Rolling in the Deep (10/?)
Rolling in the Deep
Title: Rolling in the DeepSeries: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part III of IV)
Author:
melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but they aren't. Nor am I creative enough to have written the song that gave this instalment its title. That belongs to Adele, and whomever else had IP rights along side her.
Author's Notes: Evening everyone. Sorry about last week, but due to personal circumstances I wasn't able to update. Don't worry, you won't be shorted. This week there will be two chapters instead. As always, feel free to point out typos etc. that I have inevitably missed and I'll go back and edit them. Thanks to theartofprose for reading over this. Mistakes still in are definitely still mine.
I know there was other things that I was meant to say, but I have forgotten them.
Warnings: Sex, if I still need to warn for that. Fully consensual for once, if anyone's wondering.
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Chapter 1: Introduction - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11
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John was fresh out of the shower and making tea when the doorbell rang. Given the unsociable hour of the morning, he was willing to lay bets on who was on the other side of the door and why, so he sighed and clicked the kettle off, going down to answer it.
It was Mycroft, not Greg, so he’d got that wrong, but his bundled up nephew, awake and grumpy-looking in Mycroft’s arms, meant he’d at least got the why his door was being knocked on so early portion correct. If Mycroft looked disapproving at the sight of John in his dressing gown, towel still slung over his shoulders, well, frankly John saw that as his brother-in-law’s problem, not his.
“Good morning, John.” Mycroft dropped the baby bag over John’s arm before he’d managed to pull it back from opening the door. “Gregory will be back to collect him around five thirty.”
John hiked the baby bag up onto his shoulder, but crossed his arms making it impossible for Mycroft to follow through with his attempt to shove Ben into John’s arms before diving for the car.
“I have work today,” John remarked mildly. “I start in an hour, as you’re aware, and won’t be home until five thirty myself-if I’m lucky.”
Mycroft looked bewildered at the fact that John wasn’t holding the baby yet.
“Mrs Potts is ill.” He tried to hold Ben out to John again, the motion aborting as John made no move to accept his five week old nephew.
“So I gathered from the fact you’re here at seven thirty in the morning.” John commented non-committedly. “I have work.”
John would end up taking Ben and working out something with Mrs Hudson to keep an eye on Sherlock keeping an eye on Ben; that he knew. It was why he was still holding the baby bag. On the other hand, he was also aware, however, of the need to press home the fact that they were not always going to be available for babysitting and that at the very least they should be given notice and asked. From the fact that it hadn’t even occurred to Mycroft and Greg that maybe they couldn’t-or wouldn’t-take Ben, John knew his concerns over becoming the official unofficial nanny were well founded. As sweet as his nephew was, this needed to be nipped in the bud now as it would only get worse once Mrs Pott’s temporary London stay ended.
“Well, I can’t take him to work with me.” Mycroft sounded agitated.
His vowels and consonants were particularly crisp, and he looked just a little bit nervous.
As adorable as the thought of Ben in a playpen tucked into the corner of Mycroft’s office and throwing his toys at important diplomats was, it was also a slightly scary concept and a security nightmare.
“Well, in the future you might want to arrange for a sitter then.” John smiled, arms still firmly crossed, leaning on the door frame.
At this point he really was just tormenting Mycroft because he could, a fact John rather thought Mycroft knew and was becoming increasingly frustrated by. It addictive sweet, because even though Mycroft knew what John was doing, he was unable to push his point without possibly driving John to an outright no. It was an uncommon occurrence that John got the upper hand like this, and he was determined to enjoy it.
“Doctor Watson, I really must-”
The sound of someone up and moving around filtered down from upstairs, creaking floor boards and the wheezing groan of ancient copper pipes - Sherlock finally awake.
“John?” Sherlock called out, from the corridor into the kitchen John guessed.
John reached for Ben, ignoring the triumphant smirk breaking out on Mycroft’s face. Sherlock was not body shy. He’d frequently walked around the flat in nothing more than a sheet before they were lovers, and he would have no problems coming down to see why John was at the door without anything on. Sherlock tended towards horny in the mornings and while he wouldn’t care about giving his brother a full frontal view of his morning erection, John would be more than a little embarrassed. If cutting short his pissing contest with Mycroft was the price for Sherlock not bounding down the stairs buck naked then cut it short John would.
“John where are you? You should have stayed in bed; I wanted to-”
“Sherlock, your nephew’s here,” John interrupted, calling up the stairs as quietly as possible to try not to disturb Mrs Hudson and hoping it might stop Sherlock coming down.
The flurry of footsteps thundering down the stairs made John wince for Mrs Hudson, but he had at least donned, and even sloppily tied, a dressing gown.
“Morning Abernathy. You’re with us today?” Sherlock headed straight for Ben and lifted the baby out of John’s arms. “Mycroft. You’re showered. Why have you showered? Oh, dull, work. Call the surgery and stay with Abernathy and I.”
“I’m not calling in,” John repeated the almost daily rebuke. “I’m already their least reliable doctor!”
“Then quit! I’ve told you, you don’t need it. We’ve got more than enough money.” Sherlock’s attention was almost entirely on his nephew, carrying on their familiar argument by rote.
“You’ve got plenty of money, and that’s not the only reason I work.” John sighed, knowing the grunt in acknowledgement merely meant Sherlock was distracted by more interesting things, not that the topic might finally be put to rest.
“Fine. Ben and I will begin his education then. It will be much easier without all the idiocy in the room.” Sherlock headed up the stairs without another word.
“Edu - Sherlock, what are you-?! Bye Mycroft! Sherlock!” John practically shut the door on Mycroft’s nose, before hurrying up the stairs after his erratic Sub.
“Nothing you’d disapprove of,” Sherlock paused in the doorway to 221B and abruptly shoved Ben into John’s arms, before heading swiftly down the corridor towards the bathroom.
“Sherlock?” John frowned, peering down the corridor at the stark, closed, white door. . “Sherlock, you okay?”
“Fine,” the deep baritone snapped back.
John shrugged at Ben. “He’s as irritable as usual, that’s for sure. Okay, that’s two of us I’d better get ready for the day I suppose.”
Ben blinked at him, grumpy sleepy face clearly indicating his preference for sleep over getting ready to do anything remotely active.
Mycroft hadn’t brought the baby carrier, so with nothing to lie Ben in, John improvised with some blankets on the lounge floor. If they were going to keep babysitting, John was going to make Mycroft spring for a playpen and a basket. 221B was in no way baby friendly.
Apparently deeming his nest satisfactory-or too tired to care-Ben settled in straight away, leaving John to mourn his lack of morning tea. because kettles and sleeping babies didn’t mix.
