Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Let's play a game. -JM

Sherlock glanced at the screen, unamused, before promptly putting the device back into his pocket. Boring. Mundane. A game? If he wants to play, he'll have to do something interesting. Obviously.

He'd been texting for two weeks now. At first, Sherlock was terrified. He searched the flat for surveillance cameras, changed his mobile number, and even stopped John from leaving 221b entirely. After a few days of nothing, though, he relaxed a little, and since then, he received three or four text messages every day. Always the same.

It had long since grown very dull.

Sherlock refocussed on the matter at hand. He glanced down at the body again, his brows furrowing as he concentrated. He stepped over an outstretched leg and leant down to examine the head. "Alpha female, early twenties. Professional hairdresser, judging by her hands. In a steady and happy relationship." He frowned then, looking closer. "But not with him."

He motioned to the equally dead man who was wrapped around her. His arm was draped loosely around her waist, their noses touching. Strange.

"What makes you think that?" Lestrade asked, his hands tucked into his pockets against the sharp London wind.

Sherlock squinted at them. "Her locket... one half of a heart. On the back are two sets of initials and three kisses. Clearly, the other half belongs to her partner. Our male victim doesn't wear necklaces; he has three earrings, two bracelets and a watch, but no necklace. They were not romantically attached to each other." A pause. "Until two days ago."

John frowned up at him. "Wait, wait... what happened two days ago?"

Sherlock sighed. Idiots, all of them. "They bonded. See the bite mark on the omega's neck? Typical bond-forging marks."

Lestrade stood over the bodies, confused. "But, wait... if she was in a happy relationship, then why would she bond with a different omega?"

 

Play a game with me, Sherlock. -JM

 

Sherlock glared at his phone, pocketing it again. Now the criminal was sounding damn near desperate.

"That's the confusing part. I'll get there." He started pacing then. "Both of them have been dead for at least 36 hours, but they appeared here less than two hours ago. If they were here before that, they would have been wet from the rain. So they were placed here especially. But why here? And why now?"

John got up from where he'd been crouching next to the male victim, taking off his latex gloves. "Could be something to do with the flower shop next door. Valentino's." He motioned with his head towards the building on one side of the alley. "You know what's coming up, Sherlock. Do you think this has anything to do with it?"

Sherlock snorted. "Valentine's day? I can think of many things that would make me want to commit a double murder, but not having an omega of my own for a frankly pointless and pathetic holiday is not one of them."

John rolled his eyes. For an alpha, Sherlock was very good at pretending that he didn't need, or at least want anyone. And if he really didn't, well... then he was a stranger specimen than John first thought. "What about the omega?" He asked, arms crossed over his chest as he motioned to the man on the ground. "Was he in a relationship before... this?"

Sherlock lifted the dead man's wrist up as if looking for something, then dropped it back down. "No, he was single. Cashier, lived with his parents. Same age as the female. Age and the fact that they're both now mysteriously bound to each other seem to be the only things that connect them, though."

 

Wrong, wrong wrong. I'm disappointed. -JM

 

Sherlock froze as he read the message. This was new. He glanced around then, searching for mysterious onlookers, cameras, or anything suspicious. So he could hear Sherlock talking, at least. Not good. Definitely not good.

He kept his phone in his hand as he explored the alleyway once more, double examining all the evidence before him, before looking back over the bodies. Eventually, a slow grin spread over his face. Got it.

"A hairdresser as young and presumably inexperienced as our female victim here would earn between the regions of £15,000 and £17,000 a year. Barely enough to stay in the flat that she currently occupies, in fact. So how is it that she can afford to wander around London in a designer Balmain jacket worth more than half a year of John's wages?"

He examined the garment now, feeling the leather with his fingertips and ignoring the sharp 'Oi!' he got from John at his remark.

He looked over at the other victim then, recalling what he found when inspecting his wrist. "And a cashier with a Rolex? Obviously not a gift, going by the scratches and dents along the strap and over the clock face. How can he afford this type of purchase?" He stood up then, straightening his suit jacket. "They can't have gotten this money legally. I think our victims may have been doing something rather unsavoury on the side of their day jobs, and they paid for it with their lives. Now, we just have to know what."

 

Close, Sherlock. Very close. But still wrong. -JM

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his phone, thinking. What had he missed? There had to be something, something that Sherlock's brilliant mind had skipped over. But what?

"Sherlock... you alright?"

The man didn't bother to glance up at John, his eyes instead going to the side of the building that John had mentioned. "Fine, John. Fine. The flower shop you mentioned... did anyone speak to the manager?"

John shook his head, glancing over at Lestrade, who was now talking to a curious member of the public. "Not yet, no. You want me to go and talk to them?"

Sherlock nodded, his gaze returning back to the screen in front of him. "They will have been just opening up when the bodies were dumped here. They might have seen or heard something and not even noticed it."

"Right. Yeah, of course. Back in a minute, then." He took a few steps towards the street, before turning back slowly. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke. "Oh and, er... Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"Be careful."

Sherlock frowned, turning to face him now. "It's a crime scene. The crime's already been committed, John. I'm not in danger."

John looked at the ground. "Yeah, right, yes. I know... of course." He paused, visibly embarrassed. "I just... worry. Right. Anyway. Interviewing the florist." With an awkward nod, he turned back to walk off.

"John."

The man paused, then turned his head back to Sherlock.

"You be careful too."

John nodded, a tiny smile on his lips, before he made his way towards the street.

***

Sherlock cursed under his breath in frustration. For ten minutes he'd been standing there, examining everything there was to examine about the two victims on the ground. But still, he knew nothing. Nothing of importance, anyway.

He turned from the corpses with a huff, flipping up his coat collar and stalking over to Lestrade. "I'm done for now. Text me the results from the tox screens when they come through, although I'm fairly certain they'll be clear." He pulled his leather gloves over his frozen fingers. "Where's John?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Went home, I assume. One of Mycroft's fancy cars picked him up."

Confused, Sherlock frowned. "I asked him to interview the florist. Did he?"

"Wouldn't know, mate. He looked a bit flustered though. Time of the month?" Greg smirked, the smug look on his face indicating that he thought he was the funniest man alive.

Sherlock's face said otherwise. He narrowed his eyes. "And you honestly wonder why you can't get a proper girlfriend, Greg."

"Oi! I've had plenty of girlfriends, actually."

"None that you didn't have to blow up first. I wasn't really referring to the plastic type. Good day."

He smiled tightly, then swooped under the blue and white police tape, away from Greg and the rest of the idiots from the yard before the detective inspector could even respond.

