Sherlock had disappeared.
Not disappeared in the sense of his usual disappearances. When Sherlock was nowhere to be found, he usually answered his phone after a few of Joan's calls. If he really needed to be alone, he'd text her saying so and perhaps letting her know where he was. In any case, Sherlock never disappeared without leaving any trace Joan could follow.
This time, however, Joan was frantic. She couldn't seem to find him anywhere, and she didn't know what else to do. Neither Marcus nor the Captain had answered her calls, she'd tried Alfredo, all his irregulars, she'd even gone to the lengths of calling Athena, but she hadn't been able to tell her where he was. She tried his phone one more time, all to no avail.
She mentally went through all the places he might've gone, from his usual meetings at St Luke's to following a lead of a new case she wasn't aware of… until her phone finally rang. It wasn't Sherlock but Marcus, close enough.
"Marcus!" she almost shouted, and lost no time in asking "do you know where Sherlock is?"
"Yeah, that's why I call you. He's here, at the precinct" Joan almost let a sigh of relief, when she picked up on Marcus' tone "Joan, get down here quick. He… I think you need to see this".
Joan didn't answer and she lost no time in grabbing her purse, coat and scarf and left the brownstone right away. She hailed a taxi and almost begged him to take her to the precinct as quickly as he could possibly drive. When she got to the station, almost out of breath for having climbed the stairs instead of waiting for the lift, Marcus was waiting for her at the hall, accompanied by Captain Gregson.
"Hey" Marcus said. His face wore a deep frown, he was half-hunched and he seemed distressed.
"Where is he?" she demanded, not feeling a little bit sorry for not even greeting her friends. She needed to see Sherlock.
"He's there, in that room" Gregson answered, signalling with his head "I tried to get in but he didn't want anyone in there, he's only been asking for you." He continued while Marcus led them towards one of the interview rooms, the closest to the lift, she noted. She noticed the blinds had been closed, and she heard some noises coming from inside, but couldn't exactly tell what it was. Marcus stopped her before she could open the door "wait. Joan, he… something's happened to him"
"What?" she was beginning to lose her patience, neither Marcus nor the Captain were men prone to riddles or half-truths, but this time they were avoiding telling her something "what happened to him, Marcus?"
"We don't know, but… it's like he's… regressed somehow" Marcus said "he was fine one second and then I saw him suddenly scrunch his face up and run and hide in this room."
"I tried getting in, I tried talking to him… but he just won't let us in. He just wants you"
Joan nodded, highly concerned now, and took a deep breath before the Captain opened the door.
"Hey Sherlock?" the Captain used the softest, most comforting voice he could muster "Joan's here…"
"Jo-Joan?"
That did it for Joan. She could count with one hand the times that Sherlock had called her by her given name, so that was an indication that something was very wrong.
Her heart sank even deeper when she noticed that the muffled sounds she couldn't distinguish before were, in fact, sobs. Sobs coming from the only occupant in the room: Sherlock himself. Joan took a few tentative steps, and stopped suddenly when she noticed where Sherlock was.
He had curled up in the corner furthest away from the door, the room almost dark, and he had his knees close to his chest. There was no light in the room but Joan could see from the light coming in through the corridor that something was shining in his face, and saw with a churning of her stomach that there were tears. Sherlock had been crying, and she hadn't been there to stop it. The acute pain she felt in her chest left her almost breathless, for all the times Sherlock had cried, she had been there to help him work through it. But now, she hadn't.
"Hey Sherlock" she whispered sweetly, taking another couple of steps. She tried to keep her voice down and devoid of any feeling of worry or accusation, and kneeled down a few feet away from him, so as to not scare him.
"Joan… you came!" Sherlock's voice came small and, surprisingly, needy. In a swift movement he jumped and threw himself into Joan's arms. She was taken aback momentarily when he felt Sherlock's strong body lean into hers, when she noticed how he was clinging to her while attempting to find refuge in her arms, how his strong arms were frantically squeezing her while his face tried to hide in the crook of her neck.
She distantly heard the door closing and knew instinctively that her friends had left the room and closed the door behind them to give them some privacy. She thanked them mentally, since she knew how embarrassed Sherlock would be if the whole precinct saw him in this state.
