After a long while of curling up against each other and drawing strength from their embrace, Joan knew they couldn't spend the day like that. It was past lunchtime, she didn't know when Sherlock had eaten for the last time, and from his stale reek, he needed a bath. She decided the latter was the best course of action, to further calm him. They had a lot to discuss, she needed a lot of answers to the dozens of questions fleeting in her mind, but they could come later. They had a long time in their hands, and right now, it was more important to her that Sherlock was completely relaxed and could let go of his inhibitions. Little or not, he needed a break.
Disentangling Sherlock from her and careful with his injured shoulder, she took him by his armpits and almost lifted him, passing an arm around his back to steady him when he noticed him hunch involuntarily, probably because of the pain.
Together they walked upstairs, and stopping by Sherlock's bedroom to grab a clean pair of fluffy pyjamas, they continued towards the bathroom. Joan wasn't going to make the mistake of disappearing from Sherlock's sight, she remembered how scared he'd been the last time she'd done that and she didn't want to revisit it.
Aware that a full bath would not be possible with the bandages on his shoulder, she had an idea. She placed a wooden stool they kept under the sink inside the bathtub and turned on the faucet, leaving the water to fill the tub. Meanwhile, she started to undress Sherlock. She started by the jacket and then the blood-stained shirt, making sure she didn't pull too harshly so as not to upset his bandages.
She then went on to his trousers, socks and underwear. By the time he was naked, the bathtub was filled to the brim with warm water, and she gently took him by the hand and made him sit on the stool. She would've thought, after their conversation downstairs, that Sherlock would've slipped all the way to infancy by now. But for some reason, he was still fighting. He was little, Joan was sure of it, and she couldn't put her finger on it, but something was... off. She sighed and shrugged as she took the showerhead and poured some warm water on Sherlock's legs.
A bath without actually being able to sink your body into the water was no fun at all, and she knew Sherlock was bound to be cold, so she took the towel she used last time and used it to keep his body warm as she scrubbed it with the sponge and later rinsed all the dirt and soap. Sherlock had his eyes closed and his head was hanging low, Joan realized she needed to make haste and shower him and make him eat before he passed out from exhaustion.
"Come on, Sherlock" she whispered when she had poured water on his body, mindful to not let the injured area to be soaked "let's get out and clean that hair"
Sherlock obeyed and got out of the bathtub, allowing Joan to wrap him up in a big, fluffy towel. Then he sat on a chair and Joan pushed him back, placing his head in the washbasin.
It wasn't a particularly comfortable position for either of them, since Sherlock had to strain his neck to put his entire head in the basin while Joan had to stretch his arms to be able to reach to all areas of his hair. However, she tried as much as she could to make it a relaxing experience, giving his scalp a massage with her fingertips, lightly scratching and rubbing against his hair. She then took a cup and poured the water onto his head, rinsing it.
"Done, all nice and clean" she announced in a soft voice, as she turned off the water and put a towel on Sherlock's head to dry his hair.
When he was sufficiently dry, she took off his towel and started to dress him. Sherlock seemed to be in a trance, his body weighing more than usual because he was putting no resistance, and he made no other indication he was aware of what was happening.
She helped him stand to put on his underwear and pyjama bottoms, but before putting on his T-shirt Joan made him turn around to make sure the bandages were nice and dry, putting a hand on his shoulder.
It had been a close call, too close for her comfort. She felt her heart clench at the thought of Sherlock dying in a pool of blood while she held him in her arms... she shook her head, finding it impossible to stop the negative thoughts nagging in her mind. She didn't want to think about losing Sherlock but she'd been about to lose him today if Sherlock's reflexes hadn't been as good as he claimed they were.
Over the last week, she had honestly felt she was losing him, slipping further and further away from her reach as he closed himself off. But seeing him being pointed at by a gun, that same gun firing at such a close range, his white shirt stained by his own blood... it made it all the more real, and her terror spiked up.
Needing the contact and the reassurance that Sherlock really was alive and well, her arms slowly went around his frame, her hands resting on his stomach, her chest colliding against his bare, muscular and tattooed back.
