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.
His recently smacked bottom kept Sherlock from doing more than pout around his thumb as Jawn babbled happily.
“C’ute baby. My’coff. My baby a c’ute baby.” Jawn crooned, gently rubbing Sherlock’s hitching chest as if hiccuping was the greatest most clever thing Sherlock had ever done. The praise made his cheeks warm and his heart beat a bit faster, and also made other “feelings” start to happen. ‘feelings’ that should be strictly avoided with Mycroft’s hands pulling a nappy over his bits.
“’Uck, Jawn.” Sherlock grimaced as he showed Jawn his saliva damp thumb, hoping to stop the barrage of praise. “’Uck.”
“Yea, drool is gross.” Jawn said, eyeing the thumb while still rubbing lazy circles on his chest.
“Noooo, tas’ Jawn. ‘Uck!”
“Tas’ bad?”
“Soap!”
“Sher’yock said bad words?” Jawn gasped, staring at Mycroft with huge eyes.
“What?” Mycroft looked up from the t-shirt he’d been turning over in his hands. The confounding thing didn’t appear to have a ‘right side out’. He supposed it didn’t matter. He helped Sherlock sit up, tutting when he whinged about his sore bum. “Bad words?”Sadie:
“I don’t recall Sherlock saying any bad words, not in any sort of language.” Mycroft pulled the shirt don over Sherlock’s head, ignoring the small fuss he put up as it went over his face. “Did Sherlock use bad words?” he asked pointedly, looking down his nose at his little brother.
Sherlock pouted and quickly shook his head, making his curls bounce.
“Then why his thumb tas’ soap?” John piped in.
“His hands were covered in soap, and he decided to suck his thumb before I could clean them. He soaped his own mouth this time,” Mycroft said, drawing Sherlock into a hug and a quick kiss on the forehead before turning him back to the door. “And now, he has a mess to clean up while Jawn gets a treat.”
John’s eyes lit up but before he could reply, Sherlock looked over his shoulder; “…Me too?” he asked hopefully.
Mycroft shook his head. “No,sorry lad…Jawn is getting one because he listened the first time, and cleaned up most of the mess on his own.”
Sherlock’s pout deepened. “B-but, but I…!”
“No. Your job now is to go clean up all the water from off the floor, rinse the bubbles out of the tub, and to bring all the sippy-cups into the kitchen.”
Sherlock’s chin dimpled and looked as if he were about to start bawling and stomping his feet all over again…but being in little more than just a nappy, with the most sensitive parts of his legs and lower bum cheeks exposed, he knew better. With a sniffle and a whinge, he whirled around and stomped off to the bathroom.
Mycroft sighed and glanced down at John, who was cuddling up next to him and looking up at him expectantly, but still patient. “Where’s the so-called ‘prize bucket’ your Sher’yock was bragging about weeks ago?”
“I can have a treasure?!” John asked, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ of astonishment.
“Yes, of course. Good boys earn rewards.” Mycroft ran an affectionate hand through Jawn’s short hair. “Can you show me the ‘prize bucket’?”
Jawn was up and out the door like a shot, his whole body practically vibrating with energy. Mycroft followed at a more leisurely pace, pausing in the doorway of the bathroom to check on Sherlock. The little detective was on his knees, mopping water off the floor with several hand towels.
“Make sure those go in the hamper, Sherlock Holmes.” Mycroft tutted over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen, ignoring the indignant huff of a grumpy little boy.
Mycroft rounded into the kitchen to find Jawn standing on his tip toes on a chair he had pushed up against the refrigerator. Jawn crowed as he caught the handle of the bucket and swung it off the top of the refrigerator. He turned and hopped off the chair, ignoring Mycroft’s proffered hand and cocked eyebrow.
The much coveted ‘prize bucket’ was a purple pail covered in cartoon skulls. Nana had given it to them last Halloween full of sweeties. And now it held an assortment of small toys and ‘treasures’ and sweets.
Jawn set it reverently on the kitchen table before digging through the wares with both hands to find the ‘treasure’ he was looking for.
