Sadie: That’s a very good point. John would fight tooth and nail to keep that ‘tough guy’ exterior up around Mycroft…his is not a baby, should anyone need to be reminded. But, Sherlock *does* look awfully content to sit in his older brother’s lap. And Mycroft, while still being his normal stuffy, proper self, doesn’t sound as nearly condescending as he usually does. And John is starting to feel a bit left out.
“No, no, no! We’ll be good!” Sherlock said as John nodded emphatically. They both loved Nana, the sweet old dear, but she didn’t put up with fuss and was quick to deliver a smack.
Mycroft hummed to himself. “Sherlock. Pull out what we’ll need to change two nappies.” Mycroft shooed his baby brother off his lap and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” Sherlock asked as he pulled the bin of changing supplies from under the bed.
“Gloves.” Mycroft said over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway.Sadie: “Yes, Your Majesty!” Sherlock shouted mockingly at Mycroft’s back while John stuck his tongue out and then giggled as if it were the best joke in the world…then he stopped. “He’ll change..both of us?” he asked. He liked the man well enough at times, but, well…their interactions never involved his bits before.
“That’s what he implied,” Sherlock said with a shrug as he dug out a package of wipes, a bottle of talcum powder, and two nappies. Truth was, he sounded more blase’ than he felt…it wouldn’t be the first time Mycroft had changed him, but that had been when he was actually small. “Why…do you want to marinate in your own piss all day?”
“Language.” John said absently, his face scrunched in concentration. “Couldn’t we change each other?”
“Shouldn’t the babysitter be changing us?” Sherlock wasn’t sure why he was arguing, having john change him sounded like an excellent plan.
John shuffled uncomfortably, he’d already been wet for to long and his skin was starting to chafe. “Just seems strange to have a bloke who isn’t you touch my bits.”
“Mycroft is hardly a bloke.” Sherlock quipped, which set them off giggling again.
Sadie: “I could hear every word you said, despite the donkey-esque braying you both did.” Mycroft entered the room, snapping a pair of disposable black nitrile gloves over his hands. Like his brother, his fingers were long and tapered…a musician’s hands. Or someone who could at least be decent with an instrument.
“Are you psychic now, as well?” The defiant tone in Sherlock’s voice was undermined by the faint blush underlining his cheekbones at the snapping sound the medical gloves made. John had conditioned him well.
Mycroft nodded towards the head of their bed…where the traitorous little baby monitor sat. “Little boys shouldn’t be using such language, Sherlock. Up on the bed…you’re going first.”
Sherlock squared his narrow shoulders. “John is going to change me.” He declared. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at john who was chewing on the corner of a pillow he had clutched to his chest. bollocks.
“John is far to little to change your nappy, Sherlock. Please don’t be tedious. This needn’t be anymore unpleasant than it already is.”
Sherlock slowly scooted up the bed and laid down. As the tapes on his nappy came undone he blindly reached for John. The little doctor quickly replaced the corner of the pillow with Sherlock’s thumb.
Sadie: Sherlock was startled by the feeling of John’s mouth and tongue wrapping around his thumb. ‘Not good. Not. Good. Not good, not good, not good not good NOT GOOD.’ He turned his head to the side and studied his poster of the periodic table, distracting himself with putting them in order by their atomic mass.
Mycroft simply worked with the facts. He was changing his little brother. He was wiping his little brother clean. He’d done this before, numerous times. So what if things were a little…bigger, and there was more hair now? He tapped on Sherlock’s hip; “Bum up, please.”
Sherlock lifted his hips automatically. He had his nappy changed all the time. And there was almost never anything sexy about it. Except that this time his thumb was in John’s mouth and he was sucking on it like it was the only thing keeping him on Earth. A glance at John’s stricken expression tamped down the festive feelings.
Mycroft put a nappy under him and he settled his bum on top of it. The rest happened with the same clinical ease Mycroft seemed to give all tasks. Sherlock frowned at that. Mycroft could have been doing some filing as far as anyone could tell. Sherlock suddenly wished he’d wee’d on his bespoke suit.
“Alright then,” Mycroft said, patting his thigh. “Jawn’s turn.”
Sadie: John blushed furiously and shook his head. “You can’t stay in a wet, smelly nappy all day, Jawn,” Mycroft said gently, coaxing him. “You don’t want a nappy rash, do you? No, I would think not…that would be a terrible, awful experience. Look, Sherlock’s going to stay right here, yes?”
The little detective looked up at hearing his name and popped his thumb out of his mouth. “Told you he cries lots.”
“Sherlock.”
“What? He does!”
“That’s not being helpful. Remember how we just talked about being nicer to each other, hm? Besides, there’s nothing wrong with a good cry…you have a powerful set of lungs yourself, you know.”
“He has a selective memory.” John said scrubbing at his eyes. “Him being a weepy baby gets deleted just as soon as he gets what he wants.”
“Typical.” Mycroft smirked at the affronted look on Sherlock’s face. “Come here now, John. It’ll be over quickly. Than we can have lunch.”
“Will there be enough left over for us?” Sherlock sneered.
“As you can see, Sherlock is cranky and needs fed and put down for a nap, so hurry along.”
John shuffled in place. “Promise you won’t leave?” John whispered.
Sherlock wilted at that, “A’course, Jawn. Promise.”
Sherlock scooted over to make room for John, who hesitantly shuffled into place.
Sadie: Mycroft undid John’s trousers and tugged them down to mid-thigh with slow, measured movements, the same way people did around an animal they didn’t want to spook. “Good boy, almost done,” he murmured.
Sherlock sat with his arms crossed, only have paying attention. He was still stewing over the ‘nap’ comment; he didn’t need a nap, and God, he wasn’t going to take one! He would raise bloody hell first before–!
The thought was interrupted with with worried little whimper at the back of John’s throat–Mycroft was using his bunched up trousers to lift his bum up, and it wasn’t amusing to the little doctor. Sherlock reached out absent-mindedly as he watched, fascinated, and began to pet John’s hair.
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