Chapter Text
Sherlock Holmes looked in the mirror and very carefully and precisely drew the second wing in liquid eyeliner, finishing off with a very slight upward flick of their wrist. They hadn't tried to do this with liquid eyeliner before, but it looked like it was perfectly even. Excellent.
Sherlock had been gaining confidence in their make-up abilities ever since they'd started a relationship with John. Before John had realized about Sherlock's alternative gender identity, Sherlock had tried to hide the fact that sometimes, they dressed in women's clothes.
Some of it was easy enough. They would wear women's slacks or a woman's blouse underneath their suit jacket. Items that were similar enough to men's clothing to pass muster. They also took great delight in wearing women's knickers to crime scenes, the cuter the better. No one looked closely enough to realize what they were doing, and it was a bit thrilling to get away with it.
But it had been a frustrating thing to hide once John had moved in. They had to find a place to hide their make-up and practice in secret. Sherlock had a secret stash where they used to hide cocaine from Mycroft, but now served as a place to store their supply of feminine beauty products.
Mycroft knew, of course, but never said anything.
Sherlock used to only get their makeup supplies out if John was out of town on business, or was staying with a girlfriend overnight. They hardly ever got the time to try anything really elaborate.
John peeked his head in the door. "Hey, love, I'm popping out to the store, anything you want?"
"Four different brands of toothpaste," Sherlock replied, admiring their defined eyebrows in the mirror.
"Fine, but you need to clean out the top shelf of the fridge," John said. "The liver is starting to smell a bit off."
"Yes, John," Sherlock said, not really paying attention.
John smiled at them in the mirror and left.
Of course, living with someone made it harder to hide. Starting a relationship with John had made it even more difficult, and Sherlock had begun to question their choice to keep it a secret. They hadn't liked hiding it after they started a relationship, and so, one day, they had allowed John to catch them.
They had expected it not to go well, but John had accepted their identity without any fuss, besides making Sherlock explain the difference between their gender identity and gender expression. Sherlock had been very adamant that they were, in fact, a non-binary gendered person and not a cross-dresser. Thankfully, John had understood what they meant.
Being comfortable in the way they expressed their gender identity was still difficult sometimes.
Such as now. It was the height of summer, and Sherlock had bought a new white skirt with a floral design. They were delighted with the way it swished around their legs, and had practiced walking in it in their room in front of the mirror. However, it was also damnably hot, which meant that wearing a bra and breast inserts became sweaty and uncomfortable after a short time.
Gender dysphoria sometimes made Sherlock uncomfortable in public, but it was getting better over time. Sherlock didn't mind nearly as much when people gave them strange looks or rude stares.
Sherlock's solution to hating wearing breast inserts on hot days was to simply wear a men's sleeveless shirt and not bothering trying to pretend that they had breasts. This meant that quite a lot of the time, they were wearing an odd combination of men's and women's clothes, but they had ceased to care about public perception of these things.
Taking out some lip chap, they applied that liberally, and then added some lip tint for added pinkness. They surveyed themself in the mirror, and nodded to their own reflection. It didn't matter that they didn't exactly fit in. It never had. This was just another way in which Sherlock was different from everyone else.
Calculating that John still wouldn't be done the shopping, they decided to go and find him. Just a short trip out wouldn't do any harm.
They did get some odd looks from passerbys, but Sherlock had perfected their don't-bother-me look, and most often, no one did. They knew that their playing around with gender expression bothered some people, but it wasn't even remotely their problem.
Tesco wasn't far from Baker street, and rather busy at this time of day. Sherlock thought back to what John had said he was picking up from the grocery store earlier, but couldn't remember. They must have deleted it. Sherlock walked down one of the aisles, determined to find John right up until the moment that they saw the bee cup.
It was just a plastic cup with a lid and a straw with a bee on the side of it.
It was perfect. Sherlock fell in love with it immediately. They had to have it.
They slowly reached out for it and carefully put their hand around it, picking it up off the shelf to examine it more closely. Sherlock couldn't say why exactly, but the cup spoke to the very heart of them, in a way that wasn't at all rational.
