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

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. 😦 )

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?

~~~~~~~~~~~

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.”

“I’m not wearing that.” Johnlock plz and thnx!!!!

ohdrey89:

Ahhh!!!! *squee* When you’re favorite people prompt you!!

I had several ideas for this one, three!!! And this was the one I liked best!! I’m gonna finish those other ideas and post them as well but this is JUUUUUST for you!!! I’ve never written ageplay before (or done it *blush*) buuuut I hope you like this!!!! It came out so long!!! What??!??! xD

////

Sherlock sat on the bed in his big boy pants and
nothing else with a pout on his face. He eyed the suit that hung from the
hanger before him dubiously. When he was big he thought nothing of wearing
suits, this was true. But this was not one of the suits from his closet. This
was clearly a recent purchase from one of the little websites that he and John
now frequented on a regular basis. Only this
little boy suit was clearly purchased without his consent. One of those god awful things mothers force
on their young boys, complete with high-wasted beige shorts, and an ugly
bowtie. They were always made of the most uncomfortable materials. He remembered eyeing
it on the site’s landing page in disgust, and rolling his eyes before clicking
on the bootie pajamas.

John looked at Sherlock guiltily. He always thought
that just because Sherlock was in his little headspace and more eager to please
that he was biddable to wearing things like this for John.

“I’m not wearing that.” Sherlock refused outright,
crossing his arms in a huff.

“Please? For me, Sherlock?”

“Mm Mmn!” He shook his head, and John watched a pout
get added to his protest. They were treading a very shaky ground.

“Will you be a big boy and wear this for Nana’s birthday?
She’d love to see you wear it.” John pandered to Sherlock’s love of his Nana.
There was nothing Sherlock would not do for that woman, whether he was in his
big headspace, or his little headspace.

“No!” Sherlock shouted closing his eyes, knowing
what discipline his actions would insight.

“Sherlock.” John intoned in warning. He can refuse
to wear the suit; John knew it was probably a long shot. But he wasn’t going to
talk to his daddy like that.

“I don’t want to, Daddy.” Sherlock looked up to his Daddy
his eyes starting to tear, knowing that at any point Daddy could force him into
wearing it in that Captain’s voice of his, thinking Sherlock was just being
stubborn. John watched his eyes water, feeling the dread in the back of his
head mounting. He didn’t want Sherlock to hate the suit, to preface going downstairs
to Nana’s birthday with snuffles and a reddened, well-spanked bottom but he
would if Sherlock misbehaved.

What John didn’t understand about the suit, what
Sherlock couldn’t explain in his current headspace was the reasons why he didn’t
want to wear the suit. It reminded him about the times that he did wear a suit
very similar to the one in John’s hands when he was a child. His mother would
put him in such hot uncomfortable things, and used any excuse to do so. She
claimed he looked so cute, and it was the worst thing. His brother was vastly
comfortable in his own school uniforms, but at the time, Sherlock hated the
hot, itchy fabrics and the collar buttoned up to his throat with the starched,
clip-on bowtie scratching at his chin. Most uncomfortable of all was the suit
he wore at his Gran’mama’s funeral. He remembered having a horrible, sobbing, fist-pounding tantrum that day at the party.
At the time, he hadn’t known he was grieving, only that his grandmother wasn’t
around anymore, there was no one who understood, and he didn’t want to be
around all those sad people in the itchy suit anymore.

The memory struck him in his little headspace like a
brick wall. It wasn’t fair that his Daddy was making him do this on Nana’s
birthday. Sometimes Nana would remind
him of his Gran’mama. The pastries and cookies Nana baked, felt like home, but
also often took him back to those childhood days Gran’mama would make them while he was at her
house, just for him. He felt his throat constrict and the tears spill out of
his eyes before he could stop them. It all reminded him of how he missed her so much. To this day, he would lie in bed late at night and cry for her.

“Sherlock?” He heard his Daddy’s voice rise in
concern, the question hanging in the air, as the sobs bubbled out of his
throat. John looked at Sherlock breakdown in surprise. He hadn’t even started
to count or use a stern voice on his baby boy.

