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"I'm sorrreeeeee, Daddeeee!...."
John tightened his hold around the narrow waist wriggling over his lap, and concentrated on turning the set of (ample) buttocks attached to it from a creamy white, to a vibrant pink. "I think you're only sorry because your bum stings," he said, his hand flashing down over and over again onto the not-so-pale-anymore flesh while the little detective sobbed and bounced with each strike.
"No no no!" Sherlock shrieked, flailing and twisting as if he was being beaten within an inch of his life, when in fact John was only using enough force to give the taller man the equivalent of a moderate sunburn. "I'm really sorry, I am I am I am I am!"
John stilled his hand long enough to let Sherlock catch his breath, and for the burn to have a chance to really set in. "The next time Daddy asks you to hand him something, even if it's the toy you're playing with at that moment...is the correct answer to hold it up out of my reach and laugh?" he scolded....though, truth be told, the image of a six foot tall man dressed in nothing but a nappy and a short t-shirt riding up over his belly as he stood on his toes while dangling a brightly-coloured stuffed bee over his daddy's head and giggling "You can't reach!" was actually pretty fucking hilarious...but it was just another sign of one of the detective's 'moods', and John had to figure that his bum must be itching--
So, the doctor obliged...enthusiastically.
"N-no, I won't, I s-swear I w-won't, I, I w-won't b-be bad, D-daddy, promise!" Sherlock sobbed, hanging limply over John's lap.
John closed his eyes and stifled a sigh...he knew it was mostly theatrics at this juncture, especially when you counted in how mild this one was, but did he really have to make it so heartbreaking to listen to? He steeled himself for the closing ceremony and raised his hand; "That's right, Sherlock was very, very nor'ty and rude, teasin' Daddy like that!" he fussed, and delivered one more stinging round.
Sherlock covered his eyes with his arm, and wailed.
'Alright, enough's enough,' John thought, sufficiently satisfied with both the auditory and visual results. He rubbed the little's detective's glowing backside and let him have a good cry for a bit, and then gave it a soft pat. "Stand up now, lad."
Sherlock slid bonelessly from John's lap and stood, both hands glued to his bum while he shook from the half-sniffling sobs that always plagued him whenever he tried to stop crying. John stayed seated on the couch, and went to gently pull the little detective's hands away so he could readjust his hastily-rucked down nappy back into place. Sherlock whinged and went up on his toes at the sensation, and John felt his usual pang of guilt...but it was necessary to the role. "I want you to go to your room and lay down, and think about why you just got your bottom spanked, and the promise you just made to me."
Sherlock stared down at him, his mouth hanging open in shock and huffing from his leftover sobs; "B-but, but I...and you...!" he stammered, tears still coursing down his face and dripping from his chin.
"Oh, I'm sorry, are we not done?" John asked, shooting him a warning look while he still had his hands around Sherlock's waist. "Didn't we just talk about listening to Daddy?"
The taller man gaped down at him, speechless, while a strange expression settled over his face...but before John could put a finger on what that peculiar expression was, though, Sherlock hung his head and angled it away from the doctor, hiding behind a mop of hair as his shoulders began to shake. John hesitated--he couldn't tell if this was another act of defiance, or not. But in the next second, he had his answer; "Y-y-yes-ss, y-yes, sir-ir," came the choked, watery response as Sherlock left to shuffle off towards his room, hunched over and weeping openly...John then heard the door being opened and shut.
John sighed and stood up, gazing about the room with a somewhat awkward, lost expression, as if he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with himself now. Oh, sure, he knew what he wanted to do...he wanted to follow his big, teary baby and lay with him and cuddle and squeeze and rock him until the tears and the ache stopped. BUT, he couldn't do that right now, not after just sending him to his room to think about what he'd done...no, John had to wait an appropriate amount of time to let whatever lesson he was trying to teach sink in.
...and what lesson would that be, exactly?
John glanced at the closed bedroom door and worried his bottom lip with his teeth; he really didn't even know why he'd sent Sherlock to his room this time, he'd just sort of gone with the flow and found the words falling from his lips before he realised what he was talking about...who knows, maybe he'd been channeling his own dad again. He took a calculating step towards the door...then stopped, and stepped back. 'No,' he told himself, 'Sherlock is fine, it was just a spanking, and not even a very bad one...let him cry it out, it won't kill him.'
'...Yeah, John--keep telling yourself that.'