They were so enthralled with the bee cup that they didn't notice that rather than finding John, John had instead found them.
"Hello, what have we got here?" John asked.
Sherlock jumped and blinked at John in surprise, caught in the act. A little too quickly, they put the bee cup back in its place on the shelf and snapped their arms back to their sides. They grasped their hands behind their back in order to prevent reaching out and grabbing the cup again. Sherlock couldn't help the look of longing they sent towards the cup before turning back to John.
John, having watched this play out, picked the same cup up off the shelf and looked at it.
"You like bees, don't you," he said, turning the cup over to look at the price on the bottom.
Sherlock did like bees. They also liked the cup, even though it was clearly made for a child. Especially because it was made for a child.
There was one other thing that Sherlock hadn't yet shared with John.
John nodded and put the cup in the basket along with everything else, and Sherlock's heart leapt. They felt their cheeks warm, and John smiled.
"Come on, love, let's go home."
Sherlock followed, still cautious, trailing behind like a duckling. John put their groceries through one of the self checkouts, miraculously not getting into an argument with the machine. Sherlock followed the rest of the way back to Baker street. As soon as John put the groceries on the counter and began putting them away, Sherlock dug through the bag and found the bee cup.
"Hey, don't forget to wash it out before you use it!" John reminded them. "It's not clean, you might get germs."
Sherlock almost didn't listen, but John gave them a stern look, and so Sherlock did as they were told, grumbling all the while. Even so, their heart beat a little faster, and they looked back to watch John a few times. John finished putting the groceries away as Sherlock dried off the cup.
"If I put lemonade in the bee cup, will you drink it?" John asked.
"Yeth," Sherlock said, and then froze in horror.
They had lisped. Oh no, had John noticed that? It had been terribly noticeable, at least to Sherlock, but John hardly ever noticed anything. Perhaps he hadn't.
It was particularly embarrassing because it meant that Sherlock was starting to regress, and they hadn't ever done that in John's presence before.
Because Sherlock had another secret, one that was even more difficult to tell John than telling him about their gender identity. And that was that sometimes, Sherlock felt like they were more childlike and regressed back into a more childlike state of being. Sherlock was what some people called a "little."
It wasn't easy to describe for Sherlock, especially not to John, their romantic partner. Being a little wasn't something that they associated with sexual desire. It was a state of being, a part of their innate self, like their gender identity in a way. They couldn't separate it from themself at all.
Sometimes, things like the bee cup or John acting as if he were a caretaker made Sherlock begin to regress back to that childlike state.
Sherlock the adult made sure to enunciate clearly and precisely. Sherlock the little had a lisp.
John poked around in the freezer until he found a can of frozen lemonade. He got a pitcher out of one of the top cupboards and handed it to Sherlock.
"Fill that up, will you, love?" he said.
Sherlock dutifully did as they were told, and when John had finished opening up the can, he dumped the frozen slush into the pitcher and got out a wooden spoon. He handed that to Sherlock as well, and Sherlock stirred the mixture together, watching as the clump of frozen slush slowly dissolved into the water.
John filled their cup for them and fixed the top back on.
"Now, what do we say, Sherlock?" John asked.
"Please?" Sherlock said, trying very hard not to let their 'l' turn into a 'w.'
"That's right," John said, and handed them their lemonade.
Sherlock almost bounded off to their seat in the living room, but John stopped them. He gave them a pointed look, and Sherlock just knew he was thinking 'Manners!' at them.
"Thank you, John," they mumbled, and hurriedly left the kitchen.
"Good lass," John said.
Sherlock flushed right down to their collar. John usually called them 'lad' as an endearment, even though it was gendered male, so it took them by surprise whenever John called them 'lass' instead. John chuckled behind them at their red face, and Sherlock glared and went to their chair to pout.
John went to his own chair and settled in to write another blog article. Sherlock wondered if he had noticed their regression or not. He hadn't seemed to, at least not consciously. Their deductive power wasn't diminished at all, because Sherlock had always been brilliant. Still, they had never been good with emotional responses.