“D-d-daddy!!” Sherlock wept as he was swept up into
his Daddy’s arms. Sherlock was in his Daddy’s lap for cuddles and he couldn’t
even enjoy it. It wasn’t in John to scold Sherlock when he got like this, and
he used that honored title in such a devastated voice that always clenched at
John’s heart, and squeezed it.

Sherlock cried into Daddy’s shoulder as the man
rubbed his back. This seemed to only make the sobbing worse. He had been fighting
wearing the suit, even though it was such a little thing of John to ask him to
do. But he just didn’t want to, and he was always trying to be so good for his
Daddy. Why couldn’t he be good? Why did he have to wear the suit? How come
Daddy could just accept he didn’t want to do it? Every time he tried to talk,
sobs bubbled up from his chest instead.

“Sherlock sweetie, it’s alright.” John cooed. “Daddy
loves his baby boy. It’s okay.” The more he reassured Sherlock the worse his
cries became. “Sherlock.” John eased Sherlock away from his shoulder and took
that precious face in his hands. His fingers petting at his curls like he knew
his baby liked, and swiped at his cheekbones where the tears spilled over. John
couldn’t help the smile as Sherlock let out a little hiccup. As long as he
could see Daddy wasn’t mad he would calm down. “I love you, baby. You know that.”
A nod and a shaky snuffle. Now they were getting somewhere. “And you know I
would never make you do something you didn’t want to.” He put a finger over
those impossibly pouty lips before his baby could protest. “I just thought it
would be nice to do for Nana because she had wanted to see you in it.” John
explained, feeling guilty for whatever it was about the suit caused these
tears. “Can you tell me what’s wrong, why you don’t like the suit?”

Sherlock tried to look down, but with a nudge from
Daddy’s hands, he looked up through his brow, his chin quivering with a shake
of his head.

“Please? I’d like to know. Daddies should always
know what upsets their little boys and why.” He explained. “It would help me be
a better Daddy.” He looked to his baby boy hopefully.

“I-It reminds me of not good times.” Sherlock tried
to explain.

“When? Before you met me?” John asked. Another nod,
the snuffles starting up again. John shushed him and bounced the baby for a bit
until they calmed down again. “When you were younger?” John asked with a lift
of his brow. At Sherlock’s nod, it dawned on him. Sherlock’s difficult
childhood, the memories from that time were probably one of the reasons they
did this.

“W-when Gran’mama died, I w-wore s-something l-like
that!” Sherlock explained another sob coming out as he eyed the suit on the
bed. John pushed Sherlock’s head back into his shoulder with a tsk.

“I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know.” John sighed, eyeing
the suit regrettably. He shouldn’t have promised Nana before consulting
Sherlock about it. The cries eased before they really built up as John hugged Sherlock
close.

“D-didn’t know.” Sherlock mumbled taking a shaky
breath as he snuggled into his Daddy’s neck. He felt Daddy’s arms come around
him holding him tight. He let out a sigh at the comforting feeling the embrace
gave him. He let out a tired yawn. Being little was an exhausting business.

“How about some naptime for a bit and then we’ll go
down to Nana’s for dinner? You get to choose what you wear.” John smiled down
to the curly head on his shoulder as he whispered into Sherlock’s ear.

“Really?” Sherlock looked up to Daddy unsure. For
all he knew, this would be a trick.

“Yup! Promise. But first nap.” John explained with a
soft laugh.

Another yawn came out of Sherlock’s mouth without
his permission. Definitely time for nap. “Okay Daddy.” Sherlock was in no mood
for argue with Daddy over that one. John put him down on to his side of the
bed, not even bothering with pajamas. His pants would do. He threw a duvet over
top of his baby and hung the suit up on the dresser out of Sherlock’s sight. Sherlock
was asleep before John went to leave the room.

—

John came back into the bedroom an hour later,
turning on the bedside lamp to a whinge.

“Time to wake up, baby!” John said cheerily. “It’s
time for dinner, Nana’s waiting for us!” John announced tickling Sherlock until
he was met with excited giggles. Sherlock was still remarkably quiet even after
a nap.

