A/N: Hey, all, remember once upon a time I wrote a story called "A Fate Worse Than Death"? And promised ficlets for the reviewers who guessed the most fanfic writers making guest appearances? Yeah? Well, here is the First Runner Up's story. For you, Kathmak! An Omegaverse-arranged marriage-period drama-Sherlock's first time story that turned out to be a bit longer than a ficlet, at least three chapters. Hope you like!

"This is an incredible waste of time."

John rolled his eyes and sighed, the long-suffering sigh of a man who is near the end of his patience. He watched as his friend paced the small room in which they'd been instructed to wait. The problem with Alphas – especially unbonded Alphas – was their tempers. Although Sherlock had managed what had always been believed to be the impossible and made it to his middle twenties without having taken a Bondmate or even once having availed himself of the services of an Omega in Heat, family pressure was finally bearing down on him.

Today was the fourth time he was to meet a supposedly suitable Omega, one that he might be inclined to take to wife, to Bond with, to bear his children...and here he was, as always, acting like a child himself. Scowling, pacing, smoking that ridiculous Meerschaum pipe he favored, running his hands through his hair and disarranging his dark curls into a mess his valet would no doubt despair over were he to see it.

"It's not a waste of time if you meet the right woman, Sherlock," John said placatingly, watching his friend continue to pace while remaining comfortably ensconced in his chair by the window. "Besides, it's your duty to produce heirs, and your parents have allowed you far more leeway than you've a right to expect."

Sherlock's scowl deepened as he stopped in front of John. "You're a fine one to talk John Hamish Watson," he spat out, every syllable dripping with aggravation. "You're a Beta; your wife is a Beta, your children will no doubt all be Betas. All society expects of you is for you to live your lives as you see fit; there's no one forcing you into something you are ill equipped to handle – "

His mouth snapped shut, but too late. John grinned and leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands across his stomach as he looked up at his friend. "Why, what's this? The great Sherlock Holmes admitting to being ill equipped to handle anything? Even something as mundane as a wife?" A note of gleeful mockery entered his voice. "I must speak to Mother Hudson; I do believe the Apocalypse is upon us at last!"

Sherlock gave him a withering glare before whirling around to once again resume his agitated pacing. "It is not that I feel myself incapable of acting as a husband, John, don't be ridiculous!" he snapped as he reached the wall opposite John's seat by the French windows. "It is simply that I do not feel the need! I have channeled my so-called 'aggressive nature' into the work I do with Lestrade and his Bow Street Runners and I do not need an Omega to 'calm me down'!"

The last was said in a near roar of frustration, which John gallantly refrained from pointing out to his friend, choosing instead to merely raise an eyebrow as Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Yes, Sherlock had, under normal circumstances, an admirable amount of control over his Alpha nature, but lately that control had been slipping, although the other man was still deep in denial as to the reasons for that loss of control.

Put simply, Sherlock needed to Bond with an Omega. If his parents hadn't already taken steps to remedy his marital status, John might have been tempted to enlist Mycroft Holmes or Greg Lestrade in dragging the younger Holmes brother to an Omega House and finally ridding him of his virginity – and more than a decade of pent-up aggression.

Sherlock had returned to pacing again, while John patiently watched. The two men were in one of the smaller retiring rooms off the main salon, where the meeting was due to take place in less than half an hour. Normally Mycroft would be the one to stand by his brother's side at the scheduled appointment, but since he, too was an Alpha, it was scarcely appropriate – or safe. Even though Mycroft had Bonded and married his own Omega nearly a decade past, if this potential bride turned out to be at all compatible with Sherlock, his instincts could possibly cause him to challenge the other man, or even, as had happened in far too many cases, drive him to attack what he would perceive as a potential rival.

Thus the only males in the room when Sherlock met the young lady in question – her name, John recalled after a moment's effort, was Miss Molly Hooper – would be Betas. Thus John Watson's presence, and that of Sherlock's valet – who really would be horrified by the state of his master's hair if Sherlock didn't stop raking his fingers through it – Wiggins.

