Chapter Text
The day Sherlock jumped from Bart’s, John thought his world was over. He’d known other Omegas that hasn’t survived the loss of their Alpha. But John had never been a typical Omega. Even at the funeral, he thought he caught a bit of his Alpha’s scent, but of course when he looked there was no one there. At least his heats had never been that frequent. But the first one he had after Sherlock’s death he spent in misery and heartbreak, using toys in the bed where they had made so much love and his scent still lingered. As soon as the heat was over he moved out.
For the next year he threw himself into work. He could swear sometimes he could still feel Sherlock, like the moon pulling tides. But he’d seen Sherlock die. John chalked it up to the strength of their bond and tried to move on with his life.
In late January he had a particularly vivid dream. It was bitterly cold like only Russia could be. Sherlock walked in the darkness, bundled against the cold, following someone. John cried out as he saw someone about to jump him. Sherlock turned at his cry and knocked the knife from his assailant’s hand. John watched helplessly as three more men moved in on him. Sherlock tried, but they beat him unconscious, one of them picking up the detective, saying something to the others in Russian and tossing him over one shoulder. John woke, bolting to a seat. He put his hand on the bond mark, finding it warm. He shook his head, heart racing. Sherlock was dead. He’d seen him jump. He scrabbled his hands through his hair and went to take a shower, wondering how long his former mate would haunt him.
A year and a half after losing Sherlock, he met Mary. She was a strong Alpha too and he found that attractive, and though he treated her cautiously, the truth was John was lonely. Their relationship grew slowly. Mary seemed willing to respect his grief and take things as slow as he needed to. A few months later, when he started to go into his next heat, he asked Mary to join him. As they climaxed together she marked him, overlapping the bond mark already there.
John lay with her wrapped around him, falling asleep. He reached up and gingerly touched the fresh mark. She hadn’t asked. With Sherlock there had been a long discussion of what the bond meant and if they were willing to take that step. Then again, he had invited her to his heat-bed, he supposed he should have known it would happen.
His stomach lurched as her knot released him. He stumbled into the bathroom and threw up as if trying to empty his stomach of everything he’d eaten the previous three days. He knew, medically, what happened to Omegas that broke their bond. But with Sherlock dead it shouldn’t have been this bad. Still, their bond had always been exceptionally strong. John glanced out the door, not sure if he should wake her or just wait for it to pass. Eventually he crawled back into bed, waiting for the next round to start.
She moved in with him after that. John tried to tell himself he was happy with Mary, but sometimes late at night he’d almost swear he could still hear Sherlock’s heartbeat.
A few months later, John and Mary were walking in the park. John had recently finished another heat, and they were taking advantage of the pleasant weather. John held her hand and tried to smile, wondering why he’d been feeling ill again.
A breeze ruffled his hair. John’s head snapped up, sniffing the air. He let go of Mary’s hand, turning as he smelled it again, unaware Mary was watching closely. There. John stalked across the park, following the impossible scent that made his heart quicken and body warm. A man was sitting on a park bench with a paper, hat pulled low over his eyes, scuffed shoes and worn trousers. As John got closer he started to get up and move away.
“Sherlock.” John called his name through gritted teeth. The scent was far stronger than any disguise; he would know it anywhere. His heart pounded in his chest, half-hoping he was wrong, hardly daring to hope he was right.
Sagging, Sherlock waited, pale eyes watching him. John stopped a few feet in front of him, hands fisted. His Alpha’s scent filled him, made his heart ache. Sherlock stared at him, then over his shoulder at Mary. “You…bonded.”
“You died. I saw you die.” Mary stepped closer to John, but her scent was nothing compared to Sherlock’s.
Sherlock sniffed the air. His face fell for a moment, quickly covered up. “Congratulations,” he said stiffly.
“What?”
“You are with child.” Sherlock looked at Mary again before taking a step back. John started to reach for him, just wanting to touch, to assure himself he wasn’t insane. Instead hestepped farther back. “I will not interfere,” he said. John caught the tremble in his voice. Turning on his heel Sherlock hurried away.
John sat heavily on the bench. Mary held his arm. There was still traces of Sherlock on the cold wood. “I could be pregnant,” said John quietly
Mary kissed his cheek and squeezed his arm possessively. “Let’s go home.”
Still reeling, John nodded and stood. “Still early, but I can get checked.” He glanced back the way Sherlock had gone. “I need to know why.”
“Of course you want to know why your Alpha abandoned you.”
John nodded and squeezed her hand.
“Invite him over for supper. We can talk about this like civilized folk.”
“Good idea.” John gave a small smile and kissed Mary.
When they got home, Mary took him almost straight to bed. Her scent drove Sherlock's further back in his mind, but it wasn't her he was thinking of when she bit down on the bond mark as she came. She ran her hands through his hair as they lay together. "He abandoned you, but I never will." She curled around him, still knotted together, and stroked the fine hair on his belly. "You're going to have my child." John wove his fingers through hers, wondering about the life growing inside of him.
"I love you," she said in his ear.
John didn't answer, just squeezed her hand.
Later that night though, when Mary was asleep, John stood in front of the bathroom mirror. He pulled the collar of his shirt to the side. Mary’s bond mark was still fresh, but beneath that lay the larger mark that would not fade. He closed his eyes and held onto the cool counter, listening to a heart beat across London, still much louder than the one in his bed.