Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were so many things normal people could never understand. Their tiny minds and blind eyes just couldn’t grasp things that simple. He had always had zero patience for the idiots in the police, always turning it into some competition to see who could be the biggest moron.

"I know it’s asking a lot, but for once in your life, Anderson, stop being a complete idiot!"

Sherlock practically yelled when, of course, Anderson – an annoying omega with a gift for getting under Holmes’s skin – started filling his brain with useless nonsense.

"Watch your tone," was all Lestrade said to Holmes.

The crime scene was a bloody mess. They had a murder on their hands. The room, hidden behind a passageway – that Sherlock had found, obviously – held the body of a dead omega.

It wasn’t even unusual how many of them ended up dead. What was disturbing wasn’t just the bite marks all over the body. It was the smell of heat still clinging to her, like a cruel reminder of what she’d gone through.

Anderson was still an idiot, but at least he had the sense to drag two rookies outside before they passed out right there.

When dead, the mix of fear and biology lingering on their bodies had made one of the cops throw up.

All alphas, of course – because even in moments like this, they couldn’t get rid of Donovan, the omega woman who somehow managed to be just as annoying as Anderson.

Sherlock was an alpha, a proper one, and Lestrade constantly had to remind him to control his tongue – or, occasionally, his very presence. Just one alpha trying to deal with another. Nobody would be surprised if Holmes snapped one day and lunged at an omega, or even a beta, if he was stressed enough.

In the middle of the chaos, Anderson actually asked someone to hold Sherlock back and drag him out of there – probably the dumbest thing he’d heard in months.

The "inspector" just kept outdoing himself.

And then came the real shock: how was Sherlock not affected at all by the scene? The only explanation was… no, impossible.

"But how? How are you...?"

Some things just didn’t mix. A lion and a deer. Meds and alcohol. And right at the top of the list: Sherlock Holmes and having a mate.

Lestrade wasn’t affected either, but he was married with three kids, so that made sense. No one questioned that. But the mad sociopath sniffing the corpse? Who on earth would want him? The irritant who thrived on murder scenes – he loved them! He’d humiliated more people than he could count.

Anderson had a mate, a lovely beta, and in his mind people always found someone like them. Sherlock was decent-looking, sure, but the second he opened his mouth or filled a room with his unbearable presence, everyone ran. Sure, twenty-six was a decent age to settle down, but after years of people being physically held back from attacking him?

He’d insulted omegas without mercy, punched a random beta during a fight – who would ever want him?

Everyone in the room was left gaping. Sherlock’s expression was completely neutral, as if he didn’t notice the shock around him.

"Hm. Your killer is around 1.70 meters, long blond hair, Canadian intern, friend of the property owner. She was killed after... three alphas attacked. This place used to be their hangout. We will—"

He suddenly stopped, hand on his chest, wincing. He sat down for a second, then stood back up as if nothing had happened. Most people were still frozen, staring at the detective’s signature blue scarf.

Lestrade snapped out of it first and slapped a beta who had forgotten to take notes. And then the phone rang, of all things – which was bad, since everyone knew Sherlock hated calls.

"What do you want?" Sherlock’s irritated voice cut through the air like a blade. Everyone flinched at the obvious rage hanging in the air.

"What the... hell..."

His breath hitched for just a second, enough to make everyone turn to him in shock – it was the first time they’d ever seen a human expression cross his smug alpha face.

"Sherlock!"

It was the only thing anyone could yell before he bolted out the door and was gone in seconds.

Everyone exchanged looks, Lestrade staring after him with suspicion.
What the hell was that?

~

A day later, they still hadn’t heard a word. Nobody had the guts to ask. Nobody had the courage to call. Lestrade kept his troubled expression the whole time.

~

A week later, Sherlock’s phone had to be drowning in notifications.

"Maybe the freak finally died," Donovan said with a shrug, watching her boss practically pull his hair out.

She thought it was pointless. Sherlock had vanished for fifteen days once, hadn’t he?

"Yeah, but never after a phone call like that. And did you see his face?" Lestrade was pacing the room, restless.

"I still can’t forget it. It was freaky."

By the first week, the gossip had started, but nobody dared dig further.

~

By the second week, the alpha inspector was going insane, stomping his foot on the floor, nearly shredding paperwork and snarling at every comment.

And when he found out about the betting pool – main bet being that Sherlock was lying in a ditch somewhere, second that he was being tortured in a filthy basement – everyone suffered for it.

At this point, they were ready to storm whatever hideout the man was in just to get him back.

~

Seventeen days later, Lestrade finally gathered five trusted officers and marched up the stairs to Sherlock’s flat. He’d even managed to get a drug search warrant.

The landlady just shook her head at them with a sad look – disappointment or pity, they weren’t sure.

They knocked hard, ready to break in, when a voice answered from inside, freezing everyone.

That didn’t even sound like Holmes.

The door unlocked, opened, and a man about Sherlock’s age stood there, leaning on a cane. He was short, tanned, calm. Way too calm for someone standing in Sherlock Holmes’s flat.

