Chapter Text
Sherlock laid flat across John's lap, sniffling and crying as John held them down with one arm. He pulled up Sherlock's dressing gown and yanked their pyjama bottoms down around their thighs.
"You have been very bad, Sherlock," John growled. "I warned you to behave, and what do I get? A little brat drawing on my nice clean walls."
"I just wanted you to pay attention to me," Sherlock sniveled.
"You've certainly got my attention now," John said. "But you were still bad, Sherlock, and you need to be punished."
"I can cwean it up," Sherlock said, their 'l' blurring into a 'w.'
"Yes, you'll do that, too," John said. "After I punish you!"
"No!" Sherlock yelled, and kicked their feet on the sofa.
John started smacking their bottom with the flat of his palm. Sherlock had expected it to hurt more, and while it did sting a little, it wasn't unbearable. However, the indignity of being spanked still brought tears to their eyes. They felt a little sob working its way out of their throat and tried to keep it in check. However, it wasn't long before they started crying in earnest.
"Yes, yes, I know," John said, "it's not very fun being spanked."
John stopped spanking them, then pulled their pyjamas back up. He turned them over and gathered them up into his arms to hold them against his chest. Sherlock sniffed and buried their nose in John's shoulder, blinking tears out of their eyes. John rocked them slowly and let them cry it out. Eventually, Sherlock's sobs turned into little hiccups and petered out. John rubbed their back until their lower lip stopped trembling and they stopped crying.
"What have we learned, Sherlock?" John asked finally.
"Don't draw on the walls," Sherlock said.
"And?"
"Don't knock things on the floor," Sherlock said.
"And don't run away from John," John said sternly. "Now. Are you going to tell me what this is all about, Sherlock?"
"You weren't paying attention," Sherlock said.
"And what wasn't I paying attention to?" John asked.
"I wanted you to notice something," Sherlock said slowly, not certain if John would really get what they meant when they explained.
"Notice what?" John asked, hand rubbing the back of their neck.
"Sometimes I'm not Big, I'm Little," Sherlock said, ducking their head and hiding their eyes against John's chest.
"What does that mean, exactly?" John asked softly.
Sherlock shook their head.
"Is Big Sherlock a different person from Little Sherlock?" John asked.
Sherlock paused, but shook their head again.
"So Little Sherlock is a part of Big Sherlock," John said. "A part the general public doesn't get to see?"
Sherlock nodded.
"And you wanted me to see?" John said.
Sherlock nodded again, more vigorously.
"Oh, sweetheart, you didn't have to act out to get me to see," John said into their hair. "You could have just said something."
"Couldn't," Sherlock mumbled. "Had to show you."
"Show me?"
"Show you what it's like," Sherlock said. "You had to understand what you would have to deal with. This is... this is part of me, John."
"Is Little Sherlock... a child?" John asked.
"Yes," Sherlock said.
"How old?" John asked.
Sherlock shrugged.
"Is it... sexual?" John asked.
"N-not for me, it isn't," Sherlock said, struggling to explain. "It's not like Age Play, where someone pretends to be a certain age. I'm just Little. I have certain... tendencies. I need to be looked after."
"Like a child?" John asked.
"Yes," Sherlock said, blushing and looking down. "John?"
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"Do you..." Sherlock sniffled again. "Do you still love me?"
John's arms tightened around them, and he stroked their hair. "Of course I do, sweetheart. This doesn't change a thing. I just want to know what it is you need me to know so that I don't make a mistake."
"I need..." Sherlock said, and blushed again.
"What do you need from me?" John asked softly.
"I need a guardian," Sherlock said. "A protector. Someone to look out for me, and to tell me right and wrong."
"I already do that, you know," John said, smiling.
"Yes, well, you saw that sometimes I need discipline," Sherlock said.
"I did notice that, yes," John said.
"Is this okay?" Sherlock blurted, turning wide, terrified eyes on John.
John smiled. "Of course it is, sweetheart. Of course it is."
***
Sherlock sighed and stared at the wall in front of them with annoyance. The crayon they had covered most of 221b in wasn't coming off as well as they'd hoped it would. They were scrubbing a section of wall in the kitchen, but it wasn't coming clean. This wouldn't do.
