Chapter Text
“And so it’s painfully clear that the murderer was, in fact, the lover not the husband like your pea brained team thought. Now go, arrest him Inspector, that’s what you do best!” Sherlock Holmes paused to inhale, preparing to launch into the second half of his monologue, usually dedicated to the utter idiocy of New Scotland Yard.
“Fantastic!”
The threatened monologue was derailed as fast as it had been approaching and the world’s lone Consulting Detective absolutely did not blush. “You still do that out loud, you know.”
Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade hid a grin as John shuffled his feet guiltily.
John Watson was, without a doubt, the least assuming Alpha on the planet. Alphas were strong, powerful, macho, tall, Dominant. They wore aggressive clothing, were unashamedly arrogant, and kept their shoulders back and chins up. In short, they were physically imposing and status conscious and would never do anything to lessen the aura of power they naturally exuded.
John Watson, on the other hand, wore cuddly jumpers. John was short. John followed his flatmate all over town, let him order him around, and actually obeyed his ‘poorly framed requests’ as Greg had once heard them referred to as. John was nice, sweet, quiet and ordinary. If Greg hadn’t been there when the crazy drug addict with the knife had started waving said knife very close to Sherlock’s neck and seen for himself how John’s Dominance had dropped, not only the addict, but three quarters of the police officers present to their knees, well, he’d probably still believe John was a Beta Submissive too, whereas in reality John was an Alpha Dominant, so dominant that half those whose knees had hit the floor had also been Doms, and he just happened to have a penchant for light, knitted, snuggly jumpers and a very high tolerance for ‘improper’ dynamic behaviour.
Which was good, considering Sherlock.
After all, If that hadn’t in some ways been the bigger surprise... Greg, and the rest of the world to be fair, had always assumed Sherlock was an Alpha Dom himself. The man was tall, imposing, and arrogant as all fuck, all Alpha traits. Okay, so he was slightly on the lean side to fit the stereotypical Alpha profile, but then John was slightly short, and Sherlock’s devastating intelligence was certainly indicative of the breeding genders. He looked Doms in the eye and had made it his personal business to ensure that every Dom he worked with lowered their gaze first, acknowledging his dominance.
So when the whirlwind that was New Scotland Yard’s Consulting Detective blew in to give his statement with a bracelet around his right wrist, well, there were certain officers who still refused to be in the same room as him. Apparently where people were perfectly happy to be embarrassed, but good natured about mistaking an Alpha Dominant for a Beta Submissive, they were inclined to take thinking, or being tricked into thinking most claimed, that a Submissive was a Dominant with much less grace.
Sherlock merely pointed out that if they were truly oblivious enough not to have noticed all the signs, which even after having had them enumerated for them most people still claimed not to be able to see, and besides that were idiotic enough not to notice his gender and dynamic that were printed on his ID, then that was their problem and merely proof of what Sherlock had been saying all along that NSY was staffed by imbeciles. This speech usually ended with Sherlock forcing whoever had resurrected the issue that time to back down with a raised eyebrow and, as the ‘injured’ party was 90% of the time one of the Dominant officers at the Yard, Sherlock’s popularity was not increasing.
Greg merely reflected anew every time another idiot Dom tried to prove that he or she could make the ‘upstart Sub’ submit that Sherlock was dammed lucky to have John as his Dom because there couldn’t be any other Dom in the world who would be able to tolerate that level of challenge from their Sub, let alone be comfortable enough in themselves to allow their Sub to confront his challengers on his own. John Watson seemed to thrive on it.
“You know what I think, Freak?”
“Always, Sally.” Sherlock twirled and bestowed a less than genial smile in Greg’s Sergeant’s direction.
“I think you’re wasting our time.”
Sherlock puffed up like an angry cat, but the slightest shake of John’s head turned him from angry jungle panther to pissed off kitten, which Greg was thankful for. Sally was still going to get her arse handed to her, but at least he wasn’t going to have to deal with hysterics from the rest of the team as well.
“We all know how good you are at that, don’t we Sally? And how was that little weekend in the country? Most decent of you to let Anderson Dom, or is that the only way you’re able to keep him now?”
For Sherlock, that was almost kind, and Greg thanked everyone and everything for John Watson even as Sally squared her feet ready for a fight.
“Thank you, Sherlock. Come in for a statement tomorrow.” Greg saw no reason to allow the fight the two of them were spoiling for.
Sherlock favoured him with a long blink, obviously deciding whether he was going to allow Greg his interference. Decision made he tossed his curls, letting them lift slightly in the cold winter breeze, and turned at a right angle away from Sally in an obvious dismissal.