He’d managed breakfast by the time Sherlock emerged from the bathroom.
“You okay?” John asked.
Sherlock nodded, slumping into his chair at the table.
“It’s just if you’ve got any kind of gastro thing, Mrs Hudson should probably mind Ben. We don’t need him getting it. There’s probably the death penalty for that.” John frowned at him, resting his knife on the side of his plate as he watched for any hint of illness in Sherlock’s face.
“Don’t be daft,” Sherlock dismissed him with a flick of his fingers. “I feel fine. I did do right up until that, and I do now.”
John pressed his wrist against Sherlock’s forehead, ignoring the disgusted noise of protest at his methods.
“Well, you don’t have a fever at all. If you start feeling ill, let Mrs Hudson take Ben, okay?”
“Yes, Doctor.” Sherlock pulled away from John’s wrist and picked birdlike at the slice of toast John passed over. Seeing John’s concerned look, he rolled his eyes. “I’m still full from yesterday, not sick.”
Sherlock had certainly eaten a lot the day before. More than John really, so he didn’t say anything, just dropped a kiss to the inky curls and went to dress for work.
“We’ll need to do some proper baby proofing at some point,” John said once he’d changed, as he shrugged on his jacket.
Sherlock grunted in that ‘Sure, but I’m not going to help’ way he had, still occupied with shredding his toast more than eating it.
“I’ll see you later.” John shook his head with the usual fond exasperation he usually left in.
He really was lucky he found Sherlock’s sulky petulance adorable, or else their lives would be hellish.
As he turned to leave, he was interrupted by the scrape of Sherlock’s chair in the kitchen, causing John to wait as Sherlock sulkily meandered over and folded himself gracefully onto his knees, with his face upturned. Smiling, John leant to press a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips.
“Love you too,” he whispered. “I’ll see you after work.”
The clinic was the same as ever, red noses and repetitive diagnoses of colds with parents refusing to accept that there was nothing he could give them. One mother annoyed him so much he scrawled out a prescription for chicken soup, after which she stormed out in a huff, child in tow.
After his shift John made sure to leave as soon as he could, not willing to do extra paperwork when he didn’t know how much mischief Sherlock had managed at home. It would be just his luck that after a day of flu at the surgery he’d go home to find both his lover and his nephew sick with it at home.
Sherlock was stretched out on the couch when John got home, with Ben napping on his chest. If not for the hand lazily fanning the two of them with a bill, John would have thought Sherlock was napping too.
The fierce loving need he kept buried as deep as possible made one of its increasingly frequent breaks for freedom, bubbling to the surface in almost painful up swells of emotion at the sight of Sherlock, three buttons undone, with Ben trucked up under his chin, arm holding him in place. Their baby, John inwardly vowed, unable to move in the face of so much. One day he would come home to this same scene only it would be their baby Sherlock would be tenderly cradling, not their nephew.
God he wanted that.
“Evening,” John choked out; not bothering to hide how much the sight was affecting him. One flick of a mercurial eye and Sherlock would know anyway.
The eyes stayed closed, but a tight smile pulled at the corner of Sherlock’s lips and his right hand did a funny wave, seeming to invite John closer. John took the invitation, seating himself on the coffee table and momentarily stilling Sherlock’s hand so he could drop a kiss to his wrist.
Up close Sherlock’s skin listened with a fine layer of sweat, and John sighed in his head. Evidently whatever Sherlock had caught wasn’t so easily passed through his system and of course he hadn’t let Mrs Hudson mind Ben.
“How is he?” John asked, running a gentle finger along Ben’s clothed back.
“Good.” Sherlock rumbled, almost inaudibly. “Still excessively fond of naps.”
“That’ll be true for a while yet, I’m afraid.” John smiled.
He pushed to standing and dropped a kiss to Sherlock’s curls, noting the slight humidity to his hair that suggested he’d had a low grade fever.
“I’ll get his stuff packed. Greg’ll be here soon.” John pushed away from the couch, ignoring Sherlock’s non-committal hum.
“No new cases today then?” He called from the kitchen trying to keep his voice quiet enough not to disturb Ben.
“Couple of fives.” Sherlock replied, flapping his make shift fan dismissively. “Nothing worth troubling about at the minute.”
“Nothing more from that serial killer then?” John located one of the missing baby socks under the sink. He didn’t really want to know how it got there.
“Apparently not.” Sherlock sounded annoyed, as though the failure to murder another person on some kind of useful schedule was a personal inconvenience.
“It’s been ages since the last body.”
“A couple of months.” John scolded. “That’s not ages.”
“Not even officially a serial killer yet.” Sherlock groused from the couch.
“Just think,” John dropped the baby bag by the door, “it gives you more free time with Ben.”
“True.” Sherlock chucked. “Did you know he blinks at approximately-”
“Thought I said no experiments?” Greg cheerfully interrupted from the door.
Sherlock scowled. “It wasn’t an experiment. It was data collection.”
“Yeah, but I know you.” Greg shouldered the bag and waggled a finger in Sherlock’s direction. “Today data, tomorrow drawing blood for tests.”
Sherlock sniffed disdainfully and rose with almost his usual grace. It was a little off, John noticed, but that could have just been the addition of a napping baby, who did, miraculously, stay asleep.
“Oh you’ll be up half the night now, won’t you?” Greg crooned, accepting the bundle.
Ben yawned and snuffled a little before deciding sleep was still the better option.
“I’ll get the door for you.” John volunteered, avoiding the squeaky steps as much as he was able on the way down.
“Thanks.” Greg followed slowly after. “We shouldn’t need to impose tomorrow. It was just a twenty-four hour flu or something, but thanks for helping out.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just remember: notice works wonders.” John opened the door as Greg finally made it to the bottom.
“Sorry, yeah, course.” Greg shook his head. “Guess we can’t complain you’re not here if you’re not.”
“Nope, and I take enough time of work for my own five year old, thanks.” John shared a grin with Greg over the top of Ben’s head.
“About that,” Greg hitched the baby bag a bit higher on his shoulder. “Any chance…”
John tried not to look too amused as Greg flushed an obvious rouge.
“Date night coming up?” He teased mercilessly.
“No, the opposite, ish.” Greg winced. “Any, um, chance you can ask Sherlock not to, you know, deduce… stuff… in front of Ben? Or teach him to, you know, tell?”
John must have looked as confused about Greg thinking Mycroft wouldn’t be teaching Ben deductions as he felt because Greg went a deeper shade of red and mumbled “You know, sex stuff” as clarification.
“Oh.” John shut his mouth with a click.
