Chapter Text
Smothering a yawn, Captain John Watson rolled over in his cot and dragged his military-issued blanket over his head. He'd miss this icy air nipping at his nose in just a few hours. The desert had two moods: freezing or hot as balls. It and everyone who called this godforsaken sandbox a home shifted between the two every twelve hours.
While the cold was easier to manage, at the moment, the last thing he wanted was cold toes and yet another runny nose. They weren’t currently heating the Conex boxes they called homes, and wouldn't for another month, not until winter was truly here. So, for now, blankets were the only defence against the pre-winter chill until the sun rose. Which was fine, because within two hours, everyone on base would be longing for cooler temps and more than a few would grumble about the heat.
But John Watson didn't, and wouldn’t, complain. On one hand, he'd grown used to the sun-baked landscape. Of course, he wouldn't turn down a rainy afternoon in London like anyone stationed here with him. But on the other hand, being stationed in Afghanistan meant one thing for him. Freedom.
Well, as much freedom as an unbound Omega serving time in The Queen's Royal Army could have. He was still his own person. Or, as close to being his own person as an Omega could be, John was thankful for that. By all rights, he should have been bonded off by eighteen or earlier if he'd already had his first heat. But his parents had tried their best to give their children the option to choose their own paths and had not forced a mate on their only Omega child.
Plus, what Alpha would pay money for a nobody? A short and slender Omega with a button nose and ears a smidge too big for his face? Especially when he didn't come with status or a powerful family behind him. But all that was fine; John had never wanted to be forced into a bond or raise a family for someone he'd see only during his heats. His lifelong dream had been to become a doctor, but Omegas weren't allowed higher education except through one avenue: Military Service.
So, at eighteen, enlisting hadn't been a question. He signed his name on the line, got his Alpha mother's signature and blessing, and shipped off for training the next day. He'd had to prove himself time and time again that he, as an Omega, deserved permission to train to be a doctor, not just a nurse. But as time went on and his skills were enhanced, he was given the green light, and by the time he had two years of military service under his belt he was studying to become a surgeon.
And here he was, twenty-seven years old, unbonded and stationed in Afghanistan. His official title was Captain John Watson, Chief Assistant Surgeon. And by far, he was the best-damned surgeon in all of Her Majesty's Royal Army, even if no one would admit that in front of an Omega's face. But John knew, even if only because he was one of the most requested surgeons in the area. And it was enough to live out his dream, despite all the ways life and society had tried to prevent him from reaching his full potential.
John rolled out of bed and reached for his mobile phone. It didn’t have a signal, no one out here had a signal. But as a doctor, his housing was close enough to the hospital that he had a weak wifi signal. He scrolled through his emails and smiled when he saw he had an email from his parents. The message was short and sweet, nothing more than an update on his father's renovations on their home.
It had been six months since he’d last been home, and while he missed his family (including his dick-head older sister Harry), there was nowhere else on earth John would rather be. Life here was tough, and working in an active battle zone wasn’t exactly all sunshine and roses, but he’d made something of himself here, and there wasn’t a bone in him that regretted it. Still, he missed his parents and the crazy shenanigans his mother let his father get into, like renovating their upstairs toilet by himself, without hiring a contractor, simply because he’d seen it all done on YouTube.
As much as he wanted to video call his parents and chat with them, it was half three in the morning for them. And while his Mum would be up, getting ready for her shift at the hospital, his dad would be sleeping and upset if he found out he’d missed a call from John. So instead, he shot back an email, letting his mother know when he’d be free for a call next, then pulled himself out of bed to start his day.
“Up early, Cap,” a sleepy voice said from the other side of their shared unit.
“Mm, morning shift,” John said, “By the sounds of it, you’re on nights; it's early. Go back to sleep, Halbit.”
“Nights suck, I feel like a bloody vampire.”
“Your sunburn says otherwise,” John commented after glancing at Halbit. He gave a soft chuckle, then reached for something beneath his bed. A moment later, he tossed a can onto Halbit’s bed. “Should get that check out before you go on shift. In the meantime, put some of my shaving cream on a nice thick layer, and don’t rub it off. It’ll help a bit.”
“Thanks, Cap!” Halbit called after John, who was already walking out the door with his toiletry bag and a towel.
After a quick shower and a shave using a new can of shaving cream, John dressed for the day and headed off for breakfast. He was sitting down with his scrambled eggs and toast tray when someone behind him cleared their throat to get his attention.
John turned to find a young beta corporal standing with his hands behind his back and his eyes tilted up, waiting for permission to speak. At John's nod, he gave a small salute and said, “General Talbot would like to speak with you before you go on shift, Captain.”
“Right, understood,” John smothered a sigh and waited a moment to see if the corporal had anything else to add before he turned around and finished his breakfast.
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“Ah, Watson,” Talbot said, waving John inside when the captain knocked on his door, “Have a seat, please. At ease, and all that…”
John smothered a laugh as he sat across from the General. Talbot had never been one for order. Often, he forgot that his men needed to wait for an at-ease command before they could relax, and twice now, men had passed out from keeping their knees locked for too long.
“First,” Talbot said, “I need you to know that what I’m about to ask of you is not a punishment, despite how it might feel.”
John said nothing, but his stomach tightened, and his breakfast suddenly felt too heavy.
“As you know, twice a year, an Omega Rights Representative inspects the base.”
John nodded but again didn’t speak. He was well aware. The base had been preparing for this visit for the better part of two weeks now. Not that there was much room for improvement. Things were run by the books here, and the one thing Talbot was strict about was the welfare of every person on base. It didn’t matter if they were Omega, Beta or Alpha. He expected everyone to treat everyone else with the same level of respect and understanding. Things were good here; truthfully, John had never been on another base that treated him as human as he was here.
