“Oh, pet,” the woman cooed down at the overgrown infant in her lap. “What’s made you so fussy today, hm.”
Irene tried the bottle again, but the moment it touched Sherlock’s lips he whinged and turned his head away, sending droplets of milk spraying across his cheek.
“You don’t want it?” She gently wiped them away with the pad of her thumb. “You cried, I changed you…then you cried again, so I put you down with all of your toys…you weren’t happy with that either, so I’ve got you in my lap with a nice, warm bottle, and you’re still not happy. What is Auntie doing wrong, dearest?”
Sherlock whimpered and pouted up at her, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.
Irene smiled. “Yes, yes, I know, such a sad little baby you are,” she tutted, tapping her finger against his lips. “But I still don’t know what you’re after, pet.”
Irene didn’t expect him to answer. She hadn’t gotten more than a squeak or a squawk out of him all day, and while it had been a welcome change at first, it did present her with a new sort of challenge.
She also didn’t expect him to latch onto her fingertip, and start suckling.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted into a small ‘o’ of surprise. “Oh,” she gasped. “So that’s what you’re after.”
Irene took one of the small pillows beside her on the couch and placed it behind his head, letting him lie back while she undid the buttons along the front of her blouse.
Sherlock watched with a wide-eyed, infantine gaze as she opened her top and reached into the cup of her bra, pushing it down to expose her breast. Then, she used her arm to replace the pillow and cradled the baby detective’s head, drawing him to her.
She gave another small gasp as she felt him latch on, and felt the pull of his tongue against her nipple. “Sorry, sweetheart…Auntie wasn’t expecting this part of the service. You won’t be getting anything this time.”
Sherlock only closed his eyes and nuzzled her breast with his nose, giving a quiet hum of satisfaction.
Irene stroked the hollow of his cheek with her finger, watching the motion of his lips and jaw.
“…I suppose that could change, with enough time and patience.”
If there was one thing John loved about Sherlock’s littlespace (and there were loads of things he loved about it), it was a Tiny day.
Tiny days, where Sherlock was so small as to be near pre-verbal, where John could sit or lay him anywhere and, as long as he kept within eyesight, the little detective would stay put and babble quietly with whatever toy he had in reach.
Today, was a Tiny day.
John was in the kitchen, quietly making a simple lunch for himself after laying Sherlock in the floor of the sitting room for a nap (Tiny Sherlock had a tendency to roll, and previous experiences involving the couch and a sizable goose egg popping up on his poor little forehead suggested the floor being the safest place to put him). It hadn’t been long since he’d dozed off, and John had just managed to finish making his sandwich and sit down at the table, when he began to hear little sounds of distress coming from the other room.
John frowned; those weren’t Sherlock’s usual noises. Not even when he was Tiny. He put his sandwich down, pushed his chair back, and got up to go check on his little one.
Sherlock was still where he’d left him, splayed out on his back on top of the pile of soft blankets John always laid out for his Tiny days…but he wasn’t sleeping as peacefully as he had been a few minutes ago.
The tiny detective was obviously dreaming, and it didn’t look like it was anything pleasant. His arms and legs would twitch every so often, and even from across the room, John could see his eyes darting back and forth behind his eyelids while he mumbled and made low squeaking noises that ended in whimpers…the poor thing had even spit his dummy out, and had somehow managed to knock it down near his feet.
“Sherlock…” John knelt down and lightly stroked Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb. “Sherlock, sweetheart, wake up.”
It took two more tries, and John gently shaking his shoulder before Sherlock startled awake, his eyes popping open wide and unfocused as he looked about the room.
Sherlock blinked rapidly, still appearing disoriented until he turned his head and his gaze finally settled on John. The look of panic ebbed away, and he gave John a faint smile.
John smiled back. “Hi, baby.”
The smile could have lasted for an entire lifetime and it still wouldn’t have been long enough for John, but it still faded much too quickly as Sherlock apparently remembered that he’d been having a nightmare; the smile faded and he reached for John, his chin dimpling as his eyes began to well up with tears.
“Aw, no…did my little baby have a bad dream,” John cooed as he helped Sherlock sit up and then held him to his chest. “That’s all it was, sweetheart. Just a bad dream.” He carded his fingers through Sherlocks’ curls and cradled the back of his head as he rocked him, right there on the floor, and kissed his damp little forehead.
Sherlock tucked his arms in between them and sucked his thumb while he lay there, sniffling.
“Poor baby. Do you want Daddy to make you a bottle?”