“Next time maybe you’ll call and allow me access to the crime scene when the crime occurs, rather than when you’re forced to acknowledge you work with idiots. This could have been wrapped up a week ago if you’d called me when the body was found.”
“You had the files.” Sally didn’t try keeping her voice down.
Sherlock ignored her, knowing that nothing would annoy her more. “And I’ll be in on Monday. Not before.”
He ducked under the police tape still cordoning off the crime scene and held it up for John to pass under. It was small gestures like this that reinforced to those who knew to look that John was indeed the Dom in the relationship and that, despite rumours to the contrary, Sherlock really did submit to him. Not so much the fact that Sherlock lifted the tape for him, he’d done that since they’d met (usually as an unspoken command), but the fact that John didn’t even check his stride, despite being almost level with the taller man, expecting it to be raised for him. It was in the way that Sherlock waited, at least at the end of a case anyway, for John to adjust his coat and gloves and name the take away de la nuit before hailing the cab, something John had never managed to do, and the way he let John usher him inside with a possessive hand in the small of the Detective’s back.
“Freak.” Sally tossed her hair and glared after the cab.
Greg sighed. Unfortunately Sally was a Dom and if she and Sherlock had been problematic before the little revelation about Sherlock’s sexuality their relationship afterwards had sped past ‘hateful’, was making its way rapidly through ‘outright loathing’, and was fast approaching ‘murderous’. However it ended the only thing that was sure was that Sherlock wouldn’t be the one supplying the Yard with a body. That’s not to say that he wasn’t capable, but if it came down to actual physical violence there was no way it wouldn’t be John.
John who would no doubt be very apologetic at the funeral. Remorse or guilt was much more unlikely.
The problem was simply that Sally and Sherlock had to work together on almost every case. It was hard for a lot of Doms to accept that another Dom was able to out dominate them and to develop a productive working relationship, especially if they occupied lower or unofficial positions in the workplace and so should be submitting, according to the workplace hierarchy. To be forced to back by a Sub, someone whose very dynamic dictated a need to submit… even the sight of Sherlock understandably rubbed Sally the wrong way. It had only, unbelievably, become worse when halfway through a case Sherlock had gone into Heat and been revealed as not just a Beta, but an Omega. After that any hope of a tolerable, let alone functional, working acquaintance went right out the window.
Greg finished directing the uniforms who were bagging and tagging the additional evidence Sherlock had identified. He’d already dispatched a patrol car from the scene around to the lover’s house, but the chances of the Sub still being there after murdering his Dom were slim. The fact that he’d hung around long enough to talk to the police was unusual. The average Sub would have bolted straight away, driven to run by a mix of terror, confusion, guilt and adrenaline resulting not only from the act of murder, but the heady backlash from overpowering their Dom. Most police officers wouldn’t even bother to send the car back, but Greg refused to buy into stereotype of the emotional hysterical Sub.
The call came as the last of the evidence was being loaded for transport Greg sighed as he listened to the uniform’s report. From what could be seen through the window the Sub had packed in a hurry and was definitely gone. He checked his watch.
“Okay, thanks. Head back to the station and quickly write that up before you clock off. Yeah, thanks Higgins.”
“Sub’s done a runner?” Sally asked as he hung up his mobile. She sounded remorseful and her fingers automatically reached towards Anderson for reassurance before pulling back.
Greg nodded. “Yeah, but he’d be up for a very long prison sentence so I suppose it’s not surprising.”
Once upon a time the murder of a Dom by a Sub was an instant death sentence. In these more ‘enlightened’ times the penalty for murder had been standardised across the sexes as gaol time, though Sub Liberation groups still threw around statistics claiming that Subs were handed down harsher penalties for crimes against Doms than identical crimes against Subs. This Sub was just lucky that, despite the affair, he and the victim Dom had never exchanged claims and she had most definitely not collared him. Murder within a Bound rather than casual relationship was a separate offence to regular murder, carrying not only jail time, but mandatory corporal punishment.
“He won’t last long unless he’s assigned a Sub gaol.”
“Even then.”
Greg and Sally shared a resigned look. Prisons holding those accused of violent crimes were segregated primarily by dynamic to prevent abuse of the incarcerated Subs by the Doms, but even in the supposedly ‘gentler’ Sub Section certain crimes were not tolerated and the perpetrators were subjected to Prison Justice. Murder of your Dom, official or not, for any reason less than self-defence was just one of those crimes and while carrying on an affair behind your Bound Sub and husband’s back wasn’t a great character reference, there was no sign that the recently deceased Dom had been abusive.