“Well, we just got word that in an hour, a chopper is dropping off none other than Mister Holmes the junior, which, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, is quite an honour as well as a slap in the face.”
“Sherlock Holmes, Sir? Are you sure?” John’s breakfast did another flip in his stomach, and he began to regret finishing his breakfast rather than coming straight here. Mister Mycroft Holmes ran the inspection division and was rumoured to have his fingers in other pies. He only sent his brother when there were serious infractions. Sherlock Holmes was known to be ruthless in his inspections and reportedly went out of his way to find problems.
“Unfortunately…” Talbot sighed again and even went as far as to rub a palm over the back of his neck. “And this is where I need you, Watson. You’re the best we’ve got, Omega, Alpha, Beta… you’re the best. I need you to show him around base and be his guide… I know this sounds like a punishment, but you’re the only one I can trust.”
It did feel like a punishment. John’s first reaction was to grit his teeth and set his jaw. It was the only way to bite back the complaints, pulling at his tongue. He managed a tight but curt nod, then said, “I assume I’ll be compensated for this? And what about my shift at the hospital today?”
“Carlisle is already scrubbing in. Your shift is covered. As for compensation, how does a month without chores sound?”
“Make it two,” Watson said as he rose to his feet.
“Two?” Talbot asked, though there was no hint of an argument in his voice.
“Two, and I’ll be nice to the civvy prat for a full twenty-four hours,” Watson explained.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Watson, and my thanks,” Talbot said, getting to his feet and stretching out a hand across his desk for John to take. “Get us an A+ rating, and I’ll see to it you’re not on night duty for the next six months.”
Watson knew that offer was only on the table because the best rating Sherlock Holmes ever gave was a C+, but he nodded and said, “I’ll try, Sir.”
“I knew you would,” Talbot said. “Landing pad six, Watson. He is scheduled to land at 0800.”
Watson was at the landing pad ten minutes before the chopper was within sight. While waiting, he did his best to ignore that he, an unbound Omega, was to be in charge of a civilian alpha for the next twenty-four hours. The irony wasn’t lost on him; he just had to hope that Sherlock Holmes wasn’t the type of man who would take offence at such role reversal.
When a black dot on the horizon revealed itself to be a moving helicopter, not a sunspot in his vision, Watson stood from the crate he’d been using as a seat and straightened his uniform. Once all was in order, he picked up a shoebox from the crate beside where he’d been sitting and held it under his arm.
He held his back straight, his head high, and his eyes forward the entire time the chopper was landing. Before the propellers could slow down, a tall man in a dark suit stepped out, his thick mop of dark curls blowing wildly in the force of the blades. The man looked around, spotted him, and as if expecting none other than John Watson himself, stepped forward and held out a hand.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said loudly over the sound of the engine and blades.
“Captain Watson,” John said, taking the man’s hand and giving it a firm shake. “Pleased to meet you, but let’s get you inside before your next three meals taste like dust.” The man nodded, and without another word, he motioned for John to lead the way.
It was a short walk across what the people on base ironically called The Green. The Green was the central point in the base, and it was so well used that the sand was so packed down that their footsteps seemed to echo as they walked towards a tall building just ahead of them.
“The latrines,” Watson pointed to his right, to a row of six small buildings. Each row of housing has its own unit, and you’ll be given the number to the lock on unit four. Inside are a dozen toilets and half as many showers. Water stays hot for about three minutes, so we suggest you shower during the day when you don’t mind a bit of cold water.”
Holmes made a sort of humming sound that Watson took as a sign he had heard and understood. So Watson moved on with the initial tour and pointed to the largest building behind them to the left: “Hospital is there, which is fairly obvious. Then ahead of us, to the right is housing, and to the left is all admin. We’re strictly a medical base, which keeps us safe from most of the bombing. However, you might find you’ll want these.”
Watson stopped just outside one of the admin buildings and handed Sherlock Holmes the box he had tucked under his arm.
“Combat boots and a combat helmet,” Sherlock commented without opening the box, “And these are supposed to save me from a bomb? How exactly?”
“They won’t protect you from a direct blast, Sir, but nothing will. It's the falling debris you need to watch out for if you survive a bombing.” John said honestly, “However, in the account, we get a random inspection. It wouldn’t do to have someone out of their PPE, would it?”
That made Sherlock Holmes laugh. It was a small laugh, barely more than a huff of air with a slight snort behind it, but it was enough that John caught it. He grinned back at the taller man as the alpha said, “Well, this inspection is hardly a surprise. But, your point will be taken into consideration.”
“I hope you do consider it,” John squared his shoulders and cocked his head to the side, “Because I wasn’t talking about your inspection. You’ll wear the damn gear while you’re on my base, Sir.”
“Will I now…” Sherlock mused, “And your role here, Captain?”
“I am the Chief Assistant Surgeon, Sir, and in charge of the personnel here. Of course, if you aren’t happy wearing PPE, you’re welcome to discuss it with General Talbot. I’m sure he can help you understand why it would really put a crimp in your day to have a piece of shrapnel embedded into your skull.”
Watson bit back his smile as the alpha took the lid off the box and pulled out the combat helmet. He said nothing but watched as the alpha tucked his hair behind his ears, moved a stray curl from his forehead, and put the helmet on. When the clip was buckled beneath his chin, Watson gave a curt nod and then turned to the door he’d been standing in front of.
“Very good, Sir, General Talbot wants just a few words with you, then I’ll show you to your quarters for a brief respite before you get started.”