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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
"Where had he been, John?"
Confused, John rolled over, reluctantly leaving the spot he had snuggled into during the night. Sherlock must have left his side of the bed hours before, but John could pick a whiff of his heavenly scent from the sheets and the pillow.
He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to wake up and understand whom Sherlock was talking about.
"Your Professor," Sherlock answered the unasked question.
"You said he had been away the whole night. The milkman found you sitting beside the body at half past six in the morning. You were covered in blood, holding the knife in your right hand. The doctor said -" John broke in.
"Wait, what doctor? I can only remember the doctor and the two nurses at the hospital. I - it's all blurred after I found him," John swallowed and sat up in the bed.
Sherlock was standing with the back to the wall opposite of the sofa-bed. The wall was covered with notes and pictures. It looked as if Sherlock had been working on establishing a timeline for the day of the murder.
"I went to bed early the evening before," John said, acknowledging Sherlock's nod to go on.
"The Professor had some appointment. I don't know whom with. It should be in one of his notebooks. I can't remember any nightmares or other dreams during the night, but I woke screaming, because," John paused, averting his eyes from Sherlock's scrutinising glance, "well, it felt as if someone was cutting through my chest with a knife, cutting off an invisible limb from my body."
John had to take a short break. He could still feel the ache in his chest, but it had dulled since he had been together with Sherlock.
"I'd no idea what was happening. The connection with the Professor - it was gone, replaced with something that felt like a large void. This pain came in waves through my whole body. I - it took a few minutes before I could get out of bed. I needed to find him, I needed to feel safe, to make sure the little one wouldn't get hurt," John stopped to take in a deep breath.
"I went through every room in the house. I'd no idea, where he could be. I knew he'd been to a meeting, but normally he would've been back around midnight, taking me to his bed. I remember that the clock in the hall showed half past four in the morning."
John closed his eyes, remembering. The panic had kept him on his feet, forcing him up whenever the pain became too much, almost bringing him to his knees.
"I don't know why I thought of looking outside the house or how long time had passed when I finally found him. It was," again, John stopped. The memories were too vivid.
"Yes, you found him, checked on him, got the blood on you, when you turned him over, and then took the knife in your hand," Sherlock sounded detached and clinical in his listing of events.
"Do you remember, where the knife was in the first place?"
Surprised, John realised that Sherlock's cold manners kept him grounded. He deliberately thought back to the moment, he found the Professor, forcing his mind to focus on the things he saw, not the pain he felt.
"It must have been underneath him. I saw it when I turned him over," John swallowed, beating down the memories, the smell, the feeling, and the sight of the blood, which flowed out of the dead body. Not spurting, but it was liquid, not dried up yet.
"He was warm, his body was, and the blood, I stepped into it, could feel it under my feet. Warm and wet," John stopped.
"You were wearing a thin pair of pyjamas. Nothing else? No shoes or coat? It was freezing that morning," Sherlock had turned back to his wall of notes.
John saw how his long, slender fingers traced a photograph of John, taken before he was helped into a new set of clothes. John didn't want to think of that morning, the pain, the confusion, and the fear, the all-consuming fear that this would hurt the little one, that he wouldn't be able to carry the pregnancy to term.
"No, I didn't, I hadn't expected... I didn't feel the cold. Didn't feel anything in fact. Just the pain in my chest, and... and the little one, the little one was all I could think of," John was stroking his stomach, feeling a small flutter against his hand, sighing relieved.
"The next thing I clearly remember is the ambulance and how my feet and hand felt like they were pierced by hundreds of needles. When I arrived at the hospital, all I wanted was to be left in peace, instead a doctor and two nurses wanted to do some tests or whatever, and then your brother showed up," John's voice petered out.
This had been two, no three days ago? It felt like an eternity since he last had seen the Professor alive. John looked up at Sherlock, questioningly.
