Tag: sadie’s stories

*peeks around the corner shyly* Yeahhhhh…I’m that anon. I really have been trying to wait because I know you are busy. I only put it in so many times because I figure you get a billion asks like so many all the time that mine would get buried underneath all the others. Sorry for the trouble. đŸ˜…đŸ˜…đŸ˜…

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Sadie: Not a problem at all, anon…oh, and we really don’t get that many messages here; we’re not popular. 😛

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

“Stay right here and pick up your toys, muffin. Greg’ll be back in a minute.”

Now, is there anywhere in that sentence, subtext or otherwise, that sounds like  “Please, overgrown toddler man-child, disappear while the person who’s supposed to be watching you goes for a quick wee in the five free minutes he has before getting dinner started.”

No, you say? Nothing like that at all?

Yeah, that’s what Greg had thought, too. So, needless to say, that when he came back out of the loo to find toys and lego’s and puzzle pieces still all over the floor and no little detective to be had picking them up, Greg had to stop and question himself if he’d actually said what he thought he’d said.

…And then came a clatter from the kitchen.

Dammit.

Greg quick-stepped to the kitchen in record time, but once he turned the corner, he froze.

Now, I ask you one more time…does “Stay right here and pick up your toys, muffin,” sound anything, anything like “Please go into the kitchen without me, turn on the stove, and then climb onto the counter directly next to the stove with your bare leg pants-shittingly close to the glowing hot eye”?!?

No? Still not the same?

That’s what Greg thought.

Seeing Sherlock’s nappied bum up on his knees on the counter, his bare calf within inches of the glowing red burner, Greg’s heart seized in his chest…and then he acted. He was across the room before he realised it himself and grabbed Sherlock ‘round the waist, then spun him off the cabinet before he could even cry out in surprise. 

It was only when Sherlock’s feet were safely on the floor, that Greg felt his heart start beating again…three times as fast as it was supposed to, mind, but at least it was still working. “What,” he wheezed, more than little out-of-breath after the marathon he’d just run, “were you doing?!”

Sherlock’a little surprised ‘o’ of a mouth split into a wide grin. “I was hel’bing!”

Greg just stared at him, mouth hanging open. “...What!?”

“Hel’bing ma’ge dinner!”

Greg was having a hard time processing this. Sure, he heard the words, he could see Sherlock saying them, but they just weren’t connecting or his synapses weren’t firing right or something, because this still wasn’t making any sense. “You are not–!” he stuttered, “You know you’re not…you are not to touch the stove!”

Sherlock’s face faltered. G’eg didn’t seem as pleased as he thought he’d be. “I wa’ss bein’ care’bul…”

“Not careful enough, little man!” Greg still had Sherlock by the shoulders, and now spun him around and landed two sharp swats in quick succession to the pair of chubby cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the little detective’s nappy.

Caught off guard, Sherlock did little more than gasp and go up on his toes, then stared at Greg, mouth hanging open in shock.

Greg could only stare back…Sherlock hadn’t been the only one taken by surprise. Greg was not the one to practice physical discipline with the boys…he usually left that to Mycroft.

So the fact that he was holding the baby, palm still poised for a smack, was not…it was not good; not to him.

Sherlock had been too surprised at first to react much, but now…well, now the sting was starting to set in. He stared at Greg, his breath coming in quick huffs as his eyes watered and vision blurred…

Then, while Greg could do nothing but watch, Sherlock’s face crumbled, and he began to cry.

Greg felt his heart crumble the same way. “Oh, muffin,” he sighed, and wrapped Sherlock in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Sherlock laid his head on Greg’s shoulder and wept. “S-ss-sss’aw-aw’rrrreeee,” he stammered.

Greg felt like crying, too. “C’mere, sweetheart. Come sit with Greg for a second,” he said, pulling away from Sherlock (which was hard enough, even if the baby hadn’t been clutching the back of his shirt) and leading him to one of the chairs around the table with an arm around his waist.

Greg sat down first, and guided Sherlock into his lap. The tyke leaned against him, still sniffling and rubbing his hand over his cheeks and nose.

