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.
Sherlock followed him docilely into the bathroom, holding his hand tightly. Mycroft wet a wash cloth and wiped Sherlock’s face, chuckling as Sherlock grumbled and tried to move his face out of reach. Mycroft untangled their hands to clean Sherlock’s hands as well.
“I should have washed Jawn’s hands before I sat him at the table.”
“Is ok. You still can. Jawn didn’t eat yet.”
“Oh? And how did you come by that deduction.”
“He was at the doo…oh! Oh no!! My! Please don’t spank Jawn, My!”
Mycroft frowned as he finished washing Sherlock’s hands. The sniffles that had abated began in full force.Sadie: “Shhh, don’t start,” Mycroft said, reaching into his pocket
for Sherlock’s dummy and popping it in the sniffly detective’s mouth
with a practiced hand. “You let me take care of Jawn.”After
cleaning him up a bit and letting him compose himself, Mycroft led
Sherlock into the kitchen, where a mighty-guilty-looking blond-headed
boy sat, staring at his food. Mycroft cleared his throat and grabbed a
small, squarish pillow from the couch, then placed it in a chair at the
table and had Sherlock sit down on it gingerly. “It’s been brought to my
attention that we had a little visitor back there, even after I asked
for privacy,” he said, taking Sherlock’s arm and rolling up his sleeve for him.Sherlock kept large wet eyes trained on Mycroft.
“It’s especially distressing as we discussed why staying put was a safety precaution on the walk home…”
John frowned at his meal, his shoulders tense. “Had to watch for Sherlock’s safety.”
“That’s not your job at the moment, it’s mine. You’re a little boy and that means your job is to behave and listen.”
John’s face scrunched as he considered that. “I tried,” he said simply. “I can’t ignore Sherlock crying.”Sadie: “I understand…it is hard,” Mycroft replied, resting his hand on top of Sherlock’s head and combing his fingers through his mussed curls affectionately. “Considering how loud he gets. But I still asked you to remain at the table, and you said you understood. Stand up.”
Sherlock tensed up and was about to protest again, but Mycroft put a finger against his dummy and held it there. “Hush.” He waited until John stood (albeit it slowly) and looked up at him with a determination in his eyes.
Mycroft raised his eyebrow. “Hard-headed, the both of you.” He took John by the elbow and turned him around, facing the back of the kitchen. “Sherlock got a warning and a time-out first, and so will you. Go put your nose in that corner until I call you back,” he said, and sent the stubborn little doctor off with a firm swat to the back of his thigh, since he surely wouldn’t feel it through his nappy.
Mycroft watched to be sure John went into time out as instructed before sitting at the table next to Sherlock. He added some vinegar to his own chips before popping one into his mouth. They were barely warm. Rotten kids messing up his lunch.
“Eat your lunch, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, popping the dummy out of his mouth. Sherlock poked at his chips, never taking his eyes from where John stood in the corner.
Mycroft broke off a piece of his own fish and held it to Sherlock’s lips. The little detective obediently ate the piece from Mycroft’s fingers and then held his mouth open for more.
“Well that’s far more adorable than it has any right to be,” Mycroft smiled as he fed Sherlock another bite of fish.Sadie: Mycroft was delighted to find that, as long as someone else was putting it in his mouth, Sherlock was content to eat as much of anything that he was fed. “You must be getting thirsty by now,” he chuckled, holding a sippy-cup to his lips. “Ah-ah, no…Sherlock can hold this one.” He noticed John shifting from foot to foot in the corner, and figured that he must be positively itching to turn around and look. Mycroft consulted his watch…five minutes, even. “Is Jawn ready to come back and sit with us?” he asked out loud.
John looked over his shoulder and nodded emphatically.
Mycroft was in a much better humour now than he had been. “Alright, come on then–” John had his bum back in his seat before Mycroft could finish his sentence, and the man couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “You’re both awful little brats!”
