Warnings in advance: Death and violence in general, given the disaster of Titanic's sinking and the WWI. A few non-con situations. I won't say that this is smutty but yeah, there's lots of sex, consensual and otherwise. Two major character deaths, one is justified (I think but I shouldn't say that about anyone) and one (spoiler alert! Because it hasn't come in the story yet) not. Omegaverse, my version so some of the traditional fan-fictiony views are not there. That being said. . .

Oh yeah, it doesn't end with Titanic. Well, in a way it does, but not the immediate end. So you could say that this is an AU inspired by the movie but the part II plot is more original.

Part I: The Ship Of Dreams

Southampton, England, April 10, 1912, 11:35 am

The gleaming black and white body of the gigantic White Star Line leviathan called the RMS Titanic stands beyond the rails, ready for her maiden voyage. Some say that she is unsinkable. God himself could not sink the ship. A crowd of hundreds, consisting of numerous White Star Line officials, tearful family members and joyful youths blacken the pier next to Titanic like ants on a jelly sandwich. Crewmen move across the deck, dwarfed by the enormous size of the steamer.

She is a gorgeous thing, the 'ship of the dreams', designed so that none could challenge its might. She is said to be the largest thing ever made by human hands and the most luxurious cruise in the whole world. First class ticket holders board the massive thing via an elevated boarding bridge, very keen to avoid the smelly press of the dockside crowd. People down, mostly third class passengers crane their neck upwards, trying to take in her sheer size at one glance and failing at it.

"Big boat, huh?" Says a humbly-dressed man to his little daughter, both looking with awe at the ship.

"Daddy, it's a ship!" she shakes her head at her daddy's stupidity.

On the pier, there appear two handsome cars, moving slowly through the dense crowd. The driver of the first car rushes to pull one of its doors open, revealing a tall handsome young man, dressed in a finely cut black two-piece suit, shiny leather shoes and gloved palms. Dark chocolate coloured curls rest nonchalantly on his head and he's unwilling to hide them under a bowler hat clutched in his right hand. His eyes are grey and piercing as he surveys the commotion around him with disdain, appearing completely unfazed by the awesome size of the Titanic. His face is long and angular, with razor sharp cheekbones gleaming as the rays of the sun partially covered behind clouds hit his face, giving him a regal appearance.

A personal valet opens the door on the other side of the car. A man, at least twenty five, emerges, looking splendid in a grey three-piece suit and a bowler hat, looking up at the ship like a father looks at his son who just made him the proudest man in the world. He reeks of Alpha arrogance and money beyond imagination. There's a handsome, excessively polished wooden stick in his hands. He checks his pocket watch. They were almost late.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," he tells the older man, his voice rich and deep for a seventeen year old, "Yes, it may look like an extra ninety feet longer than the Mauretania, but that's something hardly worth changing the reservations at the last moment."

The older man rolls his eyes dramatically, "You can blase about some things, Sherlock, but not Titanic! Not just over a hundred feet long, but far more luxurious. It has squash courts, swimming pools, a Parisian cafe... even Turkish baths," he speaks as if he were the ship's promoter.

The young man called Sherlock walks away, refusing the hand that the older man offers him, as soon as he hears about the various features of the ship that he isn't interested in. The Alpha simply shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders at another man descending from the car behind him. He smiles pleasantly at him. He is completely alien from his little brother, and complies very cheerfully with the societal norms dictated for Alphas and Omegas.

"Your brother is much too hard to impress, Mycroft. Uh, mind your step."

"So, this is the ship that they call unsinkable?"

"It's not unsinkable, Mycroft," says Sherlock, glaring at the other Alpha, "Mr. Thomas Andrews proclaimed that it is practically unsinkable. The press simply dropped 'practically' to make it sound like Noah's ark!"

"It is unsinkable, Sherlock," the Alpha raises his voice loud enough for both the brothers to hear, "Even God himself cannot sink it if he wanted to."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, wanting to say something about the ship being mortal but keeping quiet because the Alpha simply isn't worth it, and stalks away, with Mycroft close behind him. Their valet and a maid emerge behind them, stunned into inaction by the massive ship they were going to stay in for the next one week. A White Star Line porter scurries towards them, seemingly harassed by their last minute boarding.

"Sir, you'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, through that way-"

His eyes dilate as the Alpha thrusts a five pound note into his hands, "I put my faith in you, good sir!" He indicates towards his valet, "See my man," he dismisses him as the porter thanks him profusely. The valet, a tough, dour ex-Pinkerton cop, drags him away, showing him the overwhelming amount of luggage. They were emigrating to America, taking all their belongings with them.

The Alpha breezes on, leaving the minions to scuttle about and enjoying the effect of money on the good masses. He leads the two men, taking Sherlock's hand in his possessively. The young man tries to extract himself from his grip, "Victor! Let me check whether my Chemistry set-"

The Alpha called Victor Trevor, heir to the elder Trevor's gold mines in California, lets him shoot away and give the instructions to their maid/housekeeper/cook, making sure that she handles his delicate equipment carefully.