Greg cuddled him close and kissed his temple. “I’m very sorry I spanked you,” he said, starting with that first and foremost. “I just got spooked.”

“S-spoo’ged?”

“Yeah…see, you were awfully close to burning yourself up there, and that scared Greg.”

Sherlock laid his head on Greg’s shoulder. “Bu’d I wa’ss care’bul…”

“Your leg was really, really close to getting burnt, muffin. Like, that close,” Greg added, holding his fingers less than an inch apart to show him.

Sherlock stuck his thumb in his mouth, and curled his fingers over the bridge of his nose. “Tha’ds c’yose,” he said.

“Too close,” Greg agreed, and started to rub Sherlock’s back. “That’s why Mycroft and I don’t let you around the oven when it’s on. We don’t want you getting hurt.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “…Span’gs hur’d,” he finally mumbled.

Despite himself, the corner of Greg’s mouth twitched up. “Yeah, and I apologized for that. But at least a spanking won’t cause third degree burns and a trip to the A&E.”

Sherlock only looked up at him, and raised his eyebrow.

Greg barked out a laugh. “Har-har, very funny,” he chuckled, and kissed Sherlock’s cheek. “Promise you won’t touch the oven again?”

Sherlock nuzzled into the crook of Greg’s neck. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good boy.” Greg stopped rubbing and patted the back of Sherlock’s nappy. “Would you still like to help with dinner?”

Sherlock sat up. “I c’ahn?”

“Sure. Just not around the oven.”

“Wha’d I do?”

“Well, first you’re gonna go pick up your toys, or Mycroft’s gonna spank the both of us.”

Sherlock giggled and wiped the last of his tears off his cheeks. ‘G’eg in t’ouble.”

“It’s not that funny. D’you want to help butter rolls?”

“Yeeeeeeeeeee’sh.”

“Alight, that’s your job. Roll-Butter’er. Right after Toy-Picker-Upper’er.”

Will you do little Jawn and little Sherlock visiting the beach with Greg and Mycroft? Pretty pretty please!

Sadie:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“My’coff!”

“Sit still, I’m nearly done.”

“I y’am done!”

“And I’m not.”

“MY’COFF!”

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock whinged and leaned away from Mycroft’s hand as he dutifully smeared his fair-skinned little brother in a thick coating of sunscreen. “S’oooooooooopppp’iiiiiddddd!”

“This would go a lot faster if you would sit still.”

Greg, who had been lying on the towel beside them, made no move to help. “Just let him go play, Myc.”

“If you’re not going to help, hush your mou–SHERLOCK.” Mycroft barely managed to grab a slippery toddler by the back of his swim nappy before he could escape to the water’s edge, where his playmate was already splashing. Mycroft pulled him, squirming and fussing, back into his lap. “As I was saying,” he continued over a tiny detective’s deceptively loud protests, “…If you’re not going to help, shut up.”

Greg (who still hadn’t moved a muscle) lifted his sunglassed and grinned cheekily up at his increasingly flustered boyfriend. “Are you still mad because you burned the top of your head yesterday?”

Without missing a beat (and amazingly enough, without losing his grip on his wriggling brother), Mycroft reached over and slapped Greg’s bare thigh with a resounding *CRACK* that seemed to echo out over the entire ocean in front of them.

“OW!”

Sherlock’s struggling and crying came to a full stop, and he stuck his thumb in his mouth while hardly paying any attention to the fact that it was covered in sand as he stared up at Mycroft.

Greg sat up, rubbing the full-fingered thigh turkey that had been emblazoned on his thigh. “Touchy,” he muttered.

Mycroft tutted in faux-sympathy, and continued to carefully apply sunscreen to Sherlock’s cheeks and nose. “I’m sorry,” he said, how voice dripping in saccharine-sweetness, “…are you still mad about the handprint I left on your thigh?”