"Never again do that to me. Understand?" she warned, and hated that her voice sounded brittle.
And for the first time in a long while, Sherlock reacted. One of his hands moved and rested on her arm, close to his stomach, and gripped it with strength.
"I was so afraid... I thought I'd lost you" she admitted. She pressed her forehead against Sherlock's back, not being tall enough to press a kiss to his nape. Then her lips moved out of their own accord, and leaving kisses here and there, started to move towards the bandage. Sherlock's breath hitched and he grabbed her arm more tightly when her lips kissed the surrounding area around the gauze, to then delicately press against the bandage. Nothing too rough, the area was tender still, but enough for Sherlock to notice and to cause goosebumps on his skin.
"Sorry I scare you" he apologised and his voice was also thick with emotion. Joan kissed the bandage again, squeezing his stomach once more before letting go.
When Joan did, feeling a bit more like herself, Sherlock turned around and cooperated in putting the T-shirt on. After that, they both walked downstairs to the kitchen to have some late lunch. Joan would've ordered something, but she was starving and it would take her less time to prepare a couple of sandwiches than ordering in and waiting for the food to arrive.
They ate in silence, Sherlock's slight little state made obvious only because he made more of a mess than when he was big. Joan smiled when he cleaned up, making sure to also use a wet cloth to clean Sherlock's mouth and hands full of breadcrumbs and butter. After lunch, he took a concoction of medicine Joan had prepared, all of them non-addictive painkillers that would help him in his recovery. However, since they were not too strong he would need all the rest he could get, and for that, he would have to relax and sleep as much as he could.
He was more relaxed indeed, from the way his shoulders hunched instead of being square and tense, but he hadn't completely let go. Joan went deep into thought while she observed him, not even knowing how he was holding up so long after several breakdowns in the span of a few hours. But by silently observing him seemed to sense why.
Sherlock had been avoiding being little for an entire week, fighting against his urges and completely alone. She still didn't know why he hadn't confided in her, probably because he was afraid she would side with Morland and he was terrified of what his father might do to him if he allowed himself to be little. Whatever his reason might have been, to maintain a certain level of functionality and work the case he had had to build walls in his mind, walls that could help him keep his feelings of littleness and his desires under restraint. And now that it was done, now that he could let himself go, he probably didn't even know how to let those walls crumble and let Joan in. They had protected him this past week, they had kept him alive, and so leaving them behind can't have been very comfortable to him.
She cursed the name of Morland in her mind, being more enraged by the fact that he claimed to want to protect his son. This was what he called protection: causing this state in Sherlock. His words may have been true but the fact remained that he just didn't know or didn't care how to be a good father to Sherlock; all he had ever done to the boy was to hurt him again, in the same way he had done when he was a kid. Even worse now, because he had taken from him the only thing that had helped in coping with his feelings and trauma. Morland's position and actions were inexcusable in her eyes, and when Sherlock had calmed down sufficiently and was back to his normal, adult self, she planned to have a conversation with the man. Sherlock may have been hurt and terrified enough to bow his head and accept his father's orders, but she wasn't going to.
She sighed deeply and shook her head to clear her mind. There was nothing she could do about Morland now. All she could do was help Sherlock relax and be comfortable enough to rest, regardless of whether he was little. She had the feeling she would have a lot of work to do to ease him into little space again, but she wasn't going to let him down. Not this time.
"Come, honey" she whispered when they had both finished eating "let's get down for a nap"
"'m not tired" he complained, all the while rubbing at his eyes and stifling a yawn, Joan smiled sweetly.
"Of course you aren't" she answered as he took Sherlock by the hand and led him towards the guest bedroom.
The bed was unmade but at least it didn't stink, she didn't really feel like walking two flights of stairs to their bedrooms.
"Honey, let me put you a nappy on, okay?" she suggested. She wasn't sure how he'd take it, so her voice sounded soft and reassuring.
"Why?"