Sadie:
Mycroft watched those weathered little hands closely. “Only *one*, Jawn–” he began, and was cut off by a triumphant whoop as the little doctor held a clenched fist high.
Mycroft was instantly (and rightly so) suspicious. A simple piece of candy couldn’t have garnered such a response…could it? They’d both had piles of ice cream earlier in the day, after all. He looked down into the pail and saw an assortment of candies, stickers, balloons, little decorative hair clips (…hair clips?…), colorful rubber balls, toy cars, sticky-looking things shaped like insects…what on earth could be that special?
*PHHHHHWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
Mycroft nearly jumped out of his skin and covered his ears against the shrill, eardrum-piercing, teeth-shattering noise, and whipped his head up to see John with a metal whistle in his mouth and both cheeks expanded as much as they possibly could be. “JAWN!” he shouted over the noise.
The noise stopped immediately and Mycroft slowly uncovered his ears; “Yes, My’coff?” John peeped, as innocent as you please.
“That, is an outdoor toy,” Mycroft grumbled, glaring daggers.
There came a rapid thumping from the hallway as Sherlock dashed into the room, his arms full of dripping wet, but bubble-free cups. “NO! No no no nonononononononono, that’s mine!”
“Is’not!” John clutched it to his chest, and Mycroft groaned out loud at the thought of another ‘green crayon’ argument.
“Is’so! I hid it at the bottom for me!”
“Hided it?” Jawn said slowly, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Cause it’s mines and you can’t have it.” Sherlock went on, stomping his foot, oblivious to the storm brewing on the little doctor’s face.
“Sherlock, Jawn can choose whatever prize he’d like.”
“No he can not. He cannot pick my whi’thle”
“You’re a cheater.” Jawn growled. Sherlock had the good sense to look ashamed for a moment before sticking out his chin.
“Am not.”
“Cheater.”
“Jawn,” Mycroft interrupted, suddenly more tired than he’d felt in years. “What are you talking about?”
“Sher’yock said I had to pick my treasure from the top las’ time.”
“It’s my whi’thle.” Sherlock shouted.
“You are never getting a treasure again!” Jawn growled, pointing a menacing finger at the little detective.
“You can’t do that! You promised!” Sherlock cried, the fight going out of him, leaving him slumped.
“I can’t believe, well i can believe it actually…why did you even put it in there if you didn’t want me to have it?” John asked, his anger slipping in the face of Sherlock’s tears.
“Why purchase it at all?” Mycroft scoffed, settling himself at the kitchen table, chin in hand. They were better than a daytime soap opera.
Sadie:
Sherlock slumped down to the floor, legs splayed out in front of him and looking quite the pitiful sight indeed. “ ‘cause,” he sniffled, wiping his nose across the back of his hand. “ ‘cause Jawn earns more treats than I do. All’a good prizes always get taken first.”
Jawn’s mouth opened in an ‘O’ of surprise and Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but stayed the part of the silent observer…at least for now. “No I don’t!”
Sherlock looked up at him tearfully. “Th’ whi’thle was gonna be my first pick…I haven’t even gotten a prize since we filled it up last time!”
“Oh.” Jawn considered the little metal whistle in his hand. It had been awhile since he could last remember letting Sherlock pick a prize…but that wasn’t really his fault. “Well, you just gotta try harder, like me.”
“Jawn,” Mycroft said quietly, eyes on his little brother.
Jawn paused, whistle nearly back in his mouth, to glance down at Sherlock. The little detective sat on the floor, hugging damp sippy cups to his chest heaving as he struggled to keep from sobbing.
“Sher’yock?”
“I do believe that once those cups go into the sink, that Sherlock has done enough cleaning up to have earned a prize. What do you think, Jawn?”
“Yea. But he can’t have mines.” Jawn said with a decisive nod before putting the whistle back in his mouth. *PHHWWEEEETTT*
PHHWWEEEETTT*PHWWW…”HEY! Thas MINE!” Jawn turned to glare at Mycroft, who put the whistle into the pocket of his waistcoat.