"Good afternoon?"

His tone was friendly.

"Good afternoon... Sherlock, is he...?"

"Sherlock left a while ago. He’ll be back soon. May I ask why you’re looking for him?"

His voice was smooth, his short blond hair neatly cut, his blue eyes scanning all of them carefully.

Then a breeze passed through the flat, carrying a sweet, faint scent from his beige sweater straight to their noses.

An omega.

Maybe a client. But Sherlock would never leave a client alone in his home. And no client would look that relaxed sitting there.

"Can we come in?"

Donovan asked before anyone could think.

"You can. But please, try not to be too loud."

Still leaning on the cane, he stepped aside to let them in.

The team was ready to tear the place apart when Lestrade lifted a hand, signaling them to hold.

All eyes were glued to the new man as he calmly sat in Sherlock’s armchair. Everyone’s eyes widened – more than they had the day of the phone call.

Alphas were territorial. Sherlock hated when anyone got near that chair.

"Oh, sorry – you don’t mind if I sit, do you? Hard to stand for too long."

Everyone shook their heads at once.

Who the hell was this calm omega, and what did he have to do with Sherlock Holmes?

"So rude of me. Detective Inspector Lestrade, right?"

He held out a hand and Lestrade took it automatically.

"John Watson."

He smiled lightly.

They were about to start asking questions when Sherlock’s voice rang out from downstairs, yelling something, and then the door flew open.

"John! I— what are you all doing here?"

His tone was low, threatening, glaring at the team with clear disdain. Completely different from the excited voice he’d had seconds ago.

Even though he looked tired – almost matching John’s own exhausted expression.

"Drug search warrant."

Lestrade held up the papers.

Sherlock growled under his breath, anger practically radiating off him.

"No. Not today. Preferably not this week. Or this month."

He waved a hand, dismissing them.

"We have a warrant. We’re staying."

Why was it always Donovan?

"Shut up for once in your life."

A low growl followed the words, and Lestrade had to step between her and Sherlock. His eyes looked worse than years ago.

"It’s fine, Sherlock. I can go downstairs."

Like magic, Sherlock’s anger melted into something like frustration. He clearly didn’t like that idea.

"You’re still recovering. Let me talk to Lestrade. He’s not as stupid as the rest."

The man gave a half-offended, half-surprised look at the almost-compliment.

"As if. Freak, we’ve got a warrant and we’ll do our job."

"I know you want to, but can’t you wait until I get back downstairs?"

The question froze the cops for a second, watching John stand up slowly.

"You’re acting way too suspicious."

As an omega, Donovan technically had the right to search another omega. She crossed the room, ready to grab John’s arm – but Sherlock stepped in front of her, a solid wall.

"Don’t you dare."

His glare was enough to make even Donovan step back, just slightly.

"Lestrade, call your people off. I have a damn good reason."

"You can’t be serious—"

"Lestrade."

"For god’s sake..."

"My mate needs silence. For god’s sake."

The room fell into complete silence.

Every pair of eyes turned to the omega, now sitting again with one hand pressed to his temple as if in pain.

Sherlock Holmes caring about someone other than himself?

What world were they in?

"Mate?"

"Yes."

He huffed, like it was obvious, and exhaled sharply when Lestrade finally nodded. The betas and alphas reluctantly backed off and left the flat, craning their necks to get one last look at the omega.

"You’ve got to be kidding me!"

Even whispering, Donovan sounded pissed.

John stood again, stopping next to Sherlock, who seemed calmer now.

"That’s the one you told me about?"

"Hm."

Both their lips quirked into faint smiles, their eyes glinting with some private joke.

Sherlock Holmes. With inside jokes. With a mate.

Lestrade suddenly needed air.

He muttered an excuse and dragged Donovan with him, before she could rudely try to peek at John’s neck.

That was the first time the police learned Sherlock Holmes had a mate.

Chapter Text

Two days later, the whole police department knew about Sherlock and his supposed mate.

Part of the agency thought they were making it up, another part thought the sociopath had hired someone, and a small group believed it was real — or maybe that he’d been forced into it, some kind of accidental heat.

It was all anyone could talk about. And that same day, while everyone was at a crime scene, Sherlock stormed into the room, dramatic as always, coat flaring behind him as he walked straight to the body.

Everyone was dying to say something to the idiot Alpha, but thought twice — no one wanted to become the freak’s next target. Too risky having your entire life read out loud in front of the team.

Too risky letting someone like that poke around inside your head.

"Oh great, Anderson’s here again pretending he knows something." The bored tone cut across the room, and Lestrade groaned in frustration. They couldn’t even look at each other.

"Why don’t you go off with your imaginary boyfriend and do something better?" Anderson muttered, trying to get a jab in for the first time.

"Why so bitter? Your girlfriend dump you for an Alpha?" Sherlock’s voice dripped acid, ignoring the way Anderson’s fists clenched. "And John’s not imaginary, though I’m not surprised none of you knew."

Anderson rolled his eyes.

"So where is he?"

