Tag: sadie’s stories

If prompts are still open, I have one for you— how about some sort of interaction between Mycroft and little Sherlock? Bonus points if there is brotherly arguing that John has to break up (extra extra bonus points if there’s threats of spankings LOL). Please and thank you!

Sadie: You have NO idea how much I love it when people request other characters popping in! 🙂 Here we go!

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It had been going on for at least ten minutes and, quite frankly, while John was impressed that Mycroft could get a forty-going-on-two year old to sit still for that long, he wasn’t actually that surprised.

Nothing surprised him about the Holmes’ brothers anymore.

John didn’t know how the staring contest came about. All he knew was that it had been eerily quiet for he-couldn’t-rightly-recall-how-long before he’d started to wonder why Sherlock was no longer jabbering about the buttons along Mycroft’s new waistcoat and where they’d come from, nor about the technique used to sew them on when he looked up to find the overgrown tyke sitting in his brother’s lap, nearly nose-to-nose, staring him right in the eye.

John quietly set the timer on his phone, and sat back to watch.

Sherlock continued to stare intently at his older brother, unblinking, still as a statue…save for an occasional flutter from the dummy in his mouth.

Mycroft stared right back, equally as dilligent, and for a moment, John considered that they were not, in fact, having a staring contest, but were involved in an all-consuming war of the minds on a far-away, unseen plane of existence.

Sherlock stared.

Mycroft stared.

The clock ticked.

Sherlock furrowed his brow, and stared.

Mycroft took a deep breath, stared…then crossed his eyes and pressed his lips together and puffed out his cheeks like a trumpet player.

Sherlock’s eyes grew wide as he startled back from his brother but, even from across the room, John could already see the slow, sneaky smile playing from behind his dummy as the little detective started to break down into giggles, just as his brother had planned.

“I saw that.”

Quick as a flash, the face was gone. “You saw nothing.”

John only grinned back at him.

“In any case, I won.”

The giggling stopped almost instantly. “Nu-uh!” Sherlock protested, glaring at him with all the impotent, infant fury he could muster.

“You closed your eyes.”

“Did n’ah!”

“Did so.”

Sherlock pouted, and shook his head.

Mycroft smirked, and nodded.

Sherlock’s chest puffed out indignantly and John braced himself for the inevitable, ear-splitting shriek that was surely brewing just beneath the adorable, baby-faced surface, when Sherlock decided to surprise the both of them…and turned his dummy into a projectile missile by spitting it right in Mycroft’s face hard enough to make an audible THACK! as it hit him between the eyes.

Mycroft cried out and reeled back as he reached up to rub the sizable red mark that it had left. “Sherlock!!!”

“You c’osed your eyes,” the little detective sneered back.

John rolled his eyes and picked up his phone…huh, fifteen minutes before they’d lit into each other. That was a rec-…well, not necessarily a record, but it was at least in the top ten.

‘Nope, not surprising at all,’ John thought, then sighed as he heaved himself out of his chair to go break up the War of the Whingers before it ended with a little nappy-wearing someone in tears.

What about tiny baby Jawn getting stung by a bee, because he was trying to pick it up to show Da’? He knows how much Da’ likes bees. đŸ

Sadie: You guys sure love some little Jawn! Poor Sher’yock would be jealous! :p

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Jawn was the luckiest little boy in the world. At least he felt that way, when he had the great fortune to notice when the biggest, fattest, fluffiest-looking bumblebee that he’d ever seen slowly buzz through Nana’s open window, land on one of the prettiest red blooms in the flower box sitting on the sill, and begin to fill it’s little leg bags with bright yellow pollen.

He had to show Da’; he would think it was brilliant!

“Da’!” Jawn looked over his shoulder, where Sherlock was on his knees in front of Nana’s refrigerator, attempting to fix the ‘blasted motor’ while Nana herself stood behind his shoulder, tutting over everything. “Come see!” he chattered. “DA’!!!”

“Give me a moment, Jawn,” Sherlock replied without turning around, in the funny-sounding way he did when he was mad, but didn’t want anyone to know it.

‘Cept Jawn knew it. Well…most of the time he did.

Nana was nicer. “He’s almost done,sweetheart,” she said, looking back at Jawn with a smile. “Then you can help Nana bake up some biscuits, yes?”

Jawn pouted and turned back to the flower box, where his new, pudgy little friend was still sitting and rubbing itself. Herself. Jawn remembered Da’ saying something about how all the bees they ever saw were s’posed to be girls. That was prob’ly why they liked flowers so much.

