Tag: prompts

20?

Sadie:

20.
Crying/embarrassment after wetting 

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“Here, now…what’s got you upset, monkey?” Sherlock asked, and reached out to tick John on the chin.

The smaller, surlier man knocked his hand away. “Don’t. Don’t call me that. Now right now.”

Now, this was a puzzle…John had been fine a few moments ago, when Sherlock had changed him. Which usually had the opposite effect on his mood and made him happier, just like any other soggy little tot–but not this time.

Well, Sherlock was always up for a good puzzle. He eyed the grumpy little man who was curled up on the other end of the couch, legs drawn up and arms folded over them as he glared at nothing in particular.

John had been in headspace earlier. And happy. Now, he was neither. The only thing that had happened in between, was a nappy change.

Sherlock turned to face him. “Did Daddy–I mean, did I do something wrong?”

John’s gaze flicked over to him briefly, then looked away again. “No,” he mumbled.

“John, if I did something to knock you out of headspace, then–”

“No,” John answered quickly, and then sighed. “No,” he said again, and this time uncurled from around himself. “No, I just…” he stopped, the words escaping him.

“…You just-?” Sherlock prodded.

“I just, I didn’t…” A blush crept across John’s cheeks. “I just…I didn’t mean to pee.”

“…What?”

“ I mean, I didn’t have to think about it this time. It just happened.” John stared at a loose threat sticking up from the couch cushion, and began to pick at it.

Sherlock stared at him blankly for a moment, then quickly pinched his lips together…but it was too late. A giggle broke free and John’s head snapped up; “What so funny?!”

“You,” Sherlock said, chuckling. “You, pouting over something like that.”

“And you wouldn’t!”

“It’s a compliment, really.”

John’s jaw dropped. “A compliment?!!!”

“Mm-hmm.” Sherlock stood up and, in a momentary loss of self-preservation, kissed John on the forehead. “Daddy was taking such good care of you that you genuinely forgot to be a big boy.”

John could only gape at him as Sherlock walked towards the kitchen. “Wait!” he said when he finally got his synapses working properly again, and got up to hurry after Sherlock . “Peeing myself is a compliment?!”

“Yes, it is.” Sherlock retrieved a sippy-cup from their cabinet. “Apple juice or banana milk?”

John crossed his arms. “ ‘m not thirsty.” 

“After that nappy? Yes you are. Juice or milk?”

John glared down at the floor and kicked at a bit of loose carpet around the door frame. “…Milk.”

Sherlock held the sippy-cup in one hand, waiting with that stupidly smug grin of his.

John sighed.

“Milk please, Daddy.”

can you write one where Sherlock is very regressed or another john one? I have a big soft spot for that type of regression. Thank you so so much

Sadie: So do I. 🙂

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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. 

“Shhh, hey…look, Daddy’s here, it’s alright. Look, muffin, it’s me…right here.”

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.

~*~*~*~

…He still loves Sherlock’s Tiny days.

Everyone’s prompts are so wholesome, but I’m gross so I’d love something more on the sexually explicit side of things … Johnlock or involving Greg or Molly or whatever 🙃

Sadie:

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“Slowly, Jawn, slowly…don’t rush.”

“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 a good 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.

“Now, do it again…slowly.”

I have a prompt, if you’re up to it. I know you write the boys around the age of two, but what if John regressed even smaller one day, like a /baby/ baby, and Sherlock got to be the big brother for a day? Just a random idea should you want to do it.

Sadie: I’ve been getting so many good prompts lately! These are gold, guys!

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“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.

Prompts are backkkkk? Been thinking about Greg babysitting little Jawn?

Sadie: I’m fairly certain that this anon is the same one who sent in this prompt:

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If so: I’m sorry it took me so long! If not: what an incredible coincidence! And I’m still sorry it took so long!

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“Jawn? Where’d you go, monkey?”

Greg looked up from the plate of sandwiches he’d been making for his and Jawn’s lunch, and glanced around the kitchen.

No Jawn to be seen.

But Greg had a pretty good idea of where he was.

And he was right…he’d have to brag about that a bit later, after Mycroft and Sherlock returned.

He found Jawn was back in the main foyer, as expected, watching gloomily out of one of the big, floor-to-ceiling windows that were on either side of the front door, his nose and forehead pressed against the glass.

Greg sighed. “They’ll be back soon, love.”

“…I wan’ned a’go, too.”

Greg stepped up behind the melancholy little doctor and put his hands on his shoulders. “I know. But they couldn’t take you this time, pet.”

Jawn looked up and met Greg’s gaze in the reflection. “Why?”

“Because it’s going to be a terribly boring meeting full of stuffy people using big words that only Mycroft and your Daddy would understand.”

Jawn blinked at him, his breath momentarily fogging up the window, then dropped his gaze and went back to staring at the empty drive outside. Greg thought he saw a slight wobble in his bottom lip.

‘Shit.’ “Besides, they needed you to help keep me out of trouble,” Greg said, giving Jawn’s shoulder a squeeze. “Mycroft said I can’t be trusted by myself.”

No reaction.

Dammit. He was in danger of losing his ‘fun Uncle’ status; if Sherlock came back to a whingy, crying Jawn, he would never hear the end of it. “C’mon…you wouldn’t want to see your dear old Uncle Greg get smacked for making a mess in the kitchen, do y’ah?” Greg tweaked Jawn’s ear playfully. “I need supervision!”

Jawn, who obviously hadn’t been expecting it, squeaked and scrunched his shoulder, pulling away from Greg. “Noooo,” he said, but Greg still caught a hint of a smile in his reflection.

“You would, wouldn’t you. Traitor.”

Jawn turned and tried to pout up at him, and failed. Instead, a devious little smirk played upon his lips. “G’eg made a funny noise when My’coff smack ‘im o’vver night.”

Well. At least he’d kept him from crying. Greg cleared his throat; “You saw that, hm?”

“I see y’ots o’b things.”

Greg took his chance while Jawn was distracted and herded him back towards the kitchen.“You’re nosy, just like your Da’.”

“Is called ‘obser’vin’.”

“It’s called ‘not mindin’ your business’.”

“Tha’s the fun par’d.”

Greg snorted. Sherlock was rubbing off on this one. “Well, we’ll still have fun and keep Greg out of trouble at the same time, how about that.”

“Where’s the fun par’d?”

“…You know, you can go back to watching out the window, kid.”