John sighed, and took a detour into the kitchen...it was getting late in the evening, and he might as well look and see if they had anything to make a suitable meal with; they'd had takeaway nearly every night that week, and he decided that it was high time to put some of the techniques that the sometimes-consulting-chef had painstakingly tried to teach him to good use. He'd just discovered a box of pasta pushed into the far back corner of a cabinet and was looking to see if they had any heavy whipping cream to use as a base for a sauce, when there came a knock at the door; "John...Sherlock?"
John shut the fridge and came around the corner, a smile on his face; "Hullo, Mrs. Hudson!"
"There you are!...Hello, John-dear," the perpetually cheerful woman said, accepting the one-armed hug the doctor offered. "I heard all the, er, commotion, stop a little while ago, so I thought I'd come up and give the little one a cuddle--that is, if he's not still in trouble...he's not, is he?" she asked, full of grandmotherly concern...a stranger would've thought she was referring to an actual two year old, the way she spoke of 'little' Sherlock, and it charmed John to no end. "Oh, nah, no more trouble...but I did make him go to his room for a lie-down, though. Want me to fetch him and tell him his Nana's here?"
"Oh, if you would!...I know it's all part of the thing--" she waved her hand around as she said this, "--that you two do, but it still hurts your heart to hear him cry like that, doesn't it?"
"God, I know...he's awfully good at that, inn'it he?" John chuckled as he turned and made his way down the hallway; "I'll be right back with him!"
John stepped up to the closed door and reached out to knock, but before his knuckles could rap against the painted wood, a feeling gave him pause...what on earth would make him leery now, of all times? Sherlock was little, and not just 'little', he was post-spanked 'little'; a time when he was at his sweetest and most cuddly, so affectionate--
Ohhhhhhh, oh shit. Oh, oh dear...oh boy, yep, that's what that uneasy feeling was, alright...
John...hadn't given him a hug afterwards.
'...FUCK.'
John groaned inwardly and gave the door a light knock; "Sherlock...?" he ventured...and when no scathing response came, he thought the little detective must still be pouting. He tried the knob and was slightly surprised to find it unlocked--he turned it, and eased the door open; "...Sherlock, love?" he tried again, his face peeking around the edge of the door...
...and his breath caught in his throat.
***
Mrs. Hudson straightened her back and stepped away from the pile of magazines she'd been hurriedly tidying when she heard John Watson's footsteps returning, and tried to appear as if she hadn't even noticed them laying so haphazardly stacked, as if one bump from...oh, say a highly-curious toddler crawling around...would send them careening to the floor, but her forced nonchalance soon turned to confusion when she saw the doctor reappear...sans detective. "John, what...?" she started to ask, but was quickly (and politely) silenced when he put a finger to his lips and beckoned her to follow him, all the while with a big, giddy grin on his face.
Puzzled, but immensely intrigued, Mrs. Hudson followed John, keeping her footsteps light as she'd been instructed; once they were at Sherlock's door, which had been left slightly ajar, the doctor moved aside and ushered her in first, gesturing towards the bed and the figure lying on top of it. The elderly landlady stepped forward as quietly as she could, and had to stifle a gasp--
Sherlock was lying on his tummy...sound asleep, of all things!...with one knee folded up underneath him, causing his bottom to jut out and show off a faint, reddish tinge just below the leg-hole of his nappy--the little detective had also sought out and found Gladstone before hunkering down and was now cuddling the small plush dog under his neck...and still had one poor, well-worn ear tucked into his mouth, after sucking on it to soothe himself before he'd fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and shallow, save for the occasional full-body sniffle and accompanying whimper as he settled back down.
Nana put her hand over her mouth to keep from 'aw'ing loudly and waking the lad up, but the temptation was too great-- she reached out and gently (oh, ever so gently) brushed the hair away from Sherlock's forehead, tucked it behind his ear, and stroked his faintly tear-stained cheek with her thumb...at the light touch, the little detective's reflexes kicked back in as he started to suck on Gladstone's raggedy ear once more.
Nana put her hand over her heart and turned to John, her eyes watering...it was just too precious.
John stood back, beaming proudly and looking on with the same swelling adoration.