"Because then you can rest and relax, even if you have an accident"
Sherlock seemed to be considering it until he finally nodded. She knew he wasn't convinced by the idea though, probably his father was still in the back of his mind, and as he laid down on the bed she saw the way his jaw was tight and his hands clenched. Before she put his nappy on she knew she had to do something to ease him, so she jumped onto the bed and laid next to him, propping her head on her hand, her elbow placed near Sherlock's head. Her other hand went towards his short, thin hair, and started to massage his scalp, attempting to bring him comfort.
"Sherlock you don't have to be little if you don't want to," she said softly with an affectionate smile "I'm suggesting a nappy just in case you have an accident while you sleep, but that doesn't mean you must be little if you don't feel like it"
"Stay?" he asked with tired, scared eyes. His voice was small and looked at her with a tight jaw, but she nodded to appease him.
"Of course I will, darling. Always" she answered.
He nodded and then Joan jumped off the bed and started to take off his pyjama bottoms so that she could put a clean nappy on. He may still be fighting his instincts that were telling him to let go, but he still was somewhat regressed, she could tell by the way he spoke and looked at her through his half-closed eyelashes. And since she didn't want him to get too fussy, she made a quick job of putting the nappy on, being gentle but fast at the same time.
When his bottom was padded and comfortable, she jumped again into bed, smiling when Sherlock instantly grabbed her shirt and snuggled to her while her arm went around his back.
She hadn't changed her clothes, not really planning to fall asleep, but the bed was so comfy and she finally had Sherlock's warmth next to her, after having missed it for so long. Her eyes closed without her realizing, and soon they were both dozing off.
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Joan woke up sometime later to the sound of a text on her phone. She grabbed it with only one open eye, and smiled when she read the news: the assault on Sherlock with a gun had been enough to get a warrant, and they had found evidence in Hernan's house that tied him to the murder of Tom Trevor, along with her own kidnapping. There was no proof of Sherlock's abduction after so many years, but the Captain assured her that the proof they had found was enough to convict him. He was going to be put away for good.
She sighed in relief, at least Sherlock would get closure in that front. They had a lot to discuss and he had along way ahead of him in terms of recovery, but that wouldn't be holding him back for now. A huge weight was lifted off her shoulders and she couldn't wait to tell Sherlock the good news. For now, though, her little baby was still sleeping, quietly snoring next to her.
She smiled and observed him for a few minutes, feeling her heart almost implode with love for the man she shared her life with and whom she had missed so bloody much. But then she decided to make use of the time she had in her hands while Sherlock slept to get some work done. She got up and went upstairs to the study to get her notes and finish them up before they closed the case for good; and went to her room to change into some more informal and comfortable clothes.
When she was going downstairs she heard her name along with a loud wail coming from the guest bedroom, and her heart almost stopped. She rushed to the kitchen, left the materials on the table and went to the bedroom. She switched on the light as she got in, and saw Sherlock sitting up on the bed, the heels of his hands rubbing his eyes and his face full of tears. He seemed like a lost child, his eyes open wide in alert and darting around the room trying to find something or someone. Joan had a clear idea of who he was looking for.
"Hey, honey, what's wrong?" she asked in her most reassuring, soft voice. Sherlock didn't answer, instead reaching with his arms as soon as she noticed Joan coming into the room. She rushed and climbed to the bed, opening her arms and allowing Sherlock to find refuge against her, sobbing sadly and shaking his head no as he cried.
"You say... no leave..." he whimpered as he pressed his face against her chest.
Joan exhaled in relief. It had taken him hours of battling but finally, his little urges had won the battle and he was, in all respects, in his little space. And quite understandably, he'd been scared and confused when he'd woken up alone in his bed.
She guessed that Sherlock had been bottling up all his feelings and needs inside him, trying to push them to the back of his mind, and now they were exploding with no way of controlling them. The best thing she could do was just to accompany him and make him feel he wasn't alone, not even trying to make stop his sobbing. She held him tight against her, gently swaying him.
"Sherlock..." she whispered a while later, feeling sorry her little boy was having such a hard time "I'm sorry I scared you. But I promise I'll stay here with you, I won't leave..."
