Sadie: I have been writing an awful lot of Little Jawn lately, haven’t I? Fair enough. 🙂

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“Time for bed.”

Sherlock make a noncommittal noise.

“Time. for. bed,” John repeated for the fourth time, his voice growing tight.

Sherlock finally looked up from the literal stack of papers Greg had sent home with him earlier, and glared at John…or tried to glare, if he could have gotten his eyes to focus. “I’m nearly done,” he said flatly.

John looked again at the pile…Sherlock wasn’t even a third of the way through them yet. John didn’t even fully understand what was so bloody important about them, anyway; he hadn’t been with Sherlock at the station when he got them, and by the time he’d gotten home from the clinic, the detective was already absorbed in whatever task he’d been assigned, and hadn’t bother answering any of John’s queries. Which had done nothing but irritate John even further. “And you’ll still be ‘nearly done’ in the morning. Come on, let’s go. Now.”

Sherlock rubbed at his bleary eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.”

John’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head; “Excuse me?”

“I said ‘no’, I’m almost fin-”

Before Sherlock could even finish his sentence, John marched across the room to where the detective had been standing for hours now, hunched over the myriad of papers that had been scribbled over, blacked out, and highlighted, and gave Sherlock a hard, stinging slap squarely across the arse, cutting him off instantly.

Silence. Not even the air stirred. Sherlock kept his head low, his hair shielding his face.

“When I said ‘now’, I meant ‘now’,” John snapped, his gaze boring down directly onto the man next to him. He will be listened to.

He heard Sherlock take a quick, shallow breath…and then his shoulders began to shake.

John hesitated. “Sherlock…?” he asked, dropping the harsh, military edge to his voice.

Sherlock reached back with both hands, and held his backside. “I, I j-just…I was–” he stammered, his voice getting smaller and smaller…before dissolving into tears.

John melted in an instant. “Oh, love,” he cooed, and turned Sherlock towards him so he could pull him into a big hug. Gone was the frustration of being ignored, the hardness…he was in full Daddy-mode now.

And as Sherlock laid his head on his shoulder, sobbing away, Daddy sure felt like the biggest arsehole on the planet.

“Shh, it’s alright…I’m sorry, Daddy’s sorry,” he soothed, rubbing his hand up and down Sherlock’s trembling back. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“G’eg a-ask, ask m-me, I, I…!” Sherlock babbled into his ear, John shushed him. “I know, I know…you just like to help your Uncle Greg. You know he loves you an awful lot, don’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” Sherlock hiccuped in his ear.

“So, d’yah think he’d want you staying up past your bedtime and making yourself sick over these things? No,he wouldn’t,” John answered for him. “And I don’t, either. I want my best little boy getting plenty of sleep so he can keep being amazing.”

Sherlock went quiet for a moment…the tears had nearly stopped. “Y-y’ah?” he sniffled.

John smiled. “Yeah,” he said, kissing the mop of curly hair in his face. “Here, stand up and look at Daddy, please.” Sherlock stepped back and looked up at John through his eyelashes, head still bowed and hands still plastered to his bottom.

John reached out and cupped a ruddy, tear-streaked cheek with his hand. “I’m very, very sorry I smacked your bum like that,” he said,using his thumb to gently wipe away the tears from a puffy, red-raw eye. “But it’s still bedtime. And you can finish all of this tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, when you can be your brilliant little self and put the rest of us to shame.”

Sherlock finally gave him a smile…a small, watery smile, but still a smile.

John smiled back. “Do you want Daddy to help get you ready for bed?”

Sherlock nodded quickly, and John chuckled. “Good boy…come on, up you go.”

“Up?” Sherlock repeated, his eyes growing big and hopeful, and John grinned broadly…he couldn’t do this for Sherlock often, but when he could, it meant the world to him. And he wanted to make it up to him after losing his temper and smacking him like that. “Yeah, up…come on, big boy.”

John wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s waist; “Okay, ready? One, two, three…jump!” he counted, and a moment later, he had his arms full and there was a beaming, pleased-as-punch little detective balanced on his hip. “How about a nice, dry nappy and a bottle tonight, hm?” he asked, kissing Sherlock’s cheek as he carried him back towards their bedroom.

Sherlock nodded and nuzzled into the crook of John’s neck with a content-sounding sigh.

John gave his narrow little waist a squeeze. “Daddy loves his little boy, yes he does,” he said, kissing him again.

“Yes, he does.”