Greetings! This story will likely be my first and last omegaverse. I was already contemplating writing it when I received a request for a story with a very dominant John, and Omegaverse seemed like a perfect fit. I wasn't sure I could incorporate a very dominant John into the concept I already had, but I couldn't leave the idea alone. I know this took ages for me to get to, but I hope you enjoy it!

What If

Sherlock sighed, long and loud, expelling all the air from his lungs as he scanned the table in front of him. The pills scattered across the table were most definitely killing him. Ironically, they had been the only things keeping him alive these past two decades...

His first heat had gone...badly. Not as badly as it did from some omegas, but bad enough. The thought of what could have happened, what might still happen, was enough to freeze the blood in his veins. There was nothing good about being an omega; one was far, far too vulnerable. Better to shut the whole process down, pretend it didn't happen.

Getting suppressants was difficult, however. Omega's were encouraged to, even expected to mate and breed. And the medical literature might show solid evidence of the determent of long-term suppressants on one's life span, a consequence Sherlock was now facing, but that hadn't mattered to Sherlock. All that mattered was getting his control back.

Mycroft had refused to help him, sparking the rift that distanced them to this day. He'd gone on and on about endangering his political career and something about Sherlock's well-being, Sherlock had mostly deleted that part. The point was that his brother wasn't a resource; Sherlock had needed to find the proper medication on his own. There was no one living or dead that the younger Holmes brother trusted with such a serious operation, so it had to be medication.

The long-term health effects aside, every omega's body was different in a way that made standardizing suppressants difficult; it had taken several years, and a handful of black market chemists to find a formula that worked for Sherlock. When things looked hopeless, he had turned to drugs. Always in a controlled environment, always alone and behind many locked doors. He was interested in numbing the pain, not making it worse. The drugs hadn't helped, but finally the suppressants had.

Without heats, or the fear of heat hanging over his head, Sherlock had finally been able to think. He knew he was living on borrowed time, shortening his lifespan to make the years he did have more tolerable, but that hadn't mattered. A little extra time was not worth his peace of mind, and there was no one he cared about leaving broken hearted... except John.

John.

Sherlock hadn't wanted John to matter to him, but he did. The ex-army doctor had no inkling of Sherlock's true alignment, most people thought or pretended Sherlock was a beta, and yet he had slipped into Sherlock's world like an alpha who had been born to the role. ...Sherlock didn't think even Mycroft would've shot that cabbie for him...

Another sigh passed Sherlock's lips and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as though that action could strike this undeniable truth from his mind:

His time to choose was up.

If he stopped the suppressants now, and bonded with an alpha in short order, he would live. If he continued taking the suppressants...he would start an unstoppable decline...

Even now it would take a decade for him to start failing significantly, but this was his absolute last chance to stop and change course without risking permanent damage. Sherlock had monitored his reactions very carefully, and he was already dancing on the threshold of destruction..

If he had never met John this wouldn't even be a decision, but John made him wonder... Sherlock had tried to deny the depth of connection he felt with John, but it had been there before he'd first insisted he was married to his work.

Sherlock could still see the way John's tongue had run slowly over his own lips. He'd never, ever wanted to kiss someone before that moment. He'd almost kissed John, more times than he cared to count. Every time that moment was before him however, fear of the consequences forced Sherlock to turn away. If there was anyone he could trust that way it would be John, but the man didn't even know he was living with an omega!

Not only that, but John was the single most dominant example of an Alpha that Sherlock had ever met. John had brought half the Yard to their knees once with a barked command, just because Sherlock was in danger... The memory both thrilled and terrified him.

It would be easier in many ways to continue as he had before, to push past this monumental turning point and just keep going... except...

"No...don't...SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock pulled his hands away from his eyes and blinked in the florescent light of the kitchen, trying to blink away the image of John's face just before he fell... He couldn't do that to John, not again.

Footfalls on the stairs snapped Sherlock to attention, and his heart started to pound in his chest. He stood and moved to the edge of the room, watching the front door. Their front door was usually open, but Sherlock had closed it early this morning when his suspicions had been confirmed. Suppressants needed to be taken once a day, every day, for maximum effect, but he hadn't taken his dose today, and he knew the room was starting to smell of unclaimed omega. It was one kind of terrifying for John to discover his secret, he was not about to advertise to the world at large.

The steps paused, and Sherlock struggled to keep his breathing under control. John, whether he thought Sherlock was a beta or not, was a very protective alpha, and little changes like a closed door rarely escaped his notice anymore; little signs like this could be a warning, the difference between life and death if ignored.

At last the door handle began to turn, and the door opened. John's gaze immediately found Sherlock, sliding along his body, checking for injury, before settling on his face.

"Please close the door," Sherlock murmured.

John complied with a frown. Sherlock never asked for anything, he commanded. He'd certainly never said please.

"What's wrong?" John asked, his voice low and filled with the threat of violence for any unseen enemy that might be nearby.

A shiver ran down Sherlock's spine and he turned to look over his shoulder at the suppressants, still lying useless on the kitchen table. John strode forward, deceptively silent, although Sherlock knew, from the handful of times John had held him back from danger, that John was frighteningly strong.

Sherlock's gaze dropped to the floor as John passed, unwilling to witness John's expression when he discovered the truth. He heard John's footsteps come to an abrupt halt just behind him. Sherlock flinched when he heard John sniffing around, drawing air and information deep into his lungs. Even though Sherlock was revealing himself to John, he was still wracked with indecision. John had been the only alpha that had ever made him wonder, that had ever made him want, but he still didn't know if he could...

John's sniffing stopped momentarily, and Sherlock's stomach dropped as he heard John turning around to face him. Sherlock closed his eyes as he felt John approach, still unwilling to face the situation before him.

Large, strong hands grasped his shoulders, turned him around, and pressed him back into the wall. "Sherlock," John's voice rumbled, growing deeper with anger. "Look at me."