The little bee buzzed her wings, and for a second, Jawn became afraid that she would take off and fly away before Da’ could ever see her!…but no, she didn’t. She only walked to another spot and started rubbing herself again.

Jawn blew out a breath between his lips; that had been close. It would be so sad if Da’ missed seeing the prettiest bee in the world just because he was busy, and it would probl’y make him even grumpier than he already was.

Well,if Da’ wouldn’t come see her…Jawn would just have to take her to see Da’.

He reached out slowly so he wouldn’t scare her off, then cupped his hands around the bottom of the flower, closed them together, and lifted until he felt the bloom pop free from the stem.

He felt her wings brushing the palm of his hand, making him giggle, and he turned around to hurry and show off his little living treasure.

Jawn was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped. And by ‘stopped’, everything stopped; Jawn stopped, Jawn’s giggling stopped, the tickly feeling of the bee’s wings stopped…

…because Jawn felt her stinger stabbing directly in the center of his left palm.

Jawn cried out and flung his hands apart, dropping both the flower and his bee to the ground, where it stumbled around drunkenly on the carpet, wings beating furiously. Jawn sank to the ground as well, howling and clutching his hand as deep, ugly burning sensation spread from his palm out to his fingers.

Before he knew it, both Nana and his Da’ were thereat his side, hovering over him and asking him all sorts of questions that he couldn’t hear, nor did he care about when his hand hurt SO bad! All he could do was clutch it and cry while Da’ sat in a chair and scooped Jawn up into his lap, and Nana tried to pry his hand open.

It was no simple feat, but between the two of them, they finally managed to get Jawn’s chubby little fingers outstretched. “Is that a thorn?” she asked Sherlock over the wailing.

Sherlock brought Jawn’s hand close and narrowed his eyes…”No, that’s not a thorn,” he said finally and, with Nana helping hold Jawn still, scraped the thick stinger out of the little boy’s hand with his thumbnail.”Bring me some ice, please?”

Nana scurried off, worrying and fretting, and Sherlock cuddled Jawn close. “What were you doing catching a bee for, little man?” he asked, rubbing his thumb in a circle around Jawn’s palm while applying gentle pressure.

“Sh-sh-show, sh-show y-you,” Jawn stammered in between deep, hitching sobs. 

“Oh, love…” Sherlock sighed. He’d noticed the discarded flower now, and just a few inches away, the still body of the now-dead bee. He turned Jawn away, and used his foot to push them both aside, out of sight; now was not the time to remind the little doctor what happened to bees that had to use their stingers. “It was an accident,” he shushed. “You both gave each other a scare, that’s all.”

Nana came back with a small bag of ice and a hand towel and soon, with two people fussing and kissing over him, the worst of the tears abated, and all that was left was a snuffly little boy with a slightly swollen hand. “Didn’ mean’a scare her,” he sniffed.

Sherlock lifted Jawn’s ice-wrapped hand to his lips, and kissed the heel of it. “I know. But that’s why it’s best to leave them alone when you come across them, darling…they don’t always know what you’re intending to do with them.”

“Y’yeah,” Jawn answered, and held his hand up for more.

Sherlock chuckled and obliged, kissing  the knuckles of each one of Jawn’s fingers. “Leave the bee-hunting to Da’ from now on, hm?”

Jawn nodded quickly. He was in no hurry to make the acquaintance of any more bees for a good, long while.

“Poor love!” Nana cooed, and brushed the hair back out of his eyes
and cupped his cheek. “What else can we do?” she asked Sherlock. “Doesn’t it say somewhere tobacco is supposed to help?”

“That’s an old wives tale. Ice is fine.”

“Are you sure–”

“I’m not sacrificing a cigarette for a placebo.”

Nana huffed; that answer was far from satisfactory, as far as when it came to one of her special boys being hurt. “What would make you feel better, sweetheart?”

Jawn thought for a moment; “…Biscuits?” he ventured.

“Oh, yes!” Nana clapped her hands together cheerfully; that, she could do! “You still want to help Nana make them?”

Jawn settled back
against his Da’; he didn’t feel up to doing much of anything right now.
Well, almost anything. “I help when done.”

“When they’re done?…” Nana puzzled.

Jawn nodded. “I help eat them.”

Sherlock snorted of the sound of Nana’s giggling, and muttered something that Jawn didn’t quite catch about making ‘something else’ sting.

I hope prompts are still open! Would love to see Sherlock get a richly deserved spanking from Daddy John, followed by some adorable cuddles!

Sadie:

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John stared at the cursor at the top of the page. He’d been staring at it for awhile now as it blinked at him, the rest of the page depressingly blank.