It was a little cruel, but it was too hard not to smirk at the desperation flowing across Greg’s face.
“Please, John. I’m going to have a hard enough time regulating age appropriate deducing; you have to help me with this. My won’t ask because he thinks Sherlock will just teach Ben to do it out of spite, and-”
“I’ll talk to him, relax.” John chucked. “It’s not like I want to know either after all.”
“Thank you.” Greg heaved a huge sigh of relief. “I owe you.”
“You already owe me two days of babysitting, to say the least.” He waved Greg out the door. “Go on, take him home before he wakes up.”
“All night.” Greg groaned. “He’ll be up all night. I haven’t had a decent sleep in ages.”
It would have been a more complaint if everything about Greg hadn’t been positively radiating joy and contentment.
Squashing the bitter envy trying to rear its head and not really succeeding, John trooped back up the stairs, footsteps heavy, but at least not uneven. It was hard, having Ben around, but not excruciatingly painful like the idea of him had once been. Not now they were on the same page, he and Sherlock.
Sherlock, who was pacing the living room with an agitated frenzy, running his hands through his hair and randomly breaking off to drag fingers down his arms or squeeze his biceps tight. He looked, John thought, like a junkie desperate for the next fix, twitching uncontrollably as he whirled around the room unable to stay still.
“I’m clean.” Sherlock snapped at him.
“I know.” John replied without even thinking about it.
He did know, had seen Sherlock’s recent run of blood tests, and even if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have thought Sherlock was using. He trusted him.
“How do you feel?” He asked, finally settling on it as the question least likely to get them into a screaming match.
“I don’t-” Sherlock pivoted and headed to the fireplace, gripping it tight, left foot jittery.
“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I just can’t… I can’t concentrate on…”
“You seemed calmer a few minutes ago.” John watched his Sub in the mirror, the mounting frustration as Sherlock couldn’t work out what his body wanted writ large across his face. “Has it been like this all day?”
“Yes,” Sherlock growled waspishly. “No. Most of it. Ben, Ben helped. When I was holding him, it helped.”
“Can I help?” John asked patiently. It has been some time since he’d seen Sherlock’s mind spin out of control to the point he almost couldn’t think like this, but it had happened before during droughts of cases or quitting cigarettes, again. “Do you need me to put you under?”
“I need, I need, I need… you.” Sherlock’s head snapped up, gaze locking onto John in the mirror. “You.”
He pushed off the mantle and had crossed the room in two bounding steps, shoving John against the narrow strip of wall between the doorways.
“You.” Sherlock growled harshly into John’s mouth. “I need you, that’s what I need. Your cock.”
John passively let Sherlock plunder his mouth, taking the opportunity to secretly test his temperature. He was warm, but not feverishly so, and his skin wasn’t so damp John thought he’d had a fever break during the day despite the sheen of sweat.
“If you’re quite satisfied.” Sherlock sniped, biting John’s lip painfully in aggression.
John yelped, pushing Sherlock off him and forcing him to his knees. Sherlock followed John’s unspoken demands, legs collapsing under him in what seemed like relief after only the slightest hint of pressure. Down there, John jerked his misbehaving love’s chin up, struggling to hold his own growl to a low grumble.
“That,” he glared angrily at Sherlock , “hurt.”
Sherlock had the grace to look slightly guilty, but as he did so often he covered it quickly with a sulky glare. His eyes were glazed and he was working the petulant pout like only he could, determined to get what he wanted - in this case John.
John wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t thrown Sherlock over the couch already and fucked him. Mostly concern for his health, rapidly dwindling under Sherlock’s pleading gaze.
The Omega’s tongue peeked out, swiping purposefully over his full lower lip. Stuff it, John decided in a rush, he was going over the couch.
“Behave or it won’t be a punishment you’ll enjoy,” he warned.
Sherlock’s dark bushy brow rose in a challenging arc - make me.
”I mean it.” John squeezed Sherlock’s chin, still cradled in his left hand. “I can take you down without sex.”
“I don’t need - Fine! Anything, just hurry up and fuck me.”
John hauled him upright, Sherlock stumbling slightly as John roughly shoved him, not providing any of the subtle help he usually gave. . Long legs off balance, it was all too easy to have Sherlock over to the couch and spun around before he’d managed to regain his poise.
Kissing Sherlock Holmes never got stale. Sometimes it was over powering, sometimes demanding, sometimes totally submissive. Every now and then it was placid or even totally vacant, Sherlock having wondered off into his mind palace leaving his body running on autopilot. Never the same, always an experience.
Today he was caught off guard so it started relaxed, but quickly morphed into frenzied snogging, Sherlock trying every filthy trick he could manage to move them along faster.
It was certainly working. John had been fighting low level arousal since Sherlock had jumped him, and it never really took much to get him in the mood for Sherlock. He was thickening out at a rapid rate and his love’s dedicated attention was only making his trousers tighter.
Impatient to move on, Sherlock’s hands tugged John’s belt out of its loops and pushed his trousers off his hips. John let him, it had been getting a little cramped, and what Sherlock needed seemed less about going under and more that he was just desperate for sex, so he could let his Sub set the pace a bit. He did stop the presumptuous hand that wrapped about him.
“Fine.” Sherlock broke out of the kiss and pulled away, shimmying out of his trousers with the speed of the well-practiced before practically throwing himself over the arm of the couch.
Unable to resist, John smacked the pale globes of flesh, just once, in warning. He let Sherlock get away with a lot, but he was still in charge.
The motion ground Sherlock’s erection against the couch and he whined in approval, moving slightly so his arse was even higher in the air. Obligingly, and because he loved to watch the way Sherlock’s bottom wobbled under his blows, John delivered another smack to the other arse cheek.
“What’s got into you all of a sudden?” He asked, leaning over the warm ivory skin to root around in the sofa cushions for lube.
He’d started stashing lube everywhere when he and Sherlock had first started out, still obsessed with the idea of christening every room in the house. They’d done that now, but since Mrs Hudson had already learnt not to walk in without knocking and Sherlock kept looking all too appealing at random times at random rooms, John kept replacing the lube. It made Mrs Hudson a little flustered whenever she found a stash while cleaning, but other than some embarrassed fluttering and a secretly pleased smile, she made no protest.
The tube was getting low, he noted, but there was enough to thoroughly coat his fingers. At the first press Sherlock gave a rumbly purr and arched up like a cat, pressing John further in than he’d intended to start and loving it.
“Easy,” John dropped kisses and light nips down the wiry muscles. “Get sore now and I won’t be able to fuck you properly later.”