Sherlock shut his eye more tightly, and shook his head, fighting the tremors adrenaline wanted to unleash throughout his body.

John sighed, his breath edged with a growl, then the hands were moving Sherlock, pulling him along.

No, no, no, no, no, no!

"Sit down, the sofa is just behind you," John grumbled.

Sherlock made himself sit, immediately drawing his knees up and encircling them in his arms, trying to shield himself from...everything.

There was another sigh, and the floor creaked as John's weight shifted. When his voice came again, it was still a command, still very much the voice of an alpha, but it was also full of worry, which softened the tone of John's voice considerably. "Sherlock...look at me."

Sherlock could smell John's fear now, and slowly blinked his eyes open. The tension which had gripped his own muscles began to ease as he took in the stricken expression of his long time flatmate. John was kneeling in front of him, his hand resting lightly on Sherlock's calf.

"How long?"

Sherlock held John's gaze with his own for a long moment, feeling the familiar warm blue pulling him in. "I started looking for a solution after my first heat." Sherlock swallowed thickly, then pressed on. "It took years to find suppressants that worked."

"How many?" John asked, and urgent look growing in his eyes.

"Six years. I've been on the suppressants successfully for ten years." John's hand was gently rubbing Sherlock's legs now, trying to ease the tension out of him, and it was working faster than Sherlock was comfortable with.

"Were there any drugs, or was that just a rumor?" John asked, edging closer to Sherlock.

Sherlock chuckled darkly. "Oh, there were drugs too, I was going out of my mind having this biology hanging over my head. It had to stop, it was intolerable."

"The thought of not being in control," John mused, and Sherlock nodded vigorously. Both of John's hands were on Sherlock's legs now, gently rubbing up and down, as though trying to warm them, he concerned gaze never leaving Sherlock's frightened one.

"If I don't stop now, the damage will be permanent," Sherlock murmured, both wanting John to know, and wanting to pull the words back as he said them.

"But if you do stop you'll have to deal with heats again, as well as being an unbonded omega," John replied. His tone was soft, even though his muscles were still tense, his instincts driving him to destroy a threat that wasn't palpable.

Sherlock shook his head lowered his forehead to rest on his knees.

"Sherlock."

It was just one word, but it help a powerful demand: speak to me. Sherlock shivered and lifted his head to meet John's eyes, both attracted and repelled by the alpha, and the dominating stare he was pinned with as soon as their eyes met. He wanted to, but he couldn't... But John did deserve the truth.

"As per usual, I have been pushing this deadline..." He swallowed hard, concentrating on the still gentle feeling of John's hands on his legs. "I need to mate to have the best chance of survival…" His eyes fell from John's then, unable to maintain contact. He was and he wasn't asking. He wasn't sure he could tolerate it, even if John was willing. Sherlock knew the depths of what he was asking for. He might still have many health consequences to deal with, even if he stopped now. He was also probably infertile, not that he'd given any thought to having children, but John...

"Did I ever tell you, Sherlock, that they put me in charge of the injured omegas on the battle field?" John's voice was still rumbling faintly with agitation, but for the most part it was soft and reflective.

Sherlock lifted his eyes again, surprised. There were a handful of responses that he'd been expecting, but this wasn't one of them... then again, John Watson was always managing to surprise him.

Sherlock was familiar with most standard practices for others of his kind. Omegas were allowed to serve in the army, but their heats were closely monitored, so they could safely nest when the time came. For those omegas that chose to serve on the front lines, or longer missions where heats would come upon them, there was often one very dominant alpha selected to guard them. This often resulted unwanted pregnancies and other military related traumas because of the affect heat had on the instincts of alphas, but the military brushed this off with waivers and party lines of, "they knew what they were getting into."

Sometimes this did work, with small harems developing, but Sherlock had always wondered if those groups were really satisfied, or if the military had forced them to give such statements. Of course bonded groups of more than two developed in nature, and arranged/sudden bonding could work, but these particular set of circumstances always left Sherlock dubious. Bonding wasn't mandatory for sex, of course, but it was often chosen when a child was on the way.

John started to speak again, drawing Sherlock's attention back to him. "I never once took advantage of an omega in heat." Sherlock's mouth fell open, a protest ready on his lips, but John pressed on before Sherlock could vocalize his doubts. "I never wanted to ruin someone's plans, or rob them of the chance to choose for themselves, so I re-routed my instincts."

Sherlock's eyebrows drew together in utter confusion. "How?"

The ghost of a smile danced across John's lips. "What is an alpha's strongest instinct?"

"Defend, but if there's no threat-"

"Exactly, " John continued, cutting Sherlock off. "Defend. This works best with a physical threat, but I made it work for my job. I convinced myself that the omegas under my care were injured, most of them were to one extent or another, and that mating would irreparably hurt them. I drilled that reality into my head over and over again until nothing else could be true. Toys were safe, naturally, because the omega could control how big, how fast, and how hard. And I did have to touch them to assess them, but only light touches."

Sherlock nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around what John was telling him. "You compartmentalized your psyche."

John shrugged. "In a way. I was surprised no one had ever thought of it before. It's become part of the new training program for military alpha's in charge of at risk omegas. It's rare for someone who isn't a doctor to be selected anymore, I think. They want someone who's used to caring for injured people to help the training protocols sink in."

Sherlock's eyes flittered back to John's face, and their gazes locked together. Despite himself he felt his lips tug upwards at the corners. Trust John Watson to figure out a way to make an impossible situation better, safer. That was just what he did.

John licked his lips then, and his gaze darkened. "My point is, Sherlock, that I can do this, bond with you, without ever touching you again, if that's what you want."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open, not far, but enough to communicate the disbelief coursing through his veins.