"There were no traces of a fight inside the house," Sherlock was talking fast, as if trying to put his thoughts into words at once, talking while he still deduced the connections, the results. "No extra clothing was found near the entrance or in the hall. If you'd wanted to kill him, you'd to wait for him. You would have been freezing cold. If we take time of death occurring between four and half past four that morning, then you would've been sitting on the porch for two hours, before the milkman found you. According to the doctor, you were close to hypothermia, matching your low body temperature to the two hours of sitting beside the body. The hall is not heated, but you would have to wait in it if you wanted to keep the Professor from entering the house before you killed him. There was no blood inside the house, but you were covered in blood, fresh blood, still wet. If you had returned into the house after cutting the throat of the Professor you would've left traces of blood. Your feet were bloodied."
Sherlock stopped for breath. His eyes were sparkling. John just tried to keep up.
"Hang on, you mean, I can't have committed the murder, because I would've had to wait in the cold hall, freezing even before the Professor came back - and my body temperature wasn't low enough to indicate that?" John looked wide-eyed at Sherlock.
"Reasonable doubt, John! Reasonable doubt," Sherlock was triumphant. "Pregnancy induced psychosis wouldn't keep you warm while waiting. And you wouldn't have had the opportunity to hide the clothes or other things without leaving evidence in form of bloodstains after the killing!"
John's admiring glance didn't go unnoticed. Sherlock looked as smugly as a cat who had been in the cream bowl.
"Mike should be able to get you off the hook, at least if he is as good a lawyer as Mycroft thinks he is," Sherlock mumbled, looking at his wall of notes once again.
"But who did it, John? Who followed the Professor? And why? Why did he have to die?" Sherlock turned around and watched John intently, radiating excitement.
"Who did the Professor meet with that night, John?"
John shrugged his shoulders, frowning.
"I need the other notebooks and files from the safe, and the computer -" he tried to explain, but Sherlock cut him short.
"There was no computer," he said.
"There has to be. It's in the study, where you got all those papers," John waved at the papers on the table. "Maybe the police took it with them?" He added, trying to be helpful.
"No," Sherlock answered with a frown, "no, they haven't mentioned a computer in their files."
Sherlock shook his head.
"No, this is Mycroft's work. What did he work with, John? His latest research?"
"Well," John tried to remember what the Professor had talked about, especially when James visited. "There was the book, but that should be covered by the papers and whatever you find in the safe. And he mentioned..." John stopped, looking at Sherlock as if hit by an epiphany.
"Game theory," John said disbelieving. Sherlock wrinkled his brows, uncomprehending, and disliking it intensely.
"Game theory," John said in way of explaining. "He was a mathematician, working on how to create an algorithm which could predict the development of financial markets."
"Predict? You mean, manipulate?" Sherlock caught up right away. Then he looked at John, who looked back at him, nodding.
"Mike!" They both said at once.
"That's why he had to take the case. Omega clients, ha! Financial fraud - Mycroft knew all along!" Sherlock sounded furious.
"He had been planning this from the very beginning. I wouldn't put it past him to have one of his minions taking care of your Professor."
John looked quite appalled by the thought.
"You can't call your brother a murderer!" John was getting out of the sofa-bed, changing it into a sofa again. Sherlock huffed.
"If Mycroft thought the Professor was selling his research to the wrong people..."
Sherlock steepled his hands in front of his face, sitting down in the armchair, lost in thoughts.
John looked annoyed. Honestly, accusing your own brother of murder. John began preparing a large breakfast for both Sherlock and him. He had a feeling that Sherlock would be off soon to - to what? Investigate? Like a detective? That would really be fitting, John thought. Just the work for him, finding clues, deducing people, and maybe even help the police once in a while.
Well, right now John would be satisfied if Sherlock would be able to clear his name, getting him of the charge for manslaughter. If the jury would buy Sherlock's deduction, well, don't get your hopes up high, John thought.
Sherlock didn't eat anything, and hadn't spoken since his accusation against Mycroft. When John had finished breakfast, eating Sherlock's serving as well - wouldn't let that go to waste now, would he - he started to organise the papers on the table, preparing to continue the work on the book about the Professor's life. Maybe something interesting might turn up, he surmised.