Continuation of the “Big RP”

Sadie:

(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)

@squeakpigsrevenge

~~~~~~~

“NOOOOOOOOOO!”

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’?

“To pick out a story for bedtime.”

So I have not read everything you have written yet, so this may exist and if it does, let me know… but what if…. Due to some emergency, Mycroft is left to watch little Molly, and he is charmingly befuddled and a awkward because he’s simply not used to having a little girl around.

Sadie:

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“Everything’s in there.”

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.

Can I please request a continuation of the big brother Sherlock ficlet? It’s so cute I need more.

sadieandmo:

sadieandmo:

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.

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.

sadieandmo:

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.

How would Mycroft end up babysitting to begin with? I feel like he’d want to interact with Sherlock when he’s small because it’d let them both be as affectionate as they want without their usual reservations. Jawn would be incredulous at best about My. At least at first.

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

squeakpigsrevenge:

sadieandmo:

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.

Jawn huffed and tried to wiggle away as Mycroft rubbed a dollop of shampoo into his short hair. “No, My’coff! Gotta cons’trate!”

Sherlock shushed him before Mycroft had a chance. He adjusted the position his duck and then let it fly. It arced through the air and then banged against the counter before hitting the ground.

“Ohhh,” Sherlock whinged, putting his chin on the edge of the tub while he gave his duck stink eye.
“My turn, my turn! My’coff, off p’ease!” Jawn tipped his soapy head out reach. “I dun’ wanna clean a’ kitchen!”

Mycroft sat back on his haunches, “quickly then. Your aim will be even worse if there is soap in your eyes.”

Jawn aimed his duck, glancing between it and the sink repeatedly, the tip of his tongue between his teeth. Jawn’s duck splashed out of the tub, bouncing off the faucet and flying most of the way back to the tub.

“That was very close. Sherlock’s turn.” Mycroft tossed the ducks back into the tub and filled a cup. “Let’s rinse you off.”

Sadie:

“Bu’ I win!” Jawn declared, with a loud, resounding “NUH-UH!” from Sherlock.

“No, you don’t. Tilt your head back.”

“Do so!” Jawn insisted, even as Mycroft reached under his chin and made him tilt his head back, anyway. 

“It didn’t land in the sink.” Mycroft slowly poured water over Jawn’s hair while gently working the shampoo out with his fingers.

“It touched the sink!”

“But it didn’t land in the sink, which is the goal.”

“Ha-ha,” Sherlock sang as he pushed his duck underwater, and began to ready it.

“No comments from the peanut gallery are necessary.”

Jawn crossed his arms and gave Mycroft an upside down glare that could rival the detective’s when he was in full sulk-mode. “Wipe that look off your face…wait, I can do that for you,” he said, and proceeded wipe one of his wet hands over Jawn’s face, then smirked as he sputtered.

“Shhh. I’m ‘bout to win.” Sherlock smirked as his duck flew out of the tub. The duck captain splatted against the mirror, bouncing off the counter and onto the floor.
“Ha!” John stuck his tongue out at the little detective. “You not gunna win, I am.”
Sherlock pouted and squawked as a cup of water doused his curls. “Nooooooo, My’coff. Dun y’ike it.”
“No, you never have enjoyed this bit.” Mycroft dumped a dollop of shampoo on his head and ignored his sulking.
“Sher’yock gotsta c’ean kitchen tonight?” Jawn asked, his duck arcing through the air and landing in the sink.
“Nooooo, na’ fair!” Sherlock wailed.
Mycroft gently batted a soapy thumb away from the baby’s mouth. “That was very impressive.”
Jawn preened under the praise, his chest puffing like a proud hen.
“Jawn, two oughta f’ree, Jawn?” Sherlock pouted as Mycroft tipped his head back to rinse his hair.
“No. I winned. I a’ways c’ean a’ kitchen. Your turn.”

Sadie:

“Nuh’uh, you don’!” Sherlock tried to sit up and glare at Jawn accusingly, but the grip Mycroft’s hand had on his hair made him reconsider. “Jawn doesn’t c’ean!” he insisted as he glared up at his brother instead.

Mycroft covered Sherlock’s eyes and poured another cup of water down the back of his head, rinsing out most of the suds. One more cup should do it. “Then who does…?” he asked, glancing over at the now-suspiciously quiet victor of their game. Though, the moment the last syllable left his lips, he already knew exactly who his little brother was referring to…

“Na-na!” Sherlock confirmed, reaching up to move Mycroft’s hand out of his face.

Mycroft dumped the next cup of water over the indignant little detective without ceremony, his gaze now directly focused on the bath’s only other occupant. “Well, now there’s a surprise,” he said flatly, over Sherlock’s choking and spitting noises.

Jawn swallowed, looking nervous, and tried to sink down into the bathwater. When that tactic obviously failed, he tried another; he gave a forced, half-hearted yawn, and rubbed his eyes. “I really, really tired,” he said, and peeked between his fingers to see if it was working.