A slow, lazy smile curled on John's lips as he reach out and gently lifted Sherlock's jaw into place. His eyes darkened at the contact, and his fingers lingered in a light but possessive caress. "You have to know I've wanted you for years now," John continued, his voice growing rough with something other than anger.

"But, I..." Sherlock started. Even if he had wondered about, hoped and dreaded John mating with him, he knew he couldn't give John the things he really deserved...it wasn't right.

John's fingers tightened on Sherlock's jaw when he tried to look away, not painful, but demanding. "Wanting isn't just about sex, Sherlock." John's tongue peeked out slowly to wet his lips. "Although I won't deny I want you physically, even when I thought you were a beta." John's gaze fell to Sherlock's lips for a moment, his thumb smoothing over the plump flesh before his eyes darted back up to Sherlock's. "But I want more than that, too."

A barely contained shiver rippled up Sherlock's spine as John spoke, his breathing elevating.

"I love you, Sherlock. I want you safe, and I want you happy. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get you there," John trailed off again, his expression growing more serious, "If you're willing to deal with the heats again. If you agree, I will bond with you. I won't force you to live a life you can't tolerate."

Sherlock swallowed hard, a tumult of emotions running through him. John was offering more than he had ever expected. He was willing, albeit reluctantly, to let Sherlock continue taking the suppressants if that was what he chose to do. Bonding, while usually completed during sex, only required John to puncture the scent glands in Sherlock's neck, specifically with his teeth... it would hurt, but he had been told it was also pleasurable. With no promises or expectations of fulfillment... Could he really do that to the man that he'd come to love?

"It's a big decision," John murmured. "I don't think waiting until morning will result in anything irrevocable." He started to pull away and Sherlock surged forward, grasping frantically at John's shirt.

"No! Wait!" Sherlock cried, stilling John's movements. Their eyes met again, John's gaze calm and curious.

John.

Sweet, wonderful, surprising, protective John. If he would really offer Sherlock salvation, he deserved to know everything. Even so, Sherlock's fingers trembled in the fabric of John's shirt. He had never really been vulnerable, not like this. Large warm hands covered his own, gently holding them. Sherlock closed his eyes, then opened them again, staring at John's chest, because he couldn't quite bring himself to meet John's gaze.

"I never wanted to be an omega, John," Sherlock began, feeling rather than seeing John nod.

"You can't stand the thought of not being in control," John murmured, gently prying Sherlock's hands off his shirt and bringing them up to his mouth to kiss the knuckles.

Sherlock's hand's twitched in John's grasp, but he didn't pull away. He looked up at John through his lashes, not quite daring to lift his head. "You've been the only alpha I've ever been...curious about. But that's never been enough to act on. I don't know if I-if I can."

One of John's hands slid slowly up Sherlock's arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When it reached Sherlock's shoulder it slid over to his chin, gently lifting it. "Do you trust me, Sherlock?"

"Yes," Sherlock breathed, despite himself. He never would have come this far if he didn't.

John's slow, lazy smile was back. "The rest is just details then," the alpha assured him, giving his hands a squeeze.

"You'll be unhappy," Sherlock insisted.

"I love you, Sherlock," John repeated. "I'll be happier with you than I'll ever be without you. I knew that the moment I came back to 221 B."

Sherlock found himself smiling softly at the memory. He'd known his fall was a betrayal as much as it was an act to keep John safe. No one had been more surprised when, after weeks of brooding and several near fights, John had moved back in to 221B. He hadn't even called first, just appeared at the bottom for the stairs, dragging his luggage, cursing the weight of it, and demanding Sherlock's help. John had come home as though he'd been expected, when Sherlock had barely allowed himself to hope...

"I love you, too," Sherlock murmured, still disbelieving. "Are you sure?"

John rolled his eyes and leaned forward, his chest pressing against Sherlock's legs, which were still drawn up, until he could press a short sharp kiss onto his cupid's bow lips. When he pulled back, it was only far enough to murmur, "I'm sure."

Warmth blossomed in Sherlock chest, and even though his legs were still drawn up close to his body, he leaned forward to continue their kiss. He frowned when John drew back, his handsome face coming into focus. "Are you sure, Sherlock?" John asked, his hands gently cradling Sherlock's face.

Sherlock's heart stuttered in his chest. "No," he admitted, honestly, "but I am determined."

John studied Sherlock for a long moment before nodding softly to himself, and leaning forward to cement their kiss once more.

Sherlock moaned softly into the warm, slow kiss. Actual sensation was so much better than faint daydreams could ever be. Hesitantly, Sherlock began to slide his feet back onto the floor, making more room for John to come closer.

John didn't waste a moment, deepening the kiss as he drew Sherlock into him. Sherlock followed the insistent pull of John's hands at his hips, until he found himself teetering on the edge of the couch. John pulled back slightly, smiling when Sherlock's mouth chased his, unwilling to be denied after so many years of wondering, of wanting.

"Come here, love," John murmured, tugging lightly on Sherlock's hips.

The alpha and the omega shared a close, almost cross-eyed glance, before Sherlock pushed himself forward, and into John's waiting arms. John remained sitting, forcing Sherlock to straddle him, but Sherlock found he didn't mind. He liked the way John's hands clung possessively to his back, fingertips tracing along his spine. He liked John's mouth playing with his, drawing him into deep, consuming kisses, and teasing him with the light, barely there brush of lips.

There were the nerves too, the fear that things would be forced upon him, mingled with the excitement at finally being this close. John was patient, coaxing Sherlock to distraction with his languid caresses and thorough kisses, never hinting at wanting anything more...except for the growing hardness pressing up into him.

Sherlock couldn't deny the heat growing in his belly, or the twinge of long forgotten impulses. But the fear, and lingering effects of the suppressants kept any carnal instinct utterly muted.

At length John's kisses began to trail away from Sherlock's mouth and he tensed, knowing what was coming... Only John surprised him, trailing his kisses along Sherlock's cheek and up to his ear, evoking breathily chuckles when he kissed along the shell.

