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sadieandmo:

Sadie:

(Sorry to have to split it up like this guys, but the other one was so big that I was having issues replying. I would be typing for 5 minutes and the text one the screen would still be on the first sentence.It was driving me nuts.)

Here’s the link to the majority of the rp (warning: massive post)

@squeakpigsrevenge

~~~~~~~

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

Mycroft actively ignored his little brother and turned to Jawn. “Here, give me that,” he said, reaching for the dirty flannel, “and go wash your hands.”

“Then ge’d a pry’ze?”

“Yes, then you get a prize.”

“MYYYYYYYYYYYYCCCCCCCCCCC!”

Jawn covered his ears with his wet, sudsy hands.

“Wonderful.” So much for ignoring poor behavior. Mycroft’s hands went to his hips and leaned over the big, screechy, weepy puddle that was Sherlock. “That is enough,” he said firmly.

“MYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY–!”

“That. Is. ENOUGH!”

Sherlock froze completely, cutting himself off mid-wail. He lifted his head and stared up at his brother, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, back to his regular tone of voice.

Sherlock continued to stare up his brother and sniffle, his chest hitching. He put a nervous finger to his mouth and began to worry with it, unsure of what was happening next. 

“Jawn?”

“Y’ah?”

“Finish washing your hands, please,” Mycroft said, then bent down to help a reluctant Sherlock to his feet; “…then pick a prize and join us.”

Jawn stuck his hands back under the tap for a quick rinse. “Where you goin’?

“To pick out a story for bedtime.”

“Sher’yock turn a’ pick the story?”
“It’s my turn actually.”
“My’coff turn?” Jawn giggled, drying his hands by wiping them on the front of his jams.
“My, My, My, My!” Sherlock cried, wrapping himself around his older brother like a sniveling little barnacle. Mycroft rolled his eyes and scooped the little detective up and headed for the nursery. “Quickly, Jawn.”
“Qui’k y’ike bunny!” Jawn chirped, both hands buried in the prize bucket.
“Precisely,” Mycroft called over his shoulder as he entered the dark nursery. He tried to set Sherlock down on the cot but the baby wailed and clung tighter. “Oh, for heavens sake!” He propped sherlock’s bum against the bed and strained to flip on the bedside lamp.
“My’coff, I pick one!”
“Good boy, come into the nursery.”
“I foun’ a dinosaur to be fren’s wi’f Jeffrey!”

Sadie:

“That’s wonderful. Bring them with you.”

Mycroft heard Jawn’s feet thudding through the flat and shook his head…Mrs. Hudson simply had to have ear plugs.

Either that, or she had gone a bit deaf and wasn’t telling anybody.

Jawn bounded into the room and, before Mycroft could say “No!”, took a flying leap  onto the cot next to Sherlock.

…The entire floor of this flat was just going to cave in one day; he’d be willing to bet money on it.

“Look’id, Sher’yock!” Jawn babbled excitedly as he showed off his new plastic-moulded friend. “He’s a shar’b tooth!”

Sherlock sniffled around his thumb, and released his grip on his brother’s sleeve.

“A shark tooth?”

“A SHAR’B TOOTH!”

“There’s no need to shout.” Now that his little brother was sufficiently distracted, Mycroft walked over to the bookshelf at the opposite side of the room, and began to look for a book. A particular book.

“Bu’d you didn’t hear me a’firs time!”

“I heard you loud and clear.” Ah, there it was. Mycroft pulled the slim book from the shelf and looked at the cover; ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit’.

“Bu’d you say a’ wrong thing.”
“I did. Are there dummies stashed in here somewhere?” Mycroft gave Sherlock a meaningful glance before pulling open the night stand drawer.
“Shar’b tooth’s are very good dinosaurs.”
“Yes. Though you didn’t seem to care for the one in the film earlier.”
“This one is nicer than tha’d one.”
Mycroft rooted through the toys and half empty tubes of nappy creme until he came up with two dummies. “You two need to hunt all of these down and put them in a basket someplace safe.”
Sherlock popped his thumb out of his mouth and made grabby hands at the dummies, “Mmmmmmmyyyyyyyyyy.”
“They need rinsed. I’ll be right back.”
The second Mycroft stepped toward the bathroom door, Sherlock began to wail.
“For fucks sake!” Mycroft popped one of the dummies in his mouth, giving it a quick suck to remove any lint and popped it into Sherlock’s mouth.