“What did I tell you when you first picked your prize?” Mycroft ignored the heat in the little doctor’s gaze and offered a hand to help Sherlock to his feet.
“You said I can have a treasure and I want that one! You can’t take it back a’cause Sher’yock cried! Thas na’ fair!” It was Jawn’s turn to stomp his foot, arms crossed over his narrow chest.
“I told you that it was a toy for outdoors. Are we outdoors, Jawn?” Mycroft asked, his eyebrow cocked.
“No.” Groused the little doctor, glaring at the floor.
“If you’d like, you can pick a different prize until the next time you play outside.”
Sadie:
“I wan’ my whistle,” Jawn grumbled again, but walked over to the prize bucket anyway.
After dropping his armload of cups in the sink, Sherlock popped a free thumb in his mouth and joined him, coming t stand at Mycroft’s side and lean into him while he looked down at the load of colorful little trinkets and treats.
Mycroft shook the bucket, moving some of the bottom prizes to the top in hopes of avoiding another scene. Sherlock began to reach for something but Jawn’s hand darted in first and snagged a little green (of course)toy car that would zip forward after being rolled backwards. “This an outside toy?” he asked, eyeing Mycroft suspiciously.
“No, but I’m not fetching it out if you lose it under the refrigerator. Go ahead and pick, Sherlock.” He was eager to put the bucket back up and remove the source of conflict.
Sherlock craned his neck to peer into it again, then made a slow, deliberate reach and came out with a mini bottle of scented bubbles. He held it up for his brother to see and made a small noise around his thumb; “Hm?”
“Those are fine.” Mycroft said with a nod, scooping the bucket up and putting it back on top of the refrigerator.
“Bubba’s not a outside toy but whistle is?” Jawn sassed, his green car making lazy figure eights on the table top.
“All toys that are capable of noise at that decibel belong outdoors. Everything else is negotiable.” Mycroft said, ignoring that attitude.
“Bubba’s, Jawn.” Sherlock showed him the tiny bottle with a watery smile, eager to make friends again.
“What flavour?’
“Bubba gum!”
“Let’s go back into the sitting room. We can watch another film while you play with your treasures.”
“My turn!” Jawn zipped out of the kitchen and into the sitting room to begin rifling through DVDs.
Mycroft rubbed his little brother’s arm, half expecting a strop over whose turn it really was, but instead Sherlock watched Jawn for a moment before pushing his ‘bubbas’ into Mycroft’s hand.
“Open, My? P’ease open?”
Sadie:
“Yes, and those are very good manners, thank you,” Mycroft said as he ushered the nappied little boy into the other room. “But *I* hold the bottle, understand?”
Sherlock nodded emphatically and waited until Mycroft sat down before settling at his brother’s feet. “Uh-huh…bubba’s!” he chattered, bouncing excitedly while he watched the man tear off the perforated plastic wrapping.
“What movie are you picking, Jawn?”
Jawn walked over and flopped down onto the couch next to Mycroft. “You’ll see!” he grinned, looking rather cheeky as he spun the wheels on his car.
Well, Mycroft didn’t know what to make of that. He waited for the menu to pop up but even then, he didn’t recognize it. But it only took one note of the music for Sherlock to spin around and look, with a big, wide, grin splitting his face. “Dino’rawrs!” he said, clapping.
“…Dinosaurs?” Mycroft asked puzzled…this didn’t look age-appropriate in the slightest.
“The second one’s the best!” Jawn piped in, pushing the ‘play’ button.
Within moments, Mycroft could tell this wasn’t a child friendly film. Apparently, several of the dinosaurs at “Jurassic Park” had taken to eating people.
“This needs turned off right now, Jawn.” Mycroft scowled. The little Doctor had been pushing all day.
“Dino’rawrs, My’coff!” Sherlock peeped, waving his tiny bubble wand at the screen.
“Yes, I see that. It’s still getting turned off.” Mycroft searched the sofa cushions for the remote Jawn had dropped there.