"John?" Sherlock gasped, feeling his would-be mate draw the soft skin of the lobe into his mouth and gently scrape his teeth against it.

"I think sooner is better than later," John murmured when he pulled away, "but the choice is still yours."

Sherlock found himself tilting his head, opening himself to John, shivering as John's kissing, nipping, and sucking moved to the column of his neck. Sherlock groaned softly when John's tongue pressed firmly into the glands at the base of his neck. He felt the scrape of teeth and his fingers flexed in the fabric of John's shirt, waiting for the bite... But John's lips grew soft again, planting gentle kisses around the glands them moving slowly over Sherlock's Adam's apple to the other side of his neck.

"John?" Sherlock breathed, confusion, desperately trying to suck in air and clear his thoughts. John was relentless, his mouth slipping up Sherlock's neck to assault his other ear. Sherlock's breathing hitched, and he tugged John closer, winding long arms around his neck.

John hummed softly, sliding his lips across Sherlock's cheek to press them against Sherlock's mouth once more. Sherlock opened to him instantly, their tongues beginning a sensual dance. The scent of fear was slowly fading, leaving Sherlock warm and pliant in John's arms.

"...sooner is better than later...but the choice is still yours." John's words reverberated in Sherlock's head, quieting his doubts. It wouldn't be easy, but life never was, and more time with John would always be worth it.

Sherlock eased back from the kiss, presenting his neck to John again. John settled in, leaving a string of hickeys, claiming Sherlock's skin with his lips, tongue, and teeth. Sherlock's breathing faltered, his fingers gripping John's shoulders slightly. "Do it, John," he gasped.

John growled, deep and low in his throat, the vibrations washing through Sherlock's body as John opened his mouth against the scent glands at Sherlock's neck and finally bit down.

There was pain, Sherlock had expected the pain, but what made him yelp, and arch up against John was the wholly unexpected pleasure. It wasn't a strong sexual pleaser, but a lazy sensual haze, sweeping down his body from his neck as John's saliva mixed with his scent glands, forever changing them.

Sherlock gasped as John growled again, lightly shaking his head, his mouth still firmly attached to Sherlock's neck. It was a primal instinct meant to help thoroughly mark, claim, and bond the omega. Sherlock's fingers swept up to anchor themselves in John's short hair.

If he had any rational fear left it should have returned now, John's teeth were still in his neck for goodness sake! He could rupture an artery if he wasn't careful! And yet, Sherlock couldn't seem to muster any more fear. Instead he leaned heavily against his alpha, exhaustion sweeping over him from many sleepless hours spent trying to come to a solution that didn't involve bonding or dying. The deed was done now, and if there was anyone he could trust this way, it was John.

Sherlock was dimly aware of John pulling back, gently licking over his abused flesh, encouraging the blood to clot.

"I'm going to go into heats now," Sherlock murmured softly, his eyes still closed. Sleep was creeping over him.

John's fingers moved from their anchors at Sherlock's hips, sweeping possessively over his spine once more. Sherlock sighed and let himself drift. One catastrophe at a time...

John pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's temple. "We'll figure it out," he promised, his arms still securely locked around his new mate.

The morning after, Sherlock found himself tucked securely into his own bed. His neck ached, and his wound had been thoroughly cleaned and bandaged. His room was empty, but it smelt heavily of John, letting Sherlock know he had not been alone long.

Sherlock stretched languidly, feeling a good deal better than he had in some months. It was only hours old, but already the bond was doing its work.

Sherlock sighed softly, drawing back the covers and venturing forth into the sitting room. John met him part way with a plate in each hand, tea was already sitting on the low table by the sofa. John smiled warmly, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to Sherlock's mouth.

"Good morning," he murmured as he pulled back, nodding towards the sofa. "Sit." Sherlock sat, already reaching for the plate he knew John would hand to him. "Eat."

They ate in mostly companionable silence, Sherlock only pouting a little at having been ordered around. Still, John was as good as his word, and the day progressed much like any other.

A week passed before either mentioned the change in their circumstances. Of course it was John, responsible, concerned doctor and alpha that he was; he needed Sherlock to be prepared for what was to come.

"Have you got nesting materials?" John asked, blowing softly on his morning cup of tea.

Sherlock hummed softly, bent intently over his microscope apparently in deep concentration. It was the kind of hum you offered when you were distracted, and hoped whoever was talking to you would just go away.

John sighed softly, set his tea cup down, and slowly rounded the table until he was standing behind him. John stared hard at the muscles of Sherlock's back, watching them bunch and tense under his scrutiny. He had Sherlock's attention now, but Sherlock still refused to acknowledge it.

John reached forward and tightened his fingers in the hair close to Sherlock's scalp. Sherlock sucked in a breath when John pulled, forcing Sherlock's head back. It wasn't a violent action, but a slow, steady tug that demanded attention. There was no pain, so long as Sherlock did not put forth any resistance, but there was an insistent pulling that threatened pain if…

John pressed in close to Sherlock's back, his lips pressing dangerously close to the Sherlock's ear as he rumbled, "I would like to talk to you about your oncoming heat."

"Okay," Sherlock breathed, swallowing hard when John finally released him. He made to turn around, but John saved him the trouble, turning the chair around manually. "You said-"

"I said I would help keep you safe, Sherlock," John cut him off. "I meant mentally and physically. You need to make arrangements for your heat. At most you have three weeks. I don't care if you use me, or a toy, but get a plan together."

Sherlock tried to look down, but John's hand shot out and caught his chin, forcing Sherlock to keep eye contact. Sherlock swallowed again. John was right, of course John was right. In a way it was reassuring that John seemed moved to near violence only in situations concerning his safety. Sherlock had always admired his control as much as his dominance.