They pondered this as they watched John type, slowly, with two fingers, tongue trapped between his lips.
There was only one solution. They had to make an experiment.
The real question was, would John notice if more of Sherlock's childish tendencies shone through more strongly if they started letting their little side out? Sherlock did tend to act somewhat childish, even when they were acting like an adult, so perhaps he wouldn't notice.
There was only one way to find out.
***
Sherlock started with introducing more childish clothing to their ensemble.
They picked them out by themself, even though normally, they would prefer that someone else did for them. This was a test, and if John passed, then Sherlock could get him to buy them lots of stuff. Sherlock perused the children's hair accessories section with care and found a packet of barrettes with a tiny bumblebee. Perfect for their purpose, which was to see if John would notice. The bee motif helped somewhat, because it would make a pattern for John to notice, but also because Sherlock really loved bees.
If that didn't work, Sherlock would move onto more obvious things. They made a list of possible clothing articles that wouldn't be too obvious, but obvious enough that someone ordinary like John might notice.
Socks was an obvious one. Sherlock managed to find black and yellow striped stockings in the women's section that would fit them. It took some searching, but they eventually found bee themed hair bands, hair elastics, stripey gloves and a scarf, and a child's umbrella. They even found a bee pencil eraser, which wasn't something they'd been looking for, but was something they'd found regardless.
Thus armed, Sherlock made their way back to Baker street, ready to begin their experiment the following day. As they lay in bed that night, the covers pulled up to their chin, Sherlock wondered whether they wanted the experiment to be a success or failure. Scientists always wanted their experiments to be a success, but Sherlock was afraid that if John found out, he might not want to be with them anymore.
Well, if John didn't like it in the end, Sherlock could always pretend it was just that: an experiment. Nothing more.
The next morning, Sherlock dressed carefully. They didn't wear any make-up today, because only big girls wore make-up. Getting the hair clips to stay in their curly hair was difficult by themself, but they managed in the end. Wearing the hair clips and head band and looking at their reflection in the mirror started making them feel little again, but Sherlock still needed to do their big person job. They firmly told themself that a job needed to be done, so they had to act like a grown-up for now.
It was hard to resist the pull to simply go and play with their chemistry set all day and get John to make them a cup of tea, but Sherlock kept it up as best they could.
John looked up as they came into the kitchen and smiled warmly. He came over and kissed Sherlock quickly on the cheek.
"I've got to go to work love, I'm already late," John said. He stopped, blinked, and looked closer. "Those are cute barrettes, love. Where did you get them?"
Sherlock shrugged.
John laughed. "What are you up to today while I'm gone?"
"Case," Sherlock said. "Why can't you come with me, John?"
"You know I have to work, Sherlock," John said. "I'll see you later. Should I pick up something for dinner on the way back?"
"Yeah," Sherlock said, looking at their toes.
"Okay, see you later! Behave at the crime scene," John said, and disappeared out the door.
Sherlock ran to the window to watch John's retreating back, face pressed to the window pane until he was out of sight. They were so intent on John that they didn't notice Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs.
"Coo-ee!" Mrs. Hudson said behind him. "I've got some tea for you, Sherlock, dear."
Sherlock ignored her and stood by the window, waiting, even though they knew John wouldn't return for another eight hours. Mrs. Hudson tutted in the background, setting the tea tray down on the table.
"Sherlock," she called. "Come on now and sit down, there's a good lad."
The endearment caught their attention, and they came and sat down at the table with Mrs. Hudson. She was busy buttering some scones. Sherlock added a good amount of both milk and sugar to their tea. Mrs. Hudson gave them the scones, and then peered into their teacup in surprise.
"I didn't think you took milk, Sherlock," she said.
Sherlock shrugged.
Kids liked milky tea, didn't they? Sherlock certainly did. Kids were also not allowed coffee, so it was good Mrs. Hudson had brought the tea up, or Sherlock would have been tempted to have some.
"Eat up, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson urged, and they did.