"Sherlock… hey, what happened?" she whispered, reacting and returning Sherlock's fierce embrace. At her movement Sherlock let out a pitiful whimper, and a few seconds later he was openly sobbing. His hands didn't stop moving and she noticed, even though she couldn't see it, that he was strongly grabbing her coat from behind her. The tears and sobs were shaking Sherlock's body, and despite being a few feet taller than her, Joan felt it as if it was the body of a little, terrified child. His behaviour, at least, showed as much. Which reminded her, what had happened to bring Sherlock to this state?
There was a more pressing thought in Joan's mind, however, because Sherlock wasn't calming down, and his sobbing, even though silent, was becoming almost desperate. She started to hush next to his ear, in an attempt to stop his crying.
"Shhhh it's alright…" she whispered in a hushed voice. Sherlock didn't seem to listen to her, so she decided to follow his lead, even though she didn't really understand what was happening. She gulped and leaned down to whisper right into his ear, with a very hushed and gentle tone "it's okay, Joan's here…"
She gently started rocking Sherlock's body back and forth, as if he was indeed a small child, and one of her hands travelled to Sherlock's short hair at the back of his head. Her fingers started to caress it with their fingertips, slow and gently, and little by little Sherlock began to calm down.
He was still hugging Joan and didn't seem willing to let go of her, and when she gave a hint of movement, Sherlock's hug became fierce again.
"Don't… leave" he said in a strangled voice. The tone of fear had come back, and she hated that tone coming from him, so she settled down again and didn't stop her soothing movements.
"I'm not leaving" she answered, her hand travelling to the cheek he wasn't hiding in her neck and gently caressing it while wiping away the tears left there "what do you think of going home? Mm? Would you like that?"
"Can… can we go?"
"Of course we can, sweetheart" she allowed herself to call him sweet endearments. She would never dream of doing so with Sherlock in his usual state, but right now Sherlock wasn't his usual self, so perhaps he needed a different Joan as well "let me take you home, and then we can talk. Yeah?"
It took a few seconds but Sherlock finally nodded. She nudged Sherlock and both started to get on their feet, but she noticed Sherlock never let go of her coat. So she sighed, again wondering what had happened to bring Sherlock to this state, and took his face in her hands to speak to him directly.
"Listen, Sherlock. I'm going to talk to Marcus and the Captain, they'll arrange the precinct so we can leave without being seen. You just wait for me here, all right? Can you do that?"
He could tell by the haunted look in his glazed eyes that he didn't like that, but he nodded slowly.
"Good boy" she whispered with a soft smile. She turned around on her heels and in two steps she was at the door. However, she didn't feel okay leaving Sherlock like that so soon after his breakdown, so she walked up to him again, gently lifting his chin. He was watching her with fear but she smiled tenderly and placed a kiss on top of his nose "I'll be back in a second" she whispered encouragingly before turning around and slowly opening the door.
Thankfully for her, the Captain and Marcus had already vacated the entire corridor and were waiting for them close to the coffee machines, Marcus had a mug of coffee in his hands. She walked towards them in a brisk pace, and when they looked up and saw her headed for them, they seemed a bit calmer now that Joan was handling things.
"How is he?" Marcus asked, moving the coffee mug in his hand, and looking at her while frowning. She sighed again, and passed her hands through her neat ponytail.
"I don't know. I've never seen him like that before" she whispered, glancing back at the door "I need to take him home. Maybe he'll calm down a bit more and return to his… normal self."
She hesitated in saying those words, since she didn't really know if this was even normal for Sherlock. Perhaps it was and she hadn't known until now? Could Sherlock have kept such a secret from her all those years they'd been living and working together? Or was this the first time that happened? If so, what had triggered this response?
Too many questions unanswered, Joan rubbed at her forehead with one hand, frustrated.
"It's okay, Joan. We'll figure it out" the Captain whispered "when he's calmer you can leave, we've already kept the corridor like that so nobody sees him"
"Thanks guys" Joan answered, her eyes darting towards the door that hid Sherlock behind the curtains "I have to ask. Are you working on a new case? Did you tell him something to trigger this?"
She caught the knowing look the Captain and Marcus shared, and she frowned.
"It's nothing that Sherlock hasn't done before. An organized criminal gang, there was a shooting and a man appeared dead in Brooklyn" the Captain explained "if this is what triggered Sherlock's… whatever, I don't understand why…"
Joan sighed. She didn't understand either, organized crime wasn't something Sherlock hadn't dealt with before, it didn't make any sense. Unless he knew the gang.