John stepped forward, almost straddling Sherlock in his chair, forcing Sherlock to focus on him. "We should start with a safe word."

"Braindead," Sherlock whispered, his breath quickening.

John pinned him for a few long moments, before nodding and backing away, returning to his morning tea.

Sherlock let out a slow breath, feeling suddenly cold in the absence of John's body heat. The dominance that he saw so readily in John was one of the reasons he had hesitated so long in telling him the truth. Sherlock had known their connection was strong enough that if he added a bond to it, he would be utterly lost to it in a way that had both thrilled and terrified him, and he had been right…there was no going back now…

Three caseless days later Sherlock was loitering in the doorway to the sitting room, watching John read. The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, warding off the winter chill. He loved this man, and if they didn't have the alpha and omega dynamics between them, they might have come together sooner…but the truth was never easy to face, only to observe.

John seemed to feel the weight of Sherlock's stare because he glanced up and smiled. Yesterday Sherlock had requested some of John's more worn out jumpers and any soft bedding John thought he might need. He already had a toy, leftover from the time before the suppressants. He was prepared, he knew John could guard him, but it still didn't feel right.

"You're safe with me, Sherlock," John murmured, as though reading his thoughts. "I love you."

The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock's lips. "I love you, too, John."

John, still smiling, stood and walked forward until he stood directly in front of Sherlock. He reached forward, took Sherlock's hands in his, and lifted them up to kiss the knuckles. "What's on your mind?"

Sherlock's tongue peeked out to wet his suddenly dry lips. "I want to try this," he insisted, "properly."

John's gaze darkened and he took a step forward, backing Sherlock into a wall. He leaned forward, slowly, until his lips brushed Sherlock's ear. "Are you sure?"

Sherlock shivered and shook his head. "No, not about the physical part, but I am determined to try."

John's lips trailed over Sherlock's cheek, approaching his lips. "Do you remember your safe word?" John asked.

"Braindead," Sherlock breathed, his eyes falling closed as he tilted his face up, anticipating a kiss.

"Good," John murmured, closing the gap between them at last.

Sherlock sighed, leaning up into the kiss, opening his mouth to John before he felt the first brush of tongue.

John eased back slightly, and Sherlock followed, gasping when John's hands tightened around his waist and lifted him, pressing him back against the wall once more. Sherlock's legs wound around John's hips, anchoring himself in place. This exacerbated their height difference, forcing John to strain up to meet Sherlock's lips in a possessive, demanding kiss.

Sherlock leaned down to meet him, losing himself in sensation. The room swayed slightly, and Sherlock pulled back to realize that John was carrying him to his own bedroom, one hand tugging his shirt free from his trousers.

When they crossed the threshold Sherlock slid his legs to the floor, standing still as John turned and closed the door.

"Turn around," John murmured, and Sherlock complied, counting John's footfalls as he stared at his own bed. He felt the heat of John's body before he was touched, John's hands reaching around his torso to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt.

John pressed against Sherlock, pressing gentle kisses over the marked skin of his neck while his fingers worked. Sherlock shivered as John drew his shirt way, pressing his clothed chest against Sherlock's bare back. Sherlock leaned back as the John's hands slid down his front, slowly undoing the button and zipper of Sherlock's trousers. John didn't remove the trousers right away, instead letting his hands roam and explore while he pressed more sucking kisses against Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock sighed softly, feeling his trousers start to slip down his long legs while John's hands explored his chest, his hips, his bum, and his slowly hardening cock. John pulled away from his neck, slowly circling until he was face to face with Sherlock. Sherlock blinked dazedly at him and reached for John's jumper. In an instant it joined Sherlock's shirt on the floor.

"I love you," John murmured, leaning in to kiss Sherlock's swollen cupid's bow lips. Their tongues danced for a moment before John was pulling away again, kissing, licking, and nibbling his way down Sherlock's neck and chest.

Sherlock gasped every time he felt the scrape of teeth, but danger, implied or otherwise, had always appealed to him.

"Look at me," John commanded softly. Sherlock looked down, his eyes locking with John's insistent stare as he kneeled in front of him. A slow, satisfied smile curled John's lips as he lifted his hands to Sherlock's pants and tugged. John never broke eye contact as he slowly slid the garment down, and helped Sherlock to step out of his shoes, trousers, and pants.

Once his mate was clad only in socks John leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed, biting kiss into Sherlock's inner thigh. Sherlock gasped, his hands resting lightly on John's head, neither pulling him away, nor keeping him there, just touching him. John's mouth continued its torturous journey around Sherlock's thighs, while his hands lifted each leg in turn, stripping them of their only remaining article of clothing.

When Sherlock was fully naked, his neck, torso, and thighs glowing with fresh love bites, John sat back on his heels and murmured, "Look at me," as Sherlock's eyes had drifted closed one more. Cold blue met warm and John smiled. "I have a sensitive gag reflex. Do. Not. Move."

Sherlock swallowed as he watched John lean towards his straining erection, and lick the precum off the tip. Sherlock gasped his eyelids fluttering at the sensation, until John pulled back and growled, "Look at me." Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he watched as John leaned forward again, their eyes locked as he took the head of Sherlock's member into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. Sherlock moaned softly, his hands returning to John's scalp, not pushing or pulling, just touching, feeling, categorizing the sensations.

Sherlock's lust-filled mind finally comprehended the meaning behind John's commanded eye contact when he felt hands gripping his backside, and a finger poking at his entrance. Sherlock sucked in a breath, feeling uneasy. John's hand pulled away, and he sat back on his heels, his hands gently caressing Sherlock's hips. "Are you alright?"

Sherlock's jaw muscles tensed and relaxed, fruitlessly trying to get his mouth to respond.

John frowned, and stood, though his hands remained resting lightly on Sherlock's waist. John leaned forward until his cheek brushed Sherlock's and he could whisper, "I love you," into Sherlock's ear.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Sherlock's lips and his eyes lifted to meet John's. "I love you too."