The Alpha opened his mouth, then glanced around as if actually looking for his Omega. What kind of Alpha lost track of his mate?

"He was right behind me." Sherlock put his hands on his hips and glared at the door, annoyed.

"He was what— Sherlo—"

"Hm... sorry, took me a bit to get up here, lots of people stopped me." The new voice filled the room, followed by a new scent. This time, the man was wearing a lower sweater that revealed the edge of a bite mark just peeking out from under the collar — barely a centimeter.

Everyone stared.

"Sherlock, you can’t just bring anyone in here, this isn’t a playground—"

"John’s a doctor." Sherlock’s eyes went back to the corpse while every other pair of eyes locked on the blond man. Even people outside were peeking in.

"You are?"

"I usually don’t say it out loud," John said with a smile and a small wave. "Sorry about the other day, I wasn’t at my best."

"Ha! So this is your mate. Thought you’d pay someone worse but hey, good actor at least." Anderson stepped forward, and for a second everyone thought he was going to sling an arm around the blond’s shoulders.

The next second he was being shoved hard, tripping and landing on his ass in a pretty embarrassing fall — all in a matter of seconds.

"Sorry, muscle memory," John said with a guilty expression that looked very sincere. He hadn’t even let go of his cane, catching Anderson completely off guard.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" another Omega asked, helping Anderson up. Everyone was staring, startled.

Maybe those two really were made for each other.

"Oh, he’s fine. That’s what you get for sneaking up on a soldier just out of the war," Sherlock said without even glancing up.

"Soldier?" Several voices echoed.

"Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

They all exchanged looks. There was a shadow of a smile on the Alpha’s face, and a small, polite smile on the Omega’s — but anyone paying close attention could see it was forced. He hated those looks people gave when they found out an Omega had been a soldier.

"If you can’t let me stay here, I get it, I can go."

"You’re not going anywhere, John. I need you." Sherlock gestured at his side, and if it were possible, everyone in the room would’ve fainted on the spot. Someone probably choked somewhere nearby.

John remembered one day when Sherlock had tried to teach him what he knew. It hadn’t gone very well — Sherlock had zero patience.

Still, the way the taller man helped John kneel beside him now, talking nonstop — and worse, the way the blond next to him actually listened, paying full attention as if he were really following the madness —

"Mate?" a woman muttered from a corner, sounding lost. No one paid much attention.

Even if Sherlock had paid someone to pretend to be his mate, there was no way they’d look at each other like that. It was so bizarre that Lestrade had to drag more than one officer out of the room because they were too distracted.

"I’m telling you, she was wearing a full latex outfit, nothing was left behind — and the fingernails smell burnt."

"So someone who’s done this before?"

"Don’t be stupid."

That brought everyone back to reality a little. Same old Sherlock, with or without a mate.

"Sherlock."

"Yeah, yeah, not my fault everyone’s an idiot. If it matches another killer’s M.O., obviously it’s not the first time." He didn’t look away from the body. "Tell me what you see, John."

"Dead person, not much of a fight, fingernails burned — so some kind of resistant material, premeditated."

"Good, now shut up."

Everyone there knew Holmes was strange, but they still noticed the way he talked even to his mate — and how routine it felt for John, who just rolled his eyes with the ghost of a smile.

Sherlock paced the room, hands clasped in that weird pose.

"Time of death: six hours ago. And I’m declaring a needle mark on the neck."

He waved his hand like it was nothing.

"Okay, but if it’s on the neck, why is there dried blood on the arm? And no needle marks there?"

Everyone turned toward the Omega, who was practically lying on the floor using Sherlock’s weird magnifier, cheek pressed to the ground.

He got up just in time for Sherlock to check. The Alpha took one look and grinned.

"Knew you’d be good for something! Brilliant, John!" Sherlock sat back with excitement, John looking smug for just a second — enough to make a few others in the room quietly jealous.

And then the entire room froze.

Right in the middle of his manic high, the Alpha grabbed the blond’s face and kissed him — just a quick peck — before jumping up and rushing out of the room.

"Uh..." John got to his feet, grabbed his cane. "Excuse us... Sherlock!"

The two of them stormed out like a tornado, leaving behind a room full of confused cops.

~

Anderson was in the morgue an hour later when the door banged open, the most talked-about duo in the department back again. Even if he still didn’t trust them completely, the Omega had stopped doubting much of anything.

Still, he had questions.

"Two more bodies with the same pattern. How did you all miss this? You’ve really outdone yourselves."

The Alpha was ranting, moving from one body to the next, muttering to himself.

Anderson moved closer to the blond, who was acting like this was all perfectly normal — which, okay, maybe it was.

"So... John Watson, you got kids?"

"Me? No, God no. I know I look older but I still have time for that."

Lestrade nodded, following John’s easy smile. Okay, so accidental pregnancy was out of the question. That made Anderson think more — but there were some questions you just couldn’t ask a former soldier.

"How’d you meet him?" he asked, pointing at Sherlock, who suddenly smiled while leaning over a days-old corpse.

"Rehab."

