Warnings: omega/alpha dynamics, very mild violence, vague references to sexual violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or its characters.

Bait and Switch

Shortly after nine in the morning there was a knock at the door. Sherlock's first thought was that John had forgotten his keys in his rush to get to the shops and then to work. But he quickly overturned that thought. John's knocking was impatient, rapid, and usually accompanied by several impatient shouts of Sherlock's name, well aware that he was liable to ignore the door entirely unless sufficiently annoyed. This knock was soft, polite, almost methodical.

Sherlock stared at the door, fingers poised over the keyboard of his laptop. There it was again. Careful, measured. Courteous. He placed his laptop down on the table, hand instinctively going to where his gun was not. Did he have time to find it? He looked around the kitchen. His eyes fell upon the carving knife John had been using to cut toast just before he went out. He picked it up, concealing it behind his back with one hand.

He gingerly opened the door with the other hand, letting it fall back on its hinges with a soft sigh. He immediately recoiled, fingers curling tightly around the knife's handle.

"What the fu-"

Jim Moriarty almost fell through the door on top of him. He was clutching the wall with both hands, his whole body seeming to be shuddering from the effort of keeping himself upright. "Well?" He struggled to manage his usual smirk. "Are you going to invite me in or not?"

Sherlock just stared. His eyes travelled down from Jim's hands, wrapped so tightly around the doorframe his knuckles were white, to the front of his suit. He stepped back with a hiss. "God damn it, Jim-"

Jim's beautifully tailored suit was sporting a dark stain from the thighs downwards. For half a second he thought it was blood, but then the smell hit his nostrils. Tart, almost acrid. It was different to other omega scents. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't honeyed. It was Jim.

Sherlock gave his head a furious shake, taking another step back. "You have to leave."

Jim chuckled. It sounded very strained. He laboured forward, every movement looking like it was hurting him. "You can drop the knife." A sudden shudder went through him. He tensed up, closing his eyes with a pained cry. Sherlock took a compulsive step forward and then hastily stopped himself, swearing under his breath.

He took the knife out from behind his back but didn't drop it. "What do you want?" He had meant to sound forceful but his voice shook. The hairs were standing up on the back of his neck.

Jim struggled upright, gathering back some of his dignity. He walked past Sherlock, the wince on his face at every step almost unnoticeable.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Sherlock hissed, following him, knife still held limply in his hand. He was feeling increasingly stupid holding it. He hastily shoved it back onto the kitchen bench and slammed the door shut. He didn't need someone wandering in and seeing- He stopped himself quickly. What exactly did he think they'd be seeing? "Don't you dare sit-"

Jim ignored him, falling across the sofa like he owned it. He put his hands behind his back, looking at Sherlock with a challenging glint in his eye. He was daring him to throw him out, daring him to even touch him.

Sherlock took a steadying breath. Christ, Jim's scent was strong. The hairs on his arm felt electrified. It was going to be everywhere when John came back. No, he couldn't think about that. He needed to figure out how he was going to get the psychopath out of his living room. That was job number one.

Sherlock sat opposite him, affecting the calmest appearance he could manage. Jim didn't move from his place sprawled out over the sofa. The dampness around his crotch and thighs had spread almost down to his knees. Sherlock pressed his legs together.

Jim smirked at him, though it seemed to take a lot of effort. "Your pupils are dilated. Not feeling a touch hot and bothered, are we?" Another shudder went through him and his features contorted with pain. Sherlock watched his teeth press down on his bottom lip with what felt like an almost painful new clarity. "How about your pulse? Has it increased? It looks like your heart is going."

Sherlock sat back. "I don't know what you're hoping to accomplished here," he said with disinterest. "John's going to be back soon," he added.

"One alpha is as good as another," Jim said, nothing about his dismissiveness the slightest bit convincing. His teeth gritted as another pulse shook his slim form. He pressed a hand to the front of his trousers. Sherlock swallowed drily.