“You’d better!” Sherlock hissed, breaking with a little cry as John deliberately twisted his fingers in the exact way he knew Sherlock loved.
John chuckled into Sherlock’s shoulder blade, repeating the action at Sherlock’s angry growl.
“Hurry up!” Sherlock groused, working himself back on John’s fingers as John tried to pull them back. “Get in me already.”
John didn’t reply, continuing the slow stretch. Aggravated by the pace, Sherlock’s responses were becoming increasingly demanding, his annoyance plain in every grunt.
“For God’s sake, John, I’m not glass.” Sherlock snapped as John carefully worked a third finger. “Just fucking fuck me! Now!”
Patience over the limit, John immediately withdrew his hand, moving far enough back Sherlock would notice the space between them.
“Manners.” He barked. “Or would you prefer a time out?”
“No, no, please.” The bravado gone, Sherlock sounded panicked.
“You are out of line and you know it.” John frowned, not touching his squirming Sub.
“Please,” Sherlock pleaded as he wiggled desperately, unable to stay still. “Please! I need you in me.”
“I’m not sure you can behave. I should leave you until you remember who’s in charge here.”
“You are, Captain, please!” Sherlock begged. “Please, I really - please.”
Sherlock really did sound frantic, pleading the way he was with tears already shot through his voice. John had never seen him like this, ever. He’d seen Sherlock out of control and out of his head, he’d seen him tired, grumpy and all combinations angry and annoyed, but this… this was different. This wasn’t a Sub needing a break from the world; it was something else.
“Please.”
The sob was enough to kick John into action. Whatever was wrong, he’d give Sherlock what he thought he needed and reprimand him later.
“Behave,” he whispered into the dark hair, “or I will make you wait.”
“Captain, yes, please.”
John positioned himself over Sherlock, slathered on a touch more lube, and dove straight in.
“Yes!” Sherlock arched up, eyes closed in bliss.
John thrust again, withdrawing just enough to circle his hips as he plunged back in.
“Harder, p-please.” Sherlock stuttered.
If Sherlock wanted to be pounded, John could certainly do that. Grabbing his hips for leverage, John slammed back in, followed immediately by another thrust just as strong.
“Yes, yes!” Sherlock chanted breathlessly. “Just a little more, please, just a little more.”
John kept going, establishing a brutal pace that they’d both feel when this was over.
“Deeper, please.” Sherlock begged pushing back to meet John’s cock. “A little deeper… Need.”
“Can’t get any deeper, ‘lock.” John panted, unable to talk and keep up the ferocious thrusts.
“Please!” Sherlock begged, clawing at the couch.
“Touch yourself.” John ordered, voice almost lost in his gasp for air.
Whimpering Sherlock obeyed, coming almost instantly against the dark leather. John began to slow, expecting that to be the end of it, but Sherlock gave a plaintive cry and tried to speed them back up.
John was vaguely aware that Sherlock should be super sensitive, but he was getting too close to his own end to dedicate much thought to it. Instead of the rhythmic slide into the moist tight grip of Sherlock’s passage and the beautiful pleading sobs for more, more, more, more were doing a very thorough job of driving John beyond rational control, everything condensing down to the snap of his hips, the velvet drag and the warmth building in his groin.
It wouldn’t be long, couldn’t be long. He was beginning to feel the almost fierce drive that surfaced when he denied himself too long, just hovering on the edge without falling over. Almost there, almost there.
Sherlock thrust back against him, whimpering gorgeously with his eyes closed and neck arched. The visual was enough - one, two and John buried himself deep, riding the flash of white noise while his nerves sang.
“No, no” Sherlock mumbled, still attempting to rock his hips and keep them going.
All his attempts did was pull John’s rapidly softening cock out, leaving him whimpering and grinding himself against his Dom’s groin.
“Please, John. So empty, please.”
Wincing slightly, John shifted back and pulled Sherlock down with him so they were seated leaning against the clean portion of the couch. Sherlock immediately clambered onto his lap, kissing and fondling him as though he could bring John back up by sheer dint of will.
“Stop that.” John flinched and caught Sherlock’s wrist.
Sherlock may not have been feeling over sensitive in the wake of their orgasms, but he was.
“Need it. Please, John, I need more.” Sherlock begged, attempting to shake off John’s hand so he could continue.
“What’s up with you?” John stared at him, pinning Sherlock where he was as his Sub attempted to slide off John’s lap to use his mouth instead. “I don’t know why you’re so horny, love, but you’ll have to wait. It’s not Heat, I can’t just…”
John trailed off, eyes licking over the writing body held tight against his own as ideas formed and worked their way out into the open.
He’d been slow, he realised, putting the pieces together. They’d all been right there in front of his face, he just hadn’t paid attention. He had seen Sherlock like this, but the only time he’d seen Sherlock this desperate for sex without any real submissive drive was during Estrus, and it wasn’t a sign he usually relied on to clue him in. The pheromones usually took care of that.
All the other early biological flags were there too: gorging himself the day before, then picking at food that day; the morning bathroom rush as his body cleared out in preparation for days of rutting; the way his condition had deteriorated rapidly once they’d started sex, even the need to keep Ben close to function, the presence of a new born redirecting the hormones into a caring rather than sexual role.
Sherlock whined, pressing his forehead into John’s neck.
“Sherlock, ‘lock, listen, no, I need you to listen to me.” John freed up one hand, attempting to pull Sherlock back enough to see his face, despite his Omega’s determination to stay nestled in the crock of his Alpha’s neck. “’Lock, you’re having some kind of pseudo-Heat.”
There was no verbal response, just Sherlock panting into his shoulder.
“Sherlock? I think we’ve discovered a side effect of the injection they gave you at the appointment.” John stroked Sherlock’s sweaty curls, trying to help calm him. “Love-”
“Yes, John, I understood the first time.” Sherlock snapped at him, his harsh words undercut by the whimpering whine that hadn’t gone away since the wave of need had kicked in. “I just… I need…”
“I know, love, but you’re not putting out any pheromones. All hormones. Sherlock, I won’t be able to…”
John trailed off, holding is Sub close as he convulsed and gave a choked off sob.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, kissing Sherlock’s curls.
He then pushed him off his lap as gently as possible, clambering stiffly to his feet. Offering Sherlock a hand, he drew him up to trembling feet. Unusually Sherlock was more reminiscent of a young colt on unsteady legs than a graceful predatory cat.
“Come on, love. Bedroom.” He whispered, guiding Sherlock with a hand in the small of his back. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise.”
