Chapter Text
John watched Sherlock with an unending patience that surprised the consulting detective even after a total of eight years. John was leaning against the counter, a cup of tea in his right hand that he occasionally sipped whenever Sherlock began writhing in heat. This was an agreement they’d come to. After so many years of taking repressants, Sherlock had finally stopped taking them at least six months ago, much to John’s appreciation. It was unlike Sherlock to let John see him in any vulnerable state. Usually, it was normal for the omega to dominate the room whilst at a crime scene and John usually watched right beside his detective, giving his opinion when needed because it was Sherlock who knew what was best in these situations. As an alpha, John had an impossible sense of patience, something almost all alphas absolutely did not have. John attributed it to his days in the war, learning immense self control was of utmost importance when alphas couldn’t control their damn impulses around an omega, especially when their heat came to fruition.
It was what drew Sherlock to John and the detective knew this. At first, he deduced that John might be a beta what with the amount of self control he had. Most alphas had to make themselves known in a room, especially in a room full of omegas. It was all about dominance to most alphas. Power, control, and breeding. For a very long time, Sherlock swore to himself that he would live out the rest of his years alone than belong to some imbecile alpha.
Then, John.
Of course everything changed after John because Sherlock’s controlled life flipped onto an entirely different axis where Sherlock was forced to look at things through a more humane observation. It didn’t take Sherlock very long to fall in love with John and abhor the man at the same time for making him feel anything akin to love. But somehow, as sure as he was married to his work, Sherlock became espoused to the army doctor as well. Sherlock found himself making space for John, physically, emotionally, and mentally. He noted he would make two cups of tea instead of one. He held doors open for John rather than rushing off to the next location. He considered John’s well-being before his own. The man even had his own room in Sherlock’s mind palace. Everything was John and, one day, Sherlock awoke to a realisation that he didn’t care anymore.
John looked at Sherlock now, this impossible and brilliant man who was now causing a wet spot to pool on the leather couch below him, his curls matted down by sweat. John thought that Sherlock couldn’t look anymore beautiful than he was now, but the doctor knew that was impossible.
They’d had an agreement, John recalled, where Sherlock said: When I get my first heat, I want to feel it. All of it. The emptiness, the need, the burn. I want to know what it’s like. John...I want you to be there to watch. To tell me what to do. Then, when I am at my wit’s end, when I can’t take it anymore....I want you to take me. Knot me. When I say it, you’ll know. Don’t give into me until I say it, John.
John readjusted himself in his chair, his cock already hard from the pheromones in the air and the sight from Sherlock alone. The tea was the only thing John knew would calm him down and prevent him from giving into his baser instincts to breed and fuck and own.
“Sherlock,” John spoke for the first time in what felt like hours
Sherlock’s head immediately snapped over to where John was sitting and his eyes clouded over in confusion as if he’d forgotten John was there.
“Bedroom. Now.”
Sherlock nodded and rose onto shaky hands before pulling himself off of the couch. With trembling steps, the detective made his way down the hall to their bedroom. John set his mug down onto the side table next to his chair and followed behind Sherlock silently, feeling like a predator trying to catch its prey.
John shut them into the room where Sherlock was now standing, fiddling with the hem of his ratty, grey t-shirt.
“Strip,” John ordered softly, slowly rounding Sherlock as he quickly pulled his shirt off, then his pajama bottoms. “Touch your toes.” John murmured, careful not to touch the detective in any way that would set him off. Sherlock swiftly leaned over, showing the slick dripping down the back of his thighs. A growl rose from the base of John’s throat, but he pushed it down and took a deep breath. “Good, Sherlock,” John finally let his hand drift down the contours of Sherlock’s spine, eliciting a sharp intake a breath from the man below him. “You’re so good for me.”
“John... please. ” Sherlock gasped, trying to push his hips back against John. With quick movement, John pulled back so that Sherlock touched nothing but air. A whine left the detective’s mouth, then a frustrated groan.
“You’re not at your wit’s end quite yet, Sherlock. Lie on the bed for me. On your stomach.”
Without another word, Sherlock gave a nod and climbed onto the mattress, his alabaster skin standing out against the silk sheets. John let out a shaky breath and began to undress. Sherlock watched over his shoulder through widened eyes. When John removed his pants, Sherlock began to grind his hips into the bed.
“ Please. Give it to me.” Sherlock gasped.