"I doubt you came here to be fucked by my roommate," Sherlock said sharply, feeling a possessive throb inside of him at the very idea. Jim's eyes snapped onto his. "No, I think you came here for one person and one person only." He couldn't resist a jab. "Heat not much fun to ride out alone, Jim? I'd think you'd have staff for this. Wouldn't there be alphas lining up-"

Jim sat up with a scoff. "You think I'd let them touch me?"He laughed. It sounded shrill and almost hysterical. He was silent for a moment and then he looked at him again, dark brown eyes boring into him. "Please."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. If he hadn't been so close to him he probably wouldn't have caught the last word. "Excuse me?"

Jim struggled upright, his limbs looking like they were threatening to collapse at every movement. "I need you to fuck me." Only Jim could have said that and still sounded like he was giving an order. "Now."

Sherlock's whole body had tensed at the word "fuck". He would have been lying through his teeth if he'd said the temptation wasn't strong. Jim must have been desperate in the hours before he came to Sherlock. Sherlock pictured him on his palatial bed, moaning and touching himself, desperately trying to work out the pressure, finding it worsened with every touch. A groan escaped Sherlock. He pinned a hand to his mouth.

The damage was done. Jim smiled in a predatory manner, managing to get to his feet. He half clambered, half crawled towards him and sat in front of him, running both of his hands up Sherlock's thighs. His eyes were sharp with lust.

"Stop it!" Sherlock barked, all affectations of calm gone in a moment. He tried to stand up but Jim wrapped a hand around his shirt collar and pulled him sharply down again. "Jim, I swear."

God, Jim's scent. It was going straight to his crotch. Jim noticed it with a triumphant smirk. He pressed a hand to the bulge between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock shoved away his hand and pulled Jim up by the shirt until their faces were bare inches from each other. They stared directly into each other's eyes, both panting for air.

Sherlock wasn't even conscious of time advancing but the next second Jim was in his lap and they were kissing. No, that word seemed totally inadequate. Jim was attacking him. His kiss was more like an assault, teeth biting down on Sherlock's bottom lip in a way that should have been painful but only increased his arousal in violent spurts. Fingers felt for his collar, tugging and pulling, not willing to let him go for even a second.

Jim straddled him and he felt the wet sink through his own clothes to his skin. He began to tear at the buttons on Jim's shirt. Jim made a small, protesting sound, finally pulling back from him. His face was fiercely flushed, his mouth was swollen from their kiss. "This suit is-"

"Jim, it's soaked through," Sherlock said through gritted teeth, not stopping. He tore off Jim's jacket, throwing it across the coffee table. Jim didn't complain again. He let himself be undressed to the waist and then unsteadily stood upright, stumbling back an inch. Sherlock growled disapprovingly.

"Easy, big boy." Jim gave a shaky chuckle. "Just moving somewhere more comfortable."

He backed away to sofa, eyes never leaving Sherlock's. He fell down onto it, sprawling across it like he had been moments before. Sherlock abandoned the armchair, tearing his shirt off as he crossed towards Jim. He laid on top of him, slipping a knee between Jim's sodden thighs. He kissed Jim's neck, enjoying the way the man's throat trembled against his lips. He bit down, intending to leave a mark. Several marks. He wanted Jim to wake up the next day, sore, sated, and owned. He wanted him to look in the mirror while he was dressing in his expensive suit and arranging his hair and see those marks- and remember.

"I knew you would like it rough," Jim breathed into his ear, fingers threading through his hair. "I knew behind that cold, controlled exterior-"

Sherlock began to unbutton Jim's trousers. "Take them off," he said roughly.

Jim obeyed without breaking his line of thought. "-was a depraved, little deviant just screaming to get out." He pulled down his suit trousers and his underwear went with them. He gave a desperate cry as the material pressed over his engorged sex.

"Christ, Jim." Sherlock looked at the mess Jim had made of himself. He was absolutely soaked. His prick was straining for attention, an angry shade of red. His balls were drawn up tight. He had clearly been in this state for a while. "How long have you been like this?"

Jim's eyes flashed. He pulled Sherlock's face back down close to his, lips teasingly close. "Oh hours. I thought I could ride it out." He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's lips and then his ear. The sensation of his breath was maddening. "I tried everything. My hand, a vibrator. Actually, I tried the vibrator several times."

The image of Jim spread across Sherlock's mind in high colour: legs sprawled, the shaft of the most expensive vibrator money could buy buried inside his abused hole as he tried desperately to make himself come for the ninth, tenth time that hour, the knuckle of his hand bloodied and raw from him biting down, trying to muffle the noise from his lackeys, trying to obscure his scent under expensive cologne.