"We better hurry up. We're already late."

He indicates the way towards the first class gangway. They move out of the crowd. Mrs. Hudson, the Holmes' maid/housekeeper/cook, and Andrea, Mycroft Holmes' personal secretary, hustle behind them. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock are carrying his Chemistry set. The Holmes were one of the most reputed families in South England, very rich and the owner of the several indigo plantations across India and the Caribbean Islands. Then, Germany came up with synthetic indigo and their businesses shut down rapidly, causing the elder Holmes to put a pistol in his mouth the previous year. Andrea was a personal secretary for namesake. Or until the distant future if Mycroft Holmes ever decided to go back into industry business.

Sherlock's marriage to Victor was supposed to straighten things for the Holmes family, give them economic stability. To them, it was merely a contract to ensure their survival.

The young man observes every single action taking place on the pier, from the health inspection queue to the other quintessential upper class families, not unlike themselves, boarding the cruise. Not much of interest, he decides, before turning his attention back to the snobbish Alpha in front of him.

"Here, let me help you with that, sweetpea."

Sherlock frowns at the nickname and pulls his things away from Victor adamantly, like a petulant child. He is a child in many ways, extremely stubborn and rebellious, although he knows that their current situation is precarious and he doesn't let Victor see even a shadow of his inherent craziness.

"I love it when you make that face," Victor winks at him, and picks up most of his luggage. Sherlock walks away, furious that his efforts at driving him away do not work properly and joins his brother. Victor smiles knowingly and dumps all the equipment on Mrs. Hudson's shoulders, freeing himself to admire the splendid liner.

"Honestly, Victor!" Mycroft turns to him, "If you weren't forever booking everything at the last moment, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family."

Sherlock does not understand his brother. They weren't any less broke. Why did he have to act like he was the master of the universe?

"All part of the charm, Mycroft. At any rate, it was my darling fiancee's rituals which made us late."

"You should have informed me two days earlier that we were going to America. I would have packed all this stuff beforehand. What do you expect me to do for one full week with less than 300 metres of length?"

Sherlock knew why he hadn't been informed. He had once tried to run away from home shortly after he had become engaged to Victor. Mycroft did not want a repeat of that.

"Here I've pulled every string I could to book us on the grandest ship in history, in her most luxurious suites... and you act as if you're going to your execution."

Sherlock looks up as the hull of Titanic looms over them...a great iron wall, Bible black and severe. Victor motions him forward, his hand in his, and he enters the gangway to the D Deck doors with a sense of overwhelming dread.

It was a ship of dreams to everyone else... but to him, it is a slave ship, taking him away from the country he loved to America in chains of matrimony. Outwardly, he is everything a well brought-up Omega could aspire to be. On the inside, he was screaming.

The steamer's whistle blows across Southampton. In a pub, there's a very serious game going on, two Swedish men, thirtyish, on one side, a handsome blond and a red, slightly chubby guy, both English and just twenty, on the other side of the round table, all dressed in worker class' clothes. They're playing poker, and two third class tickets to the RMS Titanic have been bet along with the shiny pennies.

The English guys exchange glances as a sullen argument in Swedish is happening across the table.

"Hit me again, Sven," says the blond. He takes a card and slips it into his hand. The fellow named Sven looks at him, failing to deduce anything from his poker face.

The red guy licks his lips, and he clearly is very adept at giving away his inner thoughts.

The Titanic's whistle blows again. Final warning.

"What if we lose, huh?" says he to his blond friend.

"When we've got nothing, we have nothing to lose. Alright then. Showdown, boys," the blond looks at them unnervingly, "Someone's life's about to change."

The red bloke puts his cards down. So do the Swedes. He keeps his close.

"Hmm... let's see, Mike's got nothing. Olaf has nothing too. Sven... uh, oh, two pair... shit... Sorry Mike"

The Swedes look victorious for a moment. Mike is furious, "What sorry? How dare you lose my money? Did- did you bet all of it-?"

"Sorry that you're not going to be able to see your mother for a very, very long time becaaaause..."

He slaps down his hand on the table, revealing a full house, "...Cause, we're going to America! Full house, boys! Woohoo!"

Mike screams out in delight, "Yeah!" He pulls the blond guy into a crushing hug, "I love you, John! Love you! We're going to America!" He presses a kiss to John's cheeks in happiness.

"Yeah, yeah," John pushes him away, "Too much happy, too much happy, Mike. . . Jesus Christ!"

Olaf grabs John by the collar. For one second, it looks like he's going to punch John right in the face. John screws up his features in the anticipation of the blow, but Olaf's fist turns at the last moment and collides with Sven's jaw, making him topple out of the chair. John and Mike laugh gleefully, and John climbs on his friend's back, demanding to be paraded around the smoky pub like some sort of local hero.