“I think this new information means the forfeit.” Mycroft drawled, holding the little detective in place as he doused his hair in conditioner.

“Dun’ nee’ it, My’coff, s’op, p’ease?” Sherlock wailed. 

“Bu’ i winned the game!” Jawn pouted, turning away from them to hide his face against the tile. “Na’ fair.”

“It’s not fair to make Nana clean up all of your messes either.”

“Na’ all of ‘em.” Jawn protested. “Just when we bof little.”

Sherlock squalled as Mycroft dumped two cups of water over his head in quick succession, rinsing out the conditioner. 

“It’s still very naughty and I’ll not allow it.”

“My’coff na’ da’ boss of da’ kitchen.” Jawn grumbled, pouting when his soapy thumb touched his tongue. 

Mycroft bit his tongue, tempted to show the bratty little doctor just how much a wet bottomed spanking stung, but… 

“You do love Nana, don’t you?”

“Yea!” came the reply in unison. 

“Wouldn’t she be so pleased to see that you’ve cleaned up your mess all on your own?”

Sadie:

Jawn turned back around to face them, already forgetting that he was supposed to be sulking after going through all that effort to win the game, only to have it stricken from the record. “C’ean for Nana?”

Mycroft nodded. “For your Nana,” he said, pouring one last cup of water over Sherlock’s head just to make sure it was completely rinsed…if he didn’t, Sherlock’s hair as prone to looking weighed down and greasy instead of freshly washed.

“No mooooooooooooore!” The little detective howled, and twisted out of Mycroft’s grip…well, Sherlock twisted, and Mycroft let him go because 1)he didn’t want him to hurt himself, and 2)because he was done with his hair, anyway. “I know, I know, I’m awful,” he tutted and,after taking pity on his little brother while watching him try to wipe the water out of his eyes with wet hands, took one of the fresh towels and offered him a corner to dry his face with. “And you’re overtired. Which is why we’re done.”

“No more ba’ff?” Jawn asked, sounding disappointed.

“I thought you were ‘really, really tired’,” Mycroft replied as he kept Sherlock from all but jumping out of the tub.

“Im invi-…I’m ‘vigor-…I’m waked up.”

“…Just pull the plug, Jawn.”

Jawn frowned but did as he was told, popping the plug and letting it float on top of the water. “Y’ook, y’ook!” He hooted as the plug began to spin in the vortex of water leaving the tub. “Gimme the ducks! P’ease! The ducks!!” Jawn half crawled out of the tub to retrieve Sherlock’s duck from the floor. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes and helped Sherlock out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel, using a second to gently press the water out of his curls. “I dun’ y’ike baffs.” Sherlock pouted, trying to wiggle away from Mycroft. 

“How about pajamas? Do you like pajamas?” Mycroft asked, patting the rest of the baby dry. 

“I y’ike em!” Jawn chirped, climbing out of the tub and standing with his hands on his hips. “Can I have g’een ones?” 

“Did you rinse the soap off the ducks?” Mycroft regretted the words even as they came out of his mouth. Jawn hooted and plopped his bottom back into the tub and turned on the water, squealing and back pedaling when cold water poured out of the tap and splashed him. 

“Halp!!! Halp me!!!” Jawn shrieked, losing his coordination as he panicked, unable to get out of the tub. 

Mycroft swiftly turned off the water and stared down his nose at the panting little doctor.

“Was co’d.” He wheezed, reaching up a hand in silent request to be helped up. 

Sadie:

“Yes, I gathered that.” Mycroft helped lift a sopping wet Jawn out of the tub and set him down on the bathmat. After taking the last dry towel and wrapping it around the naked, shivering little doctor, he turned to his younger brother; “Can you be a good lad and rinse your bath toys? In the sink?” he added quickly. 

Sherlock stood to the side, his own towels draped over his head and shoulders like a shroud while he sucked his thumb and watched. “Duck’th?”

“And Jawn’s net, yes,” Mycroft replied as he vigorously rubbed Jawn’s hair dry, along with a chorus of irritable squeaks and squawks coming from underneath the towel. “Good boy.”

Sherlock scooted by, careful not to get caught up in the melee’, and fetched both ducks from the bottom of the tub. “Bu’ tha’s Jawn’s net,” he said with a slight frown, and nudged it with his toe.

“I know it is.”

“He drop it.”

“Yes, I know he did,” Mycroft sighed…he knew where this was going already, having had the same circular argument many, many times over today. “But I’m asking you to pick it up, because you’re a very good helper, aren’t you?”

Sherlock stared down at the toy, weighing his options. “…I get a prize?”

‘Conniving little bastard.’ “We’ll see.”

“Hey!” Jawn shoved his way out from underneath his towel. “I was gonna–!”

Mycroft quickly covered him back up. “No more competitions tonight.”

“I rea’yee wan’ a prize,” Sherlock pouted, begrudgingly picking up Jawn’s net and all but throwing it into the sink. 

Christ, he was never getting out of this day alive. “Prizes didn’t go well earlier,remember?”

“I y’ost my car,” Jawn gasped and struggled to untangle himself from the towels. “My’coff! Car! I nee’ it.” A pinch to his bum caught his attention quickly.