The longer he stared, the more mocking it seemed. He frowned.

Then, just as he was getting ready to type a great, big, bold, fancy-scripted ‘FUCK’  right in the middle of the page, just for something to look at, there was a tug on his trouser leg. “…Da’yee?”

John stopped and looked down, all too glad for an excuse to turn away from the screen.

Sherlock sat up on his knees and stared up at him with big, curious eyes and the soft expression he always had whenever he fell back into his little space.

John couldn’t help but smile, and marvel at how he had the cutest little boy in the world. “What, love?” he asked fondly, and reached down to pinch Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock squeaked and pulled away from John’s fingers, but John could definitely see the edges of a huge smile peeking around the dummy that was forever planted in the little detective’s mouth. “N’ah pin’sh!” he giggled.

John chuckled, as well. “But they’re so pinchable!” he said and pretended to go for it again, then laughed as Sherlock fell backwards to avoid him. “Silly boy…what did you need Daddy for?”

Sherlock sat back up on his knees, and leaned onto John’s lap. “Fir’thy?” he said, making it a question, and blinked up at him.

“You’re thirsty?”

Sherlock nodded. “P’eathe?”

John grinned, and ruffled his fingers through Sherlocks’ hair. Truthfully, he was glad for an excuse to put his computer aside…and he’d rather play with the baby, anyway. “Sure,” he said as he did just that; he turned his laptop off and waited for it to shut down, then put it aside and stood. “You know what, your Da’ wants a cuppa too. You sit there and play, love, and I’ll be right back.”

Minutes later, John returned to find Sherlock still playing quietly on the floor with his big bucket of magnetic building pieces that Nana had bought for him ages ago. But when the little detective finally noticed John come in and sit back down with two cups in his hands, there was no more ‘quiet’ about anything. Abandoning his toys, Sherlock scurried over to John and started to climb into the chair with him, jabbering away. “Mine?! Mine cup?! Mine, p’eashe?!”

“Wait, wait…!” John barely had time to put down the very hot, bordering-on-scalding cup of tea before Sherlock settled himself squarely into his lap. “Jesus, child,” he muttered, and handed Sherlock a brightly coloured sippy-cup. “There, there’s your cup. What do you say?”

“Fank’oo!” Sherlock babbled, and let his dummy fall right out of his mouth as he opened wide and began to suck down the contents of his cup with fervor.

John watched with a raised eyebrow, then shook his head and reached for his tea. But before he could take that first glorious sip, though, he noticed that Sherlock had suddenly gone still. John looked again; the little detective was now frowning at the cup in his hands. “What’s the matter?”

“Is juice,” Sherlock fussed, as if an awful trick had been played on him.

“Very good, you’re right…that’s juice.”

“I wan’ tea.”

“No, you are not getting tea.”

“Bu’ I wan’ some!” Sherlock pouted. “P’ease?”

“No, love. Drink your juice.” John turned back to his tea.

Sherlock’s frown only deepened. He didn’t want juice; he wanted tea. Specifically, he wanted Daddys’ tea. He let his cup drop from his hands and hit the floor with a loud thud.

Now it was John’s turn to look unhappy. “Sherlock.”

“Tea, p’ease? P’ease, Daddy? Tea? P’ease, p’ease tea? P’ease?!” 

“I said no.”

“Da’, p’ease?!” Sherlock begged…he was growing desperate now. He’d asked nicely, just the way Daddy always told him to, and he still wasn’t getting anywhere. “I nee’ it!”

“ Sherlock, stop.” John knew full well that Sherlock could be a persistent little boy when he had his mind set on something, but this was getting ridiculous.

“Bu’ I nee’ it!!” Sherlock whinged again, and reached for John’s cup himself.

Nope, John was not playing this game. Not with a steaming hot cup in his hands.”Okay, if that’s how it’s going to be…” He put his tea aside and scooted Sherlock off his lap and onto the floor. “You can just stay down there.”

Sherlock gaped up at him, surprised…and then the show really started. “NO, Da’! Up, I wan’ up! Up, back up now, p’ease!? Up, back up…!” Sherlock turned and tried to push his way back into John’s lap, all reaching arms and pushing legs, never once stopping to take a breath in the midst begging for either tea, or ‘back up’.