John hadn't asked them to clean, but they wanted to anyway. They hadn't been trying to be bad last night, it had just been necessary to get their point across. Now that their point was made, they could try and reconcile their behaviour. That meant getting all these drawings off.
Except they weren't coming off.
Sherlock huffed and scrubbed harder to no avail. They looked morosely down at the sponge soaked with hot, soapy water and pouted. This wasn't working at all.
They got up and went to the sink, opening the cupboard to search through the cleaning supplies. There was a woeful lack of supplies that Sherlock considered good enough to work with.
Maybe if they combined some of the ingredients together...
***
Sherlock gaped in horror at the wall. A giant, mishapen hole glared back at them, and their cloth had disintegrated. Whatever they had created, it wasn't cleaning solution. Sherlock didn't even know how it had happened, because according to their chemical equations, it should't have.
John was going to kill them.
Sherlock's lip trembled. It wasn't even their fault, they'd been trying to make it better! Sherlock went back over to the chemical equations they'd sketched out, and found that they hadn't made a mistake. It had to be something else.
But there was no time to figure out what had actually gone wrong, because the door downstairs opened and closed. John was back, and he was walking up the stairs, footsteps slightly staggered with carrying up groceries.
John walked into the room and Sherlock burst into noisy tears.
"What's wrong, sweetpea?" John asked, putting the groceries down and running over.
"I tried to fix the wall and made it worse!" Sherlock sniffled.
John looked at the wall.
"Oh," John said, and surveyed the rest of the room.
There was a bucket of soap and water nearby, where Sherlock had left it once they'd decided that soap and water wasn't enough to fix the problem. There were also several different patches on the wall of places that were cleaner, because Sherlock had experimented with a few different solutions earlier. There was also a line-up of different beakers to put those solutions in.
"What did that?" John asked cautiously.
Sherlock held up the beaker with the deadly concoction in it sulkily.
"Let me guess, you made these by mixing household cleaners together," John said with a sigh. "You know that's dangerous, Sherlock. You could have quite easily made chlorine gas!"
"I checked the equations," Sherlock said, biting their lip.
John looked the equations over and nodded. "I know you don't need a second opinion, because you're a little genius, sweetheart, but these are correct. I wonder what you made."
They both checked the chemicals, and then Mrs. Hudson fluttered up and noticed the big, gaping hole in her wall.
"Sherlock, what is that?" she cried.
"It's not their fault," John said. "We don't know how, but Sherlock mixed a few chemicals together, and this is what happened. We can't figure out where they went wrong."
"Oh," Mrs. Hudson's hands fluttered about. "Oh dear. I'd quite forgotten, dear. I ran out of that cheap cleaner, and replaced it with something else. I forget what. I was going to relabel it so I didn't forget."
"And then you forgot to relabel it," John said. "Oh dear."
They all looked at the hole in the wall.
"Well, since it's jointly our fault, I don't think you should take it out of our damage deposit," Sherlock said, glancing over at John.
"I wasn't the one who covered the walls in crayon," Mrs. Hudson said. "Well. As long as you manage to get the rest of the crayon off, I'll see what I can do about the rest."
Sherlock sulked, and John went over to the bag of groceries.
"And after all that, I didn't even manage to make a cleaner that would work on crayons!" Sherlock complained.
"Sherlock," John said, shaking his head. "Catch."
Sherlock caught the package John lobbed in their direction. It was a package of sponges that promised that they would magically erase any stain with ease. Sherlock arched an eyebrow at John, but John just shrugged.
"Better get scrubbing Sherlock!"
To Sherlock's annoyance, they worked like a marvel. The only upside was that they finished cleaning the walls by the time John had finished making them both supper. It was some sort of thing with peas, which Sherlock didn't much like, but would eat if it was put in front of them.
After dinner, John went on his computer, and Sherlock turned on the television. Now that John knew about Sherlock's Little behaviour, he wouldn't mind if Sherlock put on a children's program. To their surprise, John didn't immediately come to join them on the sofa like he usually did when they were watching together, but continued looking at his laptop screen.
"Watcha lookin' at?" Sherlock asked, eyes wide.