 

Giving up already, Sherlock? Boring. -JM

 

Sherlock grit his teeth, resisting the urge to smash his phone into a thousand tiny pieces.

 

I'm not playing your games. I have more important things to do. -SH

 

He typed it out before he could even think about it, then clicked send, shoving the damn thing back into his coat pocket. That would annoy the criminal to no end, but there wasn't any going back now. Maybe he'd finally get the hint and leave him alone.

Sherlock thought back to more important matters.

So, Mycroft had picked John up at a crime scene? That was unlike him. Especially when Sherlock had been literally right around the corner. Something wasn't sitting right with Sherlock.

What could his brother possibly want from John this time, anyway? He always hated it when he did this. This... interrupting of his had Sherlock on edge whenever it occurred. Couldn't Mycroft just leave him alone, leave them alone?

Not that they were a them, of course. Obviously not. Sherlock didn't need the type of distraction that bonding offered. For that reason, he took scent neutralisers, preventing any omegas from pawing over him. As far as they were concerned, he was a boring, plain beta, and that was the way he liked it.

Mycroft knew that. He was a sad case; almost forty years old, and still tragically single. It was different with Mycroft, though. He actually wanted a bond mate. Sherlock most definitely did not.

What if he knew that John wanted someone to share his life with? Maybe he thought, oh, John likes Sherlock's company. Maybe he enjoys the company of all the Holmes'. John's unbonded... I am looking for an omega...

The thought made Sherlock angry. Mycroft couldn't have John. John was special. John was intelligent and brave and incredible.

John was his.

Oh. Dear.

Sherlock mentally cursed. A growl had been slowly building in his throat, his pathetic alpha instincts rearing up. He wrestled them down now, putting it down to his lack of sleep, as he did most of the ridiculous and pathetically primal things he did a lot of the time. Stupid, ridiculous biology.

Where did that thought even emerge from? Obviously, he'd been letting his self control slip. John was John. He wasn't anybody's. And he especially wasn't Sherlock's.

He took a deep breath, focusing himself, before starting off down the street in search of a cab. Moving towards the road, Sherlock held his arm out for one of the passing taxi drivers, and as the car slowed, he moved to get in.

There was a crunch underneath his foot as he did, and he frowned, spinning around to see what it was.

He froze. No, that was bad. Very bad.

There, laying in the road, was John's phone.

Immediately, a thousand theories swirled around Sherlock's head, none of them good. He bent down, picking up the mostly crushed object and bringing up the welcome screen. But there was no welcome message this time; just three letters.

 

I O U

 

Sherlock jumped into the cab, that familiar panicky feeling he felt whenever John was in danger tightening his chest and making his hands shake.

Then, his own phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, fingers turning white as he gripped the object to read the message.

 

Now do you want to play a game, Sherlock? -JM

 

He cursed, throwing his phone onto the seat next to him and steepling his fingers below his chin.

"As if I had a choice. I have to play this damn game." He seethed to himself, mind working in overdrive as his phone buzzed again. He cursed, then picked it up, glaring at the words.

 

That's right. See you soon, darling. -JM xox

 

***

From the precision with which the needle was administered, John was almost certain that that one had medical training. He sat still as the tip of the needle pushed under his skin, and then as the liquid oozed into his system. He wouldn't give either of his beta captives the satisfaction of a wince in pain, or anything to indicate that this was bothering him at all. He was good at suffering in silence.

"You'd almost think he liked all this, Nash, wouldn't ya?" He heard one of them say; most definitely the one pushing whatever drugs they were giving him into his arm. "Don't even look like he's scared or nuthin."

He refrained from shaking, as best he could, and was forcing himself to breathe as he found himself drowning in anxiety. He was close to panic, his brain filling with all of the possible outcomes of all of this. But this wasn't the first time he'd been kidnapped, after all. He had experience, and he knew what to do to keep himself from getting into any more trouble than they were already planning for him; eyes down, mouth shut, observe everything, and do what they ask. It was that simple.

The needle was being pulled out of his arm now, and there was pressure being applied to the area to stop the bleeding. "Well, ya got nuthin to be worried about, Johnny boy. This ain't nuthin bad." He tapped the end of the needle against John's arm. "It's gonna make you feel real good. Just you wait 'n see." There was a deep laugh then, and John felt the sudden lack of presence as the man moved away from him.

The van had stopped moving about ten minutes ago. The cotton sack over his head itched the back of his neck and forehead, and the ropes that were tied around his wrist dug into his skin so that every bump in the road had meant another stab of pain. He heard the two men moving around him, the occasional clink of metal on metal and whispered words, and he tried to concentrate on that, stopping himself from thinking too much.

He felt the panic rising in him again as he heard their footsteps grow closer; both of them now, if he was hearing correctly. "Up you get, then. Now's when the real fun begins."

He felt hands encircling his arms, and he was dragged out of his seat. The back doors opened with a click, and then there was suddenly light, shining through the cotton bag over his head.

The two men were silent as they dragged him away from the van, and John heard as it drove away, most likely to be thoroughly cleaned from evidence or destroyed. They'd untied his ankles for this part, allowing him to at least attempt to keep up as they pulled him away.

There was the sound of another door, and then the light was gone, replaced by an ominous semi-darkness. It was much colder in here than it was outside, too, and it smelt of damp and unuse.

Then, there were stairs. And lots of them. John tried to keep track of how many, but he quickly lost count, struggling to keep going.

After what felt like hours, there were no more stairs to climb, and the men carried him into a room. There was a slam of a door behind him, and then their hands were letting go of his arm. He stood there, terrified and suddenly alone, unaware of what to do.

Then, a smell. A scent, actually. Alpha. /Very/ alpha. It was... gorgeous. And almost too strong to bear. That was odd. He wasn't usually so sensitive to alpha's scents when he wasn't on a heat. And he had taken his suppressants that morning...

Then, the alpha was moving. Slow, deliberate steps, from what he could hear. He was getting closer, too.

John cleared his throat, his breath getting heavier as the panic rose, until he felt the alpha right in front of him. That scent... it was so familiar...

"Hello, Dr Watson. It's a pleasure to have you here." The Irishman drawled, and then there was a snap of his fingers and John fell to the ground.

***

Sherlock paced the flat, his mind in overdrive as he thought and thought.

First, the facts; John Watson had been kidnapped by Moriarty. He didn't have his phone with him. Moriarty wasn't responding to his texts, and the only clue he had was that John had taken off in a black vehicle.

Sherlock was going out of his mind.

