//SMUT WARNING//
It was bound to happen. Sherlock and John break into one too many labs and are exposed to...something.
The something changes their genetic code, exposing them to the Alpha/Omega mutation.
The rest...as they say.....is history
*TopJohn version.
Sherlock glanced down as the distinctive chime echoed off the stark walls of the lab.
Where are you – MH
Sherlock irritably tapped back
Cascade Labs, on a case – SH
He paused and then added
Go away - SH
John glanced up from the files he was rifling through and Sherlock mouthed Mycroft before rolling his eyes as the phone chimed again
Which floor? - MH
When it became apparent no reply was forthcoming, the phone chimed again
It's important dear brother – high risk of contamination – MH
Sherlock looked thoughtfully at John, now lifting and inspecting bottles with bare hands and tapped back.
Floor 17, advise risk – SH
He waited, staring at the screen for what seemed like hours before the response finally flashed up
Don't leave....OMW with team. – MH
Bad? – SH
DO NOT LEAVE – MH
**--**
Thirty minutes later, Sherlock and John were still waiting, John sitting on one of the desks, legs swinging gently, Sherlock standing beside him leaning easily against the edge.
"We should just leave," Sherlock muttered petulantly.
"We're not leaving until we find out what we've been exposed to, and that's the end to it."
Sherlock snorted in a way that could only be described as deeply disapproving yet acquiescent and crossed his arms, tucking his chin down and proceeded to sulk in an unlikely upright pose.
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"But why can't we....."
"No!"
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"If it had been......"
"No! Sherlock.....no." John was unwavering. While John would admit that Mycroft's information had been sparse to the point of being unhelpful, the fact remained that at this point there was every chance that the short trip home could unleash a plague of biblical proportions on the unsuspecting London public. Regardless of how bored (and therefore annoying) Sherlock got, it just wasn't worth the risk.
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Sherlock cast a hopeful glance at John after another twenty minutes only to receive another firm shake of the head.....sulking resumed.
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When the ten men in bio-hazard suits arrived, they had their first moment of genuine concern. Up to this point, they'd been relatively sure that whatever the issue, Mycroft was likely overreacting, and that the consequences of their 'unofficial' visit to the lab would be a stern word from Sherlock's brother and a solid commitment to never do such a thing again.
Three hours of decontamination procedures, flimsy temporary overalls and being driven back to Baker Street in the back of an unmarked van had a way of convincing even the surliest of consulting detectives that perhaps, just perhaps, this time he'd gone too far.
Waiting in the foyer of Baker Street, Mycroft's usual imperious façade was distressingly absent and for once, John would have taken comfort from the familiar smugness. Instead, Mycroft stood aside as his brother climbed the 17 steps, John trailed after them in silence. The sorry convoy was completed by the team of twelve that had accompanied them from the lab.
**--**
The following hours were a nightmare. Having undergone complete bio-hazard scrubbing at the lab, John and Sherlock were now granted permission to change out of the disposable onesies and into clean clothes. Sherlock's suit and coat were gone, as were John's jeans and a rather nice red and black jumper that he'd become quite fond of. In normal circumstances, ending the day in the sitting room of 221B in pyjamas, robes and with a warm drink in their hands would signal the end to a good day. But this was anything but.
At some point, while John and Sherlock had been changing in their rooms, their blood tests had arrived. When the two men returned to the sofa the look on Mycroft's face had become, if anything more alarming. He sat in John's chair, reading the results, pausing and tapping thoughtfully on the table at irregular intervals. Finally, he stood and consulted with several members of his team, nodding toward the men sitting side-by-side looking like teenagers caught behind the shed.
Finally, two members of the team approached and gestured for Sherlock to follow them to the kitchen while another person sat down beside John. It was the first direct attention either of them had received since returning to the room, and Sherlock's patience was running short.
He angrily shrugged off the hand on his arm, "Tell us together."
"Sherlock," Mycroft's conciliatory tone only making the situation worse.