John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock's cheek, but Sherlock turned his head so that their lips met instead. John hummed in satisfactions, pressing his mouth against Sherlock's cupids bow lips, caressing them with his own. Sherlock opened to him and pressed his tongue into John's mouth, beginning another sensual dance.

John pulled back slowly, his eyes opening to meet Sherlock's questioning gaze. "Why did you stop?" Sherlock murmured.

John lifted a hand to caress the side of Sherlock's face, but his expression was rigid as iron. "Silence is not consent. We need to work on your communication skills."

Sherlock huffed and made to roll his eyes when he found himself suddenly pinned against the wall of his bedroom. "I mean it, Sherlock." John voice softened slightly when he added. "I'm not going to hurt you."

They shared a long meaningful look before Sherlock nodded and looked away. Loving John was one thing. Being vulnerable was quite another... He started a bit when he felt John's lips pressing gently against his cheek. "I've been thinking," John murmured, his hand sliding down Sherlock's neck, brushing the fresh marks. "And I have a suggestion."

Sherlock arched a questioning eyebrow, but otherwise remained silent.

John lifted Sherlock's hands to his lips, kissed them, then pulled him forwards towards the bed. "I thought of a position that might make you more comfortable," John continued, pausing at the side of the bed. "I thought it might feel safe to lay over the side of the bed until your head tips over the other side."

"And you would be?" Sherlock asked eyeing the bed, feeling nerves creep over him again.

"By your head. Kissing you... perhaps finding other uses for your oral fixation."

Sherlock glared at his mate for a moment before letting his gaze fall to the bed, trying to picture it. He'd have easy access to the door if he leapt from the bed and ran... While the position seemed vulnerable, it would give Sherlock several points of leverage if he felt he needed to use them, and he would feel less surrounded...

A kiss at his cheek startled him and he shifted his gaze back to John. "This isn't a case, Sherlock," John murmured, pressing small kisses around his face and neck. "Do you have any outright objections?"

Sherlock frowned, blinking when John pressed a kiss close to his eye. He didn't like being easy to read, but John was right, he had been over thinking. "No," he said at length, leaning into John's gentle embrace. John's hands wandered slowly over Sherlock's torso, not trying to arouse, just to hold.

"Do you want to give it a try?" John asked.

"Fine," Sherlock grumbled, beginning to regret his earlier bravado. He broke from John's hold, strode over, and sat down on the bed, glaring at the floor. He felt John walk around the bed, and flinched when the mattress shifted with John's weight. He'd just opened his mouth to suggest they cut their losses when John's fingers reached around and gently tilted his head back. Sherlock's neck lengthened, the skin drawing taunt as his head pressed back against John's chest. John was kneeling up on the bed, making him taller than Sherlock from this angle since most of Sherlock's height came from his legs.

John smiled, slow and warm, before inching his head down until his lips were hovering over Sherlock's paler ones. "I love you," he murmured, and they were so close that Sherlock felt the words as much as he heard them.

Sherlock's reply was swallowed in the slow kiss that followed. John's fingers, never idle, swept lovingly over Sherlock's neck and shoulders until he leaned back into the embrace. The kiss never faltered, but it began to shift, drawing Sherlock back and down. Sherlock jumped when he felt the bed sheets on his back, but kept his hands around John's neck, holding him in place.

John hummed softly, his fingers idly drawing patterns on Sherlock's chest, brushing over his nipples. Sherlock arched into the gentle touches, surrendering to the sensations. John inched closer, his kisses trailing over Sherlock's cheek and back to his ear. Sherlock sighed and tipped his head back over John's shoulder.

Questing fingers inched down Sherlock's abdomen, grazing his erect member. Sherlock turned his head towards John, studying his face. John's eyes filtered over Sherlock's body, devouring the prone form. Sherlock gasped when John's fingers finally closed around him, grasping firmly for a moment before easing back into gentle, teasing strokes.

"I'd like to use some lube, if you don't mind," John murmured, easing back slightly so that his hands stroked over Sherlock's stomach.

Sherlock smiled and resisted the urge to shake his head at John's thoughtfulness, knowing it was fueled by a desire to put him at ease. "Go on, then," he drawled, pushing up to claim John's mouth for another kiss. John leaned into the kiss, sweeping his tongue possessively into Sherlock's mouth, drawing out a small moan.

John drew back with a smile and looked about to get up when Sherlock reached out and stilled his movements. "There's some in the bedside table." John nodded and reached for the top drawer, pulling out the lube and immediately snapping the lid open. He poured the clear liquid into his hand and reached forward, pressing his slick palm into Sherlock's member. Sherlock gasped again, pressing up into the contact. John leaned down to press slow, sucking kisses along Sherlock's neck as he worked his hand in smooth, wet strokes.

Pride and possessiveness swelled in John's chest as Sherlock's legs fell open in arousal. Lube was severely underrated, especially for omegas. Omega slick, while copious during most heats, wasn't always enough for penetration, and even if it was, lube could add significantly to other sensations, as it seemed to be doing now.

Sherlock's heels were pressed down into the mattress, his muscles straining as he pushed up into John's hand. "So, beautiful," John murmured, shifted to capture Sherlock's swollen lips in another demanding kiss. Sherlock moaned, his arms pulling John closer as his hips rocked in a steady rhythm.

John bit back a growl as he felt Sherlock lose himself in sensation, aware of the depth of trust and feeling necessary to motivate such actions. Sherlock had been running from his biology for so long, and he had still chosen to give himself to John.

From the first time they met, John had been struck with the intense need to protect Sherlock. At first he hadn't known what to make of it, and over time had decided it was love. He hadn't cared that Sherlock as a beta; Sherlock was the most dynamic, complex, frustrating individual John had ever met. John had never been sure if he'd ever have the chance to be with Sherlock, to love him as he wanted to. Now that the opportunity was upon him, he was not going to waste it.