This was obviously Moriarty's intention since he began texting Sherlock. What he wanted John for, Sherlock could only imagine. And all the possibilities were horrifying beyond comprehension. He read over all the text messages that Moriarty had sent over the past few days, expecting to find a clue or something that might help. He tested for all the codes he knew, researched every seeming oddly-placed word and checked for hidden messages, all without finding anything at all. And that just wouldn't do.

He glanced at his phone again, furiously typing yet another message to the master criminal.

 

You want me to find him, that much is clear. I'm going to need clues. -SH

 

He ran a hand through his hair, not expecting a reply but hoping for one anyway. He just needed John to be safe, and right now, he knew that he was far from that.

 

Gosh, Sherlock, still upset about your darling Watson going missing? It's been hours. Haven't you gotten over it already? -JM

 

Sherlock resisted smashing the object off the floor in frustration, instead taking the opportunity to look for clues. Nothing. He was giving him nothing.

 

Where is he? This has gone much too far. -SH

 

Oh, nonsense. We're having a grand time. Haven't had this much fun in... oh, millennia. -JM

 

Sherlock's eyes shot open. And there it was. He grabbed his coat, speeding down the stairs as he typed his reply.

 

I'll be there as soon as humanly possible. -SH

 

See you soon, Sherlock. -JM

 

***

When John awoke, the first thing he became aware of was the almost insufferable heat of the room. His eyes flew open, the fear striking deep as he realised the danger he was in. Calm, Watson. Observe, be quiet, keep your head down. He took a deep calming breath.

His hands were still tied together at the wrists, but now the rope was tied to a metal grate on the floor, keeping him there. When he tried to move, he found that his legs were tied to the ground too, but not together; in fact, they were as far apart as possible, each ankle tied down with a separate rope.

The bag had been removed from his head, and he looked around the room now. The ground was covered in dust and other various bits of debris. The paint was peeling all over, leaving the walls behind them a deep black. He was facing the door, which was barely holding onto it's hinges, the wood cracked and broken off in places.

He started to panic as he heard footsteps coming from outside, his eyes moving down to stare at the ground as the door shuffled open.

It was than that it hit him; rich, deep and gorgeous, the alpha that had just entered the room smelled perfect. John barely managed to contain a whimper, before he realised what this meant...

"Yes, that's correct, John. Ever so sorry about this, but it was a very necessary part of this procedure, after all." Jim's voice swirled around John's head, almost dizzying in the effect that it had on him. "My boys had to give you a double dosage of those heat inducers in the van to get you going, you know. Not as young as you used to be, eh?"

He was moving closer to John now, his foot steps echoing around the room. "It's a shame that it's come to this, it really is, but there was no other way. I'm sure you'll find it in your heart to forgive me though, dear." His voice was a low, deep purr as he ran a finger down John's spine, stopping right at the top of his arse.

"You... hmm, you bastard..." John managed, realising at the touch that his clothes had been removed while he had been passed out. He was completely bared to the room.

"Oh, you don't mean that, Johnny boy. Your reactions would certainly say that you think otherwise of me." He was in front of John again now, and he leaned in to his face, noses only inches away. He grinned, black eyes menacing.

John gave a small whimper, closing his eyes as Jim's scent surrounded him. It was too much. He needed... dammit. He needed him. "P-please..." He whispered, head bowed as he struggled in his restraints, desperate for friction.

Jim gripped the omega's face in his hands, forcing John to look up at him again. His eyes were wide, searching John's face for something. "Please... what, Dr Watson?" He whispered, his voice doing nothing to calm John down.

John glared at him, trying his best to keep from being reduced to a hot mess on the floor. But it was no use. "Please, I need... I need you." His hands were balled into fists as he squirmed, uncomfortably aroused and frustrated by the prickly warmth that always came with a heat.

Jim lingered for a second, before pulling away from the man, laughing as he moved to stand in front of him. He regarded the omega on the floor. "Oh, honestly, John. Did you really expect me to want to touch you? You are a sad case, aren't you?"

John cried out, the alpha's scent still much too intoxicating to think straight. "Please, Jim, please please..." He heard himself say, embarrassingly desperate. Then, there was a beep from above him, and he froze.

"Thank you, John. I'm sure there will be plenty of people who'll find that very interesting to hear. Starting with your dear Sherlock." He grinned, wide and menacing, as he waved his voice recorder in the air. "Patience, Dr Watson. I can see you're so very desperate. Well, I have a present for you. An apology, for our time at the swimming pool, if you will. You'll get it soon enough."

Then, the footsteps were getting further away. John whimpered as the scent faded, but his arousal remained, leaving his mind foggy and useless. Find me, Sherlock... was all his brain could come up with. Find me and make it all better...

***

 

Can't find a cab, darling? -JM

 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, cursing down at his mobile. Of course. He must have paid someone off so that the cabs wouldn't go anywhere near Baker Street. Brilliant...

He closed his eyes for a second, visualising the fastest way to his destination. He couldn't walk all the way there, obviously. It was much too far. But until he could get a cab, it would have to do.

He took off down the street, running as fast as he possibly could. If he was lucky, he could get a cab on Oxford Street, and if not, he had no idea what he'd do. He needed John safe as soon as possible, and at the moment, he was struggling with how exactly he was planning on doing that.

 

Hurry, hurry, Sherlock. He's getting very impatient. -JM

 

Sherlock virtually growled as he ran into the road, holding his hands out in front of him as a cab sped towards him. It stopped, the driver shouting curses that Sherlock couldn't hear or make out, and Sherlock ran to the side of the vehicle. He grabbed the handle and pulled, frowning when it didn't open. He locked eyes with the driver in the rear-view mirror, giving him a questioning look. The man gave him a menacing grin in return, before speeding away down the road, and all Sherlock could do was look on.

This was hopeless.

 

What are you planning to do to him? -SH

 

Sherlock continued down the road, moving as fast as he could. There had to be a way there without using one of Jim's cabs. He stuck his hand out at every single one that passed, but it was fruitless. It wouldn't do. None of it would.

 

Oh, you really are slow, Sherlock. I thought I was very clear on that one. -JM

 

Sherlock hissed, a cab rolling up next to him, just to pull away. He continued to run down the street.

 

Tell me. -SH

 

I'm disappointed, truly I am. They were two of my best, too. I wasted them on you.-JM

 

The double murder. Of course. -SH

 

Of course. A... warning, if you will. -JM

 

Sherlock froze on the pavement. No... surely not. Not John. Not his John... But it was so obvious now. The previously unbound couple were working for Jim, and were forced into bonding. That explains why they weren't in a relationship, and the expensive clothes and watch. If that was a warning, then... he was going to do all of that to John. He was going to bond him to someone else.

He felt the anger and frustration curl in his chest, before racing down the road again, almost knocking an elderly woman over. His hands wrapped around his phone.