She checked the clock and worried, she'd been away from Sherlock too long. In this state, she'd rather keep close to him, just in case. She looked at the two men standing in front of her.
"I think it's best if we go home. I'll let you know how this turns out, but… please. I'm sorry to ask this of you, but don't ask Sherlock to consult with this case. I'm not sure what's going on, but if this is what has caused him to react like that… I don't think he should be anywhere near the case"
"I agree. Don't worry, we can do that" Marcus answered, even when it wasn't his call to make. He looked at Gregson sheepishly, but he smiled softly and nodded.
"We'll keep you posted on the developments. Go home and take care of him" Gregson said "let me make sure the corridors are empty and I'll let you know" and with that she was dismissed.
Joan nodded and walked away towards the door. As gently as she could, in order not to startle Sherlock, she opened it up again, and she was greeted by darkness but this time, a pair of big hands took her by the lapels of her coat and dragged her inside, the door closing behind her with a thud. She couldn't see properly until her eyes got used to the darkness, but she didn't need to see to notice that Sherlock was once again throwing himself into her arms. This time they were both standing, so it was a bit uncomfortable since Sherlock was lightly hunched forward and Joan kept her back straight, in an attempt to hold him.
"It's okay Sherlock. We're okay" she whispered, allowing her lean arms to surround Sherlock's waist, noticing how he was trembling slightly "in a second we'll leave."
Not long after there was a knock on the door. Sherlock was still holding on to Joan and tensed at the sound, but Joan shushed in his ear before the door opened just a bit.
"All clear" it was the Captain. He had the deference of not even attempting to go in, he simply left the door ajar and left.
"Okay Sherlock. Let's go home" Joan whispered. She disentangled herself from Sherlock's arms but allowed him to hold her arm; it seemed he needed the close contact with her. So, with Sherlock by the arm she opened the door further and stepped outside. As promised, the corridor was deserted, and she made for the lift, Sherlock walking next to her looking down at the floor.
The taxi ride back home was met in silence. Sherlock had skilfully sat close to Joan and was resting his head on her shoulder; he didn't say another word for the whole ride. Joan was gently caressing one of Sherlock's hands, which had been on his lap, and was looking at him through the taxi's rear mirror. She also noticed the cabbie watching them suspiciously, but to be honest, Joan couldn't care less about what a cabbie thought. She just wanted to get home.
Her mind was racing to catch up with what she'd seen in front of her. Something had happened, something horrible, to trigger Sherlock to regress to this state. And if she had to guess, she'd say it had something to do with the organized criminal gang the Captain had told her about.
However, Joan couldn't help but wonder why he'd reacted like that with this gang. Organized crime wasn't new to Sherlock, over the years he had faced many gangs including the one that kidnapped her, La Milieu, and he'd even gone to the lengths of striking deals and working with Halcon, the leader of the gang Mara Tres. So, what was different about this particular gang? Had Sherlock encountered it before? Had someone been abducted? Had he been abducted?
Joan had been a curious student when she was in med school and had skimmed through a few articles about age regression, but the topic hadn't been something that had caught her attention. She tried to remember the little she knew, and from what she could gather, a lot of people regressed consciously in the safety of their homes or accompanied by a therapist. Traumatic experiences, such as trauma or abuse can trigger unconscious regressions, but those were less heard of. Most of the articles Joan could remember talked about regression as means to decompress and forget stress and problems of adult life, or to deal with traumatic events.
However, Sherlock's regression had happened in a precinct full of cops, and without him exerting any control over it, or so it seemed. It stood to reason, then, he'd seen, heard or remembered something so terrible to him that had triggered a full regression to infancy without him being even able to control it.
Joan sighed internally, not knowing what to do or how to proceed. She'd never known anyone who used regression as a means of escaping reality, and she didn't know how to best help him. She looked out the window, watching buildings go past a great speed, and left the lights of the New York night take her mind away.
By the time they got home, Sherlock's thumb had found its way to his mouth, and he was absentmindedly sucking on it. Joan didn't comment on the matter; she knew children did that to soothe themselves and she wasn't about to tell Sherlock off for trying to find comfort. She didn't know if she should encourage this, but her instincts were telling her to at least allow him to be little. She silently hoped she was up to the task.