However, her words didn't have the effect intended, quite the contrary. The sobs that had seemed to subside returned, and when Joan tried to make him look at her, he refused and pressed his face even more against her chest, hiding in the creases of her clothes. She abandoned the idea and resumed simply shushing next to his ear as she rubbed his back.
"Shhhhh..."
"No! I was b-bad...!" Sherlock exclaimed in between sobs, his voice quivering and muffled by her shirt "I'm 'orry I hurt you"
"It's alright honey" Joan answered, thinking he was talking about putting himself in arm's way with Hernan.
"No! I... I wanted... I w-wanted you go" he sniffled, clinging more to her "I wanted... to use"
His confession fell like a huge weight and Joan's body went tense as a ramrod, as the words created a deafening silence in the room. Even when being little, Sherlock had a good grasp of what using meant, as well as Joan. She felt an awful sinking in the pit of her stomach and a huge fear made her shiver.
"Did you want to use... drugs?"
Sherlock nodded.
At his confession, the sobs had stopped. Only silent tears kept flowing freely down his cheeks, he wasn't even fighting to stop them, but his lips were pressed into a thin line, not allowing more sobs to come out.
Joan thought she knew why. She knew him as the palm of her hand, she was familiar with the inner workings of Sherlock's mind. Therefore, she recognized in Sherlock's lost gaze and silent tears what he was thinking and how much self-loathing and guilt he was now feeling.
"Oh, Sherlock..." she breathed as she held the boy even closer to her. She felt her stomach churn uncomfortably and a sinking pit settling in as she realized that Gregson had been right. She was scared to think just how close Sherlock had been to relapsing and if he had, she wouldn't have forgiven herself for being the thing that pushed him over the edge.
"If I hurt you, you mad and leave..." his voice broke as he explained "and I use..."
"Never" she promised, pulling him away just enough to kiss his cheeks and forehead repeatedly, infusing warmth with her words "I will never leave you, Sherlock. I'll get mad and scold you if you hurt me. But I'll never leave you"
"Sorry I bad..." he whispered apologetically, looking down at his lap. Joan gave him a soft smile.
"You're not bad, darling. You're a very good boy" she said. She knew that, deep down, Sherlock always sought her approval and praise could go a long way with him "you just did some bad things"
"You mad?" he asked cautiously, his eyes daring to lock with hers.
When Joan looked into Sherlock's eyes she felt her breath suddenly disappear from her lungs. They were red-rimmed and full of tears, but the vulnerability and openness from the first time Sherlock had been little had returned. She was looking at her slightly fearful, but the need to know if he had gone too far this time, if she really was going to leave, was more powerful than his fear.
"No, I'm not mad" she answered with a soft smile. Inside, she felt guilty for being so self-centred in what she felt that she didn't pay attention to how dangerously close to the abyss he was. But she wasn't going to share that with him "but I want you to promise me that if you feel you want to... use again. Instead of pushing me away, I want you to tell me. Okay?"
The boy nodded repeatedly, his expression a promise he intended to keep.
"And you will have to apologize to Marcus and the Captain. They didn't deserve that treatment and they worry about you too" Joan added.
Sherlock nodded again before he resumed his position against her chest. He breathed in and out repeatedly, using her heartbeat to calm his own racing heart and feeling her warmth. Joan held him tight, gently rocking him and letting him find comfort and solace in their closeness.
Her head was spinning, though. She felt awful.
She, who prided herself in having intimate knowledge of Sherlock, had never seen just how close he had been to tripping and falling. And what's worse, Sherlock had pushed her away on purpose.
Even in the haze of his internal battle, he didn't want Joan to see him fall into the hands of heroin again, and she felt even worse to think that Sherlock had wished she abandoned him, proving him right, and so he would be free to use drugs again. Terror spread through her body as she imagined Sherlock in a darkened alley, injecting a syringe in his arm and looking for oblivion, possibly his own death.