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Previous - next
Title: Rolling in the DeepSeries: Still Waters (Run Deep) (Part III of IV)
Author:
melody_in_time
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Through S1 only
Disclaimer: I wish they were mine, but they aren't. Nor am I creative enough to have written the song that gave this instalment its title. That belongs to Adele, and whomever else had IP rights along side her.
Author's Notes: Evening everyone. Sorry about last week, but due to personal circumstances I wasn't able to update. Don't worry, you won't be shorted. This week there will be two chapters instead. As always, feel free to point out typos etc. that I have inevitably missed and I'll go back and edit them. Thanks to theartofprose for reading over this. Mistakes still in are definitely still mine.
I know there was other things that I was meant to say, but I have forgotten them.
Warnings: Sex, if I still need to warn for that. Fully consensual for once, if anyone's wondering.
If you've wondered here by mistake, you may wish to start at Part I of the series, Rarest of the Rare: Chapter 1.
Chapter 1: Introduction - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11
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John was fresh out of the shower and making tea when the doorbell rang. Given the unsociable hour of the morning, he was willing to lay bets on who was on the other side of the door and why, so he sighed and clicked the kettle off, going down to answer it.
It was Mycroft, not Greg, so he’d got that wrong, but his bundled up nephew, awake and grumpy-looking in Mycroft’s arms, meant he’d at least got the why his door was being knocked on so early portion correct. If Mycroft looked disapproving at the sight of John in his dressing gown, towel still slung over his shoulders, well, frankly John saw that as his brother-in-law’s problem, not his.
“Good morning, John.” Mycroft dropped the baby bag over John’s arm before he’d managed to pull it back from opening the door. “Gregory will be back to collect him around five thirty.”
John hiked the baby bag up onto his shoulder, but crossed his arms making it impossible for Mycroft to follow through with his attempt to shove Ben into John’s arms before diving for the car.
“I have work today,” John remarked mildly. “I start in an hour, as you’re aware, and won’t be home until five thirty myself-if I’m lucky.”
Mycroft looked bewildered at the fact that John wasn’t holding the baby yet.
“Mrs Potts is ill.” He tried to hold Ben out to John again, the motion aborting as John made no move to accept his five week old nephew.
“So I gathered from the fact you’re here at seven thirty in the morning.” John commented non-committedly. “I have work.”
John would end up taking Ben and working out something with Mrs Hudson to keep an eye on Sherlock keeping an eye on Ben; that he knew. It was why he was still holding the baby bag. On the other hand, he was also aware, however, of the need to press home the fact that they were not always going to be available for babysitting and that at the very least they should be given notice and asked. From the fact that it hadn’t even occurred to Mycroft and Greg that maybe they couldn’t-or wouldn’t-take Ben, John knew his concerns over becoming the official unofficial nanny were well founded. As sweet as his nephew was, this needed to be nipped in the bud now as it would only get worse once Mrs Pott’s temporary London stay ended.
“Well, I can’t take him to work with me.” Mycroft sounded agitated.
His vowels and consonants were particularly crisp, and he looked just a little bit nervous.
As adorable as the thought of Ben in a playpen tucked into the corner of Mycroft’s office and throwing his toys at important diplomats was, it was also a slightly scary concept and a security nightmare.
“Well, in the future you might want to arrange for a sitter then.” John smiled, arms still firmly crossed, leaning on the door frame.
At this point he really was just tormenting Mycroft because he could, a fact John rather thought Mycroft knew and was becoming increasingly frustrated by. It addictive sweet, because even though Mycroft knew what John was doing, he was unable to push his point without possibly driving John to an outright no. It was an uncommon occurrence that John got the upper hand like this, and he was determined to enjoy it.
“Doctor Watson, I really must-”
The sound of someone up and moving around filtered down from upstairs, creaking floor boards and the wheezing groan of ancient copper pipes - Sherlock finally awake.
“John?” Sherlock called out, from the corridor into the kitchen John guessed.
John reached for Ben, ignoring the triumphant smirk breaking out on Mycroft’s face. Sherlock was not body shy. He’d frequently walked around the flat in nothing more than a sheet before they were lovers, and he would have no problems coming down to see why John was at the door without anything on. Sherlock tended towards horny in the mornings and while he wouldn’t care about giving his brother a full frontal view of his morning erection, John would be more than a little embarrassed. If cutting short his pissing contest with Mycroft was the price for Sherlock not bounding down the stairs buck naked then cut it short John would.
“John where are you? You should have stayed in bed; I wanted to-”
“Sherlock, your nephew’s here,” John interrupted, calling up the stairs as quietly as possible to try not to disturb Mrs Hudson and hoping it might stop Sherlock coming down.
The flurry of footsteps thundering down the stairs made John wince for Mrs Hudson, but he had at least donned, and even sloppily tied, a dressing gown.
“Morning Abernathy. You’re with us today?” Sherlock headed straight for Ben and lifted the baby out of John’s arms. “Mycroft. You’re showered. Why have you showered? Oh, dull, work. Call the surgery and stay with Abernathy and I.”
“I’m not calling in,” John repeated the almost daily rebuke. “I’m already their least reliable doctor!”
“Then quit! I’ve told you, you don’t need it. We’ve got more than enough money.” Sherlock’s attention was almost entirely on his nephew, carrying on their familiar argument by rote.
“You’ve got plenty of money, and that’s not the only reason I work.” John sighed, knowing the grunt in acknowledgement merely meant Sherlock was distracted by more interesting things, not that the topic might finally be put to rest.
“Fine. Ben and I will begin his education then. It will be much easier without all the idiocy in the room.” Sherlock headed up the stairs without another word.
“Edu - Sherlock, what are you-?! Bye Mycroft! Sherlock!” John practically shut the door on Mycroft’s nose, before hurrying up the stairs after his erratic Sub.
“Nothing you’d disapprove of,” Sherlock paused in the doorway to 221B and abruptly shoved Ben into John’s arms, before heading swiftly down the corridor towards the bathroom.
“Sherlock?” John frowned, peering down the corridor at the stark, closed, white door. . “Sherlock, you okay?”
“Fine,” the deep baritone snapped back.
John shrugged at Ben. “He’s as irritable as usual, that’s for sure. Okay, that’s two of us I’d better get ready for the day I suppose.”
Ben blinked at him, grumpy sleepy face clearly indicating his preference for sleep over getting ready to do anything remotely active.
Mycroft hadn’t brought the baby carrier, so with nothing to lie Ben in, John improvised with some blankets on the lounge floor. If they were going to keep babysitting, John was going to make Mycroft spring for a playpen and a basket. 221B was in no way baby friendly.