"I'll show you tomorrow, Sherlock," John said absentmindedly as he finally came over.
Sherlock snuggled up to John's side and sighed happily. They really didn't much care about the telly, to be honest. They just wanted this, this moment, when they were safe and warm and John had his arms around them. John's hand was in their hair, spinning their curls around his fingers.
They must have fallen asleep, because the next thing they knew, they were being put in bed, and John was tucking them in. He smoothed the hair off their head and kissed their forehead.
"Goodnight, princess," John murmured and left the room.
Sherlock smiled and drifted off to sleep.
***
Sherlock grinned as they started up John's computer. It wasn't just that they were too lazy to get up and get their own computer, although that was also a fair enough assessment of the situation. Sherlock just liked figuring out how to get into John's computer. No matter how many ways John tried to keep them out, they always found a way in. And each time, John gave up a tiny bit more information about himself that Sherlock hadn't known before.
John was terrible at passwords. Like most people, it didn't take long for them to decipher what it could possibly be. People always chose such sentimental passwords, and John was no different.
They were having a little bit of trouble figuring this one out until they remembered what John had said to them the previous night. He'd called them "princess." Could it be...?
They started trying variations on "princess" and the computer finally let them in.
"Princess Bee?" they said aloud. "Really?"
Now what had John been doing last night that he had been so mysterious about? It was the work of a few minutes to manage to figure out what he'd been looking at.
John had been doing research on Littles! Sherlock looked through the same websites that John had been in last night and could hardly believe their luck. It was their dream come true to finally find someone who was willing to explore this side of Sherlock's life. John had been particularly thorough in researching what it meant to be a Daddy, as they were called in the community.
John had told them that he wanted to look after them, but Sherlock hadn't been quite sure until now. They still weren't a hundred percent sure, because John could change his mind at any point. They bit their bottom lip. That wouldn't be good at all.
They almost went into a sulk, but then found what John had looked at next: toys! Their eyes went wide as they looked through the site that John had found. It had lots of toys meant for Littles, and Sherlock's heart pitter-pattered in excitement. If John was buying them toys, then maybe he was serious after all. They looked longingly at some of the stuffed toys and sighed. Now that they knew John wouldn't mind, they wanted to fill their room with toys, but they knew they should wait for John to come back home.
John was late.
Sherlock stood by the window playing sad songs on the violin as they waited for him. They had even put some cute ribbons in their hair just for him, and he wasn't even home on time. It was almost 6 by the time they heard his feet on the stairs. Frowning mightily, they put extra effort into playing the violin as loudly as possible. It would serve John right if the neighbours complained.
"Sherlock?" John called up the stairs. "Hello?"
Sherlock ignored him and continued playing, and didn't turn around when the door opened, and the sound of John coming in and putting down bags filled the room.
"Sherlock!" John said loudly, trying to be heard over the violin. "I know, I know, I didn't text you that I was going to be late. I'm sorry."
Sherlock had sent many texts. Sherlock had sent a veritable armada worth of texts, and John hadn't answered a single one.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I know you're all dressed up nice for me. I didn't answer the texts because I thought you'd be able to tell where I'd been," John said from behind them.
That brought Sherlock up short.
"Where have you been?" they asked.
"Well, you'd see if you just turned around," John said, not unkindly.
Sherlock did, ready to start playing again if what they found behind them wasn't a sufficient explanation for John's lateness.
They stopped dead, eyes widening in delight. Very slowly, the put their violin down and walked toward John, who had his hands outstretched in front of him. In his hands, there was the biggest, roundest, most absolutely perfect stuffed bee that Sherlock had ever seen. They reached out and carefully took the bee out of John's hands. It was incredibly soft, and Sherlock hugged it to their chest and blinked at John in astonishment.
"Do you like it?" John asked softly.
Sherlock nodded wordlessly, and then went and sat down in their chair, still hugging the bee. John sat in his chair opposite and sighed.
"Sorry it took so long. I just wanted to find the right one, and it turned out the first place I went to didn't have them anymore, so I had to check the next closest one. I wanted you to have that while we talked over a few things."
