(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)
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’?
What is it? A psychological novel about BDSM – i.e. in a bookshop it would be under ‘Fiction A-Z’ rather than in the erotica section. There is kinky sex, but the story is mostly about the daily life of people on the London BDSM scene.
Why’s that important? A lot of people are curious about BDSM. There’s nothing wrong with having fantasies, but novels (and now films) like 50 Shades of Grey present actual BDSM practice in a way that in real life would be flagrantly abusive – and people are learning about BDSM from 50 Shades. That’s dangerous, and worsens the existing stigma against kinky people. The voices of actual BDSM practitioners should be heard on the subject.
Who wrote it? London kink scene veteran Penny Armstrong, who is a professional book editor and writer-for-hire under another name. She also writes fanfic as pennypaperbrain.
Fine, but all I care about in a novel is whether it’s any good. There are both positive and negative reviews of London Leather on amazon.co.uk and amazon.com – check them out to help you decide if you want to read it.
Find out a bit more about the book and read an extract here.
Mycroft held the children’s backpack that he’d just been presented at arm’s length, one finger just barely hooked through the top strap. “…What?”
“Everything you’ll need,” Sherlock continued in one fluid, unbroken stream of words as he turned away from his brother and began to leave. “Crayons, coloring book,storybook, crackers if she gets hungry, a handful of legos, her phone, her cup, three bottles of nail varnish, four tubes of lip gloss, her stress ball, she’s already holding her Bucky, two spare dummies–”
“I don’ nee’ those!!!”
Mycroft stared blankly, mouth slightly open, then snapped out of it and started marching after his brother. “…What??”
“–and her sticker book. But don’t let her sweet-talk you into giving her those yet; those are rewards. Oh, and there’s a set of extra pull-ups–”
“SHER’YOCK!”
“…Pull-ups?”
“–just in case. She usually lets you know when she has to go to the toilet–”
The interruption this time came in the form of a low groan.
“–but she doesn’t know you well, so you’ll have to ask and coax her. That’s where the stickers come in.” Sherlock stopped in his tracks once he was out the front door and turned on his heel. He gave Mycroft a broad smile. “I should be back within the hour. Or three.”
Before Mycroft could protest, Sherlock looked around him and stooped to talk to the figure behind him; “And you,” he said, in a much softer voice. “You’ll be a good girl for Mycroft, yes? Of course you will. I promise, we’ll go for ice cream after to make up for it.” Sherlock bent forward and placed a quick kiss on a very hesitant-looking Molly’s forehead. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said again, whirling around to leave.
“…What??!”
“Text me if there’s a need!” he called back over his shoulder and in an instant he was back into the car that had been waiting the entire time, and in the next, was zooming off down the driveway.
Mycroft stood in the door, backpack still dangling in his hand, and gaped at the quickly retreating vehicle.
The purple backpack swung on his finger, and the purple, fuzzy face of the unicorn emblazoned on the front glared at him with what could only be malicious glee.
Mycroft looked down at his side, where his unexpected charge still stood. She too was watching the car as it left, while worrying a lock of hair tightly around her finger. Once it disappeared from their view, Molly looked up at Mycroft with wide, uncertain eyes.
They stared at each other for for a moment, regarding each other, neither one saying or doing anything, until Mycroft decided to break the uneasy silence. “Well…what now?”
Molly stared at him, her hair still twisted around her finger…when her bottom lip started to quiver.
Mycroft could only watch, helplessly, as Molly’s eyes welled up. Next came the sniffles.
“Oh, God.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Things had started off a bit teary, but once Mycroft got Molly inside and showed her the nursery that he kept for John and Sherlock when they were little, tensions eased.
He took her pink cardigan off of her (which was a feat in and off itself, since she was still clutching the odd-looking plush toy that Sherlock had called her ‘Bucky’…an odd choice for a little girl, he thought, with its grumpy expression and half mask and…metal arm?) and hung it on the wall with her backpack. “What would you like to do now, Molly?”