Returning her attention to the dozing little detective, Nana reached out and ran a soft, gentle hand down his spine in the spirit of such an intimate moment, and gave the back of his nappy a few light pats when she reached it; when the overgrown infant shifted under the pressure and made a sleep-laden murmur of complaint, she peered around to examine his 'injuries', even going so far as to lift the elastic edge of the padding out of the way for a quick peek underneath before whirling around on the doctor, frowning. "Oh, John!..." she whispered harshly, while the added 'how could you?' was left unsaid, but clear enough that it might as well have been vocalized.
John's mouth dropped open in shock at the abrupt confrontation...he shrugged and gestured helplessly at the sleeping figure, wordlessly protesting 'he deserved it!'
Nana gave him another disparaging look before turning a tender gaze onto her newest additional grandchild and bent to place a light, nearly non-existent kiss on his forehead. She then stood and turned to leave, brushing past the bewildered doctor on her way out with a reproachful sniff.
This was not the first time someone had commented on John's parenting techniques (an inevitable disadvantage when running a blog of that nature), and had it been anyone else other than Nana, the doctor would have bristled and told them exactly what they could do with their 'opinions' (their wrong opinions!)...but this was Nana, and...well...he couldn't help but feel that he was in a spot of trouble himself.
He made to follow their slightly agitated landlady, but halfway to the door, John stopped and went back to make his own fussy adjustments to his little detective's comfort...he covered Sherlock's nearly-naked lower half with a soft, fuzzy blanket, and once he was sure that he was snug and warm, John carefully removed poor Gladstone's ear (soaked all the way to his furry scalp) from the little guy's mouth and exchanged it for a dummy with the fluid, practiced ease of a surgical hand that would have had even the most discerning practitioner nodding with approval.
John let his hand lay on Sherlock's back, and watched it rise and fall with each steady, shallow breath his little one took, and then left to go face the music.
***
Mrs. Hudson was indeed waiting for him back in the sitting room, the disapproval on her face evident; "He's just a baby, John..." she began.
"He is a giant baby, who gets into giant-sized mischief," John retorted. "And besides, that wasn't even a bad one!...I only used my hand, and not even very hard; you're the one who lent me a wooden spoon once--quite readily, too."
A pained, guilty expression crossed the soft-hearted woman's face, and she pressed her fingers to her chin; "Well, yes, but I'd only heard them then, hadn't I? I hadn't seen the results battered all over his poor little bum, not at all!" she fretted.
John had to admit, he'd been getting a bit miffed from the flack over his disciplinary choices (he was never going to judge a harried woman for raising her voice at her offspring in public ever again...not after all this insider knowledge and experience)...but the fact that they were discussing a thirty-eight year old man as if he were a genuine toddler was just too overwhelmingly hysterical for him to maintain any kind of indignity. He chuckled; "Mrs. Hudson...Nana...he's fine. It's not his first spanking, it sure as hell won't be his last, and in fact, if he ever did truly want me to stop, all he'd have to do is say the word..."
Mrs. Hudson still didn't look quite so sure.
"...or, he could just stand up and walk off, pants and trousers drooping at half-mast; I certainly couldn't stop him."
This last snippet had their landlady snorting back a laugh before she could stop herself. "John, you're terrible," she said, and half-heartedly slapped at his shoulder. John just grinned; "Yeah, and I'm sure that he's going to wake up shortly and tell you all about how 'terrible' I am...would you like to keep me company until then, while I try and make dinner? Maybe you could tell me what else I'm doing wrong?..."
"That sounds lovely!" she replied without missing a beat, in spite of the added sass John pitched at the end. "D'you think we'll have enough time to go over everything before the baby's up and about?"
The doctor shot her a hard glance over his shoulder as he got out their big pot and set it on top of the stove. "Uh-huh, that's where he gets it from," he muttered, and returned to his earlier browsing of the refrigerator's contents..."Do you know if whipping cream annnnnnnd, hm...really old carrots make a good sauce?"
Nana came over and stood behind John, peering over his shoulder; "...Are you sure those were ever carrots, dear?"