“Your car is on the desk. You can have it once you are dressed and have cleaned up the kitchen.”

“Another prize, too?” Jawn scrubbed at him bum, trying to rub out the sting. Sherlock looked up hopefully, showing off the freshly rinsed bath toys.

“Only, and i do mean only, if the kitchen is spotless and i don’t hear a single peep of sass from either of you,” Mycroft looked down his nose at them. “Am i clear?” 

“Yes, My’coff.” The little boys echoed in unison. 

“Now get your bottoms into the nursery. You both need nappies before we have to add puddles to the list of things to clean.”

Sadie:

Jawn looked massively offended at the implication. “We don’ pee on the floor,” he said as Sherlock scurried around him to drop their bathtoys back in basket. “Tha’s gross!”

“I think you lost the privilege of calling anything ‘gross’ the moment you started cultivating a garden in your nappy.”

Jawn blushed beet red from his hairline down to his toes and scowled at Mycroft, then spun around as Sherlock started cackling. “Shut up!” Jawn shouted at his back as the naked detective dashed from the room and down the hall. “I’was funny!” Sherlock crowed back.

Jawn folded his arms and stood there, glaring at the empty doorway until Mycroft was sure that he saw steam rising from the little doctor’s wet hair. “Wasn’ funny,” he grumbled. 

Mycroft folded the last towel and hung it to dry. “…It was a little funny,” he countered.

“On’y ‘cause you said it!!!”

“There’s no need to shout.” Mycroft put his hand at Jawn’s back and got him walking out of the room, albeit begrudgingly. 

“He’s still y’aughin’,” Jawn grumbled as they got nearer to the nursery, where you could, indeed, still hear Sherlock’s devious giggling. 

“I’ll make him stop,” Mycroft promised…if only to avoid another blowout so soon. How on earth these two made it together this long without killing each other was a genuine mystery. 

“Jawn ge’d a nappy garden.” Sherlock crowed as Mycroft guided Jawn into the room.

“That’s enough Sherlock. Get yourself a nappy.”

“Bu’ you said a funny.”

“I did. But do you remember the conversation we had this morning about teasing?” Mycroft pulled two light weight sleepers out of their dresser. “You can always sit on the step as a reminder.”

Sherlock huffed and threw himself down on the bed. “You said it. I jus’ laugh.”

“And I regret it. My apologies, Jawn.”

The little doctor looked up from the nappy bin, “ ’s alrigh’.” He handed two nappies to Mycroft and crawled onto the bed beside Sherlock.

Sadie:

Mycroft took one and unfolded it. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock automatically lifted his hips off the bed, while still glaring at the ceiling. 

“Yes, that would have been my next request, very good.” Mycroft slid the garment underneath his little brother’s backside and Sherlock dropped like a rock, arms still crossed the entire time. “But I was going to ask…don’t you have something to say to Jawn?”

“Wha’d I say?”

“An apology for laughing at him, for starters.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up, and he gaped at his brother as his bits were powdered. “Bu’d it was funny!”

“It wasn’t nice. And that’s why I’ve apologized. You should, as well.”

Sherlock pouted and let his head fall back while beside him, Jawn silently gloated.

A sharp swat to the tender bit where his thigh met his bum made Sherlock yelp. “So’wwy! So’wwy, Jawn.”
“S’alrigh,” Jawn shrugged.
Mycroft shook his head and quickly did up Sherlock’s nappy. “Almost bedtime. Almooost.” He singsonged, ignoring Sherlock’s pout as he wrestled his long limbs into the sleeper, taking care to get the devilishly small snaps to line up.
“I dun’ y’ike dis one, My’coff. Ha’b diffren’ ones?”
“No. Pink is very fetching on you, matches your bum perfectly.” Mycroft quickly got Jawn nappied and dressed as well. “And anyways, you’ll be sleeping most of the time you’re wearing them.”
“I y’ike dis one,” Jawn patted the puppy on his chest.

Sadie:

“Good, I’m glad you do.” Mycroft herded both boys out of the nursery and down the hall, back into the kitchen. “See this mess?” he asked, gesturing to the trail of wet lettuce that Jawn had left, and the pinkish-tinged puddles of watered down tomato sauce from Sherlock’s ‘washing’ of the dishes (which were also still stacked haphazardly in the sink).”This is all going to be cleaned in the next–” Mycroft checked his watch; “–twenty minutes.”

Sherlock tucked his thumb in his mouth and stared at the mess, then looked down at Jaw, who turned to stare back up at him. Then, Jawn craned his neck to peer up at Mycroft. “Tha’s a y’ot,” he said.

“Not if we each do our share.” Mycroft strode over to the sink, where he procured two flannels from one of the nearby drawers. He turned on the tap, and dampened each one in turn. “You,” he said, handing one to his brother. “clean up any puddles and wipe down the countertops, and you,” he said, handing one to Jawn. “Clean up your trail.”

“Wha’d abou’d–?”

“I will take care of the dishes. Nineteen minutes left, darlings. Tic-toc.”

Story Time

Sadie: A section from a MUCH bigger rp (that we will be posting!) that Embie ( @squeakpigsrevenge) and I have been working on. This was just too good not to share!