Sherlock went into the bathroom to do his business
like his Daddy asked and came back to see one of his favorite bee shirts, and a
pair of shorts on the bed. He fingered them wearily and eyed the suit. His Nana
wanted to see him in it, and it was her birthday. She always asked for so
little from him. Daddy always asked so little of him. Everyone asked for so
little, he could give a little in return. Like a big boy.

“What’s the matter baby? Don’t you want to wear your
favorite bee shirt for Nana?” John asked, trying to hide his knowing look. Let
your baby make the decision on their own, that’s what a good Daddy does.

“I’ll wear the suit for Nana, Daddy.” Sherlock’s
tiny voice rang out into the soft space between himself and his Daddy.

“You will?!” Daddy gave Sherlock his proud smile in
return, his eyes wide in surprise. Sherlock coveted those in his little space
inside his mind palace.

“I will!” Sherlock smiled to quell his Daddy’s
worries that John was forcing him into it.

John walked over and placed the suit on the bed,
then reaching over to kiss Sherlock’s curly head. “That’s my good boy. I’m so
proud of you!” The praise washed over Sherlock, leaving him feeling so warm and
loved.

Sherlock looked up to his Daddy, a proud blush on
his cheeks accentuating his little smile. “I love you, Daddy!”

“I love you too, my brilliant boy!” John’s voice was
husky with the emotions he felt at Sherlock coming to the conclusion to wear
the suit himself. “Do you want me to help you dress?” At Sherlock’s shy nod they
went through the motions of dressing. They descended the stairs to 221a and
knocked on the door for Nana to answer. Smells of her excellent cooking and
baking permeated the air. Sherlock had hopes for this evening.

Before Nana opened the door, John squeezed the hand
that was in his

“I like this suit a lot better than my old one
Daddy!” Sherlock admitted. And it was true, this was so much better than when
he was younger because now he had Daddy and Nana. John kissed his cheek before
the door opened.

Nana greeted them, a few extra kisses for Sherlock. “My
favorite boy, looking so handsome in his suit just for his Nana!” She gushed
holding his blushing face in her hands. Sherlock kissed her, taking in the
comforting smell of her perfume. She opened up her presents they brought. John
watched proudly as Sherlock even posed for his Nana for a picture so that she
could remember this moment. They settled down for a delightful meal and they
sang to Nana as she blew out the candles on the German chocolate cake she made
just for Sherlock.

If she gave Sherlock an extra slice of chocolate
cake that night for his troubles, Sherlock thought all the trouble to get into
the suit was well worth 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.”

Sherlock and John want a pet, but what kind to get?

Sadie: (omg, you have NO idea how ready for this one I was! :D)

*based off an rp Mo and I did back in 2013*

John Watson was sitting in his chair, paper in hand, and was having a uneventful, yet peaceful, afternoon while his husband, one Sherlock Holmes, was on call for once, instead of the other way ‘round.

That perfect, warm, cozy aura of peace was abruptly shattered when their front door kicked open and Sherlock glided through, a broad grin on his face, and a covered, square-shaped item in his hands.

After his mini-heart attack, John was instantly on the alert. “Sherlock…?” he asked as he reluctantly got up and followed the other man into the kitchen, eyeing the mysterious package.

Sherlock delicately sat the box down (which did nothing to alleviate the increasingly uneasy feeling that was creeping up the back of John’s neck) and, with a great flourish, pulled the cloth covering off, revealing…

The biggest, fattest grey rat John had ever seen, sitting in the middle of a square wire cage like a furry puddle. The creature stood on up it’s hind legs, it’s whiskers wiggling as it smelled the new smells of the flat.

John let out an audible gasp and reeled back, holding his arms in the air as if he expected it to burst through the cage and go straight for his throat. “Sherlock, that’s a..! That’s a rat!” he hissed through clenched teeth, in utter disgust.