 

Don't touch him. Don't you dare. -SH

 

Oh, I wouldn't, Sherlock. Not really my type, I'm afraid. But I have some friends who might... -JM

 

Sherlock stopped, panting wildly as he stood around, halting to breathe. This was hopeless, totally hopeless. He was never going to reach John in time. Even if he ran all the way without stopping, it would still take him over an hour to get there. John was in danger, and Sherlock was useless.

A car pulled up next to Sherlock on the kerb, and he stood up, glaring at the blacked out window as it rolled down.

"Sherlock. Get in, will you?" Mycroft said, not a trace of his usual calm and arrogant exterior. His hair was ruffled, suit wrinkled and tie wonky, if only slightly. He was worried. That was never, ever a good sign.

Sherlock didn't even argue, climbing into the car without so much as another word.

***

John moaned again as another wave of arousal rippled through him. This was unbearable, the drugs they'd given him making his heat even more intense than he ever remembered them being.

"Please... please, someone..." He whimpered, not even able to rut against the floor as the restraints kept him kneeling up. He felt pathetic like this, but it was nothing he could help. Not until he got his release. Oh, God, please...

"Hush now, John. Boss has something for you. But you gotta be patient." He heard someone say from behind. Beta, John guessed, as even an alpha or omega on suppressants would be noticeable when John's heat was so far gone.

He heard footsteps echoing around him as the beta moved to his side. She gripped his arm, almost tight enough to hurt, stilling him and stopping him from struggling. "I'm under strict orders. Time for your medicine."

It was then that he saw the needle, and he started to panic again.

"Fuckin' hell, I always get the damn difficult ones." She sighed, before John felt a sharp sting across his cheeks. He fell silent.

She flexed her hand, the impact of the slap no doubt making her own skin tingle. "Good boy. Hold still, now. Boss don't want you too seriously hurt." She explained, before pushing the needle under John's skin.

He felt the liquid as it surged through his veins, and he groaned at the pain.

"Weren't that bad. You're just sensitive. S'alright." She said, putting the needle into a lock-tight bag. She got up from her knees, dusting herself off before bringing a walkie talkie up to her face, pressing down a button on the side.

"He's ready, boss."

***

"I thought he was with you."

"Yes, well, he wasn't, was he?"

Sherlock was pulling at his hair. Mycroft sat in the front seat, next to the driver, and he hadn't stopped talking down to Sherlock since he'd gotten into the car. He was twitchy and nervous, and it was confusing Sherlock to no end.

"Why are you blaming this on me?! We know where he is now, and I'm going to get him away from that bastard, alright?"

"Well, we need to hope you can."

Sherlock frowned, glaring at the back of his brother's seat. "What do you mean?"

"You know what he's planning. A bond doesn't take long to form, Sherlock. He could have done it hours ago."

Sherlock turned back to look out of the window. His fingers drummed on his knees, faster and faster as every minute passed.

"I know that." Sherlock was growing tired of this now. Mycroft's panic was stupid and pointless, and it was doing nothing to soothe Sherlock's own frayed nerves.

"Well then. Stop pretending like this is all okay." He caught Mycroft glancing at him in the rear-view mirror now, and he frowned at him.

"Since when did you care so much about John?" Came Sherlock's reply, his words sharp at the edges.

Mycroft was quiet for a moment. Sherlock heard him take in a deep breath before he spoke.

"Since you let sentiment cloud your judgement. Brother dear."

Sherlock turned to look out of the window again, knotting his fingers together anxiously. "Nonsense."

"You know it's not." Mycroft stared straight ahead, watching the road as the drove along it. " 'Protect John Watson'. That's top on my list of things that I need to do to keep you sane, clean, and alive."

Sherlock scoffed. "You're being dramatic. He's my friend. Your stupid list doesn't mean anything." He said, but his chest was aching at the sound of his name.

"It's also the only thing on the list."

Sherlock stilled, clearing his throat as he watched the buildings pass by, each turn of the car's wheels meaning that they were that little bit closer to saving John.

***

Chapter Text

"You shouldn't even fucking be here. It's not safe."

Jim grinned as he heard the words fall from his sniper's mouth, turning his attention from the camera monitors for the first time in a long time to glance up at him, moving his head from the comfortable spot on his shoulder.

"The only way out of this fuckin' place is out the window or down the stairs. We've got time to get out, if we go now. Straight to the car, yeah? You can watch the feed on your phone, Jim."

Their dynamic was a strange one, as should have been obvious; any Omega who chose to bond to someone as unhinged as James Moriarty had to have been just as odd. And Sebastian was definitely odd. Once a pretty little privileged rich boy, Sebastian Moran became the monster he was always destined to be on tour in Afghanistan, earning himself a smattering of scars and a dishonourable discharge. Two dead army officers, three useless bodyguards and a fist fight with a tiger later, and here they were. As close to happy two sociopaths could be.

He admired him for a moment, hand reaching up to stroke idly over his scarred cheek. For such a fearless, terrifying man, he did an awful lot of whining. If he was any less pretty, Jim was sure he'd have stopped tolerating it a long time ago.

"Sebby, darling, be quiet. I'm listening to our dear friend moan." He teased, fingers stroking down along Seb's jaw as the speakers flooded the security room with John Watson's cries. Sebastian was only growing more tetchy, and Jim would feel sorry for him if he didn't find it so funny. Jim found new and creative ways to make his right-hand man jealous three times a week, he was sure he'd get the message by now.

"You're not gonna touch him again, right?" 

Jim didn't answer, nuzzling against Seb's exposed, muscled shoulder instead. The sniper continued.

"Because I swear to fuck, Jim, if you put your fingers on him again, if you stroke along his fucking back like you did earlier, I'll-"

His rant was cut short when Jim bit down, hard, into the other man's flesh, tasting that delicious metallic tang almost instantly. Sebastian yelped, but like the good little - well, he was hardly little - Omega he was, he didn't say another word. Instead, his fingers wove through Jim's hair, and he let out a content whimper. Always did the trick.

Jim's eyes were lidded as he pulled back, and he moved to straddle his pet, hands tugging the bottom of Seb's shirt up so he could wipe the dribbles of blood from around his lips with it as he met his eye. 

"Do you remember the plan, darling?" He asked, head tilted to the side as he watched his Omega try to recover from the intense rush of hormones he'd just given him. 

"Yes, sir."

Jim grinned once more, teeth tinged pink from Seb's blood.

"Then do shut up."

 

***

 

"It's also the only thing on the list..."