John ignored him, ignored all of it…until the top of Sherlock’s head bumped against the bottom of his tea, nearly upsetting it all over the both of them. “Shit!” John swore as he felt it tip in his hands, and quickly held it out of the way of grasping, clutching hands. Jesus Christ, that had been too close! “Oi!” he snapped over the nonstop whinging,and once again set his tea aside. “You want back in my lap, I’ll put you back in my lap!” John scooted to the edge of his seat, spread his legs and, after taking Sherlock by the shoulders, hauled him up and over his knee, effectively pinning both arms to his sides. 

The sheer speed of it all shocked the little detective into silence…silence that lasted all of two seconds, before he felt John’s hand yanking the back of his nappy down. The panic set in as a wisp of cool air hit his bared backside, and Sherlock began to beg again…but for a completely different reason. “No, don’!…p’ease don’, I sawry, Da’yee, p’ease’top!” he pleaded and tried to wiggle out of John’s grip, to no avail. “P’ease’top, I be good, p’omise! P’ease p’ease p’ease p’ease no no no no no–ow!”

A sharp smack put an abrupt end to the line of babbling. “When Daddy says ‘no’, he means ‘no’…not ‘keep going until you get what you want’!” John scolded, and lit into Sherlock’s bottom with a flurry of sharp, stinging slaps that took the little detective’s breath away.

Momentarily, at least. The spanking was well under way and had Sherlock’s bottom turning a good, rosy glow when the pain caught up and overtook the shock it had been to his system, and the little detective began to howl. No matter how much he wriggled, or squirmed, or kicked, there was no getting out of the firm hold John had him in, and soon enough…he simply gave up as smack after burning smack set his backside on fire.

The spanking was brief, but that didn’t mean that it was any less painful or effective. When he felt Sherlock go limp over his knee, John stopped and left his hand resting against his scorched seat, while the little detective continued to sob. “Are we ready to listen to Daddy now?”  he asked, waiting to see if Sherlock had even heard him.

“Uh-h-hu-huh,” Sherlock stammered. “N-nn-no, n-no m-mmooore, p-p’eeeasssse!”

That was enough to satisfy John. He let Sherlock go, and allowed him to slide to the floor to nurse his wounds (and his pride).

Sherlock melted into a big, weepy puddle and lay crying on the carpet, while reaching back with one hand to rub some of the sting away. “I, I, I j-jus, I j-jus’ wan’ned teeeeaaa,”  he wailed.

‘Oh, my God…’  John rolled his eyes and put his head and his hands. Even after all of that, and he was stilll going on about tea! Yeah, and he’d thought Sherlock was persistent before?! This was just…this was a whole new level.

Despite himself, John began to chuckle. “Sherlock…no, Sherlock, come here, love,” he said and sat up, trying not to laugh in his face. He held his arms out for his completely exasperating, but much cherished little weepy baby. “Come see Daddy.”

Sherlock sat up slowly and tried to wipe the tears away from his face with the heel of his hand. “N-no, n-no m-more?” he stuttered, his chest hitching.

“No more, sweetheart. Daddy wants to hold.” While John was stooped over and waiting, he went ahead and retrieved Sherlock’s previously abandoned sippy-cup, and stuck it between the cushion and the chair.

Sherlock crawled over and let John lift him into his lap, where he was tucked into the crook of his arm. Sherlock curled in close, sniffling.

John smiled, and bent down to kiss his forehead. “You know Daddy didn’t spank you just for wanting tea, don’t you?”

“N-no?” Sherlock sniffed, blinking up at him. 

“No.” John took Sherlock’s sippy-cup and offered it to him…and this time, the little detective took it. “No, you got spanked because those little beggar-child antics of yours nearly gave us both third degree burns.”

Sherlock lowered his eyes and stared down at his cup, unable to look at John. “Oh,” he said quietly. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” John gave him a squeeze. “I don’t mind you askin’, love. I don’t even mind you beggin’…but can we do that without knocking stuff out of my hands, please? The A&E’s going to start charging us rent soon.”

Sherlock looked back up at him with a watery smile and a quiet giggle. “Yeah,” he said, his voice raspy.

“That’s not something to be proud of.” John peered down at him with an arched eyebrow. “…Can I finish my tea in peace now?”

Sherlock nodded and, just to show that he would be trustworthy, latched onto his cup and drank his juice, just like a good boy.

John looked skeptical, but decided to take his chances. He picked up his mug back up and took a big sip, then grimaced…

His tea had gone cold.

“…Can I ha’b some now?”

Could you possibly write something about a very tiny jawn trying to make his sick daddy feel better? I love your work â¤

Sadie: Aw, you’re too kind! Here it is, Nonny, I hope you like it!