“Very good, John…I brought in a rat,” the detective repeated, the grin not leaving his face. He unfastened the latch on the front of the cage and held his hand flat out in from of the door, then waited patiently. The rat dropped back to all fours and sniffed all around again, before taking several small, tentative steps out of the cage and into Sherlock’s hand, where it sat and started sniffing his sleeve.

“WHY is there a rat on our kitchen table?!” The pitch of John’s voice was now several decibels higher than it normally was, as well as his blood pressure.

Sherlock finally took his focus off the rat and looked up at John, highly amused. “It’s perfectly tame, John…it was someone’s pet,” he said, getting a wicked little gleam in his eye and, after putting his other hand on top of it’s back to keep it from falling, held out his outstretched arms and took a step towards him.

“SHERLOCK!” John took another sharp step back and stumbled over a kitchen chair. After stumbling around for what seemed like a half hour, he finally untangled himself from the chair and kicked it aside. “That’s not funny!!!!”

Sherlock laughed and stuck it back in it’s cage, where it promptly buried itself in the shredded newspaper lining the bottom, then made sure the latch was fastened before going to help John up. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a creature less than a fraction of your size…?”

John was not amused. He jerked his arm away and brushed himself off, lips pressed tightly together.

Sherlock had the sense that he *might* have pushed things a bit too far. “It’s harmless, John,” he said, and pulled another chair ‘round to sit in front of the cage.

“That still doesn’t tell me why it’s in our kitchen.”

“Because.” Sherlock stuck the tip of his finger between the bars, and a tiny, pink nose popped out. “He needs an owner, and I need a pet.”

John’s stomach churned at the mere thought. No…God, no! And he was going to tell Sherlock exactly what he could do with that bloody disgusting, vile, disease-ridden vermin and where he could do it with!…when the look on Sherlock’s face gave him pause. The rat had poked it’s head out of hiding and was stretching towards Sherlock’s finger, whiskers twitching.

John took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. "Sherlock, why…aw, come on Sherlock…doesn’t he have an owner or…a trap…no, no, don’t look at me like that, I was only joking!” He sighed…”Where did he come from anyway?”

“Had an owner,” Sherlock corrected, still peering at John cautiously. “There was a rather portly gentleman that hadn’t been seen in a few days, and was discovered when the smell permeated the rest of the building.” Sherlock stood and shrugged out of his coat, then went to the sink to wash his hands. “They called me to come discern what caused specific wounds in his side, and when Molly used the rib-spreader…there he was, sitting in the chest cavity.” He turned, looking at John sadly; “They were going to dissect him, John!…dissect him! I couldn’t let them do that; he didn’t kill the man!” Now Sherlock looked to the cage; the rat had come out of hiding, and was cautiously walking around the perimeter of it’s cage, inspecting its boundaries. Sherlock pouted; “So…I took him.”

John’s face turned white, then green, then grey. He opened his mouth to say something…but only managed a weak “I think I’m going to be sick…” before dashing to the washroom.

“I’ve already washed him off!” Sherlock called after him, hoping that this bit of information wouldn’t ruin his chances of getting to keep the little guy. He was already planning several useful experiments…non-invasive ones of course, such as training him to recognize and react to certain smells and sounds. He’d even picked out a name already…Morris.

Sherlock walked to the cabinet and fetched a packet of crisps, then came back to the table. He could hear John retching into the toilet as he opened them, and rolled his eyes…and John had always chided him about being a princess. He passed a crisp through the bars and smiled as Morris made a beeline for it and took it between his eager little paws.

“Welcome home, Morris.”

Could you do a little mini mini teeny tiny Daddy Sherlock and little fussy baby Jawn? Love love love your blog!! 😊

Sadie:

Sherlock sat at the table near the window, laptop in front of him, and stared at the blinking cursor on the screen. He’d been trying to finish this particular blog post on how to tell someone’s emotional state from a sample of their penmanship for over an hour now, but for some reason, he was having a hard time finding the motivation.

And that reason was currently sitting at his feet, untying his shoelaces.

Sherlock reached down without looking and batted a stubby little hand away, which only set off a whole chorus of whinging and fussing.

“Jawn, that’s enough.”