In the middle of it all, Sherlock suddenly snapped out of his pensiveness.
"The papers in the safe and the computer," he said apropos of nothing. "I'll go and have a talk with Mycroft."
"Oh, okay," John felt a small sting in his chest. He was used to stay alone in the Professor's house, but with Sherlock everything was different. He would love to be able to follow him around, observe how he could work out events by the smallest hints. He let out a little sigh. Maybe sometime in the future, he hoped.
Sherlock must have sensed John's distress, despite John's attempt to hide it. Before he left, he moved close to John, cupping his face in his hands, kissing him chastely on his lips. John opened his mouth, enticing Sherlock to deepen the kiss and he complied. The snogging went on for a couple of minutes, John and Sherlock only breaking apart to catch their breath. Then Sherlock tilted John's head to one side, baring his neck for Sherlock, who kissed his way down to John's bitemark, finishing with a deliberate nip to it. John's knee buckled under him, but Sherlock held him firmly in his arms.
With a vicious little smile, Sherlock turned John's face to up, locking his eyes with John's.
"You're mine, John," Sherlock's baritone send sparks through John, who had to fight to stay upright, "don't forget that while I'm gone."
A last bruising kiss on John's lips, and Sherlock turned, unlocked the door, winked, and was gone.
John was left behind, panting, and more than half hard. Bastard, he thought, just you wait and see, what I have in store for you, my gorgeous friend!
He straightened up, hobbled undignified to the door, his trousers far too tight, closed and locked the door, before any of the many Alphas in the nearby police offices would get funny ideas.
Well, with Sherlock collecting more data and information, probably having a row with his brother, John was left behind with his self-appointed work. He sat down at the table with a fresh cup of tea, considering where to start.
He had always loved this part of his bond with the Professor. Being called into the study meant peace and harmony while John took notes, discussed, and explored ideas for the book together with the Professor. John knew the Professor kept a large part of his early years and research hidden from John, but even so, John was impressed by the Professor's knowledge not only on the Omega - that part John time and again challenged and was allowed to as long as it happened in the study - but also on mathematics and human behaviour in itself.
They had covered the last ten years of the Professor's research in the book, omitting the part about game theory and financial markets. John remembered how the Professor only discussed that topic with James, who would enter the study with a self-satisfied smile, glowering at John until the Professor would dismiss John.
Yes, the study had been a sanctuary for both James and himself, John thought. More than once John had noticed that James was jealous of him and his relationship with the Professor. John tried to make himself scarce whenever James was around, but often the Professor seemed intent on making James resentful. John always felt like he was a test subject in one of the Professor's experiments, when the Professor provoked James by being overly kind and thoughtful toward John. Behaviour the Professor never showed when they were on their own.
John shook his head, returning his concentration to the task at hand. Sherlock had found a way out of this mess, maybe he could find evidence to support the involvement of others in this case. Lines of inquiry, Sherlock had said. Well, let's see what I can turn up, John thought and took the pencil in his left hand, determined to work his way through the files and papers on the table.
For the next hours, John was engrossed in his work. He had a light lunch and was only disturbed by the delivery of food and drinks. Mike had made sure that Sherlock's instructions were followed through. Putting away fresh food and milk in the fridge, tins and cans in the cupboard, he started to feel hungry again and ended up with a freshly made sandwich and some shortbread for tea.
Sherlock's return late in the afternoon was announced with a knock on the door. John could hear a muffled argument through the door and hurried to unlock and open it. Sherlock brushed past him, still talking agitated with Mike, who followed in a more sedate pace, the small smile on his face, winking knowingly at John, and carrying several heavy bags with him.
"He knew, he knew all along, and didn't tell you anything?" Sherlock had thrown his coat over one of the chairs.
Mike just shook his head, not even trying to explain anything. John had to hide a grin. Sherlock turned towards his wall of notes again, then started pacing the room. John helped Mike with the bags and was preparing a cup of tea for both Mike and Sherlock, when Sherlock began talking again.