Unable to defer his possessive instincts, John pulled back from the kiss and bit down at the juncture of Sherlock's neck and shoulder. It was a powerful, claiming bite, but not hard enough to break the skin. Sherlock moaned loudly, rocking more forcefully into John's hand, which had maintained a steady rhythm. John's tongue had just begun to lave Sherlock's abused skin when Sherlock breathed, "John, stop."

John didn't stop, however. Instead he growled softly and scraped his teeth over Sherlock's neck before moving up to nibble at his ear, while his hand continued its ministrations unabated. Sherlock groaned softly, feeling himself about to tumble over the edge. He wasn't frightened or uncomfortable, far from it, but this couldn't end now. "B-Brain dead," he finally gasped.

John pulled back instantly, worry creasing his brow. "Is something wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head softly. "No," he insisted, "I don't want to rush this."

John nodded, relieved, and nestled against Sherlock once more. "What do you want to do next?" he breathed against Sherlock's ear, watching gooseflesh blossom along the column of his neck.

"You mentioned something about my oral fixation?" Sherlock's brow was arched, but his voice was breathy and his face was flushed with arousal and the strain of tilting his head back so far.

"I did at that," John agreed, running the pad of his thumb across Sherlock's lips, smiling when he felt the brush of a tongue. He stood, his hands gently cupping Sherlock's face, reluctant to lose contact.

Sherlock gave him an upside-down smirk before leaning back further, undoing John's trousers. John's eyes never left his as Sherlock tugged John's pants down and off his hips. John released his hold on Sherlock only long enough to rid himself of all remaining clothing. When John stood Sherlock's smirk was gone, but there was a define gleam in his eye as he leaned back and licked a broad wet stripe along John's member.

John moaned softly, his hands twitching with the repressed urge to tug Sherlock closer, to hold him in place. Sherlock noticed and reached up to take John's hands in his, using the leverage to pull John closer and close his mouth over the rigid flesh before him.

"Fuck," John swore, his fingers tightening around Sherlock's wrists.

Sherlock hummed in satisfaction, opening his throat and taking John deeper. He'd never fellated anyone, true, but he'd had a small stint swallowing swords during a case, so the sensation was not unfamiliar to him. It was, however, easier and more enjoyable with John as opposed to a sword, especially because of the sounds that John was making. He'd always heard most alphas were quiet, but John had no qualms about making his pleasure known.

"J-Jesus Sherlock, God," John breathed, leaning over him slightly, his hands restless in Sherlock's grip. "You-you don't have to-"

Sherlock pushed John back just far enough to rasp, "I am enjoying myself, John." His breath ghosted over the hard member at his lips, making it twitch in response.

John's gaze darkened with lust, the irises nearly eclipsed by the pupils, and he gave a small thrust forward. Sherlock opened his mouth willingly, reaching around to grasp John by the hips and pull him closer. "Sherlock," he breathed, reaching forward to caress Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock hummed in satisfaction, using his grip on John's hips to tug him forward, then back again. John let him, leaning over to brace his hands on the bed, needing something to hold onto. Sherlock felt his throat stretch to accommodate John's cock and hummed softly, surprisingly happy to have John's cock inside him.

John gasped and clenched his hands in the bed sheets, his eyes flittered over Sherlock's prone form, lingering on his splayed legs. At that moment, John wished Sherlock wasn't so infuriatingly tall, there was no way he could reach far enough to grasp his remarkably plump arse. Still, there were other things he could do. John leaned down and pressed a wet, open mouthed kiss to the hollow of Sherlock's hip. Sherlock jolted at the unexpected sensation, but quickly calmed, pushing up into John's mouth. John smirked, scraping his teeth over the skin in front of him.

Sherlock moaned, the vibrations traveling along John's engorged cock. John's hips jerked in Sherlock's hands, responding to the assault on John's senses...and then Sherlock began to swallow.

"Sherlock!" John gasped, frantically pulling back from that wicked mouth. Sherlock let him go, a questioning look on his face. John's ragged breathing filled the room as he stepped back and stared at his mate. Sherlock's chest was flushed and heaving as well, his head still bent back over the edge of the mattress, and his lips glistened temptingly.

John fell to his knees and captured Sherlock's lips in a rough, possessive kiss. Sherlock moaned and opened to him, welcoming the invasion of John's tongue with his own.

One hand clutched Sherlock's shoulders, and the other snaked around his waist as John maneuvered him forcefully towards the center of the large mattress. Sherlock sighed into the kiss and pressed up into John as he settled on top of him. He hadn't liked the idea of being pushed down, of feeling surrounded...but this was different. John hovered over him on all fours, pressed sinful kisses to any patch of skin he could reach, his hands caressing everywhere else. No, Sherlock didn't feel trapped, he felt treasured, his heart leaping with each kiss and caress.

Sherlock glanced down at John and their eyes locked as John descended his body, leaving obvious marks in his wake. When he reached Sherlock's hips, John growled and lifted then, keeping them a few inches off the sheets as his mouth descended on Sherlock's opening.

Sherlock's back arched, a long, desperate moan falling from his lips and John's tongue pressed inside him. "John!" He gasped, his legs twitching over John's shoulder's and back as John's mouth invaded and possessed him.

At some point there were fingers, and lube. Sherlock hadn't noticed when John's fingers had entered him, he was in such a haze, but they were most definitely there, probing and invading every part of him, teasing, but never quite reaching his prostate.

"John!" Sherlock cried, rocking back into John's skillful fingers and mouth. A low growl reverberated over Sherlock's inner thighs, and the force of John's fingers became punishing, slamming into Sherlock's prostate with bruising force. Sherlock's strangled scream died in an unexpected, sloppy kiss.