Now his recklessness made complete sense. Why would he wait until Hernan was in custody when he could talk to him, face to face, in the park? Why would he care if Hernan pulled the trigger and wounded him fatally, if he was ready to use heroin until he found the sweet spot, possibly running into his untimely death in the process? His complete disregard for his safety and oblivion to what it meant for him to die, what it would do to others, to Joan , was scary. Morland's visit had done one more damage, as he had made Sherlock think he was important to nobody, and no one would care if he simply isolated himself from others and disappeared into the void.
She sighed, pulling Sherlock impossibly close to her. The past hours were showing her just how close she had been to losing him in more ways than one, and she was alarmed at how fast the situation had turned south. She would have to insist, in all the ways humanly possible, to convince Sherlock of his own worth and her love for him. For now, they found comfort in each other's arms.
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After their discussion, Joan thought Sherlock would finally be calmer and actually enjoy his little space, perhaps cuddling, playing or watching some TV. It wasn't surprising at all that, by the time they had discussed things, Sherlock had dropped even lower into littlespace and wasn't talking any longer; he needed to relax and get away from everything that had happened this last week.
What she didn't expect was that he would turn into a wailing, cranky and unhappy infant.
Nothing Joan did seemed to be settling him down, Joan resorted to take him to her bedroom and take with them one of the TVs from the media room, in the hopes he would find some of the cartoons entertaining. But all he wanted was to be held by her and as soon as he was left on the floor of the media room, or the bed later in Joan's bedroom, he would bawl his eyes out, his wails growing louder and more desperate every time she tried to put him down for a nap. But even when Joan relented and held him against her chest, sitting him down on her lap and rocking him, sad whimpers came out of his lips time to time.
Around mid-afternoon, she padded her nappy and noticed it was wet, and a new battle ensued. Sherlock had great lungs and he didn't hesitate to use them as soon as he felt his body being laid down on the bed. He didn't even move or fight, he just laid there as he screamed, his hands grabbing Joan's clothes with desperation and need and pulling so that she wouldn't move away from him.
"Oh, honey... I know, I know, you don't like it..." she assuaged him, leaning down and placing soft kisses on Sherlock's face as he cried "shhhh it's okay, Joanie's here..."
She nuzzled his nose and kissed his temple and cheeks, repeating again and again that she was with him and wasn't leaving. Finally, she managed to get Sherlock to release his grip long enough to change him, and she tried cooing and talking to him in hushed tones while she did it, but Sherlock wasn't agreeable to anything Joan did or said.
She just wished they had the pacifier with them, she knew it would work wonders in soothing him, but there was no paci so she encouraged Sherlock to use his thumb. He looked at her confused, no wonder since Joan had been telling him not to use it.
"It's okay honey," she told him as she gently nudged his elbow in the direction of his mouth "while we don't have a pacifier, you can use your thumb"
Sherlock did, his lips closing around his digit and sucking tentatively as if he'd forgotten what it felt like to do so. His eyes closed, his sobs remitting considerably, but still, he was tense, she could tell. She placed a hand on his tummy and started to gently apply some pressure, reassuring him of her presence while attempting to reduce his tension and stress so that he could sleep.
And then, she had an idea. She got up and made a beeline for the bathroom, running to grab a bottle of body oil she'd bought ages ago for one of her "me" nights. She went back to her room just in time to avoid Sherlock getting worked up again, scared of her absence when she wasn't in sight.
"Shhh I'm back, I'm here..." she soothed him.
With slow and gentle motions she took off his T-shirt and socks, leaving him only in his nappy. Then she opened up the bottle and poured a generous amount in her hand, spreading it along her fingers to then place her hands on Sherlock's chest. She started by applying slight pressure on the skin, smiling when his chest hairs felt tingly under her fingertips. Her fingers expertly moved from his chest to his left shoulder, the uninjured one, and applied pressure as she outlined the lines of his dragon tattoo. She didn't have much space since he was using the uninjured arm to put his thumb in his mouth, but it seemed to work.
