letting his legs glide over the edge, using the difference in height to look down at John in an eerie copy of the other Holmes' pose the day before.
"Of course, you've met my brother," Sherlock huffed. "Why did you agree to do this?"
"Agree to do this?" John was flabbergasted. "Your brother? Well, whatever 'this' is, Mr Holmes -"
" Sherlock," Sherlock interrupted.
"Well, Sherlock," John paused a moment. What kind of name was that? "My name is John. John Watson," John added, reminding himself once more to use his last name. The Professor has really trained me well, John taunted himself.
"That's not a name you have used before," Sherlock stated as a matter of fact.
"Wh- What?" John swallowed.
"You're not used to say 'Watson'. It sounds as if you have to remind yourself of even giving a last name. Probably because you're not supposed to, being an Omega," Sherlock added.
John miffed. What the hell? Could this guy read minds?
"Obviously I'm an Omega," John tried to sound condescending, failing spectacularly, since those eyes were fully concentrating on him again. "And, well, my bondmate, Professor Moriarty, had been murdered yesterday. His son wouldn't like it, if I continued to use his name."
He had managed to respond with a steady voice with no hint of the impending. Saying it out loud brought the memories back as if he had opened a Pandora's box. John could see, smell, and even feel the blood. See the cut throat, the head almost severed from the body. There had been so much blood. How could a man contain all this blood? John felt nauseous, could feel his broken bond hurt in his chest, despair creeping up on him. He was shaking. Pulling his knees up, he was suddenly very aware of how hungry, thirsty, and plain out tired he was. His whole body was hurting, he felt cold and so very, very lonely.
John curled in on himself. He was drifting now, all fight, all resistance to whatever was going to happen to him, drained out. He was past exhaustion, past caring. John faintly remembered one of the threats the Professor would entertain whenever he got annoyed with John's disobedience. Omegas being sold and used as sex slaves, trafficking all over Europe. 'One way to get abroad', the Professor would smirk.
The only reason to keep on breathing was the child inside of him. He would try to keep the little one safe, no matter what the Alpha was going to put him through. With that thought, John blacked out.
The next hours John was hardly conscious for more than just a few minutes at a time. A glass of water at his lips, an arm gently put around his shoulders, keeping him upright, so he could drink. The voice, oh, this wonderful voice, telling him to open his mouth, so he could eat. The food, whatever it was, John was no longer in a state to recognize anything, tasted well. He followed the instructions obediently, not able to resist, after a while not even wanting to resist. Every time he surfaced, he was in this safe place, breathing in the scent of Sherlock, just letting himself drown in it.
At some point he fell into a dreamless sleep. The next time he became aware of his surroundings, he felt rested and well replete. The scent of Sherlock was enveloping him and this time John nestled into his embrace without hesitation. He opened his eyes and looked up into this bright, scrutinising gaze, which always seemed to analyse and examine everything, it was focussed on.
Sherlock's look was intent, almost like a fire burning through layers and layers of clothes and skin, baring John's innermost secrets to him. John shuddered, and buried his head in Sherlock's shoulder. Whatever he wants to see, let him, John assessed. The more he can find out that way, the less I will have to tell.
"Feeling better?"
"Hmm," was all John had to offer.
Sherlock carted through John's hair. It felt nice, as did the cuddling. John wasn't used to this kind of affection. His parents had seldom hugged him, and once he was bonded with the Professor, cuddling was out of the question. The Professor rarely ever touched him if it wasn't for performing sexual intercourse or disciplining him.
"Take of your clothes, John," Sherlock said in a low, demanding voice.
John flinched. He knew, where this had been heading the second he had realised that he had been locked up with an unbonded Alpha. With a sigh, he reluctantly extricated himself from Sherlock's embrace.
John could swear the man was positively blooming with glee, when John started to unbutton his shirt. Let him, John thought grimly and determined, not much to look at, once my clothes are off. However, when he took his t-shirt off, baring his upper body and his protruding stomach to Sherlock, John had to force himself not to cringe. It wasn't a pretty sight. The fresh marks and bruises were clearly showing John's inability to behave properly. Sherlock's eyes widened, when he took in the sight before him.
"You're too skinny," he said almost accusingly.
"Look who's talking," John retorted, taking a very deliberate look up and down Sherlock's slim body.
"I'm not the one who's pregnant," Sherlock retaliated smugly.