The whinging got louder, and the same hand from before now found his trouser leg, and tugged.

“I told you…you’ll have to wait until I’m finished. You do realise you’re making your own wait even longer?”

The whinging only grew more insistent, bordering on a full-blown strop, while the tugging at his trousers turned into headbutts at his knee.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, then looked down at the floor; Jawn stared back, all teary-eyed turmoil with messy hair and ratty, well-loved blanket gripped in his fist.

Sherlock stared back at him and sighed; “You need a nap.”

To his surprise, Jawn nodded, then held up his arms to be picked up, making grabbing motions with his hands.

Despite himself, Sherlock smiled. “You little manipulator.” He stood up from his chair and, after a quick stretch, reached down for Jawn and made the same grabbing motions. “Come along.”

Jawn scrambled up from the floor and practically jumped into Sherlock’s waiting arms, clinging to him.

Sherlock kissed the side of his head and began to carry him towards the bedroom. “That’s not going to work every time, you know.”

Though he couldn’t see his face, the way he was tucked into the crook of his neck, Sherlock could swear that he felt Jawn smile.

(You’re too kind; thank you! ❤ :D)

Sherlock shows lil’ Jawn that not all diapied spankings need to be for punishments. Jawn likes this idea….. a lot.

Sadie: I am SO sorry this one took so long! I never forgot about it, dear anon, but it took me awhile to decide the direction I wanted to take it in.

It’s also a long one, so I’m putting a bit of it under a cut. If you’re still around, I hope you enjoy!

*****

Jawn sat up and flipped his pillow over, then flopped back down. A few minutes later, he tossed to his other side. He couldn’t sleep. His mind simply would not shut off.

Everything was distracting. Every sound from outside was something that needed to be investigated. Every moving shadow. Every passing light from the window.

Most distracting of all, though, was the nappy that was fastened a little too snugly around his hips; the thick padding, just a little too warm. A little too crinkly when he moved. Tight enough to feel pressing against his cock, yet not tight enough to cause the right amount of friction needed for relief.

This was all Sherlock’s fault. If he hadn’t insisted that today be a ‘Jawn’ day, and hadn’t insisted on putting him to bed in a nappy, then he could just have a quick wank and get to sleep, no problem. He technically could just cup his hand on his front and rut against it while he squeezed…well, maybe…

No, too noisy. Sherlock would hear, and then Jawn would have bigger problems than just not being able to sleep.

Prick.

Jawn flopped over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. This was torture.

“For God’sake.”

Jawn startled at the sudden voice. Next to him, Sherlock sat up on his elbow and clicked on the lamp sitting on his bedside table. “What is the problem?”

Jawn blinked, and shielded his eyes with his hand. “Huh?”

“You’ve been tossing and turning for two hours now. What. is. the. problem.”

Jawn peeked between two fingers. “Can’t sleep.”

Sherlock snorted and sat up, blocking most of the light from shining directly into Jawn’s face. “Well, obviously. Why?”

Jawn lowered his hand and shrugged. “Dunno,” he mumbled.

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Fine. Come here.”

Jawn faltered. ‘Come here’ never usually led to good things. “What for?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

Sherlock adjusted his pillow and sat back against the headboard. “I know what puts you to sleep. Come here.”

Well, now Jawn was intrigued. Really, there was only one thing that Sherlock could be talking about. But was it really that easy? Just annoy Sherlock to the point of–?

Sherlock rolled his eyes and, before Jawn could react, reached out and took then smaller man by the shoulders, then heaved him facedown over his lap.

Now the panic began to set in. This was the exact situation that Jawn had hoped to avoid. “Wait, wait!” He scrambled to reach back and cover his backside with both hands. “I didn’t do anything!”

“I know you didn’t.”

Jawn tried to crane his neck to peer over his shoulder. What was going on back there?! “Wait…what?”

“As I told you before, I know what makes you tired.” Sherlock took each of Jawn’s hands and calmly moved them out of the way. “You’re not in trouble. Relax.”