John grinned as he shoveled chips into his mouth.
“Smaller bites please, Jawn,” Mycroft admonished gently, feeding Sherlock another bite.
They ate in companionable silence, Mycroft feeding ever other bite to Sherlock who build a small cottage with his chips.
John finished licking his fingers clean of salt and vinegar and then wiped them on his trousers. “Can I have some too?”
“I thought you said it was Sherlock who would eat three orders,” Mycroft chuckled, holding out the last bite of fish for John.
“He eats all the chips, I eat all the fish.”
“Don’t speak with your mouth full.” Mycroft rose from the table, collecting the rubbish. “We’re going to wash up and then it’s naptime.”
Sherlock, who’d been half asleep through most of lunch, jerked awake. “No nap!”Sadie: “Yes, nap.” After all the commotion this morning, it would only be a matter of getting Sherlock still, and he’d be out like a light. John carried over his trash and put it in the bin, while Mycroft turned on the faucet at the sink and squirted soap into his hands for him.
Sherlock refused to get up at first, but it only took one ‘look’ from his brother before he wilted and brought over his trash to throw away, too. He shuffled over like a scolded puppy, rubbing his eyes despite his objection to naptime. “No nap,” he said weakly, standing behind John to wait his turn.
Mycroft smirked and shook his head…the spanking had really done a number on Sherlock’s headspace, regressing him even further. He retrieved his little brother’s dummy from the table; “Yes nap,” he repeated softly, slipping the nipple back between his lips. “And it’s even Sherlock’s turn to pick the story.”
Sherlock yawned around his dummy, accepting the soap Mycroft squirted on his hands. He stood motionless in front of the sink while Mycroft dried John’s hands with a dish towel.
“Can Jawn get me two sippy cups for milk?”
John beamed at Mycroft before scurrying the the cabinet.
Mycroft turned eyes onto his baby brother who was standing in front of the sink, eyes closed, dummy barely moving.
Mycroft nudged him forward and used his own hands to lather the soap for Sherlock. “It works better if you don’t allow it to air dry.” Sherlock grinned around his dummy and leaned into Mycroft.
“I found Sherlock’s pirate cup!” John peeped, holding up a green cup covered in pirates.
“That’s brilliant, Jawn. What cup are you going to use?” Mycroft flipped off the water and began to dry his and Sherlock’s hands.Sadie: “Um…” John turned back to the cabinet that held all of their toddler cups and bottles and looked over all of them, tapping his finger on his chin. “This…no, this one!” he said finally and held up an insulated cup with a blue insert, decorated with sea turtles. He was very proud of his choice.
“That’s a very lovely cup,” Mycroft said, taking it from him and going to retrieve the milk from the refrigerator, with Sherlock holding onto the back of his shirt and stumbling after him lazily. The little detective draped himself over his brother’s back while he filled both cups, laying his head on his shoulder with a sleepy sigh and hugging him around the waist. “Someone’s more of a cuddler now, isn’t he?” Mycroft said, handing John his cup and trying to turn around without knocking Sherlock on his bum.
“Come along, sweet boy.” Mycroft walked carefully down the hallway to the nursery, Sherlock a limpet on his back. John trailed behind, humming to himself.
Mycroft put Sherlock’s cup on the nightstand and turned down the bed before carefully extracting himself from the little detective’s grasp. Sherlock whinged behind his dummy and tried to snuggle closer.
“Poor thing. Let’s get comfy.” Mycroft undid Sherlock’s trousers and pushed them down. He slipped a finger into the leg hole of Sherlock’s nappy and found it dry. “Here. Sit.” Mycroft gently pushed Sherlock until he flopped onto the bed.
“Jawn. Come here lad. Let’s get you out of those trousers.” Mycroft called, already digging in the cupboard for pajama bottoms. Mycroft glanced up to see john frowning over his shoulder into the mirror.
Sadie: “And what’s got you so sour, hm?” Mycroft asked, picking out a pair of blue and green plaid pajama pants.