"No, Mycroft. Whatever your worker-bees have to say to us, you can say to us both. We're in this together, after all."
Mycroft released an exasperated breath and moved to stand closer to his brother, "We're not trying to separate the two of you, Sherlock. In fact the opposite is very definitely true. But the situation is such that your immediate....." he paused, looking for an appropriate word, "...treatment, requires different information for each of you."
Sherlock cast a glance back to John and the determined yet concerned frown was enough to reconcile him to the fact that in this, as in most medical matters, he'd take John's lead. Without another word, he lead his two shadows to the kitchen and crossed his arms, waiting.
**--**
"Well that's patently ridiculous!" Sherlock showed all the symptoms of an approaching tantrum of truly epic proportions. More alarming, Sherlock felt himself inexplicably close to tears.
"Nevertheless sir, it remains true. If you'll just read...." The dour man in the dark suit again offered the thick blue folder.
"I'm not interested in reading some fictitious government report designed to excuse some aberrant mutation." Sherlock knocked the file away petulantly, "John!"
He looked through the opening from the kitchen only to find John fidgeting uneasily on the couch, leafing through a similar file, this one green. He had an air of restlessness, one hand buried in his grey-blonde hair, the other toying with the corner of a page.
Taking a deep breath, he turned back to take the file and asked in what he hoped sounded more steady than he felt, ".....alright...tell me again."
"The two of you have been exposed to a highly experimental genetic manipulation agent. We call it...." He paused as Sherlock's eyes flashed with impatience, "...it doesn't really matter what we call it. The material was originally designed to assist infertile couples, however the side-effects have been substantially more far-reaching than expected."
Sherlock sat heavily on a kitchen chair, scanning and consuming the material in the folder, "And we've both been infected?"
"Yes sir, you've been exposed to the Omega strain and your.....partner," He glanced up at Mycroft and received a subtle nod at the term, "....to the Alpha strain. I'm sorry to say both your genetic makeups have been compromised."
Sherlock flipped through the pages, speed reading, "The side-effects appear to be very poorly documented. Is it lethal?" He didn't look up as he asked, but there was a vulnerable quaver in his voice that he hated.
"No sir, not lethal. But the consequences to you both will be.....profound is probably the best word. Take these please sir." The man handed him two white pills.
Sherlock dry swallowed the medication, conceding defeat, "Tell me what the file DOESN'T say."
**--**
By the time the team left, Sherlock had come to terms with the truth of their situation. He'd spent hours staring down his microscope and although most of the results made little sense, it was clear that they were far from normal. More annoying was the rising tide of sensation buffeting his mind and body.
It had started as a mild sweat, making his palms slippery and distracting him as a stray droplet rolled down over his clavicle. He'd tried to categorise it as a mild after-effect but he was being forced to consider other alternatives as the symptoms got worse.
A not unpleasant cycle of tingling followed by constricting muscles had begun over an hour ago, centred about his abdomen and arse. What he'd initially dismissed as sweat under his thighs was clearly something else. He'd surreptitiously gathered a little on a slide and it more closely resembled the lubrication that slugs and snails produced than human tears and sweat.
Of all the increasing symptoms, the mental impact was probably the most annoying. Over and over again he'd needed to drag his focus back to the microscope as his vision blurred and his mind drifted to thoughts of warm beds, soft sheets and the ex-army doctor crashing around upstairs.
From the sparse information in the file, the storm approaching was clear. The genetic changes to them both were triggering what the files referred to as 'heat' and there was a rising hormonal imperative to find a mate and copulate.
Transport! It's just transport! He stared into the eyepiece again as the slippery stickiness soaked his pyjamas again. I'll simply recognise it, accept it, and ignore it. Sherlock stared wistfully at the ceiling, growled out a frustrated expletive and returned to his investigations.
**--**
Sherlock hadn't noticed the noise from above had ceased until John's voice, gravelly and breathless came from the doorway, "Jesus Sherlock, I can't stand it any longer."
His eyes flicked up from the microscope as John continued, "I tried....I tried to stay away, but....I can't..."