***
For someone who was usually about as predictable as a Bond villain on speed, the doctor was becoming quite good at anticipating the little detective's next course of action...once he'd managed to find a few compatible ingredients (with a little help from Mrs. Hudson's well-stocked pantry) and done a bit of chopping, dicing, and slicing, John was standing at the stove, stirring the just-beginning-to-bubble tomato sauce while their landlady sat at the table with a cup of tea, chattering away about the time her second best girlfriends' first cousins' daughters' boyfriend once tried to rob a small bakery in France, and had promptly had the stuffing beaten out of him with a baguette ( "...left him with a bloody nose and a black eye, it did!" ), when his ear caught the sound of a doorknob being turned, followed by a pair of bare feet padding down the hallway. He was grinning even before a very sleep-fogged Sherlock rounded the corner, rubbing his dark-lidded eyes with a fist and carrying Gladstone by the tail in his other. "Well, hello baby-boy," John said warmly, and even Nana had to stop her long-winded...er, detailed...story to exclaim "Aw!"
The doctor held out his free arm, meaning for Sherlock to come curl into it for the proper hug he'd been (accidentally) denied earlier; "Want to help Daddy finish making dinner? I'll let you stir!"
Sherlock, for whatever reason (probably wasn't fully woken-up yet, John figured), made no move to join under his Daddy's outstretched arm--he stood right where he was, letting his fist drop back at his side and blinking sleepily at the man, while his dummy bobbed lazily...John was just beginning to grow concerned, and was about to ask Nana to come take over the stove so he could check on his little one, when Sherlock finally took a half-step forward, craned his neck to look into the pot, wrinkled his nose, shook his head 'no', and dropped onto all fours and crawled straight over to his Nana, where he parked his bum by her chair and leaned his head against her thigh.
John was first surprised, then confused, and finally stung at his little boy's reaction, each emotion clearly displayed itself across his face...he dropped his arm and turned back to the stove, frowning down at the red, soupy paste he was now stuck dealing with, while he listened to Mrs. Hudson having a fit over the baby (over his baby).
"Oh, just look at you; aren't you a sweet lad," she cooed as she carded her fingers through his hair, petting at him. "Are you glad to see your Nana, hm? Are you?" Sherlock peered up at her, doe-eyed, with his cheek smushed against her leg in the most adorable fashion as he nodded; "Nah-nah," he mumbled, sounding croaky even through a mouthful of silicone nipple, then closed his eyes and rubbed them along her skirt before peeking back up at her shyly. Nana clucked her tongue, "Poor baby, that sounds rough...are you a thirsty little boy?"
Sherlock nodded again, and grasped the bottom hem of her skirt when she stood.
"Nana's not going anywhere, dear," she assured him, and turned towards their cabinets; "Where are his cups, John?"
John, whose expression had grown increasingly more pinched as he overheard all the fawning and soothing that should have been his job, that he'd attempted to do...and had been rebuked...gave a quick nod to the cabinet at his left. "There," he said flatly, keeping his eye squarely on the sauce that was now at a slow simmer.
If Nana was aware of the bitter undercurrent in John's tone, she took no note of it as she stepped next to him and opened the cabinet door...nor did she notice him lean away slightly when she did, his back held rigid. She stood there for a moment, considering their large selection of sippy-cups and bottles, before looking down at the little detective still clinging to her ankles; "Bottle or big-boy cup, sweetheart?"
The doctor opened his mouth to inform her that Sherlock had come to prefer the cups during the day and bottles at bedtime, when a series of insistent grunts cut him off...Nana had picked up a bottle, the spotted one, and the little detective was reaching for it with one grabby little (okay, so the man's hands were the size of dinner plates, but being in 'little' mode made everything about him seem to shrink, he was just that good at playing the part) hand.
John's mouth snapped closed, and he sank even further into his rapidly souring mood.
Yet, in complete contrast to John's gloom, Nana gave a bright, bubbly laugh and reached down to tickle near Sherlock's neck (and gracefully tugged her skirt free from his clutch when he squealed and tucked his chin down to avoid the tickles); "Patience, monkey...there isn't even anything in it yet!" she tittered, and opened the refrigerator. "Milk, or juice?"
" 'oosh," Sherlock replied, peeking around the door and pointing, just in case he hadn't been perfectly clear.
"Juice it is, then," Nana giggled, retrieving the big glass bottle of apple juice. John heard her twist off the cap and started to tell her to 'only fill it halfway'...and looked over just in time to see her filling Sherlock's bottle all the way to the neck. "What was that, dear?" she asked.
"Nothing," John grumbled, turning away and scowling so deeply that it added another line to his forehead.
