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Sherlock never considered himself to be an open person. He has his secrets, things he's never bothered to tell anyone for various reasons. He shares only what is necessary and that's the way it has always been. That was, until John moved into the flat. Ever since then, Sherlock has noticed himself doling out information in every direction with even less of a mental filter than normal.
However, there is one thing that John has yet to find out about his flat-mate, and Sherlock hopes to keep it that way. He doesn't need a repeat of "the Mycroft Incident."
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"Sherlock, do hurry up in there. We have dinner in one hour, and you know how mummy hates being late." Mycroft's impatient voice rang through the door. Sherlock stood quickly, gathering the many toys, blankets, and plushies that littered his floor. He scrambled to put them all in the box marked 'Secret,' shoving it into the closet as his brother pounded on the door.
"Sherlock, really, what is taking so long in there? Have you drowned in the en-suite's sink?" Sherlock rolls his eyes and continues to clean. He is about three-fourths of the way done when the door is flung open, Mycroft striding in vehemently and doing a visual sweep of the room. His movements pause when he sees the remaining trucks, Lego's, and stuffed animals on his brother's floor. Sherlock freezes in place for a moment, running through every possible outcome in his head.
"Sherlock, what is this?"
"Obviously, they're children's toys, Mycroft. I thought that even you would be able to work that out." He shrugs it off as nothing, hoping that Mycroft will leave it be. He, however, was not so lucky.
"Well of course, I can see that. I meant, what are they doing in your room?"
"They're for an experiment, dear brother. Now if you would kindly leave my room, I will be down in a few minutes."
"Sherlock, do not try that with me. Judging by your stiff shoulders, dilated pupils, and the pacifier lying on your bed, I'd say that you're hiding something from me. I will not leave until you tell the truth."
Sherlock mentally curses, realizing that the only way out of this situation was to tell the him what he was doing. His brother would see straight through any excuse he makes. He takes a deep breath and turns his gaze to the floor, avoiding eye contact with his brother.
"They're for me, Mycroft. I use these children's items as an escape from reality in order to relieve stress." He explains. Mycroft nods, listening as Sherlock continues to share information about his deepest secret.
There, surprisingly, is no judgement radiating off of the elder Holmes boy--only patience. When Sherlock has finished explaining what he does and why he does it, he looks down, completely ready for a hurtful comment about how he shouldn't act like this, how he's a seventeen year old, and how he should act like one. Instead, though, his brother just nods and pats the younger's back.
"I suppose it's not the worst thing you could be doing, so I have no problem with it. What I do have a problem with, though, is the fact that we are now twenty minutes late for dinner. Finish cleaning this up and come downstairs."
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Though his reaction was somewhat positive, it was still terribly embarrassing for Sherlock to look back on. Every time the memory presents itself, he flushes and shoves it away, focusing on other things. He never wants to have that happen again, so he has learned to become better at hiding it. Now, instead of the various trucks being hidden in a box and shoved in his closet, they're stuffed under his bed. John rarely enters his room anyways, but Sherlock his certain John won't check under his bed for anything.
The detective cannot deny that he has feelings for the former army doctor. Why else would he share things with him that he never has with anyone else? Frankly, Watson is one of the only people Sherlock can stand, besides Mrs. Hudson. He is the only one who puts up with Sherlock's antics, but isn't afraid to get onto him if he says or does something inappropriate. If he's honest with himself, he knows that John would be the perfect caregiver. However, he sweeps that possibility under the rug immediately. John is not gay, and he certainly mustn't be interested in indulging Sherlock in his stress relieving activity. He holds onto the hope that his secret will stay his (and Mycroft's) for as long as possible.
Sherlock really hasn't had the opportunity to let go in a while. Quite frankly, he's getting a bit anxious and restless, wondering when the next time he'll be alone is. John is always around him, and if it's not him, it's Lestrade. They're always calling for help with the homicides. Don't get him wrong, he enjoys the thrill of solving a case, but it's been taking over his life recently. Not to mention there have been some pretty large ones as of late, which take longer to figure out, even in his mind palace. They've been stressful, definitely, which is why Sherlock needs to get some time alone.
"Sherlock, you alright?" John pipes up from his chair, noticing his flat-mate's slightly agitated expression.