No one saw the exact moment Anderson took a step back — just a few inches, but still.

"When he was spiraling with drugs? You an addict too?"

John frowned, eyes finally leaving Sherlock for the first time, and shot him a very displeased look.

"You’re not the first, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"Why’d you stay with him? It doesn’t make sense. There must be another reason!" John’s tone sharpened with each sentence, and Anderson backed off another step. The anger burning in those blue eyes could’ve scorched him alive.

"And what was it?"

"Well, I remember the look you gave me when I said I was a soldier. The surprise on everyone’s faces — as if it was shocking an Omega could be one."

He knew perfectly well how underestimated they were. Even in his own family they joked he was basically babysitting someone famous instead of really serving.

"Sherlock’s fought with you before." It wasn’t a question. "Has he ever treated someone better or worse because of their gender, or their paycheck?"

Anderson remembered once when he and Sherlock almost came to blows back when they first started working together. But now he realized — it wasn’t because Sherlock thought he was better than Anderson for being a Beta.

It was because Sherlock thought he was better than everyone.

"First time we met, we actually fought. I dislocated his shoulder, left him with a bunch of cuts. He broke my jaw." John smiled a little at the memory.

That earned another step back.

"Uh..."

"Maybe I already liked him back then. That was part of it. He’d never treat me differently — not like half the battalion did."

"John! We’re going to the dermatologist!"

"And by the way, it was part of my therapy. Rehab. Before you go making stuff up." John smiled, but it didn’t look totally real.

Anderson watched the sound of the cane fade down the hall.

"Right... guess that’s my lunch break," Molly (or maybe it was Nelly?) muttered.

Maybe he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

~

"Shh."

"What’s he doing?"

"Can you all be quiet?" John didn’t look up from the book in his lap, ignoring the fact that Sherlock was practically draped over him, hands folded in that weird otter-like pose.

How was he even leaning against John’s back in the armchair like that? Maybe only geniuses understood.

"You said he knew what—"

"Why is she even here? I can’t stand that woman."

Donovan just huffed and flopped into a chair. Nothing unusual for this chaotic place.

"What are you two doing?"

"Waiting." John calmly flipped another page.

"Yes!" the sociopath suddenly jumped up.

Everyone else had stopped asking questions at this point. He always said they were too dumb to keep up anyway. It wasn’t a big surprise when he turned to the male Omega.

"A god-complex dermatologist. A psychopath who thinks he’s doing good by killing people with cancer."

"That’s why her birthmark had dried blood," John added.

"Which victim had cancer?" someone asked.

"All of them," they both said at the same time. John stood up, and the cops immediately followed — they knew how quickly the two of them could vanish.

"Skin cancer, obviously. They all went to dermatologists — didn’t even have to be the same clinic if our killer’s a professor. People go to him for second opinions, and he decides which ‘souls to free.’"

"So we’re catching him now?" Lestrade asked, frustrated.

"By now I thought you’d already called backup."

"You’re gonna be the bait, aren’t you?"

"My dear John, what fun would it be if I wasn’t?"

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock flagged down a cab. No one batted an eye when the two sat together on the seat, John scrolling through his phone. Whatever he was reading made Sherlock roll his eyes.

"Shut up," John muttered before anyone else could comment.

At the scene, no one was surprised at Sherlock’s complete disregard for his own safety. Everyone saw it coming when the other Alpha — the dermatologist, a professor — lunged at Sherlock in desperation.

What they didn’t expect was John taking the man down, confronting him head-on — and winning, pinning him to the ground.

The man was arrested, and in the middle of it all, Sherlock, with a smug grin, picked up John’s cane — the one he hadn’t even needed during the fight or questioning.

"Chinese tonight?" was all Sherlock said.

"Sounds good to me," John shrugged, and the two of them left. Somewhere along the way, John said something that made them both laugh, ignoring the stares following them out.

"I swear I’m downloading Tinder. Can’t believe even the freak has someone and I don’t."

And that was the first time anyone saw Sherlock Holmes and his mate, John Watson, working a case together.

Chapter Text

Lestrade had invited all his colleagues to his birthday party. He did that every year.

But it wasn’t every day you saw Sherlock Holmes sitting in a corner with the most bored expression in the world, at a party, with Doctor John Watson right beside him smiling.

"John."

"Hey, Greg." The omega was always so calm when nobody was dying. He just radiated this chill energy.

And, unlike Sherlock, he was friendly with pretty much everyone – well, at least with everyone who was nice back to him. The way he teased Sherlock was more like a running joke than a fight, totally different from how most people clashed with him.

Sherlock said something that made the blond elbow him, and Lestrade decided he was better off not asking.

"This is a big surprise."

"Not like I wasn’t gonna show up, but someone had a wedding and decided to trade favors with me." John was smiling like he’d just won the lottery. It made the other alpha’s face soften too.

"Someone invited him to a wedding?"

"His sister."

"Sherlock has a sister?!"

"And a brother we’ve never even seen. Honestly, I wouldn’t meet him even if someone paid me."