The words rang through Sherlock's ears as he stared out the window, anger and frustration mixed with the constant motion of the car making him want to vomit. Instead, he focused on attacking his brother some more. "You were always very good at attempting to sound so profound, whilst spouting complete nonsense. John Watson is my flatmate, and my friend, but my life doesn't revolve around him." 

His voice wobbled, and he knew there was no point even arguing it anymore. Even an idiot would be able to tell that he no longer believed what was coming out of his mouth... and unfortunately, Mycroft was a very long way away from being an idiot.

There was a pause, before Mycroft spoke softly from the front seat.

"I see." He started, before clearing his throat. "Stop the car."

Rage and confusion flared up in Sherlock once more. He almost barked his next words, springing out of his seat and grabbing the driver's head rest with both hands, fingers turning white. 

"Don't you fucking dare." He hissed, before catching Mycroft's eye in the rear view mirror. 

He was used to his older brother giving him a variety of unpleasant looks; disappointment was the most common one. Anger, a close second. But... pity? That one was new. Sherlock fell back into his seat, already despising the way he had reacted. The driver had slowed considerably, preparing to pull over safely, before Mycroft gestured for him to continue. Sherlock barely noticed, swimming in self-loathing in the back seat. He should've known Mycroft was bluffing. That he was trying to get a reaction out of him... but God, he couldn't help but snap. His mind was filled with nothing but fear, and worry, leaving no room for logic and reason. And now, it was impossible to deny the hold that John had on him. The hold he'd always had. 

"Just... get me to John. He's in danger. Get me to him." He muttered through gritted teeth, hands anxiously drumming against his knee again. He despised letting his emotions lead him like this, and he especially hated Mycroft seeing it.

He expected him to gloat, or make a joke, or tease him about the effect the doctor had on him... but instead, Mycroft spoke pragmatically, sounding almost calm for the first time he'd seen him that day. 

"I've known how important he is to you for a very long time, Sherlock. It'll do you no good to ignore it now. He needs you."
For a moment, all that could be heard in the car was the whirring of the wind as they sped through London, and Sherlock let out a shaky breath.

"I know."

 

***

 

With every passing minute, John was finding it more and more difficult to hold on to rational thought. His limbs ached, and he longed to lay down... but, at the very least, the heat inducing drugs coursing through his body kept him from getting too tired, or too hungry. If he ever left this... room, this cell, he was going to have the best sleep of his life, he was sure of it.

He didn't let himself dwell on that thought for too long, though. In fact, he could barely keep a single thought in his brain for longer than a minute, before another wave of arousal and desperation coursed through him. Instead, he moaned against the floor, fists tightening in their restraints as he desperately tried not to cry.

It'd been years since he'd had a heat anything like this. In fact, it'd been years since he'd had a heat at all. After his time in the army, it made little sense for him to stop taking the little blue suppressants every morning. And besides, it's not like there was anyone around to share his heats, anyway. None of the women he brought home ever lasted long, with Sherlock around. And as for that tall, beautiful flatmate of his... well. Best not to bother even thinking about it. That could never happen. Sherlock was far too stubborn.

Thinking about the detective was, in hindsight, an awful idea. John groaned as he thought about his scent, lingering on the coat in the hallway. On his chair. On his scarf... he thought about his tall, subtly muscular frame, that he'd admired whenever the other man hadn't bothered to put clothes on. He thought about how good it'd feel to be filled by him; by his scent, by his tongue in his mouth, by the beast he kept hidden in his underwear...

If it not for that smell, that intoxicating scent, John would have never noticed Jim Moriarty entering the room again. He sprang to attention as best he could, trying to clear his thoughts as he picked his head up from the floor to glare at him. At least, what he attempted was a glare... all Moriarty saw was a sad little puppy dog, trying his best not to beg for a treat.

Jim let the door close, an easy smirk lining the lower half of his face. 

"Hello, darling. So sorry to keep you waiting, but I can't help but prolong this as much as possible; you're just so incredibly delicious like this, aren't you?" Jim tilted his head to the side, watching him with an amused smile, before he slowly made his way to John's rear, expensive shoes clicking against the hard floor. The doctor tried his best to focus, to not whine or beg or plead... but Jim smelled so good, he could barely contain it. He let out a nervous whimper, and Jim laughed, the noise sharp and humourless. 

"W...what do you want? What am I... doing here." John struggled, eyes clamped shut in an attempt to control at least some of his senses from being completely overwhelmed, as he fought to stay rational. Jim rolled his eyes; Sebastian had told him the doctor would be boring, but Jim had had faith. And now he looked like an idiot. He glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room, knowing Seb would be watching closely. 

He winked. Time to put on a show, whether Sebastian liked what he was about to see or not.

"Hush, hush. Save your energy. You're going to need it all." Jim attempted to keep up his soft, soothing tone, but John only whined. He let a hand splay out over the doctor's back, stroking gently like he was calming a horse. His back was warm to the touch, like he had a fever, and as soon as their skin met John bucked in place, moaning like a whore.

The noise of the chains rattling annoyed Jim to no end, and he kicked him hard from behind without thinking, his spotless Bolvaint turning the back of John's thigh bright red, and covering the black leather in sweat. Great. Now he'd have to get them cleaned again. The Omega cried out in pain, but before he was done wriggling in his restraints, Jim was on him, a hand in his hair tugging back his head, forcing him to arch his back, and his fingers against John's hole. 

Jim re positioned himself, his elbow pressed against the small of John's back as his knee was pressed against the grate below them. He leaned in, so John could feel his words against his ear. "Would you look at that? You're positively dripping. You know, we were worried how someone your age might react. Most breeding stock has been bled dry by the time they hit forty. But you're outdoing yourself, Watson, aren't you?"

John desperately tried not to think. Not about the hands in his hair, or the delicious-smelling Alpha pressed half against his back, or... fuck, or about the fingers pressed against his desperate entrance. He thought about none of it. Still, and un-moving, and silent. 
But that wasn't good enough for Jim. 

He pushed a finger down, just slightly, pressing against his hole before drawing little circles against it. 

And, well. John was only a man. 

"Fuck, please..." He let out, pushing as best he could against the digit. Nothing mattered in that moment, except the tiny morsel of relief he'd feel if that finger would just go deeper...

And just like that, Jim was amused again. He loosened his grip in John's hair, as he swirled around John's hole, slipping over the taught muscles as he did. "Please what, Dr Watson? What would you like?" He teased, biting his lip as he thought about just how angry Sebastian was right now. He was delicious when he was angry.

Without skipping a beat, John spoke. "Fuck me. Please? Please fuck me. I need... an Alpha. Please." There was no uncertainty in his voice now, just desperation, and that was exactly what Jim had been waiting for. Dr Watson had snapped. He laughed again, removing himself from the Omega entirely and circling back around until he was in front of him again. 