Nana glanced sideways at the doctor's taught back, but shrugged and refocused on the noisy little figure at her feet, who was still grunting and whinging at her while reaching for the bottle with both hands now. "Just a moment," she chided and, after making sure the nipple was screwed on tightly, shook it at him. Sherlock gasped, letting his dummy fall out of his mouth without another thought; "Mine, mine Nah-nah?...'ease?" he pleaded as he bounced on his bottom impatiently, wincing each time it connected with the floor.
Now that, Nana certainly noticed; "Oh, love...does your bottie still hurt? Here, be a good boy and get up off the cold, hard floor and come sit with Nana, yes..." she cooed again, just as thick and sweet as honey, and held her hand down for his.
John rolled his eyes...he hadn't spanked him that bloody hard, for christ'sakes!
There was quite a bit of huffing and puffing as Sherlock pushed himself off the floor (bum first, before the rest followed...and while John was certainly in no laughing mood now, he knew he was going to remember that little move later and have a good chuckle), abandoning both Gladstone and his dummy, and took Nana's hand as he wobbled after her, his bottom swaying from side-to-side slightly. 'Needs a change,' John registered automatically, '...but she'll probably take that over, as well!' At that thought, John scowled one of the darkest scowls he's ever scowled in his life...and if he hadn't known any better, he would have said that the tomato sauce quaked beneath it.
In the meantime, Nana had settled down on the sofa first, with the little detective plopping down right after her, his gaze fixated on the full bottle in her hand. He reached for it again; "Mine now, Nah-nah?" he whinged, sticking his bottom lip out at her.
"No-no, not yet," she replied with a quiet laugh--Mrs. Hudson never really got the chance to be around Sherlock much when he was 'little', and she was not going to waste a perfectly good opportunity. She took up one of the smaller pillows from behind the little detective and placed it in her lap, then motioned for him; "Let Nana hold, dear."
Despite his presumed air of indifference, John was listening to every word exchanged between the two, and was fighting the urge to look back over at them; he would never admit it out loud, as low and petty as it was, but there was nothing more he wanted in that moment than for Sherlock to refuse taking a bottle from her and start wailing for Daddy...
Yep, any moment now...
'C'mon, Sherlock, say it...say 'I want my Daddy'...'
He sighed; pride be damned, John couldn't stand it any longer and finally peeked over his shoulder...
...and saw Sherlock, his little boy, lying back in Mrs. Hudson's lap, with the pillow helping to support her arm as it cradled the little detective's head while she held his bottle for him. Sherlock had both of his hands curled around hers, and they were gazing at each other with an absolutely sickening adoration.
John whipped his head back around and stirred so furiously that the spoon creaked and threatened to snap in his grip, and a not-so-small portion of sauce sloshed over the side and landed on the hot stovetop with a hiss.
Mrs. Hudson glanced up, her eyebrow raised, in the doctor's general direction; "...I think your Daddy is in need of a good nap, too," she murmured, then smiled down at the pair of big, bright blue eyes watching her with a concentration that was adorably befitting of a thirsty two year old. She giggled quietly and crossed one leg over the other to give him a bit of an incline to lean against instead of lying flat...goodness knows, she didn't want the little one to get strangled, considering the way he was inhaling his bottle! "When you're finished, I think it would be a good idea to go give grumpy Daddy a nice, big hug...what do you say, hm?" She spoke sweetly, and gave him a knowing smile.
Sherlock wrinkled his nose and smiled back, causing a line of apple juice to dribble from the corner of his mouth.
Nana just giggled again and wiped it away with her thumb; "Silly monkey," she cooed, with just as much affection as she had with her real grandchildren.
The doctor was still sneering down at the pot in front of him, oblivious to the mess he was making, the state of which matched his temperament--the sauce was in a frenzied, rolling boil now, with large bubbles breaking the surface and letting out clouds of steam and sputtering dots of scalding red all over the stove and John's hand...not that he noticed, in any case...the only thing he was concentrating on was the idea that his baby was being cared for and bonding with someone that was not Daddy.
Sure, he knew deep down that this feeling was completely irrational, that Sherlock wasn't really a child, that he didn't love Mrs. Hudson more than he loved John, that this didn't mean they were shacking up together (an involuntary shudder ran through him)...
...but it still royally pissed him off.
He listened (and seethed) as he heard the loud, dry-sounding sucks that meant Sherlock had reached the end of his bottle, and John nearly called out that the little detective would need to be burped, and that he could come do it for her...but again, Nana beat him to the punch, and John heard the tell-tale hollow thumps of their landlady patting his little boy's back, followed by a quick, high-pitched burp and a round of giggling from the both of them.
John clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and continued to stir.
What he didn't hear, though, was Sherlock rolling down from Nana's lap onto the floor, on his hands and knees again, and scurrying towards the kitchen when she gave his upturned bottom an encouraging pat; "Go on, Crinkle-pants!" she whispered, and sat back to watch the show with a content sigh and a smile.
The bitter, jealous doctor was still stirring (or attempting to...a more accurate description would be 'scraping') the sauce (which was also no longer a 'sauce', but a chunky, dried-out paste with burned black bits all through it) and was so consumed by how own petty rage that he very nearly missed the light tugging at his trouser-leg...
Nearly.
He snapped his gaze down at the floor, wondering just what in the hell he'd gotten himself hung up on (...John wasn't necessarily a quick one when his temper was loosed) and discovered none other than Sherlock, sitting back on his heels at John's feet, his previously abandoned dummy returned to his mouth, and blinking up at him curiously...and then the little detective held his arms up for him, as he made an inquisitive 'hm?' noise.
John's temper was strong, always had been...but not strong enough to withstand something that damned cute.
He felt the corner's of his mouth twitch, but he cleared his throat and kept his expression carefully blank as he looked down at his big baby; "What do you want?"
Sherlock's arms lowered slightly, and for a moment, John worried that he was going to cry again and God, he'd feel like such an arsehole if he did!...but no, that dark, curly little head only tilted to the side while a pair of wide, all-knowing eyes peered up at him thoughtfully...
...until a broad smile split his face, after seeing right through the doctor's ruse--Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's leg and propped his chin on his hip, giggling several " 'addy!"'s up at him.
John could still feel his face twitching with renewed effort to remain neutral, to keep up the charade a little longer...but you know what, sod it, Sherlock had already figured him out (he always figured him out, in the end), so the doctor turned away from the stove, the ruined sauce already banished from his forethoughts, and laughed as he bent down to his little boy; "So now you remember me, eh? Now that your belly's full of juice and Nana has nothing left to tempt you with?" he teased, and hooked his hands under Sherlock's arms, as if to pick him up. The little detective stood in conjunction with John's lifting motion...it wasn't a very satisfactory substitute for being picked up and held, but it was as close as they could get with Sherlock's stature (unless John put some muscle into it and heaved the taller man over his shoulder, which, based on past experiences, would sometimes throw the detective right out of sweet 'little' headspace, and into 'don't-toss-me-around-like-a-goddamned-neanderthal' headspace).
Although being so tall definitely had its disadvantages when all he wanted to do was sink back and be the baby, his Daddy more than made up for it with the sheer amount of kisses and cuddles and hugs he bestowed onto his (giant) little one, that soon had Sherlock dancing from foot to foot and shrieking with laughter as he twisted in John's arms, even though he was pretty firmly held in place against the doctor's chest. John laughed right along with him in between kisses (and a few sneaky tickles) until he began to grow more subdued, hoping that the little detective would follow his lead and settle down as well; he sighed and rubbed his hand up and down Sherlock's back, eventually drifting down over the back of his nappy..."Does this mean you're not mad at Daddy for spanking you anymore?" he asked, with a small shadow of guilt in his eye.
Sherlock's giggling slowed down and died away--listening quietly, just as John had hoped. Even his dummy went still in his mouth; "Mm-hmm," he hummed, with a small nod.
John gave him a half-smile; "Good, very good," he said, and pulled one of the chairs out from the table and sat, pulling Sherlock into his lap sideways. "You know, I'm not sorry for spanking you...you did earn that one." The little detective's northern-most cheeks turned pinkish and he bowed his head...but John caught his chin and nudged it back up; "...but I am sorry for not hugging you afterwards and letting you know it was all over--I won't be doing that again."
Sherlock watched John intently, the only noise coming from him being the soft, almost-inaudible sucking sounds as his tongue worked over his dummy in concentration; when John finished, the little detective looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor and furrowing his brow, appearing to think...finally, he glanced at John out of the corner of his eye; "...'omi'the?"
The doctor chuckled; the dummy-lisp always killed him. "It's a Daddy-'omi'the," he said, giving Sherlock's waist a squeeze.
The little detective 'oof'ed and giggled, then reached up and grasped John's face in his hands, one on each cheek, and brought their foreheads together; "Uv'oo," he cooed.