Apparently deeming his nest satisfactory-or too tired to care-Ben settled in straight away, leaving John to mourn his lack of morning tea. because kettles and sleeping babies didn’t mix.
He’d managed breakfast by the time Sherlock emerged from the bathroom.
“You okay?” John asked.
Sherlock nodded, slumping into his chair at the table.
“It’s just if you’ve got any kind of gastro thing, Mrs Hudson should probably mind Ben. We don’t need him getting it. There’s probably the death penalty for that.” John frowned at him, resting his knife on the side of his plate as he watched for any hint of illness in Sherlock’s face.
“Don’t be daft,” Sherlock dismissed him with a flick of his fingers. “I feel fine. I did do right up until that, and I do now.”
John pressed his wrist against Sherlock’s forehead, ignoring the disgusted noise of protest at his methods.
“Well, you don’t have a fever at all. If you start feeling ill, let Mrs Hudson take Ben, okay?”
“Yes, Doctor.” Sherlock pulled away from John’s wrist and picked birdlike at the slice of toast John passed over. Seeing John’s concerned look, he rolled his eyes. “I’m still full from yesterday, not sick.”
Sherlock had certainly eaten a lot the day before. More than John really, so he didn’t say anything, just dropped a kiss to the inky curls and went to dress for work.
“We’ll need to do some proper baby proofing at some point,” John said once he’d changed, as he shrugged on his jacket.
Sherlock grunted in that ‘Sure, but I’m not going to help’ way he had, still occupied with shredding his toast more than eating it.
“I’ll see you later.” John shook his head with the usual fond exasperation he usually left in.
He really was lucky he found Sherlock’s sulky petulance adorable, or else their lives would be hellish.
As he turned to leave, he was interrupted by the scrape of Sherlock’s chair in the kitchen, causing John to wait as Sherlock sulkily meandered over and folded himself gracefully onto his knees, with his face upturned. Smiling, John leant to press a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips.
“Love you too,” he whispered. “I’ll see you after work.”
The clinic was the same as ever, red noses and repetitive diagnoses of colds with parents refusing to accept that there was nothing he could give them. One mother annoyed him so much he scrawled out a prescription for chicken soup, after which she stormed out in a huff, child in tow.
After his shift John made sure to leave as soon as he could, not willing to do extra paperwork when he didn’t know how much mischief Sherlock had managed at home. It would be just his luck that after a day of flu at the surgery he’d go home to find both his lover and his nephew sick with it at home.
Sherlock was stretched out on the couch when John got home, with Ben napping on his chest. If not for the hand lazily fanning the two of them with a bill, John would have thought Sherlock was napping too.
The fierce loving need he kept buried as deep as possible made one of its increasingly frequent breaks for freedom, bubbling to the surface in almost painful up swells of emotion at the sight of Sherlock, three buttons undone, with Ben trucked up under his chin, arm holding him in place. Their baby, John inwardly vowed, unable to move in the face of so much. One day he would come home to this same scene only it would be their baby Sherlock would be tenderly cradling, not their nephew.
God he wanted that.
“Evening,” John choked out; not bothering to hide how much the sight was affecting him. One flick of a mercurial eye and Sherlock would know anyway.
The eyes stayed closed, but a tight smile pulled at the corner of Sherlock’s lips and his right hand did a funny wave, seeming to invite John closer. John took the invitation, seating himself on the coffee table and momentarily stilling Sherlock’s hand so he could drop a kiss to his wrist.
Up close Sherlock’s skin listened with a fine layer of sweat, and John sighed in his head. Evidently whatever Sherlock had caught wasn’t so easily passed through his system and of course he hadn’t let Mrs Hudson mind Ben.
“How is he?” John asked, running a gentle finger along Ben’s clothed back.
“Good.” Sherlock rumbled, almost inaudibly. “Still excessively fond of naps.”
“That’ll be true for a while yet, I’m afraid.” John smiled.
He pushed to standing and dropped a kiss to Sherlock’s curls, noting the slight humidity to his hair that suggested he’d had a low grade fever.
“I’ll get his stuff packed. Greg’ll be here soon.” John pushed away from the couch, ignoring Sherlock’s non-committal hum.
“No new cases today then?” He called from the kitchen trying to keep his voice quiet enough not to disturb Ben.
“Couple of fives.” Sherlock replied, flapping his make shift fan dismissively. “Nothing worth troubling about at the minute.”
“Nothing more from that serial killer then?” John located one of the missing baby socks under the sink. He didn’t really want to know how it got there.
“Apparently not.” Sherlock sounded annoyed, as though the failure to murder another person on some kind of useful schedule was a personal inconvenience.
“It’s been ages since the last body.”
“A couple of months.” John scolded. “That’s not ages.”
“Not even officially a serial killer yet.” Sherlock groused from the couch.
“Just think,” John dropped the baby bag by the door, “it gives you more free time with Ben.”
“True.” Sherlock chucked. “Did you know he blinks at approximately-”
“Thought I said no experiments?” Greg cheerfully interrupted from the door.
Sherlock scowled. “It wasn’t an experiment. It was data collection.”
“Yeah, but I know you.” Greg shouldered the bag and waggled a finger in Sherlock’s direction. “Today data, tomorrow drawing blood for tests.”
Sherlock sniffed disdainfully and rose with almost his usual grace. It was a little off, John noticed, but that could have just been the addition of a napping baby, who did, miraculously, stay asleep.
“Oh you’ll be up half the night now, won’t you?” Greg crooned, accepting the bundle.
Ben yawned and snuffled a little before deciding sleep was still the better option.
“I’ll get the door for you.” John volunteered, avoiding the squeaky steps as much as he was able on the way down.
“Thanks.” Greg followed slowly after. “We shouldn’t need to impose tomorrow. It was just a twenty-four hour flu or something, but thanks for helping out.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Just remember: notice works wonders.” John opened the door as Greg finally made it to the bottom.
“Sorry, yeah, course.” Greg shook his head. “Guess we can’t complain you’re not here if you’re not.”
“Nope, and I take enough time of work for my own five year old, thanks.” John shared a grin with Greg over the top of Ben’s head.
“About that,” Greg hitched the baby bag a bit higher on his shoulder. “Any chance…”
John tried not to look too amused as Greg flushed an obvious rouge.
“Date night coming up?” He teased mercilessly.
“No, the opposite, ish.” Greg winced. “Any, um, chance you can ask Sherlock not to, you know, deduce… stuff… in front of Ben? Or teach him to, you know, tell?”
John must have looked as confused about Greg thinking Mycroft wouldn’t be teaching Ben deductions as he felt because Greg went a deeper shade of red and mumbled “You know, sex stuff” as clarification.