He leaned down until they were eye to eye, and he extended his fingers out - the ones that had been pressed up against John's hole. His head tilted to the side, as without hesitation, John pulled them into his mouth, sucking hungrily at his own juices. "Is that really what you want, John?"

The helpless Omega nodded enthusiastically and Jim grinned, pulling his hand away as he stood up once more. He snapped his fingers. The door opened, and John was bathed in the sickly scent of another Alpha.

"Then meet Hector."

Chapter Text

"He's not going to kill me. Or John."

Mycroft sighed as he heard Sherlock's words, seconds after ending a call to his agents. He pushed the phone into a concealed pocket, glancing back at his brother in the rear view mirror once more.

For a very long time, Mycroft had been convinced that he was going to lose him. After all, there's only so many times a man can overdose on opiates. When Mrs Hudson had given him a place to live, it was only because she owed Mycroft a favour, and when even she failed to get him to eat and sleep properly, Mycroft had all but given up on keeping his brother alive.

And then Dr Watson entered the picture.

Whilst admittedly, Mycroft didn't quite see the appeal, Sherlock clearly did. His little brother pined after that fairly ordinary Omega like Mycroft had never seen, and after two years of the ex-army doctor's constant tea-and-toast making, and his seemingly unending patience for Sherlock... well, his brother had never been better.

Now, as he looked at him in the mirror, he noticed the bright colour of his cheeks. The healthy pudge under his chin. The absence of dark circles under his eyes. John Watson did more for his brother than any plastic surgeon could, and for that alone, Mycroft was grateful. 
Not that he'd ever tell him, of course. 

For now, he averted his gaze again, thinking back to the phone call, and to Sherlock's words. Clearly, his silence had annoyed his younger brother. 
"You understand that, right? He doesn't want us dead. This... abandoned bloody warehouse, it's not significant. Moriarty loves poetry. If he was going to kill John, he'd have taken him somewhere that meant something."

Sherlock was rambling, but as usual he was close to being correct. Mycroft sighed.

"You can never be sure, Sherlock. He's surprised us before. You're not going in there alone. And you're going in armed, like it or not. I assume you're familiar with Dr Watson's firearm?" He raised an eyebrow in the mirror, to which Sherlock grumbled and nodded. 

"It's in the case beside you. Picked it up on my way to get you."

Sherlock glanced over at it, then let out a dry laugh as he looked back at London as it sped past the window. "Let me guess. You were notified as soon as John's phone was destroyed and stopped pinging."

"Correct."

"And instead of calling me, you went to tear the flat up?"

"I went to ensure there were no clues to his whereabouts there. And to pick up his weapon. You always complain when I make you use a service handgun."

Sherlock scoffed, but he'd have time to be annoyed at his brother later. For now, he had other things to worry about... like the buzz in his pocket alerting him that he had a new text message. He let out a deep breath, before fishing the device out of his pocket and opening the message.

You're almost here, Sherlock. Do hurry. The show's about to start, and John and I would hate for you to miss it. -JM x

 

                                                                                                ***

 

Jim stood on his tiptoes to fuss with Hector's hair, pushing the shaggy blond locks out of his eyes, and attempting to get them to stick behind his ears. Hector was a little stiff, thanks to the cocktail of drugs Jim kept him on, but he was his magnum opus, after all. And first impressions were important. Especially when meeting a bond mate. 

"You know, John." He said casually, licking his thumb to rub at a mark on Hector's face, whilst the giant, muscled super-Alpha stared blankly down at the Omega. "You may think I'm an awful person, and I am, really. In every sense of the word. But I really do think this will be good for you. You've always wanted someone to share your life with, have you not?" He asked, whilst John writhed beneath them. If one Alpha's scent was overwhelming, then adding another was pure torture. John whimpered, trying to clear his mind as Jim tidied up his specimen. 

"I worked hard on Hector. He started off just like you. A poor, lonely soul, writhing around in his chains. The only difference is that he was begging for something to fuck. But every day that went by without him impregnating something made him stronger. Tougher. Prettier, even, I believe. And so now, he's my gift to you."

Hector hadn't stopped staring at John since he entered the room. His lack of clothing made his arousal immediately noticeable, but even so, he was calm. Restrained. Whether that was down to training, or the spiked collar that was attached to a lead wrapped around Jim's wrist, well... it would remain a mystery.

"I know what you're thinking. Or, rather, what you would be thinking, if you weren't currently a pathetic mess. Why am I doing this?" Jim was having far too much fun. He grinned as he tugged down hard on Hector's lead, forcing him to kneel on the floor in front of John. 

The Omega whimpered, his entire body aching with nothing but lust and desire for the Alpha in front of him... but his mind was another story. That first intense rush that the heat inducers caused had started to wear off, and now John found himself able to think coherently again. Well, mostly anyway. He closed his eyes, willing himself to stop pining for the man Jim had put before him. 

Sherlock... Sherlock... God, Sherlock, please hurry up...

He was still whimpering, but the thought of his flatmate was a comforting one. He was coming. He had to be. And when he got there... John imagined how much better his scent would be, filling the tiny room he was stuck in. How much better the Alpha would make all of this.

"...to be honest, not telling you is far more fun. So I'll just say this; hurting Sherlock gets me off like you wouldn't believe. And oh, when he realises you're bound to another man... that's going to more than sting." Jim stood behind Hector now, and gave him a sharp kick to encourage him closer to John. The Alpha jolted forward, nose and lips instantly moving to scent along John's neck, and face, and up over his back. Marking his newfound territory.

Jim admired the scene for a moment, before he leaned down to stroke a  hand through John's hair. The Omega gritted his teeth, knowing that an outburst would only lead to another dose of inducers. "Enjoy, darling. I'm sure you'll be very happy together. Now, I must run. But believe me." He smirked that horrible smirk once more, as he pulled open the half-broken door. "I'll be watching."

John closed his eyes again, the sound of the door slamming shut secondary to the panting and grunting of the Alpha before him. He heard words and noises come out of his own mouth, too, but he could hardly concentrate anymore. This... wasn't right. He wasn't right. He didn't want to belong to this beast of an Alpha. 

He already belonged to an Alpha.

But the turmoil in his head was no match for the heat, steamrolling through his body. He stared, transfixed, at the monster of a cock that Hector was sporting, and his mouth watered involuntarily. There were lips on his neck, on his shoulders, on his cheeks... hands stroking over his hot skin, caressing and touching and John couldn't help but feel safe, in spite of the situation. With Hector all over him, it was hard to keep Sherlock in his thoughts.