~~~~~~~

Embie:
Mycroft took them into the
nursery and sat in the rocking chair, arranging Sherlock so he was
cradled on his lap. A pang of regret made him kiss the baby’s forehead
as he latched onto the bottle and took a tentative suckle. This isn’t
how he’d wanted them to end up in the rocking chair but…
“I think we’ve misplaced your bunny, again. We need to put a bell on him,” Mycroft teased as he set them to rocking.
Sherlock blinked wet eyes at him but kept quiet.
“Shall I tell you a story?" 

Sadie:
Again, Sherlock didn’t answer.
"There
once was a little boy,” Mycroft began in hushed tones, “that had a pet
bunny. And he loved his bunny very, very much, and his bunny loved him
just the same. But, the bunny…what do you imagine the bunny’s name
was? That’s part of the story that I can’t seem to remember.“
Sherlock mumbled around the bottle in his mouth.
"Ah,
yes, that’s right…Baxter, that was his name.” Mycroft wiped a dribble
of milk away from the corner of his little brother’s mouth. “Well,
Baxter was a curious bunny, and his favorite thing to do was to go
exploring. And his boy loved going with him, most of the time…but
unfortunately, Baxter could be forgetful, and he would often get lost
when wandering…”
“Y’o’ss?” Sherlock slurred, turning towards Mycroft and settling in the crook of his arm.
“Yes, he would wander too far without paying attention, and all of a sudden he would look up, and not know where he was.”