John bit on his bottom lip. Good point, that one. When he motioned to stand up and undo his trousers, Sherlock stopped him
"No, not yet," he said, without taking his eyes off John's chest.
John complied. Sherlock slowly and meticulously traced the various bruises on John's chest and arms, mumbling 'fist', 'belt', 'collar and cuffs? Why would he collar you?'
The initial exhilaration was slowly replaced by exasperation. More than once, Sherlock looked at John with a questioning look, only to get a quiet confirming nod. John patiently waited, letting Sherlock deduce both the instruments causing the scars and damage on his body, as well as the when and the why. John realised that Sherlock was deeply fascinated by the life story, he could elicit from John's skin and muscles. At the same time it became quite clear to John, that Sherlock didn't like the result of his observations.
Sherlock stopped, when he reached John's belly. Reverently he let his hands stroke over the stretched skin. John cleared his throat.
"If you're lucky, you might be able to feel her move," he said. Sherlock eyes went almost black, his pupils dilated. By now John could see Sherlock's arousal. Nothing new there. John knew any sign of fertility made an unbonded Omega irresistible. Even bonded Alpha's would have a hard time to hold back their urge to form a second bond with a pregnant unbonded Omega. For once biology was quite clever that way, John contemplated. Making sure, the soon to be parent would have an easy time finding a provider and protector for both newborn and himself.
John was getting hard by now. Sherlock's touches and the intensity of his scent were alluring, and John was wondering why Sherlock hadn't taken advantage of the situation already and bitten him.
John was thinking back to his very first heat, the bonding heat induced - hell, stop the euphemism, forced by the Professor with a bite at his neck. John had been diagnosed as an Omega a few weeks after his sixteenth birthday. It had been quite a surprise for both his parents and the doctor, who triple checked the result before telling his parents. According to the laws of genetics, his Alpha father should not have been able to conceive an Omega with his Beta wife.
After a massive row with John's mother, John's father promptly had ordered a paternity test. It showed without any doubt that John's father was indeed his biological parent.
John's grandfather on his father's side had been an Omega, bonded to an Alpha wife. They had three children, John's father being the youngest and according to the stories, John's grandfather used to tell when he was really drunk, John's father was born by John's grandfather, while his two aunts were carried and born by his grandmother. It was the last part, people always wondered about, since an Alpha female wasn't supposed to become impregnated by her Omega. Mostly the argument was settled by pointing to 'this being the time before the war'. John on the other hand had always found it fascinating that a man could become pregnant. Well, not any man, you had to be an Omega, and by the time John grew up and came into puberty, that was no longer as exciting as it had been, when he first heard the stories told by his grandfather.
Society had changed since then. It was unthinkable for an Omega to partake in any kind of action in a war-zone. John's grandfather had been an army doctor, fighting at the front both as a soldier and as a medic. He had been captured and been held as a prisoner of war in one of the lesser-known concentration camps. No matter how drunk he got, John could never get his grandfather to tell him anything about the time he had spend there. It must have been truly terrifying.
John's line of thought was interrupted when Sherlock gave a start. The little one wobbled around inside John's stomach. John almost giggled, but became serious as soon as Sherlock looked up. God, those eyes. John had a hard time coping with the sheer want and lust, they conveyed by know. His body was reciprocating the interest; John felt a low whine forming in his throat. No matter what his mind was telling him, his body had its own ideas on how to react. His pants felt too tight, and slowly but surely he bared his neck to Sherlock, both wanting him to bite and hoping he wouldn't because it would hurt like hell for the next hours, before the heat would wash away the pain and open his body to the Alpha.
Sherlock studied the scar closely, and then huffed.
"He bit you more than once," Sherlock sounded utterly disgusted by the very idea, leaving John puzzled. "He opened the bite three, no four times. Anniversary?"
Sherlock looked at John for confirmation, which he gave with a small nod and a gaping mouth.
"How?"
"The scar tissue. It's clearly healed over several times," Sherlock indicated as if John was able to look at his own neck. "May I touch? Or would it hurt?"
John gave up. Sherlock was definitely not like the Professor.
"I have no idea," John's voice was thick, almost overcome by sentiment. Nobody had ever been this careful with him.
Sherlock let his fingers glide featherlike over the scar. The touch went right into John's already hard cock, drawing out a needy whimper. John was breathless. How could this feel so different from anything the Professor ever had done to him?