"Fuck me." He heard himself say, his stomach in knots as he begged. The disconnect between his body and his brain was making him feel ill. "Please, fuck me now."

For the first time, Hector spoke, nose nuzzling against John's neck. "Mine." He said, teeth grazing John's skin in anticipation. All he needed was permission. All he needed was for John to let him, and his teeth would sink into his skin without another thought.

Not for the first time, John struggled in his shackles, helpless as tears formed in his eyes. "Just... just fuck me. I don't... I don't need a bond ma-"

John's words got lost in Hector's mouth, as he pulled him in for a kiss; it was hot, and heavy, and desperate, and John was left spiralling and disorientated. Immediately he felt teeth at this neck again. And... there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than that monster cock in his hole. 
Well. That and Sherlock.

"Mine... my Omega. My hole." Hector uttered, and John arched his neck for him reflexively. He'd always been a good Omega. Obedient. Well behaved. And for once... that might be the undoing of him.

"Y...yours. Yours." John agreed, hands tightening to fists in his shackles. His body was betraying him, but God, not even war prepared a man for something like this. He was weak and helpless. And in that moment, all he wanted was release. "I'm yours."

The Alpha needed no more permission. He licked a long stripe along John's neck, and then bit down into his flesh.

 

                                                                                                 ***

 

Sherlock barely waited for the car to roll to a stop before getting out, a hand wrapped haphazardly around John's gun. Apart from the smattering of Mycroft's agents who'd beaten them there by mere minutes, the place certainly looked derelict; every window on the bottom three floors had been boarded up, and the barbed wire fence surrounding the building clearly hadn't done much to stop Moriarty from breaking in. Or the local kids, it seemed; graffiti lined the outside wall, all along the poorly-kept brick, and the boards on at least two of the windows had been broken from the inside.

Sherlock gleaned all the information he needed to know from a glance, and he started towards the broken door without hesitation. But as always, his brother was there to stop him. Of course. 

"Don't be stupid, Sherlock." He said evenly, pressing a bulletproof vest against his chest. "Put this on. Greenfield is going to lead, you'll follow after -"

"I'm going alone. I told you. He won't kill me." Sherlock ignored the stiff vest Mycroft had pressed against him, and his brother swore under his breath as the detective continued towards the building. 

"You don't even know where to look! This building has thirteen floors, do you really have the time to search each one?"

Sherlock paused. Result. Mycroft glanced over to an agent, who nodded towards their surveillance van. A moment later, and Mycroft had what he needed.

"Heat maps. Two hits on the eleventh floor. No corpses. Rest of the building is clear, but they're surveilling the entire property. He'll know we're here."

Sherlock nodded silently, and Mycroft gave a long sigh as he watched his brother disappear.

"Greenfield, Blake, follow him in. And for the love of Christ, don't let him get killed."

 

                                                                                                                ***

 

Someone's running late. You missed all the good parts! -JM

Sherlock felt his stomach tie into knots at the message. He'd never felt worry like this before. He rounded the first flight of stairs with ease, despite the fact that he was vibrating with panic and rage. John was alive. He knew that, at least. Now, he just needed to use that fact, and the adrenaline coursing through his body, to bring his John home safe. 

He didn't type a reply, nor did he say anything, knowing that the place was bugged from top to bottom and Moriarty would most definitely be able to hear him. Instead, he focused on climbing the stairs, one at a time. And ignoring the idiots a flight of stairs behind him, that Mycroft had no doubt sent in.

How good are you with biology, Sherlock? I'm curious. -JM

He said nothing again, the weight on his shoulders lessening with every step he took. Fifth floor. Almost half way. Almost there, John. Hold on. Hold on. 

Fun fact! After the initial bite, a bond takes approximately fifteen minutes to form. Did you know that? -JM

Sherlock felt a cold pit open up in his stomach as he read that text, but he continued. 

He'd known it was coming. It was his plan all along, wasn't it? Bond John to someone else, and leave Sherlock heartbroken? Don't think about it, Sherlock. Don't think. John's alive. That's all that matters. He's alive and soon he'll be safe... 

If you just sped it up a little bit... well. -JM

Sherlock swore, his steady and measured approach to taking the stairs suddenly not feeling anywhere close to good enough. 

How long? -SH

The reply came back almost instantly. 

Four minutes. I'll warn you now, though. Shield your eyes before you go in there. I know a precious virgin like yourself will only find their behaviour... shocking. -JM x

Four minutes. Fuck. Sherlock abandoned his sensible pace and started running, full speed up flight after flight of stairs. When he reached the eighth floor, Sherlock was beginning to lose steam... and then he smelled it. 

John.

Well, more specifically, John in heat. It was as though someone had taken his normal scent and concentrated it a thousand times, before blending it with the most perfect selection of fresh flowers and sex. Sherlock had gotten high on a lot of substances in his time, but this... may have been the most potent. 

"John!" He couldn't help but shout, as his running turned to outright sprinting. Three and a half minutes. He'd read something about reversing bonds before, hadn't he? He must have done. He must have...

"John, I'm coming. Hold on!" He panted, skipping every other step as he climbed. Floor nine. Nine and a half. Ten...

Every step he took plunged him deeper into that intoxicating scent, and for a moment he could barely think. Run, turn, run, turn... His heart thudded in his ears, and sweat dripped down his forehead, but finally he reached John's floor. The eleventh floor. 

Somewhere, he heard a moan, and combined with the potent trail of John's Omega scent, Sherlock found himself making a beeline for a room at the very end of the corridor. Every hair on his body stood up, and he held the gun out in front of him even as he felt the instant arousal of being so close to an Omega in heat. He took a deep breath, and kicked open the door.

 

                                                                                                                    ***

It already felt like an eternity since he felt his Alpha's teeth sink into his neck. Since then, everything had been a beautiful blur. Like he was laying on a cloud, sunlight bathing his skin as the most beautiful Alpha he'd ever seen took care of him. 

Hector was attentive, and gentle. Whilst the man was cleaning his neck, lapping up the blood that spilled, John barely even begged for him. Every time he touched his skin, John felt warm, and when he finally sealed his bond mark John gave him a gentle kiss on the nose, as thanks. 

John was swimming in pleasure. Hector had moved from his neck not long ago, leaving a trail of kisses down his spine, until he reached his hole. John had barely realised how soaked he was, until he felt his Alpha's perfect tongue lapping at it. 

He moaned, in pleasure this time, after a long day of moaning in desperation. He was already thinking of bearing his children, and moving in together... and those thoughts made it incredibly easy to ignore the ache in his chest. Something was not right. But with a man this gentle and beautiful... John might be able to forget.