"Yes John, I'm fine. Just reviewing the recent cases in my head, that's all. "
"Alright, well I got a call from the office today. The need me to come in tomorrow, as one of their doctors has called in sick and they're short a staff member. I should be gone from 9:30 in the morning to 6:15, so you have to figure something out to eat while I'm gone."
Sherlock could hardly contain the smile that was attempting to show through on his face. Finally, he'll be able to be little after three months! He has to get all of his stuff out from under his bed tonight and make sure he's stocked up on everything.
"Alright, I will figure something out."
"Great, good. Well, I'm going to turn in for the night, which I suggest you do as well. Goodnight, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, John."
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Sherlock woke up the next morning feeling calm and happy. He looks at the clock on his nightstand to see that it's 8:45, and John would most likely be having breakfast at the moment. He stands, walking out to the kitchen to find John sitting at the table, a plate of breakfast in front of him and another across from him.
"Morning, John."
"Morning, Sherlock. I made you a plate of breakfast: eggs, pancakes, and bacon. Eat up."
Sherlock takes a seat across from John, picking up a fork and taking a bite of the eggs in front of him. He looks up at John, clearing his throat.
"Thank you, John."
John's brows furrow, turning his head towards Sherlock.
"You're welcome. Why the 'thank you,' Sherlock? You've never had such manners before. What's the occasion?" Sherlock flushes, already starting to feel himself slip. He shrugs slightly, going back to eating his food.
"This is really tasty, John." Again, the doctor is left confused. Tasty? Since when does Sherlock used such childish words, not to mention compliment him?
"Thank you, Sherlock.." John looks at the clock. 9:10. He should probably be leaving now.
"Sherlock, I have to go now. Don't forget to eat, and please, for the love of God, do not blow up our flat. I'll be back around six, alright?"
"Okay, John." With that, John puts on his coat, grabs his bag, and leaves. Sherlock waits a few moments before bolting to the sink with his plate, quickly scraping the contents into the trashcan and lying the dish in the sink to be washed. He rushes to his room and pulls the boxes out from under it, spilling the items out onto the floor around him. First thing's first, he needs to get properly dressed. He finds his pacifier, periodic table t-shirt, and black sweatpants in the pile of stuff around him before undressing and putting on the attire.
Sherlock picks out what he wants to use over the day, childlike glee showing in his eyes as he picks up his Lego's, a few of his toys, his favorite puppy plushie that he named Red, a coloring book, and a bunch of movies. He pops the pacifier in his mouth and moves out to the living room, putting on Hercules. He then lays on a pile of blankets with his toys and a pillow. He focuses on the movie for a bit before getting sidetracked and playing with his trucks.
Sherlock feels odd this time. He can tell he feels much younger than he normally does and it frightens him a bit. Most times, he's around three or four, but right now he would guess that he's about two, if not a bit younger. It must be the stress and the amount of time since his last indulgence. The more he thinks, though, the more he worries that maybe it's because of John. He's definitely changed something in Sherlock. Did he somehow treat Sherlock like a toddler so much that his little age has changed? He pushes the thought away and goes back to the movie, leaving is toys behind.
"NO CHANCE, NO WAY. I WON'T SAY IT, NO NO! IT'S TOO CLICHE, I WON'T SAY I'M IN LOVE!" Sherlock sings along with the character on the screen. He loves this movie so much; he watches it almost every time he's in little space. He keeps watching, giggling at the funny parts and humming to the rest of the songs.
When the movie is over, he looks at the clock again. It says that it's noon. His stomach growls quietly, so he crawls to his room again, finding the snacks he had hidden in there. He grabs his sippy cup, three bags of fruit snacks, some animal crackers, and some goldfish before moving back into the living area. He fills his sippy cup with apple juice that John had bought and sits on his blankets, snacking slowly and laying down with another movie playing.
After the second movie finishes, it's four in the afternoon. He has time for one more movie before John gets home. He puts in Mulan, laying down again and sucking his pacifier. He starts feeling sleepy as it plays, but he tries not to fall asleep. If he does, he might not wake up before John gets home. If he doesn't, though, he's gonna be awfully cranky. Ultimately, he decides against taking a nap, and just continues watching Mulan.