(P.S. I was right near the end of typing this up, when my finger hit the touchpad, and the page changed…lost everything. I typed it up again really quickly, and I’m afraid it’s not as good as it originally was; I’m so sorry about that. 😦 )

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Jawn sat on the floor, the full sippy-cup in his hands and the animated show playing on the telly behind him both going largely ignored, and frowned at the couch.

Well, he was frowning about what was on the couch, rather than the couch itself. The couch had done nothing wrong. Da’ was just laying on it.

Not that Da’ had done anything wrong, either! No, Da’ was sick. He hadn’t told Jawn he was sick, but Jawn could tell anyway, because Da’s cheeks were red…the kind of red they always get when Jawn says something sweet about him, but Jawn hadn’t said anything like that today, because Da’ was asleep, and had asked Jawn to play quietly while he napped.

And Da’ never napped. Not when he felt well.

So, Jawn knew he didn’t feel well.

Jawn’s brows knitted together, concerned…he didn’t like it when Da’ didn’t feel well. He put his cup aside and slowly crawled over to the couch, careful  not to make a sound. He sat up on his knees and leaned over Sherlock, listening to him breathe.

Jawn was relieved when Sherlock’s breathing sounded like it should and not rough or bumpy, like something in his chest was broken. Jawn knew that was good. But Da’s cheeks were still red, and when Jawn softly pressed his hand to one, it was hot and damp feeling.

Jawn knew that was not good.

He sat back on his heels, and frowned again. Da’ was sick. Jawn wanted to make him not sick. Jawn was a doctor; he should know how to help him.

Jawn chewed on his finger, and thought. What could make Da’ feel better.

…Tea.

Tea makes people feel better.

Jawn knows how to make tea. He’ll make Da’ some tea, and then Da’ will feel better.

Jawn climbed to his knees and toddled into the kitchen, where the electric kettle sat on the counter. There was already water in it, so Jawn turned it on the way he knew to do, and dragged a chair over…all he needed now was Sherlock’s favorite cup, and the tea.

In the sitting room, Sherlock stirred and cracked open a sleep-laden eye…he knew that sound.

Meanwhile, Jawn had retrieved Da’s favorite mug, and with the handle safely clasped in his mouth (he needed both hands to get the box of tea), he plopped his padded bottom on top of the counter next to the kettle and waited for it to get hot.

Jawn opened the box of tea and took a deep breath. Hmm…if one tea bag was good, two bags would be better. Da’ might feel better faster. And three bags would be even faster, still. And he really wanted his Da’ to wake up and feel better as fast as possible.

Jawn wiggled happily at his brilliant idea, and grabbed a handful of tea bags to put in Da’s cup. Then he sat back and watched as the water in the kettle began to boil and bubble up, until it finally cut off. Jawn knew that’s what it does when it’s ready. He reached for the kettle with both hands, getting ready to pour, and…

“Jawn.”

Jawn jumped, startled, and began to tip right off the counter where he would have landed headfirst…if his Da’ hadn’t been across the room in one giant step and caught him ‘round the waist. Sherlock sat Jawn back on the counter, upright, and pushed the kettle well out of the way. “What did you think you were doing?” he asked, sounding winded.

Jawn was still a little spooked after his near-disastrous tumble. He chewed on his finger and peeked up at Sherlock through his eyelashes; “I, I was just…I wan’ned m-make, I…” he stammered in a near whisper, as his eyes began to well up. “Wan’ned you’a feel b-better.”

Sherlock sighed…he just couldn’t muster up the energy to scold the little guy, not after a scare like that (for both of them). “Just…Jawn is not allowed to touch that kettle again, not without Da’ watching, is that understood? That could have been an awful, awful accident, and I don’t want anything to happen to my Jawn.”

Jawn nodded shakily, and grasped Sherlock in a tight hug, burying his face in his chest.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Jawn and rested a feverish cheek on top of his little boy’s head. They’d talk more about it later, when he could actually formulate a coherent sentence and make sense of Jawn’s babbling. Though, honestly, it was a little funny that even while regressed, Jawn was a tea-hungry little–

“Jawn?”

Jawn peered up at his Da’.

“…Why are there fifteen tea bags in one cup?”

What about daddy Sherlock comforting baby Jawn after a nightmare, maybe with some bottle feeding somewhere?

Sadie: Another one that’s been too long in the making.

You know what?…how about a sequel?

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3:45 am.

On a Tuesday.

John had gone to bed long ago. Hours.

Sherlock had declined. There was still the stack of paperwork for Greg left to be done, after having put it off for the better part of a week.