"Believe me, he’s tried," Sherlock muttered, scanning the room with boredom until his gaze landed on Lestrade. And of course the first thing out of his mouth was:

"Didn’t know you were getting a divorce."

"You haven’t seen him in two weeks," Sherlock huffed. "Speaking of, if you don’t find him a case soon, there’s not gonna be a John left to tell the story, because I’ll kill him." The way he said it sounded like a joke… mostly.

Maybe after the party Lestrade really should find the detective a case.

"I’m drinking now. This is gonna last forever with the baggage I brought. Do you use easy passwords? Like birthdays?"

"Yeah." Somehow that was not a weird thing to hear from a former soldier.

John just gave him this disappointed look.

"If you’ve got cases lying around this house, half of them are gonna get solved, and he won’t say a word about it." Lestrade glanced around and realized the other alpha had already vanished. "He’s with you." He patted John’s shoulder as he walked off toward the drinks table.

Half an hour later Lestrade came back looking exhausted.

"What happened to him?" Molly asked, worried, as John was on his sixth drink.

"Sherlock showed up today."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Right on cue, the man himself appeared behind John, reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. The funniest part was how John didn’t even react – like this was completely normal.

When the alpha vanished again, no one asked questions. If John wasn’t worried, they wouldn’t be either. After the cake, the retired soldier was light as a feather, leaning on Lestrade in the kitchen.

"Like I said, you should go to the wedding. Bit early to find someone, but a change of scenery might help."

"I don’t wanna be a bother," Greg shrugged. John snorted.

"Trust me, the groom’s family is hell. You literally cannot be more annoying than they are."

"Then fine."

"Let’s go."

Neither of them flinched when Holmes appeared out of nowhere – they were too used to it.

"Come on, Sher, let’s go walk Molly. She’s probably in the bathroom…"

"Crying. I told her we’re leaving soon." Sherlock still looked annoyed, but when he glanced at the omega, the corners of his lips twitched up in amusement.

"Was it you?" John just rolled his eyes and gave him this look like he was an idiot. "Good. Bye, Greg. See you later."

Sherlock walked closer so John could lean on him and grab his arm, still a little tipsy. The quiet comments between them were probably the most entertaining thing in the whole party. They were such gossips.

~

Two weeks later, Greg was at 221B because, according to John, their ride would also be his ride. He didn’t even question it. Not when John sounded that sure.

When he arrived, they were already dressed and ready, Sherlock looking oh-so-thrilled about socializing – especially with his family.

"They’re literally signing a piece of paper that splits their assets in half. All of this just so society validates their relationship."

"And you’re still going, or I’m not going to your future nephew’s baptism."

"Nephew?" Sherlock looked confused for a second.

"Oh, hey Greg, good timing, we were just waiting for you. Our ride should be outside," John said, adjusting his grey tux.

"But I just came up. Nobody was outside."

"Our ride is Sherlock’s older brother." That was all he said, as if it explained anything.

And in the end, it did.

When they came down, there was a black limousine waiting out front. Sherlock had been grumbling since they left the flat, but now he looked three times grumpier.

"Mycroft."

"John, Sherlock… Inspector Lestrade."

That was when Greg finally understood what it meant to be a Holmes. Besides the weird name, the whole vibe was just… off.

Mycroft was a beta, which meant it was nearly impossible to tell what he was feeling. That somehow made him seem even stranger than Sherlock, who was sulking with his arms crossed, basically thrown against the seat.

"You’ve gotten even fatter," Sherlock commented, of course.

The ride was silent for the most part, the pair ignoring most of Sherlock’s snarky remarks.

"Mom and Dad are already asking about grandkids."

"Not our problem if you’re the older brother and still single."

"Like your sister," Mycroft shot back.

"Divorced. With two kids."

Greg felt like an intruder in this family argument. Thank God they finally saw the massive venue as they parked – this must have cost a fortune to rent.

Well, that explained why Sherlock hadn’t starved to death. His family clearly had money.

"Anyway, they’ll be at the reception, and they want to talk to the only son who’s been in a relationship longer than the rest."

"Not our fault nobody wants you."

That was the last thing Sherlock said before basically leaping out of the car. What was really shocking was that he actually waited for John – and pretty much dragged him inside.

Lestrade gave Mycroft one last look before getting out. He refused to run after the couple, even with John glancing back at him.

His saving grace was spotting a familiar face – Molly, awkwardly standing in a corner like she didn’t belong either.

"Feels like I’m crashing this wedding."

"I’d probably feel that way too, but apparently I’m considered a sister-in-law," she said proudly, even though her outfit was way too casual for this crowd of judgmental rich people.

"John invited me."

"Don’t worry, the normal people haven’t even arrived yet. Only the Holmes relatives are ever on time. Well, and me – but I’m the godmother."

"I thought you weren’t that close to the Holmeses."

"Well, I’m close to John and sort of to Sherlock. Anyone who manages to be friends with them is basically family."

Lestrade nodded. Just being Sherlock’s colleague was already a challenge. John was easier to talk to, but getting the omega to lower his guard was hard.