“Oh.” John shut his mouth with a click.
It was a little cruel, but it was too hard not to smirk at the desperation flowing across Greg’s face.
“Please, John. I’m going to have a hard enough time regulating age appropriate deducing; you have to help me with this. My won’t ask because he thinks Sherlock will just teach Ben to do it out of spite, and-”
“I’ll talk to him, relax.” John chucked. “It’s not like I want to know either after all.”
“Thank you.” Greg heaved a huge sigh of relief. “I owe you.”
“You already owe me two days of babysitting, to say the least.” He waved Greg out the door. “Go on, take him home before he wakes up.”
“All night.” Greg groaned. “He’ll be up all night. I haven’t had a decent sleep in ages.”
It would have been a more complaint if everything about Greg hadn’t been positively radiating joy and contentment.
Squashing the bitter envy trying to rear its head and not really succeeding, John trooped back up the stairs, footsteps heavy, but at least not uneven. It was hard, having Ben around, but not excruciatingly painful like the idea of him had once been. Not now they were on the same page, he and Sherlock.
Sherlock, who was pacing the living room with an agitated frenzy, running his hands through his hair and randomly breaking off to drag fingers down his arms or squeeze his biceps tight. He looked, John thought, like a junkie desperate for the next fix, twitching uncontrollably as he whirled around the room unable to stay still.
“I’m clean.” Sherlock snapped at him.
“I know.” John replied without even thinking about it.
He did know, had seen Sherlock’s recent run of blood tests, and even if he hadn’t he wouldn’t have thought Sherlock was using. He trusted him.
“How do you feel?” He asked, finally settling on it as the question least likely to get them into a screaming match.
“I don’t-” Sherlock pivoted and headed to the fireplace, gripping it tight, left foot jittery.
“I don’t know.” He admitted. “I just can’t… I can’t concentrate on…”
“You seemed calmer a few minutes ago.” John watched his Sub in the mirror, the mounting frustration as Sherlock couldn’t work out what his body wanted writ large across his face. “Has it been like this all day?”
“Yes,” Sherlock growled waspishly. “No. Most of it. Ben, Ben helped. When I was holding him, it helped.”
“Can I help?” John asked patiently. It has been some time since he’d seen Sherlock’s mind spin out of control to the point he almost couldn’t think like this, but it had happened before during droughts of cases or quitting cigarettes, again. “Do you need me to put you under?”
“I need, I need, I need… you.” Sherlock’s head snapped up, gaze locking onto John in the mirror. “You.”
He pushed off the mantle and had crossed the room in two bounding steps, shoving John against the narrow strip of wall between the doorways.
“You.” Sherlock growled harshly into John’s mouth. “I need you, that’s what I need. Your cock.”
John passively let Sherlock plunder his mouth, taking the opportunity to secretly test his temperature. He was warm, but not feverishly so, and his skin wasn’t so damp John thought he’d had a fever break during the day despite the sheen of sweat.
“If you’re quite satisfied.” Sherlock sniped, biting John’s lip painfully in aggression.
John yelped, pushing Sherlock off him and forcing him to his knees. Sherlock followed John’s unspoken demands, legs collapsing under him in what seemed like relief after only the slightest hint of pressure. Down there, John jerked his misbehaving love’s chin up, struggling to hold his own growl to a low grumble.
“That,” he glared angrily at Sherlock , “hurt.”
Sherlock had the grace to look slightly guilty, but as he did so often he covered it quickly with a sulky glare. His eyes were glazed and he was working the petulant pout like only he could, determined to get what he wanted - in this case John.
John wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t thrown Sherlock over the couch already and fucked him. Mostly concern for his health, rapidly dwindling under Sherlock’s pleading gaze.
The Omega’s tongue peeked out, swiping purposefully over his full lower lip. Stuff it, John decided in a rush, he was going over the couch.
“Behave or it won’t be a punishment you’ll enjoy,” he warned.
Sherlock’s dark bushy brow rose in a challenging arc - make me.
”I mean it.” John squeezed Sherlock’s chin, still cradled in his left hand. “I can take you down without sex.”
“I don’t need - Fine! Anything, just hurry up and fuck me.”
John hauled him upright, Sherlock stumbling slightly as John roughly shoved him, not providing any of the subtle help he usually gave. . Long legs off balance, it was all too easy to have Sherlock over to the couch and spun around before he’d managed to regain his poise.
Kissing Sherlock Holmes never got stale. Sometimes it was over powering, sometimes demanding, sometimes totally submissive. Every now and then it was placid or even totally vacant, Sherlock having wondered off into his mind palace leaving his body running on autopilot. Never the same, always an experience.
Today he was caught off guard so it started relaxed, but quickly morphed into frenzied snogging, Sherlock trying every filthy trick he could manage to move them along faster.
It was certainly working. John had been fighting low level arousal since Sherlock had jumped him, and it never really took much to get him in the mood for Sherlock. He was thickening out at a rapid rate and his love’s dedicated attention was only making his trousers tighter.
Impatient to move on, Sherlock’s hands tugged John’s belt out of its loops and pushed his trousers off his hips. John let him, it had been getting a little cramped, and what Sherlock needed seemed less about going under and more that he was just desperate for sex, so he could let his Sub set the pace a bit. He did stop the presumptuous hand that wrapped about him.
“Fine.” Sherlock broke out of the kiss and pulled away, shimmying out of his trousers with the speed of the well-practiced before practically throwing himself over the arm of the couch.
Unable to resist, John smacked the pale globes of flesh, just once, in warning. He let Sherlock get away with a lot, but he was still in charge.
The motion ground Sherlock’s erection against the couch and he whined in approval, moving slightly so his arse was even higher in the air. Obligingly, and because he loved to watch the way Sherlock’s bottom wobbled under his blows, John delivered another smack to the other arse cheek.
“What’s got into you all of a sudden?” He asked, leaning over the warm ivory skin to root around in the sofa cushions for lube.
He’d started stashing lube everywhere when he and Sherlock had first started out, still obsessed with the idea of christening every room in the house. They’d done that now, but since Mrs Hudson had already learnt not to walk in without knocking and Sherlock kept looking all too appealing at random times at random rooms, John kept replacing the lube. It made Mrs Hudson a little flustered whenever she found a stash while cleaning, but other than some embarrassed fluttering and a secretly pleased smile, she made no protest.
The tube was getting low, he noted, but there was enough to thoroughly coat his fingers. At the first press Sherlock gave a rumbly purr and arched up like a cat, pressing John further in than he’d intended to start and loving it.