Sherlock nodded, but the moment John started to pull away and stand up, he let out a weak, strangled cry, and John knew he wasn’t going anywhere at that particular moment.
“Alright, we’ll wait a little bit first,” he said, and continued to rock his little one.
If there was one thing John loved about Sherlock’s littlespace (and there were loads of things he loved about it), it was a Tiny day.
Tiny days, where Sherlock was so small as to be near pre-verbal, where John could sit or lay him anywhere and, as long as he kept within eyesight, the little detective would stay put and babble quietly with whatever toy he had in reach.
Today, was a Tiny day.
John was in the kitchen, quietly making a simple lunch for himself after laying Sherlock in the floor of the sitting room for a nap (Tiny Sherlock had a tendency to roll, and previous experiences involving the couch and a sizable goose egg popping up on his poor little forehead suggested the floor being the safest place to put him). It hadn’t been long since he’d dozed off, and John had just managed to finish making his sandwich and sit down at the table, when he began to hear little sounds of distress coming from the other room.
John frowned; those weren’t Sherlock’s usual noises. Not even when he was Tiny. He put his sandwich down, pushed his chair back, and got up to go check on his little one.
Sherlock was still where he’d left him, splayed out on his back on top of the pile of soft blankets John always laid out for his Tiny days…but he wasn’t sleeping as peacefully as he had been a few minutes ago.
The tiny detective was obviously dreaming, and it didn’t look like it was anything pleasant. His arms and legs would twitch every so often, and even from across the room, John could see his eyes darting back and forth behind his eyelids while he mumbled and made low squeaking noises that ended in whimpers…the poor thing had even spit his dummy out, and had somehow managed to knock it down near his feet.
“Sherlock…” John knelt down and lightly stroked Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb. “Sherlock, sweetheart, wake up.”
It took two more tries, and John gently shaking his shoulder before Sherlock startled awake, his eyes popping open wide and unfocused as he looked about the room.
Sherlock blinked rapidly, still appearing disoriented until he turned his head and his gaze finally settled on John. The look of panic ebbed away, and he gave John a faint smile.
John smiled back. “Hi, baby.”
The smile could have lasted for an entire lifetime and it still wouldn’t have been long enough for John, but it still faded much too quickly as Sherlock apparently remembered that he’d been having a nightmare; the smile faded and he reached for John, his chin dimpling as his eyes began to well up with tears.
“Aw, no…did my little baby have a bad dream,” John cooed as he helped Sherlock sit up and then held him to his chest. “That’s all it was, sweetheart. Just a bad dream.” He carded his fingers through Sherlocks’ curls and cradled the back of his head as he rocked him, right there on the floor, and kissed his damp little forehead.
Sherlock tucked his arms in between them and sucked his thumb while he lay there, sniffling.
“Poor baby. Do you want Daddy to make you a bottle?”
Sherlock nodded, but the moment John started to pull away and stand up, he let out a weak, strangled cry, and John knew he wasn’t going anywhere at that particular moment.
“Alright, we’ll wait a little bit first,” he said, and continued to rock his little one.
Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, smacking, Bathing, Bedtimes, everything is a bit not good, John isn’t dealing with his feelings well, Angst and Feels, nappies, John’s Jumpers, John’s A+ Parenting, Tags May Change, Post-Reichenbach Series: Part 10 of The Adventures of Baby Sherlock and Daddy Watson. Summary:
They say, home is where the heart is, with the heart as a lackluster metaphor for loved ones, or so some idiom that Sherlock has long deleted claims. But what if that heart has changed and there’s no room left for Sherlock?
“Like this?” Jawn touched the vibrator to the front of Sherlocks’ nappy again, making the little detective gasp sharply and then throw his head back against Greg’s shoulder, moaning.
“Very good, just like that.” Greg grinned like the cat who’d caught the canary, and gave Sherlocks’ exposed neck a kiss. He held the man spread-eagle in his lap, arms pinned behind his back, thigh splayed over his own thighs, wearing nothing but a nappy and an expression of blissful agony.
A devious little doctor in similar dress knelt on the floor between their legs, taking massive, rock-hard pleasure in torturing his captured companion with a heavy duty vibrator, rubbing it slowly up and down the front of his bulging nappy.
Jawn giggled darkly as Sherlock groaned again and arched his back, trying to push himself against the source of the vibration, but Greg held him firmly in place. “No-no-no,” Greg chided, and clucked his tongue. “Good little boys have to ask first…and you are agood little boy, aren’t you? My good, beautiful little boy,” he murmured in Sherlocks’ ear as he nuzzled his nose into his dark, sweat-damp hair, and took a deep breath…
He could smell the desperation. The torment.