John was in no mood for an argument, and had left the man to his work on the promise that he would come to bed (and stay there for a good, solid eight hours) as soon as the ink was dry on the last page.

Sherlock had agreed. Even if it had seemed a little too easy.

Which is why, when he heard the door to their bedroom swing open and a pair of feet clad in thick socks (the grey woolen ones, from the sound of it) slowly made their way down the hall, he was already prepared for an argument. “I said I would come to bed when I was done,” he snapped. He would not let himself get knocked into his ‘little’ headspace this time.

What he had not been prepared for, though, was the sound of sniffling.

Sherlock turned around in his seat, frowning. “John…?”

John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, clad in a rumpled t-shirt that was two sizes too big (because it was more than likely one of Sherlock’s) and pajama bottoms, hair looking as if it hadn’t seen a comb in months, and while there were no tears evident on his face, they weren’t that far off. “John?…What’s the matter?” he asked again, only much, much softer this time.

John swallowed thickly, and it was obvious that he was trying desperately not to cry. “Can I…can I sit with you?” he whispered, his voice strained.

Sherlock had been wrong. This was not ‘John’ that he was talking to. He pushed his chair back from the table and held out his arms.

Jawn quickly crossed the room without another word and crawled onto Sherlock’s lap, straddling him, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders while burying his face in the crook of his neck.

Sherlock held onto him just as tightly. “Bad dreams?”

Jawn nodded.

Sherlock kissed the side of his head. “Can you tell me about them?”

Jawn shook his head.

“That’s okay.” Sherlock rubbed a hand up and down his little one’s back, and began to rock him back and forth. “We can just sit here.”

And so they did. They sat, and Sherlock rocked. And rocked. And rocked. Just when he thought Jawn had fallen asleep in his lap, the little man surprised him and moved to peek out from his place on the detective’s shoulder. “Hello there,” Sherlock said, smiling as he peered down at him.

Jawn didn’t respond, except to start sucking on the two middlemost fingers of his right hand.

Hm. It must have been a hell of a nightmare if it had Jawn sucking on his fingers. He was normally a 100% dummy-or-bust baby. “You know, a bottle would taste better.”

Jawn turned his gaze up at Sherlock.

“Can Da’ make you one?”

Jawn nodded, but didn’t move otherwise.

“That means I’ll have to get up.” Sherlock felt fingers at his back tighten their hold on his shirt. “You can come with me, you know.”

Ten minutes (and quite a lot of fussing and whimpering and accidental pinches from clutching fingers) later, Sherlock was back in his chair, Jawn was back in his lap, and things felt considerably better now that he had a warm bottle grasped in his hands, instead of Sherlock’s button-up.

Sherlock scooted his chair closer to the table, where he still had several sheets spread out. “Since you’re up, how about you make yourself useful and help Da’ with his papers,” he said teasingly, and kissed Jawn’s forehead.

Jawn nodded, and reached for a nearby highlighter. 

“Ah, noooo.” Sherlock reached it first. “You’re the pointer, I’m the highlighter.”

Jawn huffed and attempted to act put-out, but all Sherlock had to do was poke his belly with the capped end of the marker, and the act fell apart. Jawn clutched his tummy and giggled.

Sherlock chuckled, as well…well, he’d gotten a smile and a laugh; as far as he was concerned, that was a success.

“Alright, start pointing, pointer.” 

Hi sorry to bother you huge fan!!! Can you please do a ficlet about little sherlock and daddy john travelling and sherlock needs a diaper change? Thanx!!!

Sadie: This one’s been sitting in my inbox for awhile (and I’m extremely sorry about that!), so it’s well past time to suck it up and get back to work! 🙂

“How much farther?” John asked, and tried to stretch out his legs in the cramped passenger seat, to very little affect.

“Christ, you’re worse than a kid,” Greg grunted without taking his eyes from the road. “Even the baby’s been more patient than you.”

“He’s had the entire backseat to himself, and he’s slept most of the time. How much longer?”

“Another hour an’ a half, maybe forty-five minutes.”  He was starting to regret ever suggesting a week-long holiday at the little place Mycroft had stashed away on the coast. At least, he regretted offering to be the one to drive them down there a day earlier than Mycroft could get away. Should’a waited. “Should I pull over so we can get a stretch in?” he suggested…he could actually use a minute to walk around, as well.

“Yeah, might do,” John replied, and turned to look over his shoulder into the backseat. Sherlock was still asleep, thankfully, curled up under one of his soft, fuzzy blankets, Gladstone tucked under his neck, and thumb in his mouth. There was supposed to be a dummy back there somewhere…probably under one of the seats by now. “And I bet he needs a change.”