Sherlock had started to take of his clothes and John could feel his eyes going wide. Like John, Sherlock could use some extra pounds, but good Lord, the smooth, alabaster like skin, the pink nipples standing out, a dark trail of pubic hair clearly marking the way towards an impressive bulge in his trousers. John developed temporary tunnel vision, unable to take his eyes off Sherlock hands opening his trousers and pushing down both pants and trousers in one effortless motion.
"Now you," Sherlock ordered.
John complied, eyes locked on Sherlock's long, magnificently curved, simply perfect Alpha cock. Already there was precome glittering on its head. John couldn't care less about his appearance, mediocre on every point, if anyone would ask him. His focus was now on Sherlock, pushing his own needs back, just wanting to please this Alpha, earn his goodwill - no matter how much the bite would burn through his body.
Sherlock drew in a sharp breath when John stood naked in front of him. Then he bent down, and John bared his throat, closing his eyes and clenching his fists in anticipation of the dreaded pain. Sherlock hovered a short moment over the scar, then his lips touched it gently. A soft licking followed the first chaste kiss, and John's knees just gave way. Sherlock caught him and let him slide gently down on the mattress.
Mattress? John couldn't remember when Sherlock had lifted it from the bed and... Under the table? Which he had moved as well? Doesn't matter, John fiercely told himself, totally not important right now. He wanted Sherlock inside of him and he had no idea, why he hadn't been bitten yet. But bugger it, this felt so damn heavenly, and if only he would be allowed to touch, to kiss, and caress, but no, he wanted to show Sherlock that he could be a good Omega, that he could behave, no matter how far gone he was.
Sherlock had held him until he was lying comfortably on his right side, avoiding any pressure on his stomach. John needed Sherlock inside of him and he tried to push his back against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock was kissing his way down John's spine, fondling John's chest and nipples. Every movement, every caress, sent spikes of arousal through John, leaving him helplessly whimpering, begging Sherlock to take him.
Sherlock shushed him, placing one final kiss on his lips, which John greedily turned into, not being able to hold back any longer. Then Sherlock was gone, fetching something. John felt the emptiness behind him, inside him. He was almost in tears, holding back his own need.
Sherlock returned and not to soon. John heard him open a bottle and a moment later a slick hand slipped in between his buttocks. Lube! The epiphany hit John so hard, he actually turned round and almost knocked Sherlock down, who looked utterly perplexed at John.
"Lube!" John exclaimed. "Lube! Of course. That's why you didn't bite me, why you didn't need to."
Sherlock's befuddlement was replaced by mirth and he had to restrain himself from laughing out loud.
"And they think I'm a novice," smiling all over his face, Sherlock turned John around again.
He continued his ministrations, and soon both of them were caught up in the rutting of the Alpha and the moaning and begging of the Omega.
Before Sherlock had buried his cock deep inside John, he had slowly and carefully built up to this, opening John delicately, savouring every moment, every moan, every shudder. John was chanting Sherlock's name by now, urging him on, the only clear thought in his mind being 'be good, don't come', disbelieving sex could feel this mind-blowingly good.
"John," Sherlock was panting hard, sounding exasperated. "Is something wrong?"
John was breathing hard by now, concentrating on not coming, on being an obedient Omega just as the Professor had taught him to. It had never been like this with the Professor. John had no idea sex could be so wonderful. Sherlock's word slowly registered in his mind, and he winced trying to keep the fast approaching orgasm at bay.
"No," concentrate, concentrate! "Why?" John stammered out.
"Why don't you come? Am I doing something wrong?" Sherlock could hardly suck in enough breath to stutter out the words, pounding into John's body, clearly hitting his prostrate every single time by the way John shuddered and whined.
"I," breathe, John, breathe! "I am allowed to come?" He sounded every bit as incredulous as he felt.
"YES!" Sherlock shouted, not able to hold back any longer, coming inside John.
John came the bat of an eye later, spurting up his extruding stomach. Writhing in the aftershock, he felt Sherlock inside of him, filling him up, climaxing three more times, every time pulling John over the edge as well.
When Sherlock finally slid out of his body, John felt safe and happy. He tried sluggishly to remember the last time he had felt like this, but nothing came to mind. Sherlock got a damp towel and cleaned John gently, giggling together with him when he came across a ticklish spot. When everything was made up to his satisfaction, Sherlock crawled back under the duvet, placing a hand on John's stomach. John turned his head, so he could watch Sherlock's face.
John could get used to this feeling, he thought contentedly.
"John," Sherlock looked expectantly at John, "will you bond with me?"
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The Omega