Molly turned and looked him up and down…she still didn’t seem to know what to make of him. All she had heard, he presumed, is what Sherlock or John may have told her…which would explain her nearly bursting into tears at being put into his hands. “Um,” she started, hugging her ‘Bucky’ to her chest. “Um, Sher’yock said, um…tha’d you have craf’s?”
“I have lots of art supplies; Sherlock loves to make things, too. Would you like to see the craft closet?”
Molly’s face finally brightened, and she nodded her head quickly.
“Come along, then.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“Ohhhhhhh,” Molly cooed, her eyes growing bigger by the second. “You ha’b lots of glitter!”
“Yes, but let’s save that for later, hm?” ‘After I’ve had a chance to glitter-proof the entire house,’ he thought.
“Awww…”
Mycroft thought quickly. “What about the play-dough? Sherlock loves it.”
“Do you ha’b pink?”
“Three different shades. And one has confetti in it.”
Molly gasped; “O’gay!!!!”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“What’re you mag’ing?”
“An octopus. What about you?”
““Spar’gly y’ibcage.”
“That’s incredibly creative.”
“You ha’b nice han’s.”
“Thank you.”
“C’n I pain’d you nails, My’coff?”
“…”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Can I ha’b a s’icker now?!”
“No.”
“Why no’d????!!!”
“Because you didn’t go potty.”
“I don’d ha’b too!!!”
“The wiggling in your seat tells me otherwise.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Molly,dearest, you can have all the stickers you want if you please stop crying?”
“I’d w-was an, an ah-, ah-s-ssid-deeeeeen’!”
“I know, sweetheart, and you’re not in trouble. Look, see? Which stickers do you want in your book?”
“…Th-tha’d, tha’d one, p-p’ease.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“You haven’t eaten since you’ve been here.”
“Bucky wan’s ice c’eam.”
“Sherlock said ice cream later. Neither you or Bucky are getting any now.”
“THA’DS NO’D FAAAAAAIIIIIRRRRRR!’
“Jesus Christ.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Y-you, you w-won’d tell’im I was ba’?”
“Not if you can use your listening ears and lay down for a rest.”
“Bu’d I’m no’d s’eepy.”
“You’ve been around Sherlock for too long.”
*sniffles*
*sighs* “If I promise to let you make my toes match my fingernails, will you lie down and rest?”
“O’gay!!!”
“Manipulator.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
Molly squealed as she raced down the steps and leapt into a waiting Sherlock’s arms.
Sherlock grunted and hefted her up onto his hip. “You didn’t miss me at all, did you?” he chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Were you a good girl for Mycroft?” he asked, directing the question to her but looking squarely at his brother.
“Y’ah!’ she chirped as Mycroft held his hand up and made an ‘Ehhhhh’ motion.
“Double toppings on your ice cream then,” Sherlock smirked as Molly cheered, and Mycroft rolled his eyes.
“Do you have your backpack? Your Bucky? Your squishy?”
“Yep, yep, yep!”
“Good girl. Tell Mycroft ‘bye-bye’ and thank him for letting you stay with him”
Molly twisted in Sherlock’s arms and gave Mycroft a big grin, and waved her Bucky at him. “Bye-bye, My’coff. I’d was y’ots o’b fun!!!”
Mycroft smiled and waved back at her as Sherlock turned to carry her back to the car. “That varnish is a fetching shade on you, bro.”
“I think Sherlock sounds a bit left out, Molly,” Mycroft called back.
“Ohhhh nooooooo!” Molly clung to Sherlock neck, promising to use all her best colors to ‘make his fingers p’etty too!’ as Sherlock tossed his brother a nasty look over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out.
Mycroft gave him a purple, glittery, one-fingered salute, and smugly stepped back inside his house.
Sadie: Are you referring to this one, anon? Or is there another that I’m forgetting?