“That’s one benefit of driving out in the middle of fuck-all nowhere,” Greg said with a half grin.

A few minutes later, Greg pulled off the road and parked underneath a fair-sized tree, giving them a bit of shade (as well as some privacy, in the unlikely event that someone should just happen by). John had his seatbelt unbuckled and off even as the car came to a rolling stop, and was out the door before Greg could cut the engine. He took a big, deep breath and went up onto his toes, arms above his head, getting every kink out of every muscle that he knew of (and some that he’d forgotten existed), then walked to the back door of the car and opened it to check on his sleeping baby. 

He eased the blanket up around Sherlock’s waist, taking care not to disturb him too much, just in case he didn’t need a new nappy after all…but one look at the tell-tale bulge underneath the little detective’s onesie dispelled that in a hurry. 

He heard Greg come up behind him. “Is’e wet?”

“Yeah…could you grab me the nappy bag, please?”

As Greg went around to the boot of the car where all the bags were kept, John began to gently unsnap Sherlock’s onesie, revealing a thoroughly-soaked nappy…practically on the verge of leaking.

Sherlock stirred at the movement, and cracked open one sleep-fogged eye to peer up at John.

“Hey, you…” John said quietly, smiling at him, and started to ruck the little one’s onesie up around his waist. “Did you have a good sleep? Certainly looks like you did.”

The little detective murmured sleepily and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. 

“Is’sat so?” John asked, and stood up to take the nappy bag from Greg as he passed it to him over the car door. John set it in the floorboard and unzipped it, then reached for the package of wipes. “Sounds interesting. Then what happened?”

Sherlock seemed to be drifting back off as John talked to him, which was perfectly fine with him…a sleeping baby was better than a fussing one any day. Sherlock was generally good with changes, but it was a 50/50 shot when he was either due for a nap, or just waking up from one. But hey, if he wanted to sleep through the whole process, John wasn’t going to complain. Let him sleep through it.

And he would have…until Greg slammed the boot closed, jarring the whole car and, of course, Sherlock with it.

The little detective’s eyes popped open at the sudden loud, awful noise, and started to cry.

John stood up and gave Greg a not-so-nice look. The man winced; “Sorry, sorry! Didn’t think!” he said, still apologising as he went to the opposite side of the car and opened the other door. “Aw, lad…I’m sorry,” he cooed, reaching in to pet Sherlock’s hair in an attempt to soothe him. “Uncle Greg didn’t mean to scare you!”

“Just find his dummy.” John tore the soiled nappy open and made quick work of cleaning Sherlock up while Greg had him distracted.

After a hurried search, Greg finally found it underneath the baby’s head, tangled in his hair. Another big burst of tears later and he had it freed, wiped off, and popped into Sherlock’s wailing mouth…finally, there was peace again.

While John finished wrapping up all the soiled products in a plastic bag for later disposal, Greg dried up the last of the tears by picking up Gladstone and placing ‘puppy-kisses’ all over Sherlock’s face, turning the sniffles into giggles. “Is Daddy all done down there?” he asked him cheerfully, tickling his neck with the stuffed animal.

“Yeah, Daddy’s all done.” John stood up and stretched again, then propped his elbow on the door and looked around. “Hey…let’s get a blanket out under the tree and let him get some air, too.”

“You not in a rush anymore?”

“Nah…I just needed a bit out of the car. We could eat a bit here, too..it’s nice out.”

Greg considered it, and shrugged. “Sounds good to me…what about you, little man?” he asked, waving the stuffed animal over Sherlock’s face again. “You hungry?”

Sherlock giggled and snatched the puppy from Greg, hugging it to his face. Greg looked up at John; “Does that mean yes?”

“Yeah, that’s a ‘yes’.” John reached in and took Sherlock’s hands, pulling him up into a sitting position. “Come on, you little monster.”

John heard Greg scoff before shutting the other door; “Still more patient than you.”

lil baby jawn always get the size kink. can you have big daddy john carry his cute lil sherlock to bed? pweasssee!

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

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“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.”

So.

Sadie: I still have several prompts sitting in my inbox (I have NOT forgotten anyone, I promise!), and I’ll be getting to those when life decides to stop monopolizing all my energy.

BUT, I have a question.

If someone were to decide to self-publish stories on, let’s say Amazon, how exactly would they go about doing it?