"Yeah... we're going to America," Mike sings, kissing the two tickets and stuffing them in his pocket, "To the home o' the free and the land o' real hot dogs! And on Titanic! We're royalty now, John!"

"No mate," the barkeeper points at the clock, "Titanic go to America. In five minutes." It was five minutes to twelve. They glance out of the small window. Sure enough, the steamer's all set to leave, billowing out thick black clouds of sooty smoke.

"Bugger! Come on, Mike!" They stuff all the coins into their bags and pockets and make a run for the door, determined to catch the luxury steamer. John comes to a dead stop when he sees the hull of the huge ship. Mike runs back and grabs John, almost dragging him to the bottom of the boarding ramp, as soon as it is detached from the gangway doors.

"Hey, hey, hey!" John cries out, "Wait, we're passengers!"

Sixth Officer Moody looks at him like he doesn't believe them. Upon producing the tickets, he casts his eyes over them, "Have you gone through the health inspection queue?"

"Yeah, of course!" he lies convincingly, and then adopts a very horrible American accent, "We're Americans, dude! Both of us!"

"Don't sound like one to me," he replies testily, but lets them come aboard anyway.

Mike and John hug again, "We're the luckiest sons of bitches in the whole world, John!"

"I hear you!"

John and Mike burst through a door onto the aft well deck. They get to the rail and John starts to yell and wave to the crowd on the dock. Mike looks surprised.

"You know somebody?"

"Of course not. But that's not the point. Goodbye, y'all!"

Mike clambers onto the rails as well, following John and waving furiously, revelling in the exhilaration of the moment, "Bye bye, I'll miss you all very much! I'll never forget you!"

The crowd of the cheering well-wishers waves back as the black wall of Titanic moves away from them, tugged by small boats. They feel the engines starting, initiating the steady vibrations. The two men keep on waving until they're tired enough to retreat back to their quarters.

"This one's it, John!" Mike pushes open the door to reveal two more Swedes sitting and talking in low voices. They look at the newcomers, wondering where their friend was. John shakes hands with them, introducing himself and then turns to find that Mike had already occupied the top bunk.

"Who says you get top bunk, huh?"

"Hey, my name starts with 'S', yours with 'W', so I get top bunk. Didn't they teach you this in school?"

"Wanker!" John aims a punch at his friend's face but turns away at the last moment, "Want to see the view from the bow part? I bet there'll be whales there!"

Victor traipses around the private promenade deck of the "Millionaire Suite", comprising of two bedrooms, a bath, a wardrobe room and a tastefully decorated sitting room. Sherlock is busy setting up his experiment apparatus in his room, running from one place to another. Mrs. Hudson helps him. She's very fond of him, and has looked after him right from his childhood like a mother. Even Sherlock's very fond of her, although he tries his best not to show it in any way. Victor's valet is ordering the room service and the porters around, putting each thing in its place.

"This is your private promenade deck sir," says the butler, "Would you be requiring anything, sir?"

Victor dismisses him with a wave of the tulip-shaped wineglass in his hand. The butler gives him a short bow and retreats away. Mycroft has his separate suite so that Sherlock and Victor could court before they got married, although, at the former's fervent request, they have separate bedrooms. As for Sherlock, he was more than happy not to have been stuck with his brother in the same suite for seven days.

"Oh, no!" the Alpha's voice travels over through the room and reaches Sherlock sitting on his new bed, "Not those stupid experiments again! Sweetpea, you know that if you blow something up, I'll have to reimburse the whole amount!"

Sherlock appears at the doorway, looking extremely busy, "I'm your fiancee, darling. You'll have to pay, won't you?" There's an underlying mockery in the way he says 'fiancee' and 'darling', something Victor chooses not to see, "And my experiments are quite safe, I assure you. I never blow anything up!"

Victor leans against the doorframe and sips his wine, leering at him, "Your brother doesn't agree with you, dear."

"Does he ever?"

Victor and his valet share a laugh, "Pretty tough for an Omega, huh?"

"Oh, you have no idea. He doesn't even know that it makes him look more adorable!"

He walks into Sherlock's bedroom, where Mrs. Hudson is bombarding him with her endless chatter, "It's all so new... the sheets have never been slept in and I can still smell the paint. Like they built it all for us. I mean... just to think that when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll be the first-"

Victor bites his lower lip as Sherlock turns to face him, "And when I crawl between the sheets tonight, I'll still be the first."

Sherlock turns away, clearly uncomfortable by the innuendo, torn between throwing a tantrum and pointing out to Victor that they had separate bedrooms. Mrs. Hudson blushes a little and excuses herself out of the room as Victor advances over to his fiancee and wraps his arms around his waist. It is an act of possession, not of intimacy. He presses a kiss onto Sherlock's pale neck and whispers, his hot breath making the Omega's breath hitch against his wishes, "The first and the only. Forever." He turns him around and looks into Sherlock's pale eyes before claiming his lips for himself.

Sherlock does not kiss back. He never does. His eyes stay open. Dead and impassive.