“His bum’s red,” John replied, still frowning.
“Well, I would imagine so…that’s a common reaction to a good spanking.”
“It’s too red…you spanked too hard.”
Mycroft took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was John; he was naturally protective of Sherlock. “A red bottom doesn’t stay red forever, lad. Look at Sherlock…does he still look bothered? Does it seem like I overstepped?”
John looked over at the little detective, who was desperately trying to sit up and stay awake, but was fighting a losing battle. “…No,” he finally agreed, sounding rather sulky.
“No, I thought not. Come here now.” John obeyed, slowly. Mycroft took that in stride and quickly rid him of his trousers. “I’m pleased that you take such good care of Sherlock.” Mycroft checked John’s nappy for wetness, getting an indignant squeak from the little doctor. “But the point of being little is so that you don’t have to worry.” Mycroft held open the pajama bottoms for John to step into.
“My baby.” John huffed, stepping into the pajamas
“Yes, yes. I know.” Mycroft pulled the pajamas up and over John’s bum and gave it a pat. “Would you like to pick a book for Sherlock?”
John nodded emphatically and plopped his bum In front of the bookcase.
Mycroft pulled a pair of grey pajama pants from the cupboard and moved to his little brother, who was making an admirable effort to keep his eyes open. “Lay back.” Mycroft nudged Sherlock until he was laying down and tugged the pajamas up his slim legs and over his padded bum.Sadie: “He always gets like that after a spanking,” John said, climbing onto the bed with a book clutched in one hand. He pushed it towards Mycroft and flopped down next to Sherlock, then pulled the little detective into his arms. “Like he’s got no bones left!”
“ ‘Doesn’t have any’, “ Mycroft corrected absently and picked up the book. “…What’s a ‘Gruffalo’?”
“Read the book and find out.”
“You’re starting to sound like my brother.” Mycroft toed off his shoes and stretched out on Sherlock’s other side, and put his arm around John. Now that he was off his feet, he realized how drained he felt, as well. He opened the book and started to read in a low voice.
“I can’t see the pictures!”
“Shhhh, Jawn…don’t rile him up.” Though, looking down at Sherlock’s face, nothing short of a volcanic eruption could have disturbed him.
“I can’t see the pictures,” John stage whispered, holding a hand over Sherlock’s ear.
Mycroft rolled his eyes but adjusted the book on his lap. John sighed happily and rested a cheek on Sherlock’s head. “I can see now. Keep reading.”
“Please.”
“Yea. Please keep reading.”
Mycroft read the story slowly, pausing on every page to make sure John got a good look at the pictures before carrying on. By the time he closed the book, both little boys were snoring softly, john still hugging Sherlock to his chest. Against his own better judgement, Mycroft scooted down the bed and spooned behind Sherlock, wrapping a protective arm around both little boys. Within moments he was in a deep and dreamless sleep. Better than he’d had in years.
Sadie: An hour and a half later (which felt a little bit on the shorter side of an hour and a half), Mycroft found himself being woken by several small, light touches on his face. He cracked an eye open and was met with a long finger touching the tip of his nose.”…You’re not awake yet.”
Sherlock sat up on his elbow with a wild fringe of hair falling over his eyes. Now that his brother was responding, he giggled and the corners of a big, wide smile came out from hiding behind the edges of his dummy. “Up!”
“No, down,” Mycroft mumbled, pulling Sherlock down onto his chest and holding him there. Just five more minutes, that’s all he was asking for. Just five…
Sherlock grunted and pushed back against the man’s arms with little result, then fell back with an impatient huff and started tapping his fingers on the buttons to Mycroft’s waistcoat.
That was emphatically more tolerable than having his face touched, so Mycroft closed his eye and prepared to breathe easy for five more minutes.
It was all of thirty seconds before Sherlock was straining against his hold. “Up!” he pleaded. “Up, My’coff…up!”
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