Sherlock's cries had completely subsided but he was fighting sleep, he seemed he didn't want to close her eyes just in case Joan disappeared again from his sight. He needed to sleep, the emotional and physical stress should've left him exhausted, but he instead he was fussy and cranky. So, Joan decided to go even beyond.
While her fingers roamed around his torso, a lullaby came to mind. She had been a huge fan of Mary Poppins as a kid, probably not as geek as her brother Oren with videogames and comic books but she had watched the movie tons of times, it was probably one of the first she had learnt by heart.
Almost unconsciously she started to hum a melody she knew well and continued when she noticed Sherlock looking at her, transfixed by her voice and words.
Stay awake, don't rest your head
Don't lie down upon your bed
Her hands expertly darted from his torso to his right arm, avoiding the injured shoulder but still applying some degree of pressure to the arm, to then continue her descent towards his torso. Her fingers massaged his chest and then went lower towards his stomach, following the movements she had learnt more than fifteen years ago in med school. One of the lessons she had enjoyed the most was how to give massages to colicky babies, as that helped them enormously in relieving pain and could relax, and she was applying her knowledge with her overgrown kid.
While the moon drifts in the skies
Stay awake don't close your eyes
Very slowly, her fingers continued their descent. She ignored his nappy and went towards his legs, starting with his right leg and applying pressure to the thigh, feeling surprised for the first time of just how hairy Sherlock really was.
Her voice was soft, not louder than a whisper, but Sherlock kept watching her in silence. His whimpers and hiccups had long gone, and instead, he was watching her with awe and a twinkle of fascination in his eyes. His mouth was slightly open, he wasn't even sucking on his thumb anymore, enraptured by her.
Though the world is fast asleep
Though your pillow's soft and deep
When Joan's hands arrived at his feet, he massaged the sole and the toes, expertly applying pressure just where she knew he needed it. When her thumb pressed against the middle of the sole she heard him groan in pleasure and when she looked at him, he had his eyes closed and seemed completely abandoned and relaxed. She smirked, the massage was working.
You're not sleepy as you seem
Stay awake, don't nod and dream
Very slowly, without rushing it, she moved to his other leg, this time starting by his foot and finishing on his thigh until she moved back again to his stomach. She did a bit more massage there, and when she looked at him he was breathing slowly.
Stay awake, don't nod and dream
He wasn't sleeping, the cadence of his breaths wasn't deep or regular enough to be asleep, but at least he was much calmer than he had been in days. She smirked, Mary Poppins' lullaby had always a great effect.
She moved slowly to sit with her back against the bedpost when she saw something brown and grey on top of some other clothes. It was his blankie, the one she had bought a few days back and he had refused.
She smiled, maybe this time it would work.
She reached with her hand to grab the piece of clothing and taking a second to admire the soft texture, she placed against Sherlock's face gently to call his attention.
"Look what I've got, Sherlock" she whispered in a reassuring voice, not wanting to disturb his peace and calm.
Sherlock turned his head around to look at her, and she held the blankie in her hands. When Sherlock tried to extend his injured arm to grab it she just nudged it against his face, and Sherlock immediately nuzzled he fabric with his nose, smelling it. Since he hadn't used it the first time she'd offered it, she had the foresight of putting it in the washer, and now it smelled fabric softener of their clothes. It smelled like home.
His still red-rimmed and humid eyes were still watching her and refusing to close entirely, but it looked like her singing and the blankie had worked because. Joan only smiled and laid down next to him, putting the blanket around his shoulders and head to create a sort of cocoon whilst he still had plenty of blanket to nuzzle and grab between his fingers. Then she placed her arm around his stomach, a comforting weight she knew he appreciated.
But then, the doorbell rang.
Joan sighed, annoyed, as she felt Sherlock's body against her tensing up slightly. He was looking at her, still unmoving but unquestionably scared.
"I'm going to see who's at the door" Joan explained, trying to be as clear as possible so Sherlock wouldn't get too scared "I'll come as soon as I can. You stay here with your blankie and relax, okay?"
Joan stood up and stretched her back, feeling her muscles ache because of the position she'd been in.