Talking over things wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but Sherlock still froze. What if what they talked about made Sherlock sad? They hugged their toy tighter to their chest and waited for John to say something.
John took a deep breath. "I just want to start off by saying that it's all fine. I'm not going to do anything crazy like break up with you or move out or make you feel bad about yourself. Just so you know, that's not what this conversation is about at all."
Sherlock took a deep breath too and nodded. They weren't going to say it now, but it was something that had been subconsciously worrying them ever since they'd told John about being Little.
"I just want us both to be on the same page, Sherlock," John said. "I don't want us to get into a misunderstanding down the road because we didn't talk about it now."
"What is there to talk about?" Sherlock asked, resting their nose against the bee.
"Rules. Boundaries. I know you don't generally have much respect for boundaries, but this is one time when we shoud definitely make sure they're there. I could hurt you by accident if we don't make sure we both know what's going on."
Sherlock's lip jutted out and they sighed. Boundaries were boring, but John knew best about relationships, after all. If he said boundaries were necessary, they probably were.
"Yes, John," Sherlock said.
"I wanted to ask one thing," John said, looking awkward. "The site I was reading last night was talking about Daddies. Do you want to call me that? Daddy?"
"No, you're John," Sherlock said. To them, John was the authority on all things that didn't have to do with deduction. "Maybe 'Sir' if I've been naughty."
"I see," John said, with a smile. "Good. That's good. So, what do you want my role to be?"
"I said that you should be like a guardian," Sherlock said. "A role model." They looked down shyly. "I already saw these attributes in you, John. That's why I wanted you to fill that role. You already take care of me, make sure I eat, try to keep me from being bored, and show me how to interact with normal, annoying people."
"So, just keep doing what I've been doing," John said.
"Yes, except more," Sherlock said. "You just need to know that you can help me, and discipline me as if I were a child. My brain... works better that way, if I know someone is looking out for me that way. And if there's someone..."
Sherlock felt their face turning red.
"Yes?" John asked gently.
"I like it when you tell me I'm brilliant," Sherlock said, very quietly.
John leaned forward, and now that Sherlock could tell that he was listening, continued.
"I know I'm brilliant," Sherlock said. "But it's nice when someone else tells me that they've noticed that I am. Praise is... good."
"I already praise you to high heaven," John said with a slight, self-deprecating chuckle.
"Yeah," Sherlock replied, toying with the fuzzy antenna on the stuffed bee. "But you should know that it affects me, more than I let on, and that it makes me... happy."
John talked a lot. Sherlock wasn't really one to make boundaries, but they put up with it, because in the end, they would get John. Sherlock assured John that they wouldn't act out during crime scenes, and that they could act Big if they wanted to. They started to regress to their childlike state sometimes, but not always.
"How will I know if you're feeling Little?" John asked.
"Well, I can tell you..." Sherlock said. "Or, I can wear my bee hairbow." Then, they got an idea and sat up straight. "I can even wear my bow one one side if I feel female, or the right side if I feel male."
The way their genderfluidity intersected with being Little was complicated and interesting. Sherlock liked the idea of John being able to know when he could call them "princess" and when "darling boy" was better.
"Okay," John said. "We've talked a lot, you know. And I haven't made dinner. Want to go out for a bite to eat?"
"Yeah!" Sherlock said enthusiastically.
"Where would you like to go?" John asked, getting his coat on.
"I want chips," Sherlock said. "Pwease?"
"Yeah, okay," John said. "There's a chippy not far from here. Let's go."
"Can I hold your hand?" Sherlock asked, giving John an appealing look.
John grinned, "You know how to do that puppy-dog eye thing well, I'll give you that, sweetheart. Of course you can hold my hand if you'd like."
Sherlock happily took John's hand and followed him out the door.
***
It wasn't that Sherlock wasn't sorry. It was the principle of the matter, and that was that Lestrade was wrong, and Sherlock had warned him that if he called Sherlock out for an easy case, then Sherlock wouldn't come out for the next one.
Their phone beeped for the fourteenth time, and they looked at the screen, bored and annoyed. Great, Lestrade had even started getting his underlings involved in the dispute. Donovan was now texting them as well. As if that would make Sherlock more likely to listen.