Oh, but there would be one other male Alpha in the room, John recalled. Miss Hooper's father was an Alpha, but a weak one, and a blood relative, so his presence was to be permitted. Unusually, Miss Hooper's mother was also an Alpha, rumored to be a stronger one than her husband, although of course such rumors would never be addressed aloud. As long as they'd raised a properly submissive Omega daughter, society would politely look the other way and allow the couple their eccentricities.

Just as they allowed the Holmeses theirs, John reflected with an internal chuckle. Lord Holmes and his wife were also an Alpha-Alpha pairing, who had produced two of the strongest Alpha males any noble bloodline had seen in centuries. However, that was where all similarities ended, if the report Sherlock had shared with John was to be believed. Lord and Lady Holmes were far more equally matched than Miss Hooper's parents, and in spite of their offspring's decidedly unsociable life choices – Mycroft had elected to not only enter into politics, but was in trade as well, and Sherlock's relationship with the Inspector Lestrade's Bow Street Runners was hardly the sort of activity a well-bred noble's son was expected to indulge in – they lived a much more staid and proper life.

So staid and proper, in fact, that they'd finally insisted that Sherlock settle down into his family responsibilities and produce more grandchildren for them. Mycroft's two daughters and three sons, of course, were not enough. All highborn Alphas were expected to demonstrate their superiority, and ensure their family lines, by producing as many offspring as possible. And Sherlock Holmes, younger son or not, was not excluded from that requirement.

A sound of a discreet knock at the door signaled the arrival of the Hooper family. John scolded Sherlock into straightening his cravat, which he'd knocked askew, and smoothing his hair, then busied himself opening the door to admit the butler, Andrews. "Miss Hooper and her parents, sir," he said with a bow.

Sherlock merely scowled and brushed past him, which the butler ignored, being long used to the young master's brusqueness. John once again found himself rolling his eyes as he followed his friend. With luck and perhaps the blessings of the Gods, this young woman would be the one. Sherlock would finally release some of the pent-up Alpha energy he'd been containing since puberty, and John and his wife might actually spend more than two nights in a row not being interrupted by their friend's restlessness, which resulted far too often in John being dragged from his comfortable fireside on some wild adventure or other Sherlock had concocted.

Not that he minded those wild adventures; when too much time passed between them, as had rarely happened since the two men became friends nearly five years earlier, John found that, in spite of his normally placid Beta nature, he, too became restless. As if some of Sherlock's Alpha energy had transferred itself to his friend. Mary's opinion was that perhaps her husband was so strong a Beta that, but for a trick of biology, he might have been an Alpha himself. John's teasing response to her was that she simply fancied being Knotted, which invariably caused her to blush and scold him...but never without pausing first, as if considering the idea and finding it very much to her liking.

John put such pleasant thoughts from his mind as he and Sherlock entered the salon, tastefully decorated in blue and cream in the French style, as was the current fashion. Lord and Lady Holmes were there, seated on the divan; Lady Holmes inclined her head to John and held out her hand to her son, which he dutifully kissed before throwing himself down on the seat opposite theirs. John took his place behind Sherlock and slightly to the left, as tradition demanded, folded his hands behind his back, and awaited the arrival of the Hoopers.

Lord Holmes he ignored completely, as the man did him. They had never enjoyed one another's company, and ever since Sherlock had discovered his father's infidelity, the relationship between the two Alphas had been strained at best. Were Mycroft able to attend these meetings with potential mates, John knew, he himself would not be made welcome, as he was deemed an 'unfavorable influence' on Sherlock. Lord Holmes blamed him for leading Sherlock to the discovery of his father's mistress, one Lady Irene Adler – and for the fact that the lady in question had then attempted to seduce her lover's son. That had ended...not well. Lady Holmes, of course, had forgiven her husband for his indiscretion, Lady Adler had been banished from a number of wealthy family's salons once the nature of her relationship with Lord Holmes had been revealed to his wife, and Sherlock had, in John's opinion, escaped the clutches of an avaricious adventuress. Yes, his friend dearly needed to avail himself of feminine companionship, but not that woman's.