"So, my brother dear informs me, that he had your Professor under close observation," Sherlock was clearly miffed, "not close enough, since they couldn't keep him alive. They knew he was working on the algorithm. He had even been experimenting on the market itself."
John nodded at that, earning him an inquiring glance from Sherlock.
"Oh, it just makes sense," John was a bit flushed, not expecting the sudden change in attention from Sherlock. "The Professor must have used James or Sebastian, his bondmate, as a go between. When James came for a visit, I normally had to leave the room, while the three of them were discussing shares and the stock market."
He tried to remember what it was they discussed as accurately as possible.
"Sometimes they had some charts in front of them, talking about key personnel and how to influence them. Sebastian works for a security company," John shrugged. "I thought this was just some kind of plotting how to blackmail certain people and avoid it - not some elaborate scam to bring down the stock market.
Sherlock narrowed his eyes on John.
"Well, Mycroft thinks otherwise. He wouldn't let me near the computer and he was very adamant on how we are to use the information, he finally provided," Sherlock looked angry, clearly remembering the row the two brothers must have had over this.
"It seems as if the Professor had been working on this algorithm for quite a while. But the stock market was only the test ground for something even bigger. Mycroft doesn't even know what that 'something' is," Sherlock couldn't hide a satisfied smile.
"He is concentrating his examinations on the computer and has agreed to let us know if he finds something useful for your defence," Sherlock sounded exasperated and threw himself into the armchair.
John had finished with the tea and carried one cup over to Sherlock after having given one to Mike, who was sitting at the table, taking down some notes and contemplating what Sherlock had told them.
"But we still don't know whom he met with that night?" Mike asked after a while, having looked through his notes and the notes on the wall.
John answered, since Sherlock had taken on his thinking pose again.
"I haven't been through all of the Professor's notebooks yet. And isn't the police trying to find some witnesses to confirm his whereabouts?"
John looked at Mike, who shifted in his chair.
"Well," Mike answered uneasy, "so far, you're the only one who claims that the Professor had been away from the house that night. James Moriarty and his bondmate claim that the Professor stayed at home when they left the house around three o'clock in the afternoon that day."
"What?!" John looked from Mike to Sherlock, who had perked up on Mike's remark. "But, how would they even know that? What did they tell the police?"
Mike picked up a new file from his briefcase and opened it.
"The police had a new interrogation with Mr Moriarty and Mr Moran today. I haven't had time to look through the whole transcript yet, but they stated that the Professor told them that, and I quote, 'we'll have a quiet night in. John needs to know his place once and for all.' Unquote. Mr Moriarty further explains that the Professor sighed deeply at this point, upset about the upcoming disciplining of his bondmate."
John looked disoriented at Mike.
"But, shouldn't I've had new bruises or marks on my body? I - they took pictures of me. You told me so. And Sherlock," John shifted in his chair, facing Sherlock, "you said a doctor examined me in the house. Surely, the doctor should be able to tell how old bruises are?"
"Exactly. It should be easy to disprove those statements and James should -" Sherlock stopped in mid sentence.
"Except," Sherlock muttered under his breath, jumping up from the armchair and pacing the floor once again. Mike and John looked uncomprehending at each other, but stayed silent. Mike sipped his tea and John started to organise the folders, notebooks, and papers, Mike had brought with him.
"They couldn't have done it," Sherlock declared after a while. Again Mike and John exchanged a glance, turning their attention toward Sherlock, who had stopped pacing and was facing his wall again.
"If the Professor had told them that he would stay at home that night and given his history with John," Sherlock waved a hand in John's direction. John looked away from Mike, uneasy about the implication, "it would be reasonable for them to believe the Professor when he used the disciplining as an excuse. Do they think John to be innocent or that it is a set-up to frame John?" Sherlock asked, facing Mike.
"No, quite the contrary. Mr Moriarty seems to become upset whenever the police pose a question that could imply John's innocence. At one point they had to take a break, so he could compose himself before continuing with the questioning," Mike said, while looking through the files in front of him.