"C'yde"
Sherlock's small, unsure voice had returned. And he was asking for something surprising. Joan turned around mid-stretch, her eyes wide open, and looked at him.
"What was that, honey?"
"C'yde" Sherlock repeated, his thumb firmly in his mouth while the index finger of his other hand pointed at the toy chest she had moved from the media room to her bedroom when working the case to make more space.
"Do you want Clyde Jr. with you?" she asked. He was referring, of course, to the plush toy he had bought the first time he'd gone little-shopping online. Joan knew he couldn't have resisted even if he wanted, the tortoise looked exactly like their alive tortoise pet, currently hibernating in the fridge.
It was the first time in a long while that Sherlock wanted any toys, even if it was for comfort and not so much to play with, so when Sherlock nodded she quickly opened the toy chest and took the plush toy out. She handed it to him and swooned internally as Sherlock grabbed at it with his hands and took it to his face, hugging the toy tightly to his body. Even if he was sad and terribly clingy, she couldn't deny the little boy was so adorable that he had her wrapped around his finger. Joan smiled and let him lay completely on the bed, covering both him and Clyde with his new blankie and kissing his forehead.
"I'll be back in no time. Clyde and your blankie will take care of you while I'm gone" she whispered before getting up and walking downstairs towards the front door. The doorbell rang once more and Joan huffed, annoyed that they couldn't even get a day to themselves.
When she opened the door, however, she was surprised.
"Marcus!" she exclaimed when the Detective smiled in greeting.
"Hey," he said. He had a box of considerable size in his hands and Joan let him in without questioning "how are you guys doing?"
"Well... not great, actually" Joan answered honestly. She took the opportunity to undo her ponytail and put it up again, making sure the strands of hair that had been bothering her were inside the hair tie "Sherlock slept for a bit but he's been cranky and fussy all day, couldn't calm him until a minute ago. I guess it was too much stress and needs to get it off his chest somehow..."
"Mmmm I never imagined it would be so difficult," Marcus said as if thinking out loud, as he let the box on the floor and opened it "luckily, I've brought some things that might help"
Joan was speechless when Marcus started to empty the contents of the box: a couple of funny-looking T-shirts, some car toys and trucks (including a police car she knew Sherlock would love), a rattle, a teething toy...
"I didn't know what he would like, so I bought a bit of everything. No nappies or stuff like that, I'm assuming you got that covered" he said that in a bit of a rush, as if embarrassed he had done maybe too much. Joan was rendered silent and forced herself to speak.
"Wow, Marcus, this... thank you. You didn't need to buy any of it"
"I know, but... I've never seen him so worked up. And I want to help" Marcus answered, blushing a bit on his cheeks "I even bought him this, although I guess you already have a couple..."
Suddenly, Joan saw the light. In Marcus' hand there were no toys or bottles, but a brand new pacifier. This one didn't have any bees painted on it, but the colours were still black and yellow along with a tiny bit of white, so the dummy looked exactly like a bee.
"Oh my God, Marcus... this can be a real lifesaver" she exclaimed as she took the pacifier in her hand and quickly broke the wrapping.
"Really, why? I thought you already had one of these..." he said, surprised.
Joan stopped for a moment, wondering whether to tell him or not. She assumed she could, at the end of the day Sherlock trusted Marcus and he'd seen him in his little state, albeit it wasn't as little as he was now. And he was trying to be open-minded and help with what Sherlock was going through, he at least deserved the truth.
"Sherlock told me what had happened with his father. It turns out he found out about what he was doing and forbid him from doing it again" Joan explained "he destroyed the pacifier..."
Marcus gasped. It was cruel to do something like that to anyone but to do it to your own son, who was only trying to work through his trauma and just get better...
"That's awful... poor Sherlock"
"Do you want to give it to him? He's in my room, not sleeping but at least calm enough" Joan told him.
Marcus seemed to hesitate but Joan saw his eyes, he did want to be part of little Sherlock's life. So, together they walked up the stairs and went into her bedroom.