So, four o’clock. Well, Greg amended as he snuck another glance at his watch, quarter past four. Close enough to five he could almost justify not going back to the station. That’d give him plenty of time to go home and change before meeting Mycroft for dinner. Maybe even time for a shower. Sally and Anderson didn’t need him to help take the evidence in after all, and he’d put in a lot of overtime lately and...
Drat, he had to go in and flag his suspect, and if he went back to the Yard he’d be handed files, asked for opinions, and have paperwork demanded from him until he ended up still at the station at seven, just like last night.
And the night before that, and the night before that...
It’s not like it mattered. After all, it’s not like it was a date or anything. It was just a weekly catch up with a good, his best, friend, so it’s not like he needed to go home and primp or anything. It just would have been nice to be able to prove to Mycroft that he could look presentable every now and then. Even coming from the office Mycroft was always impeccably dressed and it would have been really good to not feel grungy sitting across the table from him. It wasn’t like he wanted to impress Mycroft or anything (well maybe a little), he just would have appreciated the chance to maybe even out the fashion stakes given the number of times he’d looked truly awful in the other man’s presence, but Mycroft had seen him after the office, even straight off a crime scene, before so it really didn’t matter and he really meant that and he did not feel disappointed because-
“Got a date tonight, Sir?”
Greg’s head shot up. “What? No! What?”
Sally smirked. “Uh huh, of course not.”
Greg scowled. “I do not have a date. I’m meeting people for dinner later, but it’s not a date.”
He deliberately kept his statement plural to stave off further attacks. He must have looked as defensive as he felt because Sally gently patted his hand and lay off the teasing.
“I can take it from here, Sir. You go home and relax before you have to go out. You’ve stayed overtime enough this week.”
“There’s the-”
“Consider it done, Sir. Just go.”
Greg chewed his lower lip lightly. It would be nice to be able to change... “But-”
“Go!” Sally gave him a gentle push. “Go home and get ready. Wear something nice for once, go out after dinner, and GET LAID! You’re not on the roster tomorrow so for God’s sake go have a night that’s worthy of a day off.”
Greg fought the blush that threatened to rise. True, he wasn’t on the roster tomorrow and it had been a long time since he’d gone out for more than a couple of pints, weekly dinners with Mycroft excluded, but he’d been planning on using tomorrow for paperwork and clearing a little of his load...
Sally gave him a less gentle shove to let him know she was serious. “I swear if I see you at the station tomorrow, you won’t like it. Leave right now and go act like the wild, crazy Alpha you are deep down inside for once.”
Greg rolled his eyes, but took the offer for what it was.
“Thanks, Sally. I’ll see you Monday.” He pivoted and started down the street to find a taxi.
It was amazing, now that he’d been forced to take off from work, how much fell from his shoulders. He resisted the urge to shake them out and instead turned the collar on his heavy black overcoat up jauntily. Sally was right, he had been holding himself tightly in check, all Alpha officers had to, and it would feel nice to let the control go. On impulse he shot himself a seductive look in the reflective glass window he was passing.
“Sir!”
Greg swung guilty back towards Sally who’d jogged a little way from the car after him. The slow burn up the back of his neck confirmed that he was failing to beat this blush down. Getting caught checking himself out by his subordinate was definitely up there on his most embarrassing moments list.
Sally gave him an inscrutable look.
“We,” She glanced back towards Anderson who was yelling angrily into his phone a few meters away and shook her head. “I just wanted to say, it wouldn’t be a bad thing, Sir, if tonight was a date. I wasn’t entirely kidding when I said you should, you know, and you haven’t... there hasn’t been anyone you’ve even exchanged temporary claims with since Josephine returned your collar and, well, I, well, the Team would all be,” swallow, “happy if you were to find someone and we really wouldn’t mind if it was a date and if it was you wouldn’t have, you know, to be embarrassed about it, and well, good luck.”
Greg stated as Sally blushed and almost ran back to the car. Sally Donovan, a very dominant, very strong, very capable detective, had just blushed like a school girl. He turned and continued walking lest his own face turn any redder.
If being caught checking himself out had been embarrassing, being told he could date and that everyone would be happy if he did made him feel like a single Dad being told by his kids it was okay to have sex, and that was just a whole new level of awkward. It also made him uncomfortably aware of how closely his love life, or lack thereof, was monitored by his team.
He pushed it all resolutely aside. Everything could be dealt with on Monday. Tonight was his.