Jim tilted his head, inviting Sherlock to tend to his neck. There were already angry red marks on his throat. A covetous ache rose up in Sherlock's throat.

"I think my driver knew what was wrong with me." Jim sounded breathless. "One of my staff found me too. Tried to force himself on me." He sighed as Sherlock sucked on a bite mark he'd made. "I do hope those bloodstains come out." He tittered.

Sherlock jerked backwards, looking at Jim's face, wondering if he was serious. Jim's eyes were hooded as he looked at him. He touched Sherlock's face, fingers stroking his cheekbone down to his lips.

"Come on, darling." Jim forced a hand between them, hooking his fingers in the band of Sherlock's underwear. "Fuck me." He held onto the 'f' just a moment longer than was necessary, teeth running across his bottom lip.

Sherlock ignored the pet name and sat back, letting Jim pull his underwear down. He threw it on the floor with the remainder of their clothes. Jim's underwear and trousers were wrapped around his knees. Sherlock unceremoniously yanked them down and threw them aside. He spread Jim's legs apart. Jim gave a soft cry at the slap of cold against his very wet entrance.

Jim tugged him closer and wrapped his bare legs around Sherlock's waist, coating them both in his wetness. "It must have been hard," he breathed.

Sherlock grunted, distracted. He kissed Jim's jaw, hands beginning to explore Jim's wet, quivering body. He was very slim; his ribs and hipbones jutted out like sharp cliffs in a sea of pale, delicate flesh.

"Being locked up with another alpha." Sherlock stopped in his ministrations. Jim must have felt him, must have known that he was getting close to a nerve, but he didn't stop. The desire to provoke Sherlock died hard. "You must have gotten so very desperate at times-"

Sherlock gripped Jim's chin and forced him to look at him. Jim blinked up at him innocently. "Another word, omega and I will kick you out on the street in this state."

Jim laughed, even as a shiver went through him at Sherlock's growling tone. "So forceful."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and trailed his fingers down Jim's pale thigh to between his legs. Jim's sharp, amused smile buckled as Sherlock touched his hole almost experimentally. One of Jim's hands was wrapped around the edge of the sofa, the other was gripping one of the cushions. His fingers dug in more forcefully as Sherlock pressed his own up inside of him.

Jim exhaled shakily, squirming a little on his back. His nipples were standing to attention, very pink and hard and begging to be tended to. Sherlock would keep him waiting though. He focused on preparing him, though he was already so slick from his heat and opened up from whatever toys he'd been trying to get himself off with that Sherlock's work was basically done for him. Something that was not lost on Jim.

He tutted, impatiently jerking his hips. "Have you never fucked an omega before, Sherlock?" he said testily. "If I'm any more open it's going to be like fucking a rent boy after his tenth customer of the night."

Sherlock made a disgusted noise. "Just shut up." Nevertheless, he hastened to finish, feeling his prick give an impatient throb. A bead of pre-cum was sitting imperiously on the tip.

Jim made a mocking sound. "Someone's bossy in bed." He managed to grin. "Do you want me to play the submissive omega for you? I bet you do, dirty boy." He threw his head back with an utterly wanton moan that set all of the hairs on Sherlock's neck on end again. "Oh, Sherlock. Oh, please. Fuck me. I need you." He gave a mock writhe of ecstasy underneath him.

Sherlock obscured his moan. Even that absurd little performance was almost sending him over the edge. "What a little whore you are," he said without force.

Jim was about to reply when Sherlock suddenly pushed himself inside of him, without warning or ceremony. Jim's eyes widened and for half a second Sherlock had the utter pleasure of seeing a look of complete surprise flit across the psychopath's face.

Sherlock himself was sure he might pass out from the sudden perfect, slick grip of Jim's hole. He closed his eyes, waiting for the moment of dizziness to pass. Underneath him, Jim made a sound so close to a whine that Sherlock made a note to keep it in his mind to mock him with later.