Let this one be the right one, he thought to himself as Sherlock's father rose to his feet. "Do be polite, Sherlock," he admonished his son as he prepared to leave the room. "I'll not have another angry father railing at me because you've reduced his daughter to tears with your deductions. If you feel you are not a suitable match – if your instincts do not draw you to her – then pray be courteous in your rejection."

Then he left, after depositing a glower at both his son and John, both of whom remained impassive in the face of his ill temper. In this matter only John could not feel the man was being unreasonable; after all, he'd witnessed Sherlock's rudeness to the first three young Omegas to whom he'd been introduced.

Of course, it was true that the first one was actually a weak Beta whose parents were attempting to pass her off as an Omega. And the second one truly did have a grasping, obvious nature that the dullest wit could have deduced – although undoubtedly to far less devastating effect. And the third one had been, simply put, dull. Sherlock didn't just need an Omega to satisfy his sexual appetites; he needed a clever woman, one who would engage his mind as well as his body. Someone very like Lady Irene, was John's reluctant conclusion now that he'd allowed himself to muse on the matter. Only with a conscience. A clever Omega was, perhaps, unusual, but certainly not unheard of.

"Stop it, John."

Startled, John glanced down at his friend. "I haven't said or done anything," he protested in a murmur after offering Sherlock's mother an apologetic smile.

"You're thinking too loudly," was his friend's curt response.

John was about to protest so ridiculous an accusation when a discreet knock sounded at the double doors to the salon. "Come in," Lady Holmes called out, while John straightened his posture and snapped his mouth shut, watching from the corner of his eye as Sherlock sat up a bit straighter and clasped his hands together on his knee. He would be watching the door like the proverbial hawk, John knew, waiting for this newest potential Bondmate and bride to enter the room.

John hoped for her sake – for all of their sakes – that Miss Molly Hooper wasn't about to be shredded beneath the claws of the predator Sherlock's clever mind could far too easily become.

oOo

Even if he hadn't been facing the door, Sherlock would have known the Omega was there; her scent was strong, far stronger than the aromas exuded by the other women who had paraded themselves through this room in an attempt to win so eligible a bachelor as husband and Bondmate. A prize, he often felt himself, like a bull or stallion put out to stud. Ridiculous, revolting, to be treated as nothing more than breeding stock, but it was not only expected but veritably demanded of a nobleman's son that he produce offspring and preserve the bloodline. Mycroft had already performed admirably in that arena, why couldn't that be enough for either society, about whom Sherlock could not possibly care less, or their own parents?

Such thoughts had been preying on his mind for the past fortnight, the length of time in which he'd been forced into the role of Alpha suitor seeking an Omega Bondmate to take to wife. If it weren't for the fact that he had established so engrossing a working relationship with Inspector Lestrade, he might have simply left the country and forged a life on the Continent for himself.

But then, his mother would undoubtedly be heartbroken if her youngest living son were to abandon his family responsibilities; memories of his elder brother Vernet's untimely demise after defying custom and doing just that flashed through Sherlock's mind. No, he could never do that to Mummy, put her through the type of pain Vernet had done.

So he endured these meetings, firmly convinced that the 'right woman' for him simply did not exist.

Then Molly Hooper came fully into the room, and Sherlock suddenly found himself on his feet, heart pounding in his chest as his every sense focused exclusively on her.

Eyesight: She was not beautiful, certainly not in the conventional sense, although her features were regular and attractive enough, if one were looking at her through unbiased eyes. Her hair was an agreeable chestnut with auburn highlights, pulled back and piled neatly on her head beneath a ridiculous bonnet. Her figure was slight and willowy, her breasts small but well formed beneath her girlish pink gown; her lips were small as well, but served only to make her expressive brown eyes seem even larger in her heart-shaped face. Her ears were pierced, unusual but not unseemly, and she wore small seed pearl earrings that dangled just below her well-shaped lobes.