“Easy,” John dropped kisses and light nips down the wiry muscles. “Get sore now and I won’t be able to fuck you properly later.”
“You’d better!” Sherlock hissed, breaking with a little cry as John deliberately twisted his fingers in the exact way he knew Sherlock loved.
John chuckled into Sherlock’s shoulder blade, repeating the action at Sherlock’s angry growl.
“Hurry up!” Sherlock groused, working himself back on John’s fingers as John tried to pull them back. “Get in me already.”
John didn’t reply, continuing the slow stretch. Aggravated by the pace, Sherlock’s responses were becoming increasingly demanding, his annoyance plain in every grunt.
“For God’s sake, John, I’m not glass.” Sherlock snapped as John carefully worked a third finger. “Just fucking fuck me! Now!”
Patience over the limit, John immediately withdrew his hand, moving far enough back Sherlock would notice the space between them.
“Manners.” He barked. “Or would you prefer a time out?”
“No, no, please.” The bravado gone, Sherlock sounded panicked.
“You are out of line and you know it.” John frowned, not touching his squirming Sub.
“Please,” Sherlock pleaded as he wiggled desperately, unable to stay still. “Please! I need you in me.”
“I’m not sure you can behave. I should leave you until you remember who’s in charge here.”
“You are, Captain, please!” Sherlock begged. “Please, I really - please.”
Sherlock really did sound frantic, pleading the way he was with tears already shot through his voice. John had never seen him like this, ever. He’d seen Sherlock out of control and out of his head, he’d seen him tired, grumpy and all combinations angry and annoyed, but this… this was different. This wasn’t a Sub needing a break from the world; it was something else.
“Please.”
The sob was enough to kick John into action. Whatever was wrong, he’d give Sherlock what he thought he needed and reprimand him later.
“Behave,” he whispered into the dark hair, “or I will make you wait.”
“Captain, yes, please.”
John positioned himself over Sherlock, slathered on a touch more lube, and dove straight in.
“Yes!” Sherlock arched up, eyes closed in bliss.
John thrust again, withdrawing just enough to circle his hips as he plunged back in.
“Harder, p-please.” Sherlock stuttered.
If Sherlock wanted to be pounded, John could certainly do that. Grabbing his hips for leverage, John slammed back in, followed immediately by another thrust just as strong.
“Yes, yes!” Sherlock chanted breathlessly. “Just a little more, please, just a little more.”
John kept going, establishing a brutal pace that they’d both feel when this was over.
“Deeper, please.” Sherlock begged pushing back to meet John’s cock. “A little deeper… Need.”
“Can’t get any deeper, ‘lock.” John panted, unable to talk and keep up the ferocious thrusts.
“Please!” Sherlock begged, clawing at the couch.
“Touch yourself.” John ordered, voice almost lost in his gasp for air.
Whimpering Sherlock obeyed, coming almost instantly against the dark leather. John began to slow, expecting that to be the end of it, but Sherlock gave a plaintive cry and tried to speed them back up.
John was vaguely aware that Sherlock should be super sensitive, but he was getting too close to his own end to dedicate much thought to it. Instead of the rhythmic slide into the moist tight grip of Sherlock’s passage and the beautiful pleading sobs for more, more, more, more were doing a very thorough job of driving John beyond rational control, everything condensing down to the snap of his hips, the velvet drag and the warmth building in his groin.
It wouldn’t be long, couldn’t be long. He was beginning to feel the almost fierce drive that surfaced when he denied himself too long, just hovering on the edge without falling over. Almost there, almost there.
Sherlock thrust back against him, whimpering gorgeously with his eyes closed and neck arched. The visual was enough - one, two and John buried himself deep, riding the flash of white noise while his nerves sang.
“No, no” Sherlock mumbled, still attempting to rock his hips and keep them going.
All his attempts did was pull John’s rapidly softening cock out, leaving him whimpering and grinding himself against his Dom’s groin.
“Please, John. So empty, please.”
Wincing slightly, John shifted back and pulled Sherlock down with him so they were seated leaning against the clean portion of the couch. Sherlock immediately clambered onto his lap, kissing and fondling him as though he could bring John back up by sheer dint of will.
“Stop that.” John flinched and caught Sherlock’s wrist.
Sherlock may not have been feeling over sensitive in the wake of their orgasms, but he was.
“Need it. Please, John, I need more.” Sherlock begged, attempting to shake off John’s hand so he could continue.
“What’s up with you?” John stared at him, pinning Sherlock where he was as his Sub attempted to slide off John’s lap to use his mouth instead. “I don’t know why you’re so horny, love, but you’ll have to wait. It’s not Heat, I can’t just…”
John trailed off, eyes licking over the writing body held tight against his own as ideas formed and worked their way out into the open.
He’d been slow, he realised, putting the pieces together. They’d all been right there in front of his face, he just hadn’t paid attention. He had seen Sherlock like this, but the only time he’d seen Sherlock this desperate for sex without any real submissive drive was during Estrus, and it wasn’t a sign he usually relied on to clue him in. The pheromones usually took care of that.
All the other early biological flags were there too: gorging himself the day before, then picking at food that day; the morning bathroom rush as his body cleared out in preparation for days of rutting; the way his condition had deteriorated rapidly once they’d started sex, even the need to keep Ben close to function, the presence of a new born redirecting the hormones into a caring rather than sexual role.
Sherlock whined, pressing his forehead into John’s neck.
“Sherlock, ‘lock, listen, no, I need you to listen to me.” John freed up one hand, attempting to pull Sherlock back enough to see his face, despite his Omega’s determination to stay nestled in the crock of his Alpha’s neck. “’Lock, you’re having some kind of pseudo-Heat.”
There was no verbal response, just Sherlock panting into his shoulder.
“Sherlock? I think we’ve discovered a side effect of the injection they gave you at the appointment.” John stroked Sherlock’s sweaty curls, trying to help calm him. “Love-”
“Yes, John, I understood the first time.” Sherlock snapped at him, his harsh words undercut by the whimpering whine that hadn’t gone away since the wave of need had kicked in. “I just… I need…”
“I know, love, but you’re not putting out any pheromones. All hormones. Sherlock, I won’t be able to…”
John trailed off, holding is Sub close as he convulsed and gave a choked off sob.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, kissing Sherlock’s curls.
He then pushed him off his lap as gently as possible, clambering stiffly to his feet. Offering Sherlock a hand, he drew him up to trembling feet. Unusually Sherlock was more reminiscent of a young colt on unsteady legs than a graceful predatory cat.
“Come on, love. Bedroom.” He whispered, guiding Sherlock with a hand in the small of his back. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise.”
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