Sadie:

Sherlock instantly quieted down and stared up at his brother, eyes wide and teary. His fingers went to the dummy in his mouth, gently patting it as if to make sure it was really there.

“Um, My’coff?”

Mycroft sighed. “I have one for you too, don’t worry.”

Jawn reached back and rubbed the back of his head, mussing up his hair.

“Tha’d, um, tha’d word you say’ed, um, you say’ed a ba’ word.”

Mycroft hesitated and glanced at Jawn out of the corner of his eye. “What word?”

“The word you say’ed.”

Mycroft was perplexed. He genuinely couldn’t remember what he’d said. “What did I say?”

Jawn fiddled with his new dino friend nervously. “Um, you won’d…you won’d yell a’d me?”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “I promise, I won’t yell at you.” What could he have possibly said??

“You say’ed, um…” Jawn bit his lip. “Um, you sayed–”

“Sometime tonight, darling.”

“You say’ed, uh, ‘fuck’.”

Mycroft looked down at Jawn.

Jawn looked back up at Mycroft.

“…You’re right. That is a bad word.”

“Fu’g?” Sherlock garbled around his dummy, grinning like the cat who’d swallowed the canary when Jawn hid his face in a blankie to giggle. “Fu’g!”
“That’s enough.”
“Ffffffffuuuuu’g.”
Jawn was hyperventilating into his blanket.
“Am I going to rinse Jawn’s dummy or fetch a bar of soap? Hmmm?” Mycroft said as he headed to the bathroom.
Both little boys cackled as Sherlock whispered “fu’g” after Mycroft’s back.
“Charming.” He ran Jawn’s dummy under the faucet, taking a moment to collect himself. When he walked back into the nursery he found them quiet and wrapped around each other, Jawn sucking on Sherlock’s dummy.

Sadie:

Sherlock looked up at his brother as he walked in, and smiled. Mycroft could still see faint traces of his tears in the lamplight. “Myyyyyyyyy,” he cooed, and reached for him.

“…You’re only this cute when you know I’m not happy.”

Fingers that seemed longer than they should in the half-dark started grasping for him. “My?

Mycroft side-eyed his little bother…*ahem*, brother, and finally gave a small sigh before joining the boys at their cot. “I should gather my things and leave you both here in the dark,” he said, albeit half-heartedly, and slipped the clean dummy into Sherlock’s mouth. “With no story,” he added.

“Noooooooooo,” they both chimed in unison, and Jawn sat up; “We’re sor’ree.”

Sherlock patted his brother’s hand. “Th’orree, b’ery th’orree.”

Mycroft knew they were both laying it on, and thickly, because they were both stalling bedtime…but it was awfully cute.

But he wouldn’t tell them that.

“Do you both promise to behave?”

Two heads nodded furiously.

“Alright. Scootch over.”

“S’ootch over!” Sherlock wrapped his arms around Jawn and wiggled them both backwards.
Mycroft sat on the bed, back against the headboard, “alright, hellions. We’re going to read Peter Rabbit.”
“Y’abbit?”
“Yes. I know Sherlock knows the stories, but it will be nice for us to share them with you.”
Jawn cooed in delight and snuggled up to Mycroft’s side, eyes on the story book in his hands, “y’abbit.”
“We can read a differen’ book after?”
“One story tonight. Then it’s time to rest.”
“I can rest and y’isten to stories,” Sherlock yawned, spooning behind Jawn.
“Sass will leave you with no stories.”
“Sssshhhhhhh! Story, p’yease.”

Sadie:

Mycroft propped his feet up and held the book open with one hand, using his pinkie to flip to the first page. He then cleared his throat, and began to read; “Once upon a time,” he began, wrapping his free arm around the boys at his side, his fingers curling in Sherlock’s hair. “There were four little rabbits, and their names were–”

“F’yob’sy,” Sherlock mumbled, his eyelids already drooping.

“That’s right, Flopsy. And Mopsy–”

“Mo’bsy.”

“Cottontail.”

“An’ Pe’der.”

“That’s right, Peter was the fourth little rabbit. And they all lived with their mother in a sand bank, underneath the root of a very big fir tree.”

Mycroft paused, and looked down at the boys…

Sherlock was sound asleep, his dummy making little bobbing motions in his mouth, but Jawn was wide awake as ever, and focused on the picture of Mother rabbit dressing her little one’s up for the day.