A few minutes later Sherlock appeared, dragging John along. John already looked exhausted and they’d barely been there half an hour.

"Follow me," Sherlock said, walking fast. John was still being tugged along by the arm. Maybe that was why people were giving them looks, and why Molly and Greg followed without a word.

"John!"

"Your husband still cheats on you."

The lady – who clearly had maxed out her plastic surgery options – froze, scandalized, right in the middle of the aisle.

"Sher! What did I tell you about shocking people just to avoid talking to them?" John sighed, sitting in a pew, Sherlock right beside him.

"She was gonna ask about our imaginary, future kids, and I can’t stand how she smells."

Molly smiled to herself like this was completely normal, and once again Lestrade realized that yes, this was exactly what counted as normal when you hung out with a Holmes.

"I’ll have to go soon."

"Yeah, yeah, godmother duties."

"Sherlock, aren’t you the godfather?" John grinned.

"That too," Sherlock grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

~

The ceremony was beautiful. The fact that the bride wore blue hit Lestrade surprisingly hard, though considering she was a Holmes, he was shocked it wasn’t something even weirder.

That is, until they got to the reception. The groom’s side was pure chaos – kids running and sleeping on the floor, adults yelling, one guy passed out drunk.

John smiled at everyone, and at one point, while Lestrade was eating and dodging a lady who was practically rubbing her fake boobs on him, he spotted Sherlock and John dancing. The look on John’s face said it was hilarious. Lestrade decided he didn’t want to know.

Later, after a few drinks, he finally saw the Holmes parents.

"You’ve been together for so long, I’m shocked I’m not a grandmother yet!"

"Don’t say that, Mom. Imagine a kid with Mycroft as their uncle. The trauma." That was the bride talking, which made Sherlock laugh.

"Your kid’s still gonna have him as an uncle."

"Poor thing."

That made everyone laugh, except Mycroft, who rolled his eyes. Lestrade glanced at his colleague and said:

"Middle child. That explains a lot."

John, already tipsy, burst out laughing.

"Come on, I wanna eat."

And like a puppy, Sherlock followed him.

That was new.

John smiled as they went to the table, holding hands for a change.

"They’re nauseating," Mycroft muttered, making a face as he watched them.

~

A month later, all their coworkers were at a bar on a Friday night, just hanging out. Molly was there too, and even the wonder couple decided to show up.

"Sorry we’re late. Someone decided to make me late. As usual."

"A drink for my poor friend, he deserves it," one of the colleagues said, throwing an arm around John.

"Why?" That tone was dangerous.

Molly hid a smile behind her glass, and even Anderson had to look away.

"For putting up with the most annoying alpha on the planet."

The poor guy was still clueless, smiling at his friends. He was probably one of the ones who never got involved in the cases. And of course, he was an alpha.

"For nothing else."

Now he was confused. John’s icy stare didn’t leave him, and the other officers were no help at all.

"That’s it? Putting up with the alpha you think is unbearable? Sorry, but you don’t even know my full name."

The people closest to them had to look away so they wouldn’t laugh and make it worse for the poor guy. You could practically see the regret forming on his forehead – definitely some stupid bet. Nobody would say that to John Watson on purpose.

"An…"

Right then Sherlock finally looked up from his phone and gave the guy this weird smile.

"Let me give you some clues. The PhD, the two degrees, the military service, all the casework, and maybe the fact he was a Royal Marine." The weird smile was gone by the end of the sentence. Sherlock physically removed the guy’s arm from John’s shoulders.

Molly had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing.

After spending some time with John, you’d get used to his dry humor – and his habit of scaring off every alpha who came too close with fake activism, with just a pinch of truth.

The next day, the guy was a running joke. But that’s another story.

The night was fun anyway, even with Sherlock drinking like a fish. Somewhere in the middle of it all, John had humiliated three rookies in a drinking contest.

Sherlock eventually ended up passed out across two chairs.

At the end of the night, Lestrade – apparently tonight’s designated babysitter – helped get everyone home. Molly was saying hi to random plants and nearly followed a stray cat down the street. They stuck her with Anderson, who was at least sober enough to handle her.

"Come on, you two."

"Greg’s right," John mumbled, still dragging his grumbling companion like a dog on a leash.

Sherlock almost started a fight, and everyone was shocked at how easily John held him back. "Not the first time," John muttered.

"John, you’re my favorite."

"If I wasn’t, we’d have a problem." They were whispering to each other in their drunken state. "Whoa, the wall just moved, almost hit it," John said, and Greg decided his night had been worth it.

"Let’s go home. I feel like I’m gonna sleep."

"Oh God bless us, the sky’s falling." John looked up dramatically.

"Good thing I like you."

"Good thing. I like you too."

"Good thing."

Sherlock suddenly sounded almost emotional, and the whole car went quiet.

"If you two make out in my backseat, I’m suing." They both huffed at the same time. "You sound like an old married couple."

They fell asleep on the way back.