Sherlocks’ breath came in quick little pants; music to Greg’s ears. “G-goo’, g-good b-boy,” he stammered. “I, I’m a g-good booooOOOOOOHHHGOOOOODDDAAAAMMMMMIT!!!”
Greg’s head snapped down…Jawn had somehow managed to work the vibrator right inside the leghole of Sherlock’s nappy and while Greg had to applaud the initiative, he didn’t want their game to end so…quickly. “Jawn, no-no!”
Jawn instantly pulled the vibrator out and his it behind his back, while Sherlock keened at the loss.
“What did I say?” Greg scolded, trying to remain serious while Sherlock rocked and rutted his hips in his lap. “I said slowly, didn’t I?”
Jawn pouted, and nodded.
“Then follow directions, or you don’t get a turn.”
Jawn looked stricken. “But I want to play with his bum, too!”
“Then be a good boy for Greg and follow instructions.” Greg switched Sherlocks’ wrists to one hand, then reached around and gave the front of his nappy a good, hard squeeze, making him moan in a gorgeously pained way.
Sadie: I’ve been getting so many good prompts lately! These are gold, guys!
“My’coff?”
“Yes, Sherlock?”
Sherlock looked up at his big brother from the floor. “Why, um, why is Jawn…” He looked back down at the extremely regressed man laying on a pile of blankets next to him, chewing an infant’s squishy, fabric block, then turned back to Mycroft. “Why is Jawn so, um, so qui’id?”
Mycroft pushed his chair back from his desk, stood up, and came over to them. He stooped over Jawn, gazing down at him, then reached and gently took the block from his hands and gave it a small shake in front of the little doctor’s nose, making it jingle. “Because he’s a very tiny little baby today, isn’t he?” he said with a fond smile playing on his lips.
Jawn responded with a big, toothy grin and a happy gurgle.
Sherlock watched, fascinated. Jawn was never this tiny. Never tinier than him. “A y’ittle baby?” he asked, crawling closer.
“Gentle,”Mycroft reminded him, and then handed Sherlock the jingly block. “Can you be a good big brother and play with him while I warm a bottle?”
Sherlock’s head snapped up, his mouth open in a ‘O’ of surprise. “Big br’ovver?” he asked, his voice soft with mild awe. He’d never been a big brother before.
“Yes, a big brother.” Mycroft stood up and ruffle the front of Sherlock’s hair. “Would you like to give him his bottle when I return?”
Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he beamed up at his brother. “Y’ah, p’ease!!” he babbled, returning his attention back to Jawn. “I do i’d!!”
“Then play nicely…I’ll be in the kitchen if he begins to cry.” Mycroft made his way out of the room, but stopped just on the other side of the doorway, out of sight, and peered back in…
Sherlock had picked up a different soft block from the pile nearby, and was squeezing it to make it squeak in Jawns’ face right before pulling it away as the little doctor reached for it, kicking his feet and giggling.
Mycroft waited until Jawn finally caught on to the game and succeeded in grabbing Sherlock by the wrist with a clumsy hand, making Sherlock cheer “Yay, Jawn di’ i’d! You di’ i’d!”, before he turned away to go make the tiny doctor a bottle.
Mycroft smirked; of course Sherlock would be a good big brother. He had, after all, learned from the best.
Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Mary Morstan Additional Tags: Age Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, smacking, Bathing, Bedtimes, everything is a bit not good, John isn’t dealing with his feelings well, Angst and Feels, nappies, John’s Jumpers, John’s A+ Parenting, Tags May Change, Post-Reichenbach Series: Part 10 of The Adventures of Baby Sherlock and Daddy Watson. Summary:
They say, home is where the heart is, with the heart as a lackluster metaphor for loved ones, or so some idiom that Sherlock has long deleted claims. But what if that heart has changed and there’s no room left for Sherlock?
Chapters: 8/8 Fandom: Sherlock (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, Greg Lestrade Additional Tags: Non-Sexual Age Play, Age Play, Fluff without Plot, Diapers, nappies, Dummies, Pacifiers, Little Sherlock, Babysitting, Ageplay, Little Sherlock gets to do a science! Series: Part 2 of The ‘Co-’ Series Summary:
Just a lazy afternoon at the elder Holmes brothers’ house.
Final chapter!!!! @sadieandmo we are ammmmazin’!!!
aos is being a butt and says i wrote this chapter but it was 10/10 a beautiful co-lab with Sadie!!!!
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