“…Where’s Da’yee y’abbit?”

“Hm?”

Jawn looked up at Mycroft; “Where’s the Da’yee?”

“That’s…in another story.”

“Oh. We can read it nex’ time?”
“If you like this one than we can certainly read the rest of the series.”
“Okay! Wha’d the y’abbits do nex’?”
Mycroft read the story slowly, hoping that his tone would lull the little doctor to sleep. But Jawn stayed wide eyed and alert through the whole thing, gripping Mycroft’s waistcoat in fear when Peter was almost captured and quietly (after being reminded that Sherlock was sleeping) cheering when Peter escaped back through the fence and made it home.
“Is McG’eg’ry related to G’eg?”
“I don’t think so.”
Jawn made a face as he thought about that, “G’eg’s garden is at your house?”
“Yes.”
“Does he plant radishes and beans? I don’t y’ike y’ettuce.”
“Mmmm, I remember,” Mycroft put the book on the nightstand and gently encouraged Jawn onto his tummy as he rambled about vegetables.

Sadie:

“But pota’does is my fav‘rite, all kin’na ways! Y’ike mashed, an’–!”

“Yes, those are wonderful,” Mycroft said, rubbing Jawn’s back in small circles. “Close your eyes while you tell me.”

“But I’m not tired!”

“I didn’t say ‘go to sleep’, I said ‘close your eyes’. You can talk with your eyes closed, can’t you?”

Jawn frowned. “I f’ing so,” he said, and closed his eyes. “Yea’, I can.”

“Fantastic. What’s your favorite way to eat a potato,” Mycroft asked quietly, and switched from rubbing, to patting.

“Fry!”

“Shhhhh.”

“So’ree,” Jawn whispered. “I y’ike chips a lot.”

“So do I. That’s Sherlock’s favorite way, too.”

“Yea’,” Jawn said, and then grew quiet. 

So quiet, that Mycroft thought he had finally drifted off, and he stilled his hand. But no sooner than he tried to ease his way off the cot; “…My’coff?”

Mycroft sighed quietly, and sat back down. “Yes?”

“Wha’d was Sher’yock like?”

“What do you mean?”

“When he was a bay’bee.”

A faint smile crossed Mycroft’s lips; “That’s…a very loaded question,” he chuckled, and began to pat the back of Jawn’s nappy.

Jawn gave a low rumble of approval with each *whap*, settling more and more into the bed until he was a tiny doctor shaped puddle.
“He was very much like he is now…” Mycroft smiled to himself. “Sweet and endearing and moody beyond words.”
“Wor’s,” Jawn agreed around his dummy, surreptitiously found amongst the bedding.
“What were you like?”
“I ‘unno?”
“Mmmm, you’d have been to small to remember. But I’m guessing you’re similar too.”
“’M nah a bay’bee.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes, giving the next pat a little extra umph, “no, of course you aren’t.”
Jawn was quiet for a moment, “’m swee’d?”
“Very.”
Jawn’s cheeks pinked up and he rubbed his face on his blanket to hide. “Wha’d else?”

Sadie:

Mycroft smirked. “Fishing for compliments, are we?”

“M’no’d f’issing!”

“Shhhh…the other baby is still asleep; let’s leave him that way.”

“Sor’ree.”

“See, you can be sweet and well-behaved.” Mycroft’s hand continued to thunk against Jawn’s nappy; “…when you want to be.”

Jawn turned his head just enough to peek up at Mycroft with one still-wide awake eye. “Were we ba’?”

“You both made some questionable choices today…such as taking a bite out of my thigh earlier–” Mycroft said dryly, with one of his pats landing a little lower on Jawn’s backside and catching a bit of bare leg; “–but those were few and far between.”

Jawn squeaked and hid his face again, and Mycroft heard a muffled “Th’or’ree,” from the pillow.

“I’m glad, but that was taken care of and forgiven then.” Mycroft stopped patting and leaned forward; “But do you know what else you could both do?”

Jawn turned to face Mycroft fully and blinked at him, waiting.

“You and Sherlock could learn to be nicer to each other.”

“I y’ub Sher’yock.”
“I know you do. But you’re not very nice to him and he’s not very nice to you.”
Jawn gave a sad little sigh, “s’only when we both y’ittle it’s hard.”