"Bastard," Jim whimpered. "Could have warned-"

Sherlock silenced him with a thrust. Jim cried out, eyelashes fluttering. Sherlock leant back and threw one of Jim's long, pale legs over his shoulder. The psychopath didn't complain, though he was straining forward, desperately seeking Sherlock's mouth again. Sherlock obliged him, letting Jim drag him into a deep and fervent kiss.

For a few moments there was silence between them but for the sound of wet skin hitting wet skin, their mingled pants, groans and gasps. And Jim's occasional urging moans, wordlessly telling Sherlock he wanted him to go harder and faster. Sherlock didn't let him bully him. He didn't need an overstimulated omega on his hands, as fun as it could potentially be to see Jim get fucked literally out of his mind.

When he thought Jim could take it, he began to play with his nipple, gently at first, teasing. Jim arched underneath him, his lips breaking away from Sherlock's. He put his head back, giving Sherlock the perfect opportunity to lick a line down from underneath Jim's chin to his collarbone, extracting a low, heated sound from him.

"Touch my cock," Jim barked in a strangled tone.

Sherlock bit down hard on his neck and tweaked the nipple he had been teasing between his fingers. Jim cried out in mingled pain and excitement, shivering against him. Sherlock raised his head to look him in the eye.

"I don't take your orders, Jim," he panted, between languid rolls of his hips, knowing the pace would be driving Jim insane. "Especially not when we-" He gave one, hard thrust of his hips inside of him. Jim yelped. "Fuck."

Jim snarled at him, tossing his head to the side furiously. "I need it!" He gave a needy writhe. "Please!"

In any other circumstance, Sherlock would have smirked. Jim's pleading was just too sweet. He grasped Jim's trembling thighs, slowing his pace to a gentle rock. Jim looked like he might weep from frustration.

Sherlock had to take a moment to steady himself until he trusted himself to speak without a tremor. Jim's scent was making his head swim. "So sorry, Jim. What was that?"

Jim's eyes narrowed at him. "You want me to beg, Holmes? You think I don't know you want this just as much as I do?" He pulled Sherlock's face down close to his. Sherlock exhaled sharply as Jim's intense eyes were suddenly inches from his. "Don't tell me you haven't ever thought about this."

Sherlock pushed him back down with a rough shove of his hips that extracted a perfect moan from him. Sherlock gave another forceful thrust. The cry from Jim seemed to come from somewhere deep inside of him.

"Yes, Sherlock!" He threw his hands back against the sofa, rocking up to meet Sherlock's harsher, renewed thrusts. "Give it to me. Please. I need it."

Sherlock idly wondered if Jim was pretending even then, putting on a show for him. He didn't really care. The begging went straight to his prick.

They moved in fierce, messy unison. The pace seemed to please Jim much more. His moans and cries were borderline obscene. Somewhere in Sherlock's lust-addled mind he thought briefly about his neighbours, but the thought went as rapidly as it came.

Jim began to touch himself, his strokes shaky and clumsy. Sherlock took over, shoving his hand away. Their kisses became increasingly sloppy until Jim had to break away to pant. Sherlock hoped he wasn't going to hyperventilate before he'd finished fucking him.

He felt himself getting close. He was sure Jim had to be close. The sounds he was making had reached an almost hysterical level. Sherlock's name was mingled with obscenities and pleas for him to go harder, deeper.

"Sherlock! Sherlock." His name was repeated like a chant. "I'm close- Oh!"

Jim's body went rigid. Sherlock buried his face into Jim's shoulder, filling his nostrils with the intense, stinging scent of him. He bit down on Jim's collarbone.

"Sherlock!" His name was the last audible thing to leave Jim's mouth before he came. He shook, arching up, clawing at Sherlock's body, scream of ecstasy bleeding into pleas for more.

"Fuck." Sherlock bit down harder onto Jim. His own orgasm tore through him like a hurricane. He almost went numb, his mind certainly went blank as it broke over him. His seed spilt hotly between them, mixing with Jim's, coating them both. He rocked his hips, riding out his high as it ebbed slowly away.

When it was over, there was silence. It was like the eerie emptiness of the sea after a storm. Sherlock stared into the sofa cushion over Jim's shoulder, suddenly tasting that he had blood in his mouth.