"If the Professor didn't want them to know what he was up to," Sherlock contemplated, "using John as an excuse was the easy part. James and Sebastian must have thought that the Professor had disciplined you that evening, that's the only way their statement makes sense. You would become angry, or even psychotic due to the disciplining - both Sebastian and James had witnessed the Professor's 'craftsmanship' on several occasions, I take it?" The last part was aimed at John, pointedly looking at the table, nodding slightly.
"The Professor doesn't want to be disturbed while he is arranging a meeting with person or persons unknown. He uses you as his excuse, causing James to think you've killed the Professor, believing the police will find evidence in form of bruises on your body, corroborating your guilt," Sherlock paused. "James doesn't like you, does he?"
John swallowed.
"No, I think he was jealous of me and my relationship with his father," he said quietly.
"And the idea that you might have killed him drives him mad. So no matter what, he will be a very biased witness," Sherlock went silent again.
"Uhm, you said, they couldn't have done it?" John prodded.
"Hm," Sherlock looked up, "Oh, James and Sebastian couldn't have done it. They would've known, that the Professor hadn't had time to discipline you. That part of their statement is easily invalidated, since you had been examined at the time. This makes the rest of their statements equally doubtful. At least to a good lawyer," Sherlock shot Mike a glance, which he returned with his characteristic smile, standing his ground.
"If they had been involved in the killing," Sherlock continued, "it wouldn't make sense to tell the story to the police. And that indicates, that neither of them can be the killer."
Sherlock went silent again.
John cleared his throat. Mike had scribbled down notes while Sherlock was explaining about the witness statements.
"Well, that should at least give the police a new line of inquiry. Pity, though," Mike said, "would've been nice if you could've proven their guilt. As it is, we still don't know where the Professor had been and what he'd been up to. Well, well, I better be off then, have a little chat with the police and the prosecutor."
Mike's smile became wider at the thought. He stood up, collected his briefcase, nodded to Sherlock, who was lost in thoughts again, and bit farewell to John. John followed him out of the room, closing and locking the door again, and drawing a deep breath
"I'm off the hook then?" John asked.
Sherlock made an effort to get his thoughts back to the present situation.
"Hm?" he queried.
"You proved that I couldn't have done it," John clarified, waving at the wall and the papers on the table.
"Oh," Sherlock answered, "yes, but we still don't know who did it. James and Sebastian are out, Mycroft I'm not so sure about. Too many things don't add up concerning him and the manipulation scheme. But Mycroft didn't know about the Professor meeting anyone. He was too annoyed when I told him about it. So, who did he meet? And why?
Sherlock was lost in thought again.
All is well, then, John thought. But he still felt on edge. Something in Sherlock had changed. His determination to actually solve the case had put everything else on stand by it seemed.
John sighed, cleaned the dishes, and prepared dinner. Sherlock sat in the armchair, not noticing John's puttering around him. Like breakfast, John ate alone, Sherlock didn't even answer when John asked whether he wanted his share. Shrugging his shoulders, John just continued with his tasks, and once the kitchen was cleaned, he returned to the notebooks on the table.
A few hours later, he decided that Sherlock needed to get his mind occupied with other things than the case. John had made sure to stay close to Mike during the afternoon, hoping to get Sherlock into another possessive fit later. Since hours had passed without anything happening, he decided to do something about that.
Heart pounding in his ears, John set out to seduce someone for the first time in his life. He hoped his instincts would provide the necessary actions. John carefully pushed back the chair he was sitting on. Sherlock didn't react. John stood up and stretched up his arms as far as possible, calculating that his shirt and t-shirt would slip out of his trousers and bare part of his skin. He didn't look in Sherlock's direction, but he could almost feel grey-blue eyes piercing him.
John turned to look into Sherlock's eyes. They were pitch black, pupils blown wide and mixed with a predatory glare. John slowly lowered his arms and sauntered towards the armchair, Sherlock was occupying. Shifting in his seat, Sherlock spread his legs to sit more comfortable. John suppressed a smirk. Oh yes, he thought, getting a bit tight in there? Looking directly at the impressive bulk in Sherlock's trousers, he licked his lips, then knelt between the legs, congratulating himself on being able to do that in a more or less fluent motion, being as pregnant as he was.