Mrs. Hudson had certainly seen their little side, although they weren't sure that she had noticed that they regressed sometimes. She always treated them the same, child or adult, so Sherlock supposed it didn't much matter.
Sherlock's mobile rang, and they answered it promptly.
"Hello?" they said cautiously.
"Is that you, Sherlock?" Lestrade said.
"Yeth," Sherlock said.
"I have a crime scene for you to look at," Lestrade said. "Are you in?"
Sherlock sighed and pulled themself together. Lestrade needed Sherlock the adult detective, not Sherlock the little, who wanted nothing more than to do a messy experiment and then take a nap.
"I'll be there," they said.
It was no matter, they would take the time they had away from John to plan their next move. It didn't seem like John had really acknowledged the meaning behind Sherlock's barrettes this morning. As usual, he saw the evidence, but did not observe. Sherlock didn't think anyone should need so much evidence to draw a conclusion, but they would keep trying.
The crime scene turned out to be boring. Sherlock nearly threw a tantrum as they deduced the crime scene with one sweeping look around the scene.
"This is ridiculous, Lestrade," Sherlock snapped. "I could have solved this with my eyes closed!"
"Sherlock, remember what I said. My crime scene, my rules," Lestrade said. "And my rules say that you need to be polite to everyone while you're here."
"And my rule is this! No boring cases!" Sherlock yelled.
"Fine," Lestrade said. "You're off cases until you can apologize for being a prat."
"Fine!" Sherlock said. "We'll see how long that lasts before you come begging for my help!"
They stomped off from the scene, very much aware that they were throwing a very childish tantrum. If only there was someone to punish them for being such a brat and to teach them proper manners. But there wasn't, because John couldn't see what was right in front of him!
Sherlock would just have to try harder.
On their way back to Baker street, Sherlock stopped at Tesco. There were a few things that they needed, and they needed it right away. First, they found a package of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and some crinkle cut frozen chips. Then, they found the biggest package of crayons possible.
If John didn't notice this, then Sherlock was really doing something wrong.
***
John got home later that night with a package of Thai takeaway from the place down the street. Sherlock ignored him as he got them a plate and put curry on it for them. They were much too busy experimenting with different kinds of ash and how it mixed with rainwater.
"Eat up, Sherlock," John said.
Sherlock poked at the curry with a fork and then shook their head with a pout.
"What's wrong with it?" John asked. "You love green curry. It's your favourite one."
"I don't wike it," Sherlock said, letting the childish lilt into their voice.
"Don't like it?" John asked. "I did ask you this morning what you wanted for dinner."
"Don't want it," Sherlock said.
"What do you want then?" John asked.
Instead of answering out loud, Sherlock went to the freezer and got out the dinosaur chicken nuggets and chips. They set it on the counter in front of John. John picked up the package and looked it over. Sherlock watched, heart pattering rapidly. Would this be when John realized?
"Fine," John said. "But if you wanted these, you should have told me before I got enough curry for two."
John got out a baking tray and counted out several dinosaur shapes onto it. He also emptied some of the chips out onto the same tray. Sherlock watched as John preheated the oven and waited for it to head up. As it heated up, John rummaged through the cupboard and found Sherlock's bee cup. He took the top off, filled it with apple juice, and put it in front of Sherlock.
"There," he said. "Drink that up, will you, Sherlock?"
Sherlock obediently picked up the bee cup and started drinking.
"What do we say, Sherlock?" John said absentmindedly as he put the baking pan into the oven.
"Thank you, John," Sherlock said.
"That's right," John said. "Good lass."
When the chicken nuggets were done, John dug a plate out and transfered all of the nuggets and chips onto it. He also found a bottle of brown sauce and put them both on the table in front of Sherlock.
"Eat up," John said, and ruffled their hair.
And then he sat down with his curry and dug in, seemingly without noticing anything odd about Sherlock's request for dinosaur-shaped nuggets. Sherlock struggled with this for a moment. They asked for chicken nuggets, and received it, but they still weren't satisfied.
They ate half of the chicken nuggets, and then decided that they didn't want them anymore.
"Want curry," they grumbled.