He sat back on his heels, untangling himself from Jim's legs. He had bitten Jim harder than he'd intended. Blood was smeared in a clean line on Jim's collarbone. The marks on his neck were beginning to swell. Sherlock wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jim sat up, flattening his hair and looking down at the mess they'd made. He was absolutely covered. He cleared his throat, almost awkwardly. "I'm going to dress in the bathroom."

He wordlessly gathered up his clothes and disappeared. Sherlock decided not to ask how he knew where the bathroom was. He stared blankly across the room, past his clothes still spread across the floor, to the coffee table where Jim's jacket was still laying.

He got up, his legs feeling heavy and ungainly. He got dressed hastily and wiped away any tell-tale remains from the sofa with wet wipes. If John asked about the damp patches, he'd say he spilt something.

Jim walked out of the bathroom, looking remarkably well put-together for someone who just been soundly fucked. His suit pants were still thoroughly stained. He pulled his jacket back on, still not looking at Sherlock. Sherlock wondered if he was actually having the decency to feel ashamed.

What Sherlock wouldn't have given for a cigarette at that moment.

Jim finally looked at him. His face was still tinged with a telltale flush and his lips were swollen. Underneath the collar of his shirt Sherlock could see where he had bitten him. Jim grimaced good-naturedly at him. "I would love to stay and bathe in your afterglow, my sweet, but…" he gave an affected sigh, "duty calls."

Sherlock followed him to the door, feeling strangely surreal. Had he really just fucked Jim on his sofa? Was he really about to let him just walk out of here without asking what the fuck? He felt in a daze.

Jim opened the door and stood at it for a moment, his back to him. He turned, a slight smile pulling at the edges of his mouth. "You know omegas need to be tended to several times when in heat?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied without emotion.

Jim cocked his head. "So quiet, Sherlock? Not gloating over your victory?"

Sherlock shrugged with a roll of his eyes. "It gives me more pleasure to know that before me you would have had to pass yourself around to whoever would have you."

Jim's smile was positively pitying now. Sherlock's stomach gave an uneasy twinge. Jim ran a finger idly up the doorframe and leant against it.

"Poor, naïve Sherlock." He tutted softly. "I've been on heat suppressing medication since I was sixteen."

Sherlock stared at him. His hands curled into knuckles beside him. "You came off your medication?"

"Oops." Jim shrugged with a grimace.

"For me." Sherlock had gone cold with anger. "Just for me."

"Oh, I wouldn't put it like that." Jim straightened up, his eyes glinting with satisfied mirth. "I'd say that's quite a lot to do for someone, isn't it? I gave myself to you, Sherlock. We're bonded."

Sherlock sniffed in disdain. "If you say so. I say you just needed to get thoroughly fucked." He narrowed his eyes at him. "And still do."

Jim leant forward and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock didn't try and stop him. "I'll be at the Ritz hotel by five. If you give your name to the concierge, he'll let you right up." He turned to leave.

"You think I'm going to sleep with you again?" Sherlock spluttered. "You're insane."

Jim looked over his shoulder almost coquettishly. "Duly noted. I'll see you tonight."

Sherlock shut the door on him with an irritated tut. He turned around, casting a dissatisfied look over the apartment. He needed to get the smell of omega out. He needed to clean everything Jim came into contact with.

"Fuck!" He stomped towards the bathroom.

He gathered up cleaning products and air freshener. As he cleaned, very much aware that John would consider the smell of cleaning products as suspicious as the smell of sex, he began to think about Jim's offer. Then he scoffed at himself. It would be insanity.

He sat slowly down on the sofa. Jim's scent was still everywhere. He'd have to use bleach to cover it up.

It would be dangerous. John would get extremely suspicious. Not to mention that the more times they fucked, the greater the risk would be that they'd be bonded. Stuck with each other. He idly cocked his head. But would that be so-

He gave himself a shake. Yes. Yes, it would be.

His eyes trailed down to where Jim had been laying not twenty minutes before. Without being able to stop himself, he pressed his face to the cushion. Oh, God that smell. And it was mingled with Jim's expensive cologne, the smell of his suit, the product he used in his hair. Sherlock could have gotten drunk on it. He had to force himself to pull away.

He sat up straight, staring across the room, bottle of bleach still clutched in one hand. He took a deep breath.

Well, he'd need to look up directions to the Ritz Hotel.