“What about it is hard?”
“I ‘unno.”
“Mmmmm. There are two very smart consulting detectives in this flat. It’s a case worth solving.”
“A’cause ba’ b’havior?”
“Because you make each other miserable when you don’t get along.”
“Nana say we need a ‘ge’d along’ shirt,” Jawn yawned.
Mycroft shook out the cramps that were building in his shoulder and went back to patting Jawn’s bum, “you’re Nana is a brilliant woman.”
“Y’ah. An’ scary.”
“I’ve heard all about her wooden spoon collection.”

Sadie:

“Sher’yocks haaaaaaaa’des them.”

“Does he? That’s good to know.”

Jwan, who’s eyelids had just started to droop, shot back open and gave Mycroft a dirty look. “Don’ use one on’im,” he grumped.

“I won’t, as long as he doesn’t give me reason to.” Mycroft whapped Jawn’s bottom. “Close your eyes, please.”

Jawn huffed and scooted closer to Sherlock, muttering under his breath about “S’upid spoons.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes (and winced a little there at the end…he might have actually pulled a muscle, after all the eye-rolling today), and gave Jawn’s backside one more softer pat before standing up and pulling the blankets higher up at their shoulders. “Goodnight”, he whispered, and placed a kiss on each forehead.

Jawn sat up before he made it to the door. “Where you goin’?!”

“Shhhhh.”

Jawn repeated himself in his version of a whisper; “Where you goin’?!”

“Just to the kitchen.”

“Oh, o’gay.”

“Lie back down, please.”

“Can I come???”

“No, you stay here with Sherlock…he doesn’t like being in the dark by himself.”

“O’gay. My’coff?”

Mycroft sighs. “Yes?”

“Can you leave’a door open, p’ease?”

“Of course.”

Jawn settled down, curled around his Sherlock. Mycroft resisted the urge to snap one last photo and headed down the hall, leaving the nursery door open and the bathroom light on.
“Christ,” Mycroft sighed, staring at the crusty tomato sauce all over the table and the back of Jawn’s chair. Not to mention the pans he’d left to soak.
“Tea first,” he flipped on the kettle. While he waited for it to boil he rewet Sherlock’s flannel and wiped down the table, the chair and the counter and quickly scrubbed out the pots, leaving them to dry.
“There had better be tea in this flat, children…ah!” His favorite was at the front of the cabinet, box still in cello wrap. “I’m going to buy you both a pony. And your Nana a yacht…and a housekeeper.”
Mycroft made his tea and went and settled into sherlock’s chair, sinking into the faded leather.

Sadie:

Mycroft sat with his tea to his lips, simply breathing in the steam for a quiet moment; the first moment of quiet since, oh God…since naptime???

He took his first sip and held in his mouth for a bit, while he let his thoughts roam. He wondered how long was an appropriate time to stay, now that the boys were asleep…of course, he could always stay the night and sleep in the master bedroom, but…

No. No, that was not happening.

Then again, he could just leave. These were adults and not literal children; that had to be taken into consideration.

But.

Mycroft felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of leaving them here by themselves, at least while they were both Little.

No, he couldn’t do that, either.

He sighed…he supposed that he had enough time to finish his tea before making any decisions. He took another sip and looked around the flat, seeing the stuffed animals and blankets and sippy cups that had been left out, despite his best efforts to get the boys to clean up after themselves. 

Mycroft smiled. Staying the night might not be a horrible idea.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Another full cup of tea and twenty minutes later, Mycroft was looking though his phone when he heard the tell-tale creak of footsteps in the hallway.

“You. Are supposed to be in bed, little boy.”

“Mycroft.”

Mycroft turned to look over his shoulder. “Ah, Sherlock.”

The no-longer-little detective stood in the hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did you have a bad dream?” Mycroft smirked, his voice teasing.

Sherlock frowned at him and reached down to unsnap his onesie before pulling it over his head. “You had to pick the tightest one,” he grumbled.

“And you’re in my chair, you twat.”

“I’ve seen your usual attire, I assumed you’d be at home in a bollocks crushing outfit,” Mycroft smirked into his tea, “and watch your mouth.”
Sherlock did one of John’s rage sniffs, throwing the onesie onto the sofa and pulling a horribly wrinkled dressing gown from between it’s cushions. “I’m not little anymore, I’ll speak however I please.” Sherlock wrapped himself in the silk and then flopped down.