Sherlock drew in a sharp breath, sinking a bit lower in the chair, providing better access for whatever John might have in mind. Well, well, John thought, someone is eager, considering Sherlock's distant behaviour just a few minutes ago. This time John didn't suppress the grin on his face. Sherlock let out a small groan, when John licked his lips purposeful once more. Then he bowed his head and lifted his gaze from Sherlock's trousers to his face, John's eyes half lidded, and every move now slow and intentional. Sherlock was panting, trying to calm himself, needing to adjust himself, since the strain on his pants and trousers was only far too obvious by now. John took in the elegant musky fragrance that was Sherlock, and while keeping his eyes locked with Sherlock's he lowered his head to take in the scent, brushing his lips gently over the strained clothing between Sherlock's legs.
Sherlock involuntarily bucked his hips to meet John, his fingers digging into the armrest, throwing his head back and gulping in air. John was losing his composure as well. The wet stain on Sherlock's trousers was too blatant a sign of his arousal, and the heady mixture of Sherlock's smell with sex was turning his own trousers into a very close-fitting piece of clothing.
His fingers trailed up along Sherlock's thighs, finding the zip, and opening Sherlock's trousers carefully and with a little difficulty, since Sherlock couldn't help himself for the need for more friction. Finally John managed to pull down Sherlock's trousers and pants, his erection springing free and earning him a deep sigh from Sherlock.
John sat a few moments, taking in the sight in front of him. Sherlock's head was thrown back, baring his white, long throat, two buttons of his shirt were open, giving away a tiny glimpse of his chest. Sherlock's slender fingers were curled into the armrest. His breathing was fast and shallow, and unconsciously he had slipped even further down the armchair, enticing John to focus on the large, delicately curved Alpha cock on display between Sherlock's legs, surrounded by a black, curly nest of hair. Precome was freely flowing from the tip, and John couldn't resist any longer. Wetting his lips, he took Sherlock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the glans, giving the shaft a few strokes with his left hand, while his right hand fondled the heavy balls below.
Sherlock tensed up, and John turned his head, so he could watch Sherlock's reactions. Sherlock's eyes were wide, surprised, and lascivious. He didn't close his eyes, and almost reverently did he place his hand on John's head, not for control, but because he needed to ground himself, touching John's face, tracing along his neck with his fingers. With a twinkle in his eyes, John relaxed his throat and took in Sherlock's full length. The fingers tightened in John's hair, which helped him to ground himself. The feeling of Sherlock inside his mouth and throat, constricting his breathing, the smell, the taste, and the tension in Sherlock's muscles, trying not to push himself further into John's mouth, all of this brought John so very close to the edge. Closing his eyes and concentrating, he managed to bob his head up and down, before he had to release Sherlock for a gulp of air.
Sherlock let out a needy whimper, so very unlike what an Alpha was supposed to sound like, and so very, very irresistible that John licked his way down the shaft once more, before taking Sherlock down his throat a second and then a third time, and by the time John finally released Sherlock's cock, Sherlock was utterly debauched, unable to restrain his bodies needs any longer. John took pity in him, putting his tongue to good use, he licked and sucked the head, while stroking the shaft faster and harder. From Sherlock's balls John trailed a finger across the perineum and traced Sherlock's hole, while using the palm of his hand to put a soft pressure on his balls as well.
The sensations proved to be too much, and with a cry and a last push from his hips, Sherlock started to spurt his come into John's face and shirt. John continued to stroke Sherlock's cock through the next minutes, while his orgasm released several bursts of semen, covering most of John's shirt.
Sherlock's convulsions continued for a few moments after the last drops of sperm were delivered. John bent down and licked a last time up and down the now softening cock, before looking up at Sherlock, who tried to form a coherent sentence, but had to start over two or three times, before he could mumble
"You, in the shower, naked, now!"
and it took several more minutes before he was able to join John.
- 5
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The Omega