Lestrade texted again, and Sherlock threw their phone across the room, where it bounced off the sofa and onto the floor.
Feet on the stairs indicated John was finally home from the clinic, which was just as well with Sherlock, because without a case and without an experiment to do, Sherlock was beginning to get into a dangerous level of boredom. The kind of boredom when they started lighting socks on fire. Not Sherlock's socks, of course. Those were all made of high quality material.
"Bored!" they said loudly as soon as John was in the door.
"I've been getting texts from Lestrade saying that you're refusing a case," John said, taking his shoes off at the door and searching around for his slippers.
"Yes, well, I did say that the last one was boring. And I warned Lestrade that if he ever called me out to a case less than a 5, I wouldn't come to the next one."
"Well, what if the case he has is better than a 5?" John asked.
"It's a 7 at most, and that's not nearly enough to make up for being called out for a 5," Sherlock said.
They waited for John to notice that they were wearing their bee bow, ready to go into a bit of a tantrum if John failed to see it. They hadn't had to throw one yet, and Sherlock was a bit interested to see what would happen if they did. Sherlock still remembered the incident with the crayons and how they had gotten a spanking for their bad behaviour. At that time, Sherlock hadn't been fully sure that John wouldn't react badly to their Little side, but know that they both knew, it could be interesting.
They knew it was bad to plot against John and throw a tantrum, but that didn't stop them from contemplating it.
They hadn't really discussed what would happen if Sherlock acted out. Sherlock should wait for them to have that discussion before anything happened, but waiting had never been one of their strongest qualities.
"You really should give Lestrade a break," John said. "He has a rough job, and it would probably help if you showed a little appreciation once in a while for letting you work on cases."
"He needs me," Sherlock said huffily. "It should be him showing me appreciation."
"Well, love, that's one way of looking at it, I suppose," John said with a sigh. "Did you want to help me make dinner?"
Sometimes Sherlock liked helping John, because John would give them instructions in his kind, patient, John-like way. Sherlock didn't need instructions, they just liked it when John gave them something to follow.
"No," Sherlock said and pouted.
"No thank you, John," John said, correcting them.
"Don't wanna," Sherlock said, crossing their arms and sinking low in their chair.
"Could you at least clear off the table and set it?" John asked as he entered the kitchen to look for something to make for dinner. "Maybe do some dishes?"
"No," Sherlock repeated. "Wanna watch telly."
John looked up and his eyes widened slightly as he saw the bow on the side of their head.
"Sherlock," he said warningly. "What did I say about watching the telly?"
"Chores first," Sherlock said.
"Yes, chores first. So why don't you wash what's in the sink and clear the table for me like a good lad?" John asked.
"Telly," Sherlock said, lower lip jutting out.
"I'm going to count to three," John said, "And if you're not doing dishes, then you'll be in trouble, young man."
Sherlock stuck out their tongue at him.
"One..."
Sherlock didn't move.
"Two..."
Sherlock glared across at John and wrinkled their nose at him.
"Three!" John said, then put his hands on his hips. "Sherlock! Get up right now and do as I say!"
"No!" Sherlock yelled back.
John had noticed the bow, and Sherlock knew they weren't playing fair, but this was just so interesting. They wanted to see what John would do. He might even spank them again. Probably not, because Sherlock had been very bad the last time. Sherlock waited to see what John would do.
"If you don't do your chores, then I'm not going to let you watch the telly," John said warningly.
"No!" Sherlock said.
"This is your last chance, Sherlock Holmes, and then you're grounded!" John said, leaning forward and looking them right in the eye.
John held their stare for several long seconds. Sherlock bit their lip, staring back challengingly, waiting to see what would happen.
"Right, no telly for you!" John said.
Sherlock got up, found the remote, and turned the television on in defiance. However, what met their eyes was a screen with a password screen.
"That's right, it's a child-lock," John said. "I had Mrs. Hudson install it for me while you were out."
Sherlock tried out several number combinations, but none of them worked. They looked back at John with a frown of frustration.
"It's completely random numbers, and I can change it anytime I want," John said. "I learned from the Irene Adler case – don't use sentimental numbers when choosing a password. You won't guess it."