Sherlock's eye's widened, the wretched need in John's voice and the flush in his face telling him all he needed to know.
"I..." He stumbled forward into the kitchen, seemingly trying to resist the urge to approach, "I read the file.....the....smell" His brow furrowed as he dragged another lungful of the sweet-spicy odour rolling from Sherlock, "This is......heat?"
"Yes...I suspect that's what this is." Sherlock confirmed, edging his chair back slightly.
John shook his head wonderingly, "But you're OK....you're not feeling this...ache?"
The corner of Sherlock's mouth lifted wryly as he held up a shaking hand for John's inspection, "I'm feeling it....trust me."
John looked uncertain, "But you....didn't come to me. Oh," His face fell, "I understand...you don't want me. I'll..." he looked despairingly to the door, "I'll go...."
The thought of John leaving made something deep within Sherlock recoil and he virtually shouted before John could retreat, "NO!" He sprang from the chair, "Don't leave me. Just...." He struggled with an irrational desire to run and fall at John's feet, "I don't want to be a slave to this.....thing." Sherlock' tear-tinged eyes sought John's as he added pleadingly, "The WORK, John...what will happen to the work?"
John's eyes softened as a fat tear rolled down Sherlock's cheek. With the sight of the proud, driven man reduced to tearful desperation rose a wave of fierce protectiveness and it was all John could do to resist running to his side.
Instead, John squared his shoulders and stated as matter-of-factly as he could, "Tell you what....you take another..." he glanced at his watch, "fifteen minutes. Wrap up what you're working on, prove to yourself that this is on your terms and I'll....." John glanced longingly at Sherlock's bedroom door before looking away, "I'll be on the couch."
Sherlock's eyes brightened with hope, "You'll wait? You're OK with that?"
John grinned, "OK? Not really, but you won't be happy unless you can find a balance. So find it, Sherlock." John took two steps forward crowding into Sherlock's personal space and leaning up so his breath brushed over Sherlock's lips, "And then come to me."
**--**
"That's fifteen, Sherlock." John called from the couch where he was reading the same page of a journal for the fifth time.
"I just need to finish....." Sherlock's voice was strained but determined.
"FIFTEEN, Sherlock." John rose to his feet.
Sherlock swayed at the force in John's words before drawing in a steadying breath and bending back to his eyepiece.
John growled and began a resolute advance toward the kitchen, "Sherlock." He muttered warningly.
"Just a moment..." Sherlock replied, pleading.
John stepped up behind Sherlock and loomed over his shoulder, brushing his short grey-blonde hair against the shell of Sherlock's ear before whispering roughly, "If you don't push that microscope away right now, I'm going to bend you over this table and fuck you until you scream."
Sherlock shuddered, his head tipping back with a moan as John's hot breath slithered down his neck.
"Push.....the microscope...away." John reached over Sherlock's shoulders and began tugging up Sherlock's T-shirt.
With a needy whimper, Sherlock leaned back against John as he pushed the lab equipment to the edge, as far as his fingers would allow. "Yes, John......Please....yes."
John chuckled darkly, "That's good, Sherlock..very good." He placed a kiss against the long pale skin of Sherlock neck, "Last chance to back out, or this is happening. Won't ask again."
Another whimper as Sherlock shifted in the chair and a waft of the spicy scent rose on the air, "Need it....please."
John, finished rucking up the T-shirt and rubbed his thumbs over pebbled nipples, "It?" he questioned.
"You...." Breathed Sherlock, "Need you." Sherlock swivelled in the chair to press their mouths hungrily against John's, the force of the kiss grinding teeth together under sensitive lips.
"Yes....." John hoisted Sherlock out of the chair and pressed him back against the edge of the table, kicking the chair out of the way, "Need you too." John slotted himself between Sherlock's splayed legs and ground their groins together. "Gonna fuck you right here, OK?"
Sherlock's eyes rolled back in their sockets as he nodded vigorously.