John kissed whatever part he could reach at this close proximity, which happened to be the bridge of Sherlock's nose. "Love you more," he sighed and sat back, his face still being squished playfully..."Now, you've got to promise Daddy something, too," he mumbled through puckered lips.
Sherlock waited with a raised brow, and kept his grip on John's cheeks.
"Don't...don't give Daddy the silent treatment anymore, love...you know that drives me mad more than anything else!"
The little detective simply looked at him for a good, long moment...and then broke out into a smug grin that nearly made him lose his dummy. "I know."
John returned a dull, flat stare while Sherlock giggled, so proud of himself...right before turning his head to the side and, quick as you please, caught an unsuspecting thumb in his mouth and pretended to gnaw on it while the little detective screeched in surprise.
Somehow, in the midst of all the shrieking and wriggling while he tried (in vain) to free his hand, both men managed to hear the distinct sound of a throat being cleared; they both froze on the spot, staring at each other, and then slowly turned their heads in the direction of the noise, wearing identical wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights expressions, with Sherlock's thumb still gripped (carefully) between John's teeth...Nana stared back at them, her arms crossed, waiting; "...What was that you were saying about the silent treatment, John-dear?" she asked, with more than a hint of wryness.
John blushed and chuckled, embarrassed, and started to apologize...and then realised he still had Sherlock's thumb in his mouth. He laughed again and took the little detective's hand in his own; "I...may have overreacted, just a touch," he admitted sheepishly, and scooted his little boy higher up on his shoulder and slid a hand underneath his shirt, to rub his bare back.
"Just a touch, hm?" she repeated, and nodded towards the stove behind him--John stretched his neck to peer over his unoccupied shoulder and saw that the long-forgotten pot of sauce was now belching out some very unsavory-looking smoke. "Oh, shit!" he exclaimed and, forgetting that the baby in his lap was not the same size or weight as an actual baby, tried to hand the little detective off to Nana in his panic. The doctor quickly recovered from his error, and all but dumped Sherlock on the floor while he scrambled to turn the burner off, cursing the whole while.
The little detective, too shocked at the sudden flurry of activity to cry about being dropped like a hot stone, took one look at John and his swear festival before scurrying under the table and ending up on the opposite side, back to hiding behind Nana's skirts. "Uh-oh?" he asked in a child's loud whisper.
"Uh-oh," she replied back, with a nod.
"Uh-oh," John agreed with a sigh, while poking at the pot of tomato...glue that he'd created. "Looks like we're having takeaway again after all, little love."
Sherlock sat down and clapped excitedly...he was always ready for takeaway, especially when Daddy let him pick (which, by playing off of John's guilt, he would definitely get to do tonight), but Nana spoke over him; "Nonsense, John...give him a change and bring him downstairs, I'll have something ready."
"You don't mind?" John asked, sounding more relieved than he'd intended to let on.
"Of course not, dear...I love getting to feed my little monkey," she said, directing the last part towards the little detective at her feet and reached down, acting as if she meant to tickle him again...then laughed loudly as Sherlock squirmed to avoid her, overbalanced, and tipped over while squealing "No no no no no!...No 'ickle!!!"
"No, no 'ickle," she giggled, and patted his tummy instead. "Nana is going to be feeding you dinner, though...unless Daddy still wants to be touchy about sharing," she added, with a sly glance at John.
John snorted; "I am not 'touchy'...but I'll tell you what, I'll split it with y'ah--you can feed him, while I hold him."
"Deal," Nana winked, and they reached out to shake over it while Sherlock laid flat on his back, watching them. John bent over him, looking at him upside down; "Well, what do you say, Sherlock? Dinner at Nana's sound good?"
What, an extended evening of little time, spent with two of the most important people in his life, who would dote on his every movement?...Sherlock grinned, making his eyes crinkle at the edges and shook his head 'no', then giggled so hard that he snorted, as if he'd told the best joke in the world.
Nana was still cracking up even as John held his hands down for him, while biting his lip to keep from encouraging anymore over-the-top silliness...and failing. "You're a mess, and you know it..." he chuckled warmly as he helped lift Sherlock up from the floor and kissed his cheek before turning him towards the bedroom and giving his soggy bum a friendly pat in that direction.
They could still hear Nana laughing the entire way down to her flat.