Joan made Marcus stop as she opened the door slightly, trying to see Sherlock's mood. He seemed transfixed by what Joan had put on TV, but his eyes were sad and vacant, he probably was seeing the images without really watching them.
"Hi honey, I'm back," Joan said as a greeting, walking up towards Sherlock. The boy smiled slightly in greeting. She smiled in relief when he took out one of his hands from the cocoon of his blanket to grab Joan's, pulling her towards the bed with him, but not a trace of tears on his face "oh, I missed you too, darling."
Marcus waited outside the room diligently as Joan smothered Sherlock's face with kisses and reassuring words, silently happy that Sherlock enjoyed her attentions so much.
"Sherlock, look who's come to visit you," said Joan with a smile after a few minutes of cuddles and kisses.
"Hey buddy" Marcus whispered as he opened the door and came into the room.
Sherlock looked at the man, recognizing in him a friend. He wasn't scared and Joan sighed in relief, in his little state he still was capable of distinguishing his circle of friends and family. He didn't say anything, but he pulled the blankie a bit further down, letting them see more of his face.
"I brought you something" he kept his voice soft and low, trying to be as nice and non-threatening as possible "do you want to see what it is?"
The boy stayed quiet and looked at Joan, probably looking for reassurance. Joan smiled and nodded encouragingly, and Sherlock looked at Marcus again, nodding his head.
And then, as Marcus approached the boy and knelt next to the bed, he saw the pacifier in his hand. His eyes opened wide.
"Me?" his voice was small and unsure, it seemed to Joan he didn't really believe it.
"Yes, it's for you, bud" he smiled as he handed it to him "look, it looks like one of your bees!"
Sherlock looked at him and the pacifier, and timidly took it in his hand. He quickly placed in his mouth and started to suck with urgency, so strongly that the room filled with sounds of tsk tsk . He seemed to relax instantly, his eyes closing softly as he breathed in and out, his body very obviously uncurling against the mattress.
"'ank you" came the small voice, like a whisper. Marcus placed his hand on top of his head and smoothed his hair in soft motions.
"You're welcome, my friend" he answered in an equally whispered voice.
Joan had been observing their exchange from only a couple of feet away, ready to jump in if Sherlock reacted badly. For now, though, it seemed that everything was well. She sank on her knees at the other side of the bed, placing a hand on Sherlock's tummy for reassurance as the boy relaxed further into his cocoon, protected by both adults and Clyde Jr, his mouth never stopping the sucking motion. Soon his breathing evened out and to Joan's relief, he was out to the world.
Joan signalled to Marcus with her head and together, very slowly and silently as to not wake him up, they got out of her bedroom and walked downstairs.
"Marcus, you really saved him today. I don't think he would've fallen asleep so easily without you" Joan said when they were out of Sherlock's earshot "thank you"
"I'm glad I could help" he answered "and now I understand why you're so protective of him. He really is just a scared child, even before this age regression thing"
"He is" Joan sighed "and I think he has gone through enough on his own"
While Sherlock slept Joan offered some tea to Marcus, but they decided to have it in the library. It was comfortable enough and it was close to the floor Sherlock was in, Joan didn't want to risk it if Sherlock started crying again and she wasn't in earshot of his cries. She thought, fleetingly, she would have to buy a baby monitor or pay for a phone app to keep an eye on him while he slept and she was in another part of the house, just in case.
When Marcus left an hour later Joan went to wake Sherlock up, and by the time she did, he was a much happier child. Joan smiled with pride and relief, seeing that finally, Sherlock could be the child he needed to be, no restraints or judgement. And she laughed with his antics, and he laughed as she tickled him, and they both smiled when they fell to the bed, panting and puffing and with a sparkle in their eyes.
The world wasn't perfect, not by any means, and the road to recovery would be a long and winding one. She, for one, had a pending conversation with her boy's father. But while she stared at Sherlock's glistening eyes and smiley face, and while the boy sighed contently when he timidly placed his head against her chest and she hugged him tighter, letting him listen to her heartbeat; Joan thought that, perhaps, their world was started to look exactly like the perfect one for them.