Sadie: Got your reply! I’m just going to keep it in my inbox as an actual reminder to do the thing. :p
Sadie:
(finally doing the thing)
~*~*~*~*~
Thankfully, bottle-warming was not a very monopolizing task, and Mycroft had not been out of the room for five full minutes before he returned, warm bottle in hand. There had been no screams, no cries, no howls of pain or terror, so he was in no rush as he made his way back to his study, gently shaking the bottle to make sure the heat was evenly distributed.
He could hear his little brother still softly jabbering away as he approached the door, and once again, he peeked around the corner:
“…an’ you ‘mem’er, um, you ‘mem’er tha’ kid’dee? An’, an’ you say’ed tha’ kid’dee was, um, was nay’ked?” Sherlock was sitting on his heels at Jawn’s feet, playing with his toes. He took one of Jawn’s pinkie toes and rolled it between his fingers, making the smaller man break into squeaky-giggles and try to pull his foot away, with little success. “Nn-nn-nnnnnnn!” Jawn grunted.
Mycroft smirked. That was more disgustingly adorable than it ever ought to be. “Careful, Sherlock,” he reminded him as he stepped into the room. “Let go when he pulls away, pet.”
Sherlock blinked up at him. “Bu’d he y’ikes i’d!”
“I know, but we don’t want to twist one of his toes too hard when he pulls away…do we?” he cooed down Jawn, who had just now noticed what Mycroft held in his hands and was grasping for it.
Sherlock let go of Jawns’ foot and reached for the bottle, to. “I still do’id, My’coff?!”
“Of course. Here, go sit down on the couch,” Mycroft said and Sherlock scrambled to obey, nearly tripping over his own limbs while Mycroft lifted Jawn into a sitting position, then picked him up.
Sherlock folded his legs underneath him and watched his big brother carry his ‘little brother’ over, and held his arms out, waiting impatiently. “Mine.”
“There’s never been any question of that.” Mycroft carefully sat Jawn in Sherlock’s lap, and turned him the correct way for a feeding; “There, hold your arm here, under his neck…yes, there you go, you know what you’re doing, don’t you.”
“Y’ah, I ‘mem’er how,” Sherlock said, taking the bottle from Mycroft’s hand.
The elder Holmes brother stood close by and watched as Sherlock tucked Jawn in the crook of his elbow and held him close, then put the bottle to his lips.
Jawn latched on quickly, and Sherlock beamed up at Mycroft. “See, I c’n do’id!”
“Clever boy. You’re a wonderful big brother.” Mycroft ruffled Sherlocks’ hair and pinched his cheek. “Stay right here, and let me know when he’s done.”
“Why?”
“Because it will be naptime for both of you then.”
“Awww,” Sherlock groaned. “Bu’d I’m no’d tired!”
“No, but Jawn will be. Would you like to help get him ready for bed?”
Sherlock perked up. “I c’ahn?”
“Absolutely. Your help is vital.”
Sherlock grinned broadly and looked down at the tot in his lap, whose eyelids were already drooping. “C’n I, um, c’n I read ‘im a story?”
“I think he would be terribly upset if you didn’t. Sit and think of one while he eats.” Mycroft tugged on Sherlock’s ear. “And let me know when he finishes, darling.”
“O’gay.”
Mycroft went back to his desk.
Of course, Sherlock didn’t let him know exactly when Jawn was done…he may have waited a few (or ten….or fifteen) minutes to finish whispering the story that was too good to wait until naptime.
And, of course, Mycroft knew what he was doing. And he couldn’t blame his little brother for wanting to wait just a bit longer…
Because little brothers don’t stay little for long. And Mycroft knew, more than most, to enjoy it while it lasted.
The year is almost over! It really flew. I’m pleased to think I improved over the year, and I hope to continue improving in the future. Merry almost Christmas!
Sadie & Mo's Boutique 