And then he smelled it. Home. 

John gasped. Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, his Sherlock Holmes. Hector barely noticed, as he continued pressing kisses over John's arse, oblivious, but John was now anything but relaxed. He wriggled in his restraints, chains clattering as he felt himself falling from his little cloud. Sherlock.

Hector noticed his unrest now, and his hands rested on John's hips in an attempt to keep him still. "Shh, sh sh. Relax." He paused, no doubt finally detecting the rival Alpha's scent. "I'll keep you safe." John didn't speak, eyes planted firmly on the door as he heard the familiar sound of Sherlock's footsteps. 

The door flew open with a crash, and then... there he was. Even with a bond wreaking havoc to his body, John found it impossible to ignore just how beautiful his flatmate was. Their eyes met, and a shiver went down John's spine; even though the other man looked worried for him.

There was a lot he wanted to say. But things started moving much too quickly for words.

His neck throbbed as Hector pulled away from John, growling at his new enemy. Sherlock was fast though. Incredibly fast, and John's eyes didn't leave Sherlock's as he raised the gun and fired, hitting Hector in the thigh. The room span, his ears rang, and John's neck throbbed again. It was far worse this time, and he cried out, swearing at the pain. He knew fresh bond-mates were sensitive to each other's pain, but Christ...

Hector writhed on the floor, reaching out for Sherlock's leg... before two men flew in and tackled him, restraining him against the floor. It was all John could do not to cry. He was stuck, treading water in between the man he was quickly binding to, and the man he truly loved.

Luckily for him, Sherlock thought on his feet. And after the day he'd been through, there was no way he could leave this to chance. 

"John... John, can you hear me?" He leaned down, hands cupping his cheeks and bringing his eyes up to meet his again. He spoke without skipping a beat. "I love you."

John was overwhelmed. But even through the pain, and the heat, and his new, existing bond... he managed to smile. "God, I think I'm dreaming. Am I dreaming? I love you t-"

Before John could finish, Sherlock was kissing him, then his nose nuzzled against John's neck... and his teeth sank deep into his skin.

The rush he felt, even compared to Hector's bond bite, was incapacitating. Like the feeling in your stomach as the roller coaster swoops down, mixed with the strongest orgasm you've ever had. John didn't stop mumbling nonsense as Sherlock licked at his neck, thanking him over and over until his words turned into nothingness. 

In the coming weeks, he'd tell Sherlock everything. The moment he fell in love with him, in the flat on a Sunday afternoon last year. He'd tell him about all the times he'd taken a shirt out of Sherlock's washing basket to sleep with, and about how often he blushed at seemingly inconspicuous things Sherlock had said that made him think about how much he loved him.

But for now, all he could do was close his eyes and sigh, content. 

 

                                                                                                              ***

 

It was dark by the time Sherlock finally managed to get John away from the paramedics. After three vials of hormone leveller, a cup of tea and something solid to eat, he was carried into Mycroft's car. Sherlock slid in next to him, and pulled him in close, finding his hand easily as his other arm wrapped around him. He'd never been a particularly big fan of public displays of affection... but he'd already made so many exceptions to his own rules for John Watson. What was one more?

"The... the guy, Hector. He was in the system as a missing person. Brad Johnson. Paramedics said he's been missing from Edinburgh for two years. After some rehabilitation, he'll be sent back to his family." He said, not exactly sure how John would take the news. If it was up to Sherlock, he'd be dead... but he was also extremely aware of how bonding affects one's rational thought. It was something he'd have to get used to, he guessed.

John absentmindedly stroked over the bite mark, on the opposite side to Sherlock's. It still ached, but he smiled. "Double bonding is dangerous, you know."

"I know. I didn't have a choice."

"He could've killed you."

"I know."

John watched him for a moment, before he pressed a kiss to his lips.

"Thank you."

Sherlock scoffed, glancing out the window for a moment, so he didn't have to look at him. "Ten minutes earlier, and I could've stopped him. We could've got Moriarty."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. You know he'd have never allowed that."

Sherlock nodded, but there was no getting rid of the guilt. Just another thing he'd have to get used to.

"I'm sorry, John." He whispered after a moment, kissing the side of his new mate's head. 

"Don't be." Came John's sleepy reply, as he cuddled in closer. Safe at last. 

"I mean it. I'm sorry. I should've been there, protecting you..."

John looked up at him again, a hand reaching out to stroke his jaw. "You're here now. Wasn't your job before. Now it is. Okay?"

Sherlock let out a deep sigh, but it'd been a long day. And really, all he wanted was John to be happy.

"Okay."

 

                                                                                                          ***

 

Jim grinned at his screen, rewinding and pressing play again. Then again. Then again. 

"This is my favourite part, Sebby! Are you watching? Look. Bang! He kicks the door open. Bang! Bullet to the thigh, without even thinking." He shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth, as Sebastian lay on the other side of the bed, refusing to look up from his laptop. 

Jim looked over at his screen with a sigh. "You can't possibly still be angry."

"You fingered John Watson." Seb said, trying not to appear angry, when he was very much still filled with rage. "I smiled at a waiter the other day and you had me kill his dog."

Jim hummed, already bored of their conversation and pressing play on the remote again. "Straight for the neck! God, look at that. Poor Hector. Still, are you impressed?"

Sebastian was silent, tapping away on his laptop. 

"Sebastian. Don't ignore me." Jim used just the right amount of Alpha intimidation in his voice, and his Omega sighed, arms folding against his chest as he regarded him. "Your plan worked flawlessly. We only lost £10,000 in surveillance equipment, and a valuable asset that you spent time, energy and a lot of money on creating that will now tell authorities about the entire ordeal now he has a fucking bullet in his thigh, but yes. Very impressed, Jim. You got your enemies to fuck. Congratulations."

Jim glared, before grabbing the other man's laptop and throwing it against the wall. He let the popcorn spill over the bed as he replaced Seb's laptop with himself, perching in his lap. He grabbed the front of Sebastian's bed-shirt and shoved him against the head of the bed, signature smirk playing on his lips. 

"You need to learn to be nicer to me." He teased, batting his eyelashes. "Or next time, when we really get to have our fun with them, I'll leave you at home. Do you want that?"

Seb watched him, amused for a moment, before he spoke. "Depends. Can I have Sherlock finger me?" 

It was well worth the slap his Alpha gave him, just to see the flash of anger on Jim's face as he climbed off of him, heading to the bathroom to sulk. 

"If there's a crumb of popcorn in that bed when I get back, I'm going to drown you, Moran."

"Yes sir."