“Do smackings make you small?”
“I…sometimes.”
“Then watch your language.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “I’ll have a cup as well.”
“If you’re a big boy, you can fetch your own tea.”
“You’re going to be insufferable now. More than usual I mean.”
“Likewise.”
They sat quietly regarding each other, unused to this much shared vulnerability.
“Jawn enjoyed your visit.”
“Mmmm, until blistered his arse.”
“He earned it. It made him respect you,” Sherlock fiddled with the tie on his robe. “We had a good time.”
“Yes, we did.”
“Da’?” Jawn dragged his feet through the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes.
“Hello, sweet boy, did you wake up all by your lonesome?” Sherlock opened his arms and found himself with a lapful of little doctor.

Sadie:

Mycroft watched as Jawn snuggled into Sherlock’s lap, while Sherlock took one of the blankets that had been tossed onto the couch and wrapped  it around the little doctor’s bare legs. “Do both of you sleep in half hour intervals now?”

“I woke up because I have a headache.”

“And him?”

“He woke up because I have a headache.”

Mycroft murmured softly, and made to stand up. “Tea, did you say?”

Sherlock looked up and gave his brother a broad, shit-eating grin. “I would get it myself, but…” He used his head to gesture down at Jawn dozing in his lap, and shrugged.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but got up and returned to the kitchen. “A headache?” he asked as he retrieved another ceramic mug from the cabinet.

“Mmm,” Sherlock hummed. He was watching Jawn, already asleep again, while he cradled him in the crook of his arm. “It happens when I’ve spent more than twelve hours straight in headspace.”

Mycroft began to fill the mug. “You mean, when you’ve spent more than twelve hours crying in headspace,” he said, smirking to himself.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” Sherlock said dryly, glaring at his brother’s back and patting Jawn’s backside.

Mycroft shrugged. “Well…it’s partly true. You do tend to bottle up every emotion you’re faced with until they result in tears and wet nappies.”

“At least I have nappies to fall back on. How do you unwind, brother mine? Blow up a municipality?” Sherlock snarked, kissing Jawn’s nose.

“Something like that.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a smile, “poor, Geoff.”

“Quite. He may take to trying to hide here.”

“Absolutely not. Under no circumstances can your…”

“Lover? Paramour? Life partner?” Mycroft set the cup of tea on the coffee table.

“Can your Lestrade stay in our flat.”

Mycroft dropped himself back into sherlock’s chair and went back to his own cup of tea. “Jawn seemed interested in playing in our garden.”

“He’s clearly had a bump to the head. We’ll take him to A&E straight away.”

“He can always come over on his own.”

Sherlock’s face did some complicated acrobatics, which Mycroft read with ease.

“Of course, you are welcome along as well,” Mycroft took a sip of his tea. “A picnic in the garden.”

Sadie:

Sherlock paused, his face carefully blank while he considered what his brother had just said. Finally, his gaze resettled on Mycroft, and he arched his brow as he asked; “…How much does Gordon know?”

“You know his name, Sherlock.”

“How much does he know.”

Mycroft stared down into his tea. “About?…”

“Mycroft.”

“He doesn’t know anything, Sherlock.” Mycroft set his cup down quietly, without taking a sip first. “It is not my place to tell him.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t.”

Mycroft glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye; Sherlock was now back to  watching Jawn sleep in his arms, brow furrowed,  tea still untouched. “…I trust him, Sherlock.”

Sherlock finally raised his eyes and met  Mycroft’s. “I know you do,” he said, slowly.

“I know you do, as well.”

Sherlock stared at Mycroft for some time, while a silent yet intense conversation passed between them, saying everything that both wanted to say yet neither were able to…not outloud.

“Maybe,” Sherlock said at last…whereas Mycroft heard, ‘I want to, but I’m scared.’

“You wouldn’t work with him if you didn’t,” Mycroft said, his tea going ignored…Sherlock heard, ‘I know, but you don’t have to be.’

“ This isn’t exactly a conversation you have with ‘coworkers’, Mycroft.” ‘I don’t know if I can.’

“He’s hardly just a ‘coworker’, Sherlock.” ‘I know this is hard, but it will be okay.’

“Maybe.” ‘I don’t want to do it by myself.’

“It’s up to you.” ‘I’ll help you.’