Getting into headspace can be really hard (specially for us switches). Can you show Da’ kindly, but firmly, putting Jawn into headspace? You know hobbits have impressively hard heads ;-)

Sadie: Oh, I KNOW they do! I’ve got a hard-headed (and soft-bottomed) little hobbit of my own! 😉

A candy bar. That was all John wanted; a candy bar. Was that too much to ask? Especially after the long, withering, soul-crushing day he’d had standing in the blazing sun, culminating in a fight (a real, actual ‘I’m-going-to-bring-up-everything-terrible-you’ve-ever-done’ fight that may or may not have been John’s fault in the first place; he couldn’t remember after standing right under the fucking SUN) with Sherlock…at a scene, no less (in front of Greg and every other goggle-eyed bobby there, who all made it a point to pretend they weren’t listening even though they were)!

And all he wanted, was a candy bar. Just a little something to help him forget all the bad things for a minute or two.

John stood in front of the vending machine, looking over the selection…he wanted chocolate, that’s for certain. But what kind? A Galaxy? A Wispa? Cadbury’s? Maltesers? A Time-Out…?

John frowned. No, he did not want a Time-Out.

While he was considering his options, someone behind John stepped up to the machine, and he automatically moved to the side to get out of their way.

“…Do you think you’ve been good enough for a sweetie today?”

John’s eyes shot to the reflection in the glass. ‘Great. That’s just great,’ he thought. It was too soon for Round Two of the ‘Great Ball-Busting Bitchfest of 2k16′. “Shut up.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes; “That attitude isn’t going to get you anything, young man,” he said, and put his hand on John’s shoulder.

A hand that John immediately shrugged off, and with enough vehemence that nearly knocked himself off-balance. “Don’t do that here!” he hissed between clenched teeth, keeping his voice low.

But Sherlock was undeterred, and met John’s blistering gaze with his own cool, unwavering one. “Jawn…”

John knew what Sherlock was trying to do, and it was not. going. to. work. He reached into his pocket; sod it, he was getting a Mars, and then he was going to go away and enjoy it…

John stopped.

His pocket was empty. He had no change. He didn’t even have a spare note on him.

John felt the heat creep up his neck, flushing his cheeks. Great. They could keep their fucking candy. He fought the urge to kick the machine right in it’s stupid, reflective, condescending face and turned on his heel, ready to stomp off and get the fuck out of this fucking building, with these fucking eavesdropping pricks, and this big, ponce fucker and his fucking--!

…The hand was back on his shoulder, stopping him.

And just before John could rip that hand and the arm attached to it right out of it’s socket and beat it’s owner right in his smug face with it, Sherlock demonstrated, once again, that he was a man of impeccable timing–”Let Da’ get this one, love. What did you want?”

Jawn stopped, and let Sherlock turn him around. Well…the git was offering to buy him candy. But that didn’t mean Jawn still couldn’t be pissed off. “Mars,” he mumbled, staring down at the floor.

And he continued to stare down at the floor while he listened to the sound of coins being handled, then dropped into the slot. He stared at the floor while the little spirally things whirred, and when his candy fell with a thunk into the bottom tray. And he definitely didn’t look up when Sherlock bent down to retrieve it, and held it under Jawn’s nose.

Jawn reached for it and mumbled a quick “Thanks,”…but before he could touch it, Sherlock’s hand closed around it and pulled it away.

Jawn’s head snapped up; “Wha–!?”

“You can have this after,” Sherlock said, pocketing it.

Jawn looked up at him suspiciously; “After…?”

“After we go home and sit you on the Naughty Step for the way you’ve been acting all day.”

“But…!” Sherlock gave him a very pointed look, a look that said, very plainly, that he would not be above creating a Naughty Step right here at the office if pressed. Jawn faltered, and stared back down at his feet. He guessed he had been in a bit of a bad mood before they’d left for the scene, anyway. And it hadn’t been Sherlock’s fault that it had been so hot today. And he could have been a little nicer when he asked if it was time to go yet. And he could have waited longer than five minutes before asking again, he supposed…

Jawn toed the carpet with his shoe; “Sor’ee,” he mumbled.

He felt Sherlock’s hand at his lower back, and then the detective kissed the top of his bowed head. “I know. Come along, sweetheart…it’s time to go home.”

“…I can still have my candy?” Jawn asked, peeking up at his Da’ hopefully.

“Of course.” Sherlock took Jawn’s hand, and they both headed for the elevators. “…After time-out.”

“But I asked for a Mars!”

Sherlock hit the button and gave Jawn a sideways glance. “Cute.”

Jawn returned a cheeky grin and giggled, then gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze. “I’ssa good one, huh Da’?”

“That’s debatable.”