"Let's get down to business, to defeat the Huns. Did they send me daughters, when I asked for sons? You're the saddest bunch I ever met, but you can bet before we're through. Mister, I'll make a man out of you." He quietly sings along with the song, completely little.
Suddenly, the door to the flat swings open.
...
"Sherlock, I'm home!" John walks further into the room as he hears the telly on. "Sherlock?"
He looks down at he floor, finding toys scattered around on the floor, but not Sherlock. He wanders towards the kitchen, hearing quiet whimpering coming from under the sink.
"Sherlock? You in there?"
"Y-yes, John." John was extremely worried. Not only because of the toys and the Disney movie, but also because of the fact that Sherlock was hiding in a cabinet, and he sounded like he was crying. He didn't even sound like Sherlock; he sounded... young.
"Sherlock, come out from there, please."
"N-nooo..." He sobbed out.
"Sherlock. I need you to come out right now. I'll get you myself, if need be." Sherlock shook in his spot in the cabinet. He felt so little.
John crouches down, opening the cupboard door and looking inside. He spots Sherlock, tears running down his face and a pacifier in his mouth. His eyes widen slightly, piecing together what's happening. He had heard about this type of thing before, but wasn't completely familiar with it. Even so, Sherlock was the last person John would expect to participate. He knew his next words and actions needed to be chosen carefully, so he sat down on the floor and opened his arms slowly. Sherlock looked up at him, still crying and shrinking back a little.
"Sherlock, buddy, come here, okay? Come out here for me." Sherlock still wasn't having it.
"Sher, it's alright. I'm not upset. I just want to know what's happening. Would you please come out of the cupboard? I want to help you, alright?"
Slowly, Sherlock crawled out of the cabinet and John took him into his arms.
"There now, isn't that much more comfortable? I'm going to stand up, okay? And then we're going to go to the living room and calm down. After that, we'll have a chat." Sherlock nods, suckling harder on the pacifier, still crying quietly. John stands and walks to the couch before settling in with Sherlock curled into his side. They focus on the movie until Sherlock has finished crying.
"Sherlock? Are you ready to talk now..?" He nods in response and removes his dummy.
"Okay. I'm going to take a guess and you're going to tell--or show--me if I'm right or wrong. You're feeling younger than you truly are, yes?" Sherlock shyly nods.
"Alright, and it's because you're an age regressor, right?" Another nod. "Okay, good. Sherlock, have you been doing this for a long time?" Sherlock glances up at John, his eyes puffy.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Since I was... sixteen?" John nods.
"And you've been taking care of yourself this whole time?"
"Mhm.."
"That's very hard to do, isn't it? I imagine it can't be easy. Have you ever thought about someone taking care of you? You're just a wee thing, aren't you?”
"I think about it sometimes, but it won't happen."
"Why do you say that?" John questions. Sherlock sighs.
"'Cause the only person I want to care for me probably wouldn't do it."
"Why not?"
"They're not gay... and certainly not a caregiver either.."
"Who is it, Sherlock?"
Sherlock stayed silent until John repeated the question in a firmer tone.
"Sherlock, who is it?"
"It's you... I want you to care for me, John..."
John's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but he quickly lowers them. He sounds... extremely vulnerable at the moment. John must say though, that there is something endearing about Sherlock right now; the teary, puffy eyes portray a certain youthful aura when paired with the soft curls framing his pouty face.
"Sherlock, I'd be happy to care for you... I was just never aware that this was going on. I'm new to this, though, so you'd have to be patient."
"Surely you think it's odd, though."
"God, Sherlock. It's a coping mechanism, and it works for you. Your brain just processes everything too fast, and it can be overwhelming. I understand, and I would be honored to care for you in that vulnerable state because it means you trust me. And trust you me, we will be having a long conversation about this when you’re feeling back to normal. For now, though, I’m mainly worried about two things: where are your supplies, and how young are you feeling?"
"The stuff is in my room... under my bed. And, I’ve been feeling around two today, I think." Sherlock shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the admission.
"Okay, good lad. Will you be okay here while I go fetch a few things?”
“Yes, I’ll be okay, John.”
"Okay, good. Well, I will be right upstairs to get a few items, and then we can watch a movie together. Just give me a shout if you need me."
"Alright. And, John… thank you."