John pushed at Sherlock's pyjama pants, moaning hedonistically as the damp fabric clung to Sherlock's thighs before slipping wetly to the floor, allowing Sherlock to toe them off.
"You smell......like Xmas" John mumbled, leaning to lick a long stripe up Sherlock's chest, "Like Xmas, and Easter, and fucking Bonfire Night all rolled into one."
Sherlock whined and pulled at John's T-shirt, stripping it from him in frustration as John rid himself of the bottoms and brought them back together again sucking in a harsh breath as the move crushed his swollen cock against Sherlock's stomach.
Wriggling restlessly and beyond words, Sherlock finally achieve his goal of turning in John's arms and bending at right angles over the table. Suddenly, John's cock was pressed against the cleft of his arse and instinct took over John's actions.
With a cry of triumph, he aligned and sank into Sherlock's body, wet and receptive to the sudden intrusion. Sherlock keened and grabbed the opposite side of the table with long fingers and shouted in relief.
"Fucking genius, Sherlock..." John huffed as he drew back and snapped his hips forward as the man under him moaned in delight, "You are...a fucking...genius."
"Yours...." Sherlock whimpered, "Your genius."
"Damn right you're mine.....all..." John slammed home again, "...mine!"
Such was the force that Sherlock's precious microscope gave an alarming wobble at the edge of the table and the detective glanced toward it, his vision suddenly clearing again.
"Don't...even...fucking...think...about...it." John rumbled warningly, reaching down to pin Sherlock's arms to the table as his drove in again, over and over.
"John....." Sherlock pleaded, "The work......please, John..."
"For Christ's sake." John stilled his movements momentarily and reached to lift the equipment to the safety of a chair at the side of the table, "There! Happy?" He settled back against Sherlock's arse, breathing deep.
Sherlock almost purred as he arched up off the table, "Mine.....Looks after me....So happy." He turned his head to grin at John, "Now....where were we?"
"Right...."John thrust hard against Sherlock again, delighting in the tight clenching as Sherlock's muscles spasmed around his cock at the movement, "....about...."another push and Sherlock scrabbled against the table top to brace himself, ".....here."
"Yes! Oh God, yes!" Sherlock shouted as John pummelled him over and over again, shifting angles until he found one that made Sherlock buck and cry out against the rhythmic pounding.
John gripped hard at Sherlock's hips, steadying him as he drove them both onward. As Sherlock's shouts increased in volume and pitch, John felt rather than saw the swelling beginning at the base of his cock.
"Close....Sherlock....M'close."
"Yes, Come on John.....Need it." Sherlock was panting now, the pale skin of his back blotchy with arousal. "Oh God.....there...there...there....." he chanted over and over again as John unerringly hit the right spot.
"Sherlock.....Christ...Sherlock...." With a shout, John pushed forward one last time, the swelling that had been building forced beyond the ring of Sherlock's entrance as John climaxed and flooded Sherlock with warmth. Sherlock cried out and shuddered beneath him, the paradoxical mix of pleasure and pain dragging his own orgasm from him.
Sherlock moaned in delight and shivered as he felt John's cock pulse within him again as John collapsed against him, laying gentle kisses on his back while they caught their breath.
"You OK?" John mumbled against Sherlock's skin.
"Mmmmm, very much." Sherlock's voice was deep with satisfaction and contentment. "Bit squashed though."
"Sorry, I'll..."John leaned up to ease himself out before finding they were cinched together, "Oh."
Sherlock's laugh bubbled up, "Right...forgot, this probably wasn't the wisest choice of venues for this activity."
John snorted lightly and shifted as much as he was able to given their connected state. "Ideas?"
Sherlock's laughter was quickly approaching hysterical giggles, "Well, If you can reach the kettle, we could make some tea."
Conceding defeat to their ridiculous situation, John eased himself down and encircled Sherlock's lean torso with his arms, hugging him tight, "Or we could just stay here."
Sherlock's laughter eased to a satisfied rumble, "Or we could just stay here. That would be nice too, John. That would be very nice indeed."