When they arrived, John seemed to be doing better than Sherlock and smiled at Greg by the driver’s side door.

"Thanks, Greg."

The smaller man held Sherlock’s hand all the way to the door.

"And by the way, Gregory—" Lestrade felt like running away when Sherlock suddenly yelled. "We’re married."

John laughed as he stepped inside, probably at Greg’s shocked face. The inspector only left once the door was closed.

The last thing he saw was Sherlock smiling – not that weird smile.

A real one. Bright, and aimed straight at John.

That was the first time anyone had seen John Watson and Sherlock Holmes acting like a real couple in public.

Chapter Text

Parties are funny things.

Molly was smiling even though she kept losing at laser tag. She was terrible at it, really.

They were at the birthday party of one of Greg’s kids – the youngest one.

Apparently most of the adults didn’t think running around in a dark room shooting lights at each other was that fun, but somehow they’d all been talked into it.

How did they even agree to this? Who knows.

Sherlock and John were on opposite teams, which was honestly fascinating to watch, even surrounded by a bunch of teenagers and kids.

Sherlock, of course, was great at not getting hit, and his aim was perfect.

And naturally, he could deduce exactly where and when someone was about to pop out – which everyone ignored, because, well, that was Sherlock.

Somehow, Watson managed to eliminate everyone, even though his eyes were practically burning from all the flashing lights.

Greg didn’t even see the exact moment John won, but he sure saw him walking out with an amazing score – and Sherlock sulking right behind him.

Some of the parents looked a bit shocked at John’s sweet smile, considering this was the man who’d just taken down twenty-one people in under fifteen minutes.

The other guests even complained, like “Hey! He’s a former marine? That’s not fair!”

When Sherlock and John ended up on the same team, the game ended pretty quickly. Greg’s kid ran out of the arena cheering like it was the best thing ever.

“Covering your six from twelve-year-olds – that’s what partners are for, right?” John grinned, poking at his food.

Sherlock glanced around, already bored.

“History books definitely have a chapter about that,” he muttered.

“Sure,” John smirked, “back in the Stone Age, partners were chosen based on their laser tag skills.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Molly laughed.

~

Working with people was always such a pain. Anyone who did it regularly had to have an ungodly amount of patience.

When the cases were boring, John would head over to the station to talk to Greg, who usually ended up venting about his kids and how much they hated their mom’s new boyfriend.

One of those days, Sherlock tagged along, dramatically sighing the entire way.

“Sorry about him,” John said, “it was either bring him along or let him shoot the walls again.”

Sherlock flopped onto the couch in Greg’s office like it was his own flat.

“This place is hell. I hate holidays,” he grumbled.

Greg just muttered something back, and John gave him a sympathetic smile.

They exchanged a few quiet words while Sherlock stared at the window and let out another loud sigh.

“A man’s going to punch one of those officers and end up here,” Sherlock said.

Greg grabbed his gun and aimed it at the door.

Seconds later, a cuffed man was dragged in, stumbling and bumping into John on the way. John nearly lost his balance.

It wasn’t a great day for him – Sherlock grabbed his arm and practically made him sit on the couch.

The man was thrown backward into the exact spot John had been standing before. Two officers quickly dragged the man away.

“Holidays and drunks,” Greg sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yep,” John said, deciding to stay where he was, sharing the couch with Sherlock for the rest of the conversation.

~

As the middle child, Sherlock had mastered the art of being insufferable. His mouth was way too quick for his own good.

The man he was talking to was trying to outsmart him – like every lawyer who’d ever existed.

Sherlock had long since deleted most of the penal code from his brain.

Who even needed to know that stuff?

It wasn’t nearly as interesting as, say, the exact speed at which a ligament decomposes in boiling water.

“If you weren’t so inappropriate, you’d know it’s reckless to speak to me like that,” the lawyer snapped.

“Reckless? That’s you having an affair with the headmaster. All this for a raise? Or is it just a fetish?” Sherlock shot back.

John winced from the corner of the room. He hated when Sherlock did this.

The man, now absolutely livid, took a step toward Sherlock.

Thing is, a beta might be able to face off against an alpha – but they usually didn’t go picking fights with ex-marines.

John casually stepped forward, just enough to get into the man’s line of sight, and that was all it took for him to freeze.

“Well, that was professional,” John murmured with a little smile.

Honestly? This was just another normal day with these two.

~

Sherlock Holmes was the quintessential alpha. No one who saw him could deny it.

He loved being the smartest in the room, hated ordinary people, and had an ego the size of London. And no, it wasn’t just because he was an alpha – it was because he was genuinely like that.

Honestly, if Sherlock had been born a gnome, he still would’ve looked down on everyone.

Well, almost everyone.

Working with detectives and police officers was already a challenge. Working with Sherlock was worse.

Which was why John showing up was like building a bridge – he was the wire holding the connection together.

And when that wire gets cut, all you get is silence.

Working with killers, serial killers, and downright insane people was dangerous for anyone – but for an omega?

Well, that’s why they thought Sherlock was losing it.