John grabbed a pillow. “Hips up,” and Sherlock followed, letting his alpha put pillow under his hips so that Sherlock would have something to grind against. John also knew it was a simply a torture device–that Sherlock would never be able to come alone from grinding against a pillow no matter how wound up he was. Not in a heat.
Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as he settled, then his breaths turned panicked as he began to realise what John had just done. His hips couldn’t stop grinding, even if he had wanted them to stop. With each thrust, a gush of slick pushed out of Sherlock’s hole until the pillow below him was wet enough for the sound to resonate off of the walls.
“ John...ungh. God, please. John. Please. Fuck me. ”
John watched, enraptured and hungry at the sight below him. He absolutely wanted to devour the man below him, make him his. And it would be so simple if he just leaned down and spread Sherlock open for him…
John shook it out of his head, pushing the alpha in him back into a corner, no matter how much with each wave of slick that left Sherlock had John feeling as if he was being driven mad.
Sherlock was still grinding against the pillow below him, sobs being punched from his throat. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and onto the sheets below him. But there was no sign of Sherlock coming close to a stop. His knuckles had turned white from clenching the sheets in his fists, his hips doing quick and sensuous thrusts against the pillow, following his baser instincts to keep going and don’t stop.
John held back a moan and began rounding the bed to look his omega in his eyes. He could see the veins straining against Sherlock’s pale hands, his curls were wet from his sweating, and his verdigris eyes– wet with tears–were entirely unfocused as if Sherlock was lost somewhere within himself, nowhere to be found.
“God,” John gasped upon seeing Sherlock entirely lose control.
With each thrust, Sherlock released short, baritone grunts until his entire body was trembling. His jaw was set and, with every other push of the pillow against his cock, Sherlock would release a shaky wail that resonated within John’s head, a sound he would keep and store with him forever.
Then, Sherlock’s eyes met his. Verdigris to midnight blue. And Sherlock didn’t look away. His hips continued to slam against the pillow, shoving his cock against the material.
“ John. ” it was all Sherlock said, but it was enough for John feel most of his control leave. A growl punched its way out of Sherlock’s throat and Sherlock’s eyes rolled back with a tortured, broken moan. “Knot me. Do it.”
That was the only cue John needed, rounding Sherlock’s body until he stood in between the man’s long, pale legs. John pulled himself onto the bed and spread Sherlock open for him.
Take. Fuck. Knot.
John pushed his cock deep into Sherlock’s hole without any preamble.
Sherlock came immediately with a muffled scream.
His cock shot out endless streams of come and John continued, surging into Sherlock as if he were trying to climb inside the man himself. Sherlock rose his hips to meet every thrust, his head turned so that he could see John better. Then, John pulled out and swiftly turned Sherlock onto his back. His hips and torso were nearly covered in his own slick, but his cock was still hard against his stomach. John thrust back into his omega, leaving Sherlock breathless. Now, there was no space in between them. John’s forehead pressed against Sherlock’s, their eyes never leaving one another’s as John began to roll his hips to slam against Sherlock’s prostate on every thrust.
Sherlock’s hands scrabbled up to grab John’s face as if holding the alpha in place as moans fell from his lips like a litany of prayers.
John could feel his knot forming at the base of his cock and began slamming into Sherlock harder, eliciting the most carnal sounds from the both of them.
“ Yes, John . John, John. Please, knot me. Make me yours.” Sherlock sobbed as John’s knot began pushing past his rim, making Sherlock feel he was being ripped in half.
John’s fingers wrapped into Sherlock’s curls, tilting his head back, and sank his teeth into the pale skin. With a shattering scream, Sherlock came forcefully, his hole taking in John’s knot. John growled lowly as his cock emptied itself into Sherlock, his hips trembling with the force of it. Then, John was pulling back to run his tongue along Sherlock’s bite to ease the pain.
They were still for a very long time, Sherlock’s breathing slowing back to normal despite the mini orgasms his body forced him into upon John’s knot being pressed directly against his prostate.
When their eyes met, John saw that Sherlock was still crying.
“Did I hurt you?” John asked, concerned.
“Of course not,” Sherlock scoffed, leaving out his usual don’t be ridiculous. “You were perfect, John. Absolutely perfect.” he leaned up so that John could meet him halfway in a kiss. Their lips molded together, much like their bodies, leaving them both breathless. Sherlock’s body trembled with the movement and gazed up at John with a fondness the doctor didn’t think would stop surprising him. “Thank you.” Sherlock murmured.
“Anytime.” John smiled, kissing the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, then his lips. “Anything for you.”