Hearing: Her voice was quiet, but not timid, as she politely greeted his mother, although she gave a slight gasp as she turned to face Sherlock, who hadn't realized he'd moved until suddenly he found himself by her side. Her parents remained in the background, uninteresting to him, both Alphas but no threats, boring, easily dismissed as he waited for Miss Hooper to say something more. His mother was speaking, saying something he ignored, although he thought he might have heard his own name, but it wasn't her lips he wished to hear forming those syllables, it was the small but well-shaped lips of the young woman now facing him, those were the lips he wished to hear speaking his name. "I, I'm very pleased to make your a-acquaintence, Mr. Holmes," she said, and his heart thudded ever more strenuously in his chest – nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of her own increased heartbeat, but not quite.

Scent: The scent of her was everywhere, cinnamon and vanilla with something sharp and almost chemical teasing his nostrils as he noted the sudden dilation of her eyes and the fluttering of her hand as it came to rest on her bosom. All other odors faded into insignificance compared to her natural Omega scent, which threatened to overwhelm him as the chemical notes seemed to spike and sharpen, overtaking the sweeter tones.

Touch: He reached out and grasped her hand in his, feeling the smallness of her fingers as they were enfolded in his. Even beneath the sedate layer of the knit gloves she wore, he could feel the burning of her flesh against his, as if she were feverish. Her face and neck were flushed, and he suspected his own would bear the same ruddy hue were he to examine himself, but he had no interest in anything except continuing his analysis of Miss Molly Hooper, and the last, the only thing left to do was taste.

He pulled her closer, yanking her so that their chests mashed together as he crashed his lips to hers, sliding his tongue along her lips until she opened her mouth with a gasp. Triumph flooded through him as he tasted her, exploring her delicate mouth with his tongue, feeling hers shyly meeting his. He was vaguely aware that he'd wrenched off her bonnet at some point during the twelve seconds that had passed since he'd first taken her hand in his, that his fingers were combing through her hair, and that her own hands had entwined themselves behind his neck. She was pressing her body tightly against his, needing no urging from him, her eyes closed and she was moaning against his mouth.

He was no stranger to spontaneous erections, having been plagued with them ever since his Alpha nature had first revealed itself during the onset of puberty, but he would have willingly sworn any oath asked of him that his prick had never throbbed so insistently, practically demanding that he stop ignoring his body's needs and allow itself to be buried deeply within the woman he currently held in his arms.

"Sherlock!"

The voice was coming from very far away, difficult to hear over the blood roaring through his veins. He felt someone tugging at his hand and pulled his mouth away from Molly's long enough to growl a warning at whoever it was that was attempting to separate him from his mate...wait, no that was wrong, what the hell was going on?!

His valued clarity of thought returned only after his mother administered a sharp slap to his cheek, causing him to fully release Molly – Miss Hooper – and stumble back from her. It was John's hand he'd felt tugging at his wrist, and as the haze of lust eased a bit the room came back into focus.

Molly's – Miss Hooper's – parents were standing closer than they had been, but far enough away for him to continue to perceive them as not-threats...he growled internally; why was his mind insisting on phrasing things in so barbaric and primitive a manner?

"...heat, Sherlock, it's a spontaneous Heat," he heard John murmuring to him, his neutral scent and soothing voice helping to ease Sherlock's inexplicable tension.

Well, perhaps not so inexplicable after all, he decided as he processed what John had just told him. Molly, who was being lead away from him by his mother, looked just as dazed as he did, his mate (Miss Hooper! the rational part of his mind snapped) stumbling a bit, unable to tear her eyes from Sherlock's gaze. He felt his lip lifting in a silent snarl as his mother delivered Miss Hooper to her parents, murmuring to them quietly while John tugged at his arm and Wiggins entered the room at a dead run, stopping only to take Sherlock's other arm in his grasp. "Please, Sherlock, you have to leave her, but just for now. Just until Mother Hudson or one of the village priests or priestesses can be summoned," John was saying, still speaking in that soothing murmur meant to indicate he was no threat, that he wasn't attempting to challenge the Alpha for possession of the enticing Omega female who was no longer in the room.

But her scent lingered, and Sherlock found himself breathing it in deeply even as he allowed John and Wiggins to pull him back into the retiring room in which they'd been ensconced earlier.