"What's that?" John asked absentmindedly.
"Want. Curry!" Sherlock said, louder.
"The curry's in the fridge if you want some," John said, not looking up.
"WANT. CURRY." Sherlock said, knocking their cutlery onto the floor.
"Sherlock, I got you curry, and you didn't want it. I made you an entire new meal because you said you wanted it. Get your own bleeding curry!" John yelled back.
"NO!" Sherlock screamed.
Their half-finished plate of food fell on the floor and John shot to his feet, in surprise or anger, Sherlock wasn't sure. His chest heaved as he looked at the food scattered all over the floor. Sherlock quailed as John turned his angry gaze on them.
"Sherlock Holmes, you clean this mess up. Now," John said in a low, controlled voice.
Sherlock went and got the broom and dustpan out of the cupboard and began sweeping the floor. John, seeing that he was being obeyed, sat back down and finished eating his curry. Sherlock bit their lip. John still didn't know anything important. He probably still thought that their outburst was just because of Sherlock's usual antics.
Their bottom lip trembled for a moment, and they took several deep breaths. Even so, a few stray tears worked their way out from behind their eyes. They surreptitiously wiped them away with their sleeve, and John didn't notice.
They would just have to step this up a bit.
***
Sherlock had to try everything. Acting out normally wouldn't work at all, as they'd discovered. They needed to really push the boundaries. John thought their tantrums weren't anything out of the ordinary, mistaking them for big Sherlock's behaviour. They would have to really make an impression. They'd have to go outside their comfort zone, and do things that would make John pay attention, and possibly even get very mad.
That was an acceptable risk.
It started the next day, when John left the flat to go to work. Defiantly, Sherlock didn't bother to get dressed in the morning, opting to wear their pyjamas and dressing gown the entire day. Not that it was outside the normal behaviour for Sherlock, but it felt more authentic than if they put on Big person clothes.
Sherlock knew that drawing on the walls was ridiculous of them. They started drawing complex chemical structures in bright purple crayon, and when that ran out, started on indigo. Sherlock had always been brilliant. Little Sherlock was no less brilliant, and once they started, it was easy to get into the spirit of drawing science.
They started off in the kitchen. They fit their drawings in around appliances and even wrote on the cupboards. They continued on into the living room, drawing a cluster of tiny skulls around the mantle and writing a violin concerto on the wall next to the window where they composed sometimes. The bathroom wasn't skipped, as Sherlock scrawled rainbows and bubbles and water molecules.
They didn't do their room. They usually slept in the same bed as John now that they were in a relationship, but Sherlock and John still technically had separate rooms. Sometimes, if he wasn't feeling sociable or wanted alone-time, John went upstairs. It was his santuary, and Sherlock contemplated desecrating it. As they finally made their way around to the stairs up to John's room, they paused. Dare they scribble something on the walls of John's room? He would be livid.
Sherlock bit their lip. Livid was an unfortunate side effect of this experiment, so Sherlock would just have to deal with angry John when it came time to that. They drew things that came to mind when they thought of John. There was the chemical structure of dopamine, seratonin, and even adrenaline. They drew the inner workings of a Sig Saur pistol and the expanse of a universe that John thought Sherlock had erased.
They were finishing up the rings on Saturn, not entirely satisfied with the shade of orange the box supplied them with when they heard it: John's door opening behind them.
They'd planned to be out of the room and hiding in their room by the time John got home. They might have gotten a little bit carried away with the drawing.
"Sherlock Holmes," John said in a low, angry voice. "Care to explain why the walls of almost every single room in the flat is now covered in crayon?"
"Felt wike it," Sherlock pouted, and went back to drawing Saturn.
"Sherlock..." John said warningly. "I've had a long day, and I just want to rest. What is all this?"
"Don't you wike it?" Sherlock asked, blinking up at John from where they were sitting cross-legged on the floor.
John sighed and pressed his hand to his forehead, apparently very exasperated. "Sherlock, I know you don't generally follow social codes, but I would have thought it was obvious even to you that drawing on the walls was not acceptable. You're acting like a child!"