"Mine!" John growled against his lips, nibbling his way over Sherlock's jaw to his neck, teeth scraping over thoroughly bruised flesh.

Sherlock, who had never wanted to be possessed, or owned, felt his heart leap at John's declaration, because he knew it went both ways. He as John's, and John was his...

"Knot me, John, please." His voice was breathless and trembling, but he knew he had made himself understood when a firm grip pulled his thighs around John's waist and a delicious pressure made itself known at is entrance.

"Look at me, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and his gaze locked with John's. "I love you," John breathed as he canted his hips forward slowly. This achingly gentle pace after such an assault on his senses made Sherlock burn and gasp John's name. It was exactly this side of John that had always kept him guessing. John could be brutally dominating one moment and incredibly gentle the next.

A smirk flittered along John's lips once he was fully sheathed and his hands crept underneath Sherlock's back. Sherlock arched at the touch and found himself lifted until he was straddling John. Sherlock's lips parted in surprise, nowhere near a full "O", but given his usual guarded expressions, it might as well have been.

John's smirk blossomed into a warm ,welcoming smile and his hands slid down to settle on Sherlock's hips. "Ride me," he urged, tugging Sherlock upwards with his hands.

Sherlock followed the motion, slamming down a moment later when John tugged him violently at his hips. The assault on his prostate caused bright spots of color to dance in his vision. He kept his eyes locked with John's as he repeatedly impaled himself on John's thick cock. Sherlock had always been remarkably strong for an omega, but John showed his alpha strength as they moved together, pushing and pulling Sherlock so roughly that he knew he would feel this mating for days afterwards and Sherlock didn't' give a damn. All that mattered was John's cock pushing into him over and over, stretching him almost to breaking.

"John," Sherlock moaned again, grasping tightly at his lovers arms, needing to be anchored to something.

John saw the blush creeping down Sherlock's chest, his breath coming in quick gasps, and felt the trembling muscles of Sherlock's thighs. He was close. John leaned up slightly, beckoning Sherlock down for a kiss. Sherlock met him halfway in a sloppy, perfect mashing of lips that could only be called a kiss in the loosest of terms. John's hands twitched on Sherlock's hips as he felt his knot start to swell, and a rumbling growl rose in his throat. "Mine!"

"Yours!" Sherlock gasped, his hands straying down to his neglected erection.

John saw the movement and slapped Sherlock's hand away, one of his own leaving it's mooring at Sherlock's hip to grasp his straining cock. "Mine!" John growled again, pumping his hand over the hot organ.

John's name spilled from Sherlock's lips in a long, low moan as he started to come, his whole body shaking with the force of it. John let out a wordless groan, pushing his knot up into Sherlock at last. John's hands came up to cup Sherlock's face as his orgasm rocked through him. They trembled and held each other for several long, breathless moments before their eyes fluttered open, their gazes locked, and they started to giggle.

They pressed together in a flurry of joyful kisses until the giggling finally abated and they held each other's gazes once more. "I love you," John whispered, his thumb caressing Sherlock's cheek.

"I love you, too, John," Sherlock replied, leaning forward for a slower, more sensual kiss. "Thank you."

John smiled into their kiss, cradling Sherlock to his chest. "You're welcome."

Sherlock stared disbelieving at the kitchen table. It couldn't be. The odds were astronomical... It just couldn't be!

The kitchen, apparently, was to be the stage for all his major life changes this year. Three months ago, when he'd been looking at his suppressants scattered across the table, he thought he was facing an impossible crossroads, and now…

Sherlock's fingers open and closed reflexively, while he struggled with disbelief. It was true, he'd run enough tests to be absolutely certain, but still… He placed his hand gently over his lower abdomen, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips. He had never expected this.

He heard John's tread in the hallway moments before a pair of strong arms wrapped around his middle, and a familiar face pressed sleepily into his shoulder. "You're up early," John mumbled, then yawned.

"I'm always up at all hours, you know that," Sherlock quipped, leaning back into John's embrace.

"Not lately," John observed. "You've been sleeping almost like a normal person for the past few weeks."

"Well," Sherlock began, his smile fighting to turn into a grin, "It's all part of the process, I suppose."

"What are you on about?" John asked, peering around Sherlock's shoulder. "You've got that 'I'm up to something' tone in your voice, and it is too early for me to play detective. That's your job, anyway."

Sherlock turned so that he could face John properly and said, "You're going to be a father, John."

John started, and grasped Sherlock's hands in his. "Really? You're sure?"

Sherlock nodded. "Very sure."

John cried out in delight, wrapped his arms around Sherlock, and lifted him in a twirling bear hug.

"John!" Sherlock protested, but he was giggling too. "Put me down!"

"Nope, never," John insisted, even as Sherlock's feet made contact with the ground once more.

"I'm still going to work cases," Sherlock insisted, not quite looking at John.

"I know, love. I wouldn't try to stop you, but you are going to take precautions. No more death defying stunts for you until after the delivery." John was adamant.

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment before Sherlock sighed loudly and muttered, "Fine. I knew this was going to be tedious."

"You're happy, and you know it," John insisted.

And he was.

Sherlock had never wanted the usual story, and while some things were as expected, John as usual, was anything but ordinary.

John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands, and pulled him down for a long, slow kiss.

Unfortunately it will be a while before I can publish again. I'm working on my next big work, "Choosing Love." I want to be able to post once a week, but I have a full time job, and the only way I can do that is to have a set amount written in advance before I can post. Things can always change, but I suspect I'll be able to start posting again in late November early December. Until then, here is the summary for "Choosing Love":

Unable to cope with John's obvious feelings for him, and his own feelings for John, Sherlock orders John out of his life, and 221 B. It was supposed to be a relief, but Sherlock finds he cannot ignore the devastating consequences to his heart. Worse yet, Sherlock's actions throw John in the path of a serial killer bent on revenge.