“We like this movie!” Jawn huffed, not so stealthily hiding the remote behind him.
“When you’re grown ups you can watch all the gore you please, but while you’re little boys…”
“Look, My’coff, look!” Sherlock’s hands were on his cheeks and gently guided his face back to the screen. “Dino’rawrs!!!”Sadie:
“Yes, I see,” Mycroft said again, tilting away from Sherlock’s hand to avoid taking a bubble wand to the eye. On the screen, a man had just been dragged through a waterfall and presumably eaten…well, *obviously* eaten, as it was now raining heavily blood-tinged water. “Jawn, give me the remote, please.”
“Whhhhhyyyyyy?!” Jawn whined, hand still behind his back.
“This is far too graphic…”
“Bu’ Sher’yock ain’t bovvered! I ain’t bovvered!”
“”This is not appropriate for little minds. Give me the remote.”
“Myyyyyyyy’cooooofffff, you’re meeeeeeeeaaaan!”
“You haven’t seen anything yet. Give me the remote, before I get up and turn it off myself…that will be the end of any movies for the rest of the evening.”
Jawn scowled at him, then slammed the remote down into Mycroft’s waiting hand before crossing his arms and flopping back against the couch with a disgusted groan.
Mycroft didn’t even flinch at the hostility. “Bu’…dino’rawrs, My’coff?” Sherlock asked, looking over at Jawn worriedly.
“Shh, keep playing with your bubbles,” Mycroft replied, and held down the little bottle for Sherlock to reach. While he didn’t cut the movie completely off, he made sure to fast-forward through the more, er, unsavory parts.
~~~
“Rexie is the best of the dino’rawrs and…” Jawn chattered away as he followed Mycroft into the kitchen to refill their cups with juice.
Jawn had spent the ‘i’m not scared, you’re scared’ bits of the film with his nose buried in Mycroft’s neck and in the process had decided to be friends with him again.
“Yes. She was very impressive.” Mycroft said, glancing into the sitting room to check on the little detective. Sherlock was where Mycroft had left him, laying on the floor playing with his feet. “How often is Sherlock this tiny?”
“Sher’yock na’ tiny, My’coff. He’s b’ery tall.” Jawn giggled. Mycroft bit his tongue to keep a retort about hobbits at bay. Now that Jawn had warmed back up to him it wouldn’t do to stir the pot.
“So he is. But he’s very young right now.”
Jawn walked to the doorway of the sitting room and stared down at the little detective. “Yea. He’s not a big boy like us.”
“Jawn.” Mycroft could feel a headache building behind his left eye. he scrunched it closed to try and stem the pain. “How often is Sherlock this young?”
Sadie:
Jawn ignored him again and bounced over to where Sherlock lay, then knelt at his head and leaned over him, staring at him upside down.
Sherlock, who’s been chewing on the knuckle of his thumb, stopped and stared back up at Jawn, waiting to see what he was going to do.
Mycroft set the container of juice down, also watching and waiting (and getting ready to intervene if needed).
Jawn hel up his hand, pointer finger extended, hovering above Sherlock’s face…then jabbed the little detective square on the nose, making him go cross-eyed. “BEEP!”
Sherlock’s eyes went wide and he clasped both hands over his nose.
‘Oh God, here we go,’ Mycroft thought. He strode over to the pair, fully anticipating the moment when Sherlock would burst into tears (and he couldn’t really blame him this time; that jab had looked hard from all the way across the room!), when the overgrown tyke surprised both of them by dissolving in huge, gut-busting belly laughs. “ ‘gain! ‘gain!” he chanted, moving his hands out of the way and Jawn, grinning like the Joker in a pack of cards, poked him again. “BEEP! BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
Mycroft rolled his eyes; there was no predicting these two. No rhyme nor reason, no method to the madness. “Not so hard, Jawn,” he said, and went to retrieve their cups. He’d have to try asking later, when one or the other aged up a bit.
Sadie & Mo's Boutique 