Lestrade knew better. He knew that Sherlock was losing it specifically because John was John.

If John were a rock, Sherlock would still climb every mountain with a million more rocks on his back to get to him.

John was kidnapped somewhere between 2:00 and 2:15, while leaving work to pick up some lab results.

Sherlock was already with the police, and immediately asked for Greg’s phone. John didn’t answer any of his messages.

The frown on Sherlock’s face was sharper than usual, twisted with something that looked suspiciously like worry.

Donovan stayed completely silent – not a single sarcastic remark. The other officers weren’t as quiet, whispering about how they’d never seen Sherlock this restless.

He was pacing like the floor was on fire, disappearing into his mind palace and snapping back out, or just lying still on the couch, looking like he was praying.

To outsiders, it looked like he was just losing his mind, same as always.

Lestrade, who normally rolled his eyes when this happened, stayed quiet in the corner – not worried, but definitely cautious.

Sherlock liked to yell when he was irritated, but when one of the officers laughed about everyone being so worried over a former soldier who’d been to war – worse than the joke was the look Sherlock shot her.

She left the room immediately.

By the end of the day, everyone had the pleasure of seeing Sherlock – the most reckless person alive – moving with the caution of a deer drinking from a crocodile-infested river.

All for a former soldier. His partner.

Sherlock didn’t say a single word to anyone from the moment the kidnapping was confirmed. Not even Anderson got a reaction out of him.

He just stood still while they went over the plans, staring Lestrade down whenever he gave him orders – not a single protest.

The only words he spoke were right after the rescue, when he murmured something to John.

No one dared comment on the five unconscious – maybe even dead – people on the floor.

Well, it wasn’t going to be them interrupting whatever that was.

“Well, that was educational,” John muttered.

Anderson wasn’t a fan of violence, but even he reached over and pinched Donovan hard enough to shut her up.

John, still wrapped up in Sherlock’s arms, actually gave him a grateful look.

~

John Watson was everything an omega was supposed to be. He smiled when he was supposed to smile, and he was skilled when he needed to be.

Most people thought that was just because he was an omega, but no.

Sure, every omega could do that – they were, after all, superior (not that you should say that in front of misogynists) at hiding things and living double lives.

But John was good at it because he was a trained soldier.

He’d looked death straight in the face, watched the scythe take his comrades one by one, felt it swinging for his own neck.

And even then, everywhere he went, he stayed calm when calm was needed, threatening when it was necessary – in a quiet, subtle way.

Sherlock’s silence was strange and uncomfortable. John’s silence was terrifying.

Sherlock had always been reckless – hell, they’d met when Sherlock was knocking officers down for trying to sedate him.

Sherlock was the alpha who yelled “get out of my way” and “keep up if you can,” a genius constantly chasing chaos.

And now, in the middle of another one of his adventures, he’d been gone for three days.

John, for all his humor, for all the bets and jokes he shared with Sherlock, was still his partner.

Greg smiled when John showed up that night. The inspector spent more time sleeping in his office than at home, and John, being John, always dropped by with food.

The blood on John’s face was the first sign something was wrong. He took the cloth Greg always kept there – just in case, dealing with those two troublemakers – and cleaned himself up.

Then he sat down. Greg handed him an ice pack.

“Sherlock’s missing…” John glanced at his watch. “Four hours now.”

Lestrade grabbed a form and started filling it out as John spoke.

Then John went quiet.

He just stared at the walls like they might explode.

Molly showed up later with a first aid kit, but didn’t say anything.

The omega dozed off sitting up, and two days passed like that.

Lestrade got twitchy, the same way he always did when Sherlock was involved.

The officers were trained for high-pressure situations, but nothing was more unnerving than having a marine sitting in the corner, staring at everything like he might burn the place to the ground if he felt like it.

On the third day, there was a lead – one John found.

Calm as ever, suspiciously calm, John still got underestimated because of that.

Until, at the very last second, he dropped two security guards twice his size.

The informant was dragged in.

“Tell me where he is,” Lestrade demanded. John had the man pinned, like he could snap him in half if he wanted.

The man spat at them, and John grabbed his arm in a way that left him gasping for air.

“People forget I’m a doctor,” John said calmly. “You know what? I could twist your nerves until you never regain control of them. I could make you feel pain for the rest of your life. Death will seem merciful compared to that.”

Half an hour later, Sherlock was found in an old pawnshop.

“All that was missing was a horse and shining armor,” he rasped – paler than usual.

“Let’s hope we don’t need a next time,” John said, checking Sherlock’s temperature with a little smile.

“Doctor, the ambulance is here,” one of the officers called.

“Right. Thanks.”

If anyone was going to help, they didn’t get the chance – John had already lifted Sherlock up and was helping him out the door.

Greg stopped by 221B later, dropping off food. Neither of them were downstairs.

He smiled and turned off the TV.

Apparently, they were miraculously in bed, actually resting.

This was the first time anyone had seen Sherlock and John being openly protective of each other.

And word got around fast – apparently London’s most destructive duo was even worse when you tried to separate them.