       

       
     

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

   “Oh’no,” Sherlock pouted, his brows knitting together in concern.
“I
know, it was very worrisome.” Mycroft patted Sherlock’s hip as he
slowly rocked them. “But luckily for Baxter, he had a very smart, clever
little boy that loved him…”

       

   

Embie:
“And do you know what his name was?”
“My’cobb.”
“No.”
“Maw’yee.”
“Silly goose. His name was Billy.”
Sherlock beamed behind his bottle, more milk dribbling.
“Billy
said to Baxter, ‘we need to keep you close little duck. I’m going to
connect us with this bit of string.’ And Baxter said?”
“C’ak, c’ak, c’ak.”
“Billy nodded sagely, ‘very true, it won’t just keep you close to me, but me to you as well.”
“C’ak!”
“Yes.
You’re very good at that,” Mycroft took the bottle from sherlock and
leaned him up, patting his back. “And so Billy and Baxter went to
adventure in the forest with a bit of red string tying them together.”

 

Sadie:
“Y’ed st’ing?”
“Yes, a red string.”
Sherlock squirmed against his brother. “Why’a st’ing,My’cobb?”
Mycroft kept patting. “So they wouldn’t get separated, of course.”
“I’d wor’g?”
“I haven’t reached the end of the story, now have I?”
The
continuous patting was starting to get on the baby’s nerves, when all
he wanted was to lie back and listen to the story about Billy and
Baxter, and he started to fuss. “Don’ y’ike i’d, Myyyy,” he whinged.
“I
know, but I don’t want your tummy to hurt later, and you don’t want
that, either.” Mycroft kept patting until, just as Sherlock was working
himself up, the tiny detective stopped still as his tummy gurgled and
burbled all the way up his throat and, as Mycroft watched, a small burp
puffed his cheeks out.
Sherlock sighed, and relaxed back against Mycroft’s shoulder.
“There, that’s all better, isn’t it.”

 
    

Embie:
“A’ be’dder,” Sherlock agreed, snuggling closer.
“Now, where was I?”
“Fores’.”
“Right. ‘I think we shall go to the pond and skip stones-”
“I y’ike d’at.”
Mycroft nodded and kept on with the story, “what do you think, Baxter?”
“C’ak, c’ak, c’ak.”
“’Of
course we can swim. It wouldn’t be a trip to the pond otherwise.’ Billy
and Baxter walked through the forest, stepping over stones and
mushrooms and the occasional peep toad, all the while staying very close
together.”
“A’cause st’ing?”
“Also because they are the best of friends.”
Sherlock nodded put his thumb in his mouth and kept listening.
“Billy and Baxter came to a clearing of wildflowers, every color of the rainbow swayed in the breeze." 

Sadie:
"E’ben la’bender?”
“Naturally.”
While Sherlock was somewhat on his side, facing him, Mycroft reached
over and began patting his bottom. “And what do you think Billy and
Baxter did when they saw all of those lovely flowers?”
Sherlock blinked up at Mycroft. “Wha’d?”
“They decided to stop and pick a big bunch of them, as many as they could carry, to take back home to Billy’s mummy.”
Sherlock grinned around his thumb. “F’ower’th.”
“Yes,
such pretty flowers, they couldn’t resist. So, they both sat down, and
while Baxter snipped the flowers with his teeth, Billy would gather them
in his hand. And then guess what happened??”
Sherlock gave a little gasp, and his eyes grew big. “Wha’d??”
“They heard a voice.”
“B’oi’the?”
“Yes!
They looked around to see who had spoken, when a tiny little fairy
slipped out of one of the flowers that Billy held. ‘Stop, stop!’ she
said. ‘You’re ruining my house!’”

   

 

 

 

 

image

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”