Sherlock huffed and went back to trying. John's date of birth didn't work, and neither did Sherlock's or Mrs. Hudson's. Sherlock tried everything they could think of. John simply hummed in satisfaction and went back to making them both dinner. Nothing worked, and Sherlock even went to tinker with the television itself.
"There is a way to get in, you know," John said in a sing-song voice.
Sherlock looked at him.
"Do the dishes," John said.
Sherlock tried fruitlessly for another five minutes, then their shoulders slumped. John had really put some thought into this. They briefly contemplated throwing an even bigger tantrum, but John must have caught the look in their eyes, because he shook his head and tutted.
"Ah, ah, ah. Don't even think of it, young man," John said. "I've also child-locked the internet password."
Sherlock's eyes widened in horror as they watched John calmly making grilled cheese sandwiches. The telly they could live without, and it was just a matter of principle. The internet was vital.
In utter defeat, they came into the kitchen and started filling the sink with hot water.
"There's a good lad," John said. "I knew you could make the right decision."
Sherlock blushed. Somehow, even though John had just outwitted them, they still felt as if John was paying them a real and sincere compliment. He wasn't gloating over his victory. He sounded as if Sherlock had actually done a really good job and learned something.
The dishes didn't even take that long to finish, and John nodded approvingly at them. Sherlock went over and cleared the table and set them both a place.
"That's my good lad," John praised, smiling. "Now eat up, and then we can watch together."
When John put their plate down in front of them, he also gave them their bee cup full of juice. They smiled and picked it up, because it was their favourite cup.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock said.
"Your welcome, Sherlock," John said gently.
They watched television later, and John went on his laptop. Once the program that Sherlock was watching finished, he called them over. Sherlock clambered into his lap, curling up around him on the couch. John showed them what was on the screen, and their eyes went wide.
John was on a website with Little toys, the same one they'd seen when they'd stolen John's laptop before.
"We are going to order some toys together, tonight," John said. "But before I do, you have to show me what a good boy you are and apologize to Lestrade."
Sherlock looked at the toys.
"Do I get to choose the ones I want?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes," John said. "We'll get as many as you like."
Sherlock briefly considered ordering one of everything, because John hadn't put a limit on it. But that wasn't being good, that was being a brat on purpose.
"How much do I have to apologize?" they asked.
"That's up to you," John said. "But I'll be proud of you if you do a good job."
Sherlock thought about this proposal for a while. Finally, they nodded and picked up their phone, found Lestrade's number and dialed. They didn't have to wait long for Lestrade to answer, and he sounded tired and unenthusiastic.
"What is it, Sherlock?" he said, obviously recognizing Sherlock's number.
"I want to apologize," Sherlock said. "I was unhelpful earlier, and I could have solved the case."
"What, are my ears deceiving me?" Lestrade asked. "Is the great Sherlock Holmes actually deigning to apologize? Does this have to do with John?"
"It has to do with me wanting to apologize," Sherlock said.
"Right, find, apology accepted, I guess," Lestrade said. "Although thanks to your non-helpfulness, I stepped in cat poo in my good shoes."
"Wait," Sherlock said sharply. "Did you say 'cat?'"
"Yes, all over my new shoes," Lestrade said, sounding aggravated. "Just drop it, will you?"
"You didn't tell me they had a cat!" Sherlock snapped. "This changes everything! Is there still a team at the crime scene?"
"Sherlock it's eight o'clock... you know what, never mind. I can meet you there."
"Excellent," Sherlock said.
Lestrade gave them the address, and Sherlock looked over at John triumphantly.
"That case just went from a 5 to an 8," they said, grinning. "Come on, John, we can look at the toys later. Right now there's a case to solve!"
"Right," John said, getting up. "Back to business. Er... Sherlock? You've still got a bow in your hair."
Sherlock waved them off. "Never mind trivial things like that, John, time is of the essence!"
As the two of them dashed down the stairs, Sherlock put a hand up to where the bee bow was still in their hair. They might not always get to indulge their Little side, and maybe people at the crime scene would notice the bow and make fun of them. But now that John knew about Sherlock's Little side, they could start integrating their two lives together.
They just had to take one little step at a time.