John was getting on the right track.
Sherlock bit their lip again, and let it tremble a bit as their eyes welled up with fat, unhappy tears.
"Don't try that with me, I know you know I'd be angry," John said.
"You're mean!" Sherlock said loudly.
They picked up a crayon and threw it at John. It hit him in the knee and then rolled away, under the dresser that was still in John's room. It didn't hurt him, but John's brow drew down heavily at the rude gesture.
"Sherlock..." John said again in warning.
Sherlock threw several more crayons at him, lips curled up in a pout. John seemed to waver between just leaving Sherlock alone and being angry about the damage to the flat. His hands were clenching and unclenching by his sides, and Sherlock saw that a vein in John's temple had started pulsing angrily. This was getting good.
Maybe, finally, John would understand that this wasn't just Sherlock being a brat, but that they really needed John to look closer at the situation and give them the kind of attention they deserved. Sherlock picked up another crayon, and looked up at John defiantly.
"Don't – "John yelled.
Sherlock reached out and started drawing spirals on the wall in big loops. John hated being openly mocked, and would likely perceive Sherlock's actions as such. Would this be what tipped him over the edge?
John got very quiet.
Finally, John raised his head and said in a voice that was dangerous and soft, "I swear Sherlock Holmes, if you continue to act like a child, I'm going to give you a spanking like a child!"
That was exactly what they'd been hoping for.
"No!" Sherlock protested and stood up.
"Yes, in fact, I'm doing it now. Come here!" John said, face thunderous.
"No!" Sherlock said again and then backed up.
John didn't start moving forward until Sherlock got up onto John's bed and started jumping on it. A child wouldn't have made a dent in it, but Sherlock's full weight made the bed creak alarmingly. John came forward quickly. Sherlock jumped off the bed, dodged around John and ran down the stairs.
"No!" they yelled again.
John chased them down the stairs and into the living room. They threw the Union Jack pillow at John as he emerged into the room, and John batted it away. John chased them, dodging around the sofa. Sherlock ran around it, trying to keep the sofa between them.
"Sherlock, this isn't funny," John growled, trying to catch them.
"Can't catch me!" Sherlock giggled as they danced out of John's way.
John was obviously getting more angry that he couldn't catch Sherlock, but seemed to be losing motivation for chasing them. He was already tired from his day at work, and soon, he would just go down to the pub and forget about the whole thing until later. Sherlock needed to find a way to keep him interested in catching Sherlock.
The bookcase was just behind them.
It was a terrible idea, and normally, Sherlock wouldn't have ever contemplated laying violent hands on a book. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Looking John square in the eye, they reached out and pulled a book off the shelf and let it fall to the floor. John stared at them in disbelief, but then Sherlock pulled another one off and another.
"Sherlock!" John yelled, and started the chase again.
Sherlock dodged around the couch again, knocking even more things off of shelves and tables as they ran. John was going to be very angry at the end of all this. Hopefully this wouldn't all be for nothing.
John was obviously tiring beyond his ability to continue, but it also gave him a chance to think past his anger. Instead of fruitlessly chasing Sherlock around and around the same couch, John vaulted the couch and landed in front of them. Sherlock squeaked as John grabbed them by both shoulders, spun them around, and then tackled them onto the couch.
Sherlock scrabbled to escape, but John held firm, pinning them down to the couch. When Sherlock had been planning this, it had occurred to them that they might be punished, and they had decided that was an acceptable risk in order to gain the benefit of John and Sherlock coming to an understanding. But now that the moment was upon them, their heart quailed.
"Keep still," John growled in their ear. "I have had just about enough of your antics, Sherlock Holmes."
"Let me go!" Sherlock whined, squirming.
John wrestled their struggling form over his lap, and Sherlock's eyes filled with tears as they realized that their impending punishment was about to be delivered.
"You have been very bad," John said in a grim sort of voice. "And I intend give you a proper spanking for it."
"No!" Sherlock cried out, and sniffled.
"Maybe now you'll learn to be good when I'm out of the flat," John said.
Now they were in for it.