Once he realized that he wasn’t going to get the daylights whacked out of him, Jawn’s initial panic subsided, and left him more puzzled now than he’d been before. “So what–?” he began to ask, and was promptly cut off by the flat of Sherlock’s hand thunking against his nappy. Then again. Then again. Jawn realized that Sherlock was purposefully *not* striking him hard enough to hurt.

In fact…it felt really, really good.

Jawn silenced his protesting and did as Sherlock asked, finally relaxing into the steady rhythm of firm, full-handed swats to his bum, each one sending muffled sensations through the padding, straight to his…well.

They were killing two birds with one very sensual stone tonight, it seemed.

Jawn soon found himself rutting against Sherlock’s thigh in time with each swat, and as the movements of his hips started to pick up the pace, so did Sherlock’s swats. Jawn’s breath came in quick pants; if he just had a little bit more…!

Sherlock’s other hand snaked under his waist, cupped the front of his nappy, and squeezed.

Jawn moaned and pressed his face into the mattress, his hips moving in frantic, jerking motions as heat began to pool in his lower belly, spreading to his thighs, and then…and then…!

Aaah.

Sherlock slowly removed his hand from Jawn’s front, and started to rub his padded backside with the other, while Jawn caught his breath. He said nothing for several minutes, while he listened to the smaller man’s breathing become steadier, more shallow…“Not every spanking has to be a punishment, you know.”

Jawn grunted and nodded his head without opening his eyes.

Loathe as he was to disturb the now-peaceful doctor, it would not do for either of them if he fell asleep over Sherlock’s lap. “Here, let Da’..” he said, and helped Jawn sit up and move back to his side of the bed, where he immediately started to doze off again, the moment his head hit his pillow.

Sherlock smirked, and tucked the blankets around him snugly. He always knew what Jawn needed.

Sherlock and John wake up, and the bed is wet in the middle, and they can’t tell who is to blame!

Sadie:

“I don’t know why you’re glaring at me; I’m not the one who did it!”

“Oh, I know you’re not saying I did!”

“There were only two people in this bed, John.”

John stared hard at Sherlock, who was currently stripping off a pair of cold, damp pajama bottoms at his side of the bed, and waited. “…And?” he asked, when it became obvious that no other explanation would be forthcoming.

“And I did not piss in it.”

“You must have, because it WAS. NOT. ME!” John snapped, as he shucked down his own soddened boxer shorts.

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh and kicked his bottoms off to the side, then turned and began to strip the blankets and sheets from the bed, where there happened to be a very sizable, tell-tale stain. “I have never wet the bed in my life, John.”

“Says the grown man who still wears nappies.”

Sherlock’s back stiffened and he froze, sheet still in hand. Very slowly, he raised his head to peer up at John. “Wears them by choice. Not by necessity. But you…you don’t choose to keep having night terrors, do you?”

Now John froze, holding his wadded boxers in his hand. “That’s not funny,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wasn’t implying that it was.”

John fought the urge to throw those piss-soaked boxers right into Sherlock’s face. Surely, the other man must be making fun of him. But, when he was finally able to turn and meet Sherlock’s gaze, it was very clear that he had no such intentions. John felt his cheeks begin to pinken, and he cleared his throat. “I’ve never…wet the bed, either,” he said, dropping them into the middle of the sheets and reaching to untuck the corner on his side.

Sherlock continued to stare at him, but remained silent for a time while they finished stripping the bed completely and bundled all the soiled laundry together. At last he stood and took the whole load into his arms. “I’m going to put these in the wash.”

John nodded.

“Then we’ll flip the mattress, and both have a shower.”

John nodded again. These were all good ideas.

“…And I think we should both wear a nappy tonight.”

John looked up at him, startled.

Sherlock gave him a half smile. “Just in case.”

John couldn’t help but return it, and gave a small laugh. “Sure, just in case. Alright, get going, you big baby…I’m not waiting for a shower.”

Sherlock snorted, but he was still grinning when he turned and walked out of the room.

John smirked, and enjoyed the view.