She nudged him and took him by the arm, Sherlock looked at her with sleepy eyes. She made him get out of the taxi, careful not to touch his right hand so that he didn't think she was somehow forbidding him from sucking his thumb.
They both went up the stairs of the brownstone and she opened the door, noticing that Sherlock was grabbing her by the coat with his left hand, while his right thumb was firmly inside his mouth and was sucking avidly. She smiled as she opened the door and let Sherlock in, closing the door behind her.
Mentally thanking Ms Hudson for lighting up the fireplace, she went to the coatrack and took of her coat first, urging Sherlock to do the same. He looked at her but the only thing he did was to let his hand slide from her arm so she could take off her coat. So, after she hang it up on the coatrack, she gently took Sherlock's coat by the lapels and shrug it off his shoulders. Sherlock understood what she was doing and cooperated, shaking his shoulders to help her take his coat off and allowed her to grab his scarf and hang it on the coatrack, but otherwise didn't do anything.
She led him towards the warmth of the living room and made him sit on the carpet in front of the fireplace. Sherlock was incredibly pliable, allowing Joan to take him, lead him or make him do what she deemed fit without question. He was, in many respects, like a child.
She kneeled down in front of him, and started to unlace his shoes, while she noticed Sherlock looking at her. When they locked eyes, she felt breathless for a moment. He'd seen Sherlock emotional and crying, but never like this. His demeanour was so different than as an adult, his expression open and vulnerable. He still had dry tears in his eyes and cheeks, but he was looking at her with such trusting eyes that she didn't know how to react to that. She smiled and looked down at his shoes, incapable of holding that look of almost adoration any longer.
She took longer than expected to unlace his shoes and take them off, leaving them neatly beside the fireplace. She was now thinking of what to do, when Sherlock thought faster.
"Joanie" he whispered, opening up his arms and reaching towards her. She smiled at Sherlock's nickname and plopped herself next to him, allowing him to seek refuge in her arms. He wasn't crying anymore but still, the needy behaviour he was displaying made her realize he was far from okay. From the way he was practically clinging to her, he craved the contact and that was something Sherlock never did. Until now, that is.
"Will you tell me what happened, Sherlock?" she asked, gently cradling him to her chest and caressing his hair at the back of his head. He shook his head while hiding his face further in the folds of her clothes. Joan sighed; she'd have to wait until he was calmer and out of this headspace to know what was going on.
Her right hand was still gently petting the back of his head while the left one was drawing circles on his back, in an attempt to bring him comfort. When Sherlock burrowed his face further to her clothes, curling up closer to her, she knew he was likely to fall asleep soon, but they couldn't stay there the entire night.
"Sherlock" she gently shook him, calling him to wake him up "come on, let's get you to bed."
"Don't want to" he whined, shaking his head and grabbing Joan's clothes a bit more fiercely.
"Come on Sherlock, you need to sleep" she insisted, and nuzzled his temple with her nose. Then, she had an idea "I can come with you if you want"
At those words Sherlock took his face away from her clothes and looked up at her. His eyes were still glassy, red and puffy, but held such hope in them, that she couldn't resist it.
"Do you want me to take you to bed, Sherlock?" she asked, needing to hear that answer from him to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. She felt she was disregarding every single rule and boundary they had established in their early days of their partnership, and that left her feeling uneasy and as if she was breaking something sacred.
Sherlock's demeanour, however, showed her she couldn't be more wrong. His whole stance changed, almost all the tension going away in a second. He smiled shyly and looked at her with hopeful eyes. And that was all it took for Joan.
As gently as she could she took Sherlock with her when she got up from the floor, and started to walk towards her bedroom, putting one hand on his lower back to guide him through the brownstone. She stopped quickly in front of Sherlock's room to grab a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, and kept going towards her own bedroom. When they got there she realized he was in no state to undress himself, she would have to do it, but she didn't know if that would trigger something in him. She felt a bit apprehensive and embarrassed, but she would try to be as gentle as she knew how to be. He at least deserved that.
Joan started by unbuttoning and taking his blazer off, and then she started to unbutton his shirt. Sherlock stood there trying to be motionless, but he was bouncing on his feet, as he normally did when he was anxious. Joan could almost feel his energy coming off him. When the shirt was open and she could see his lean torso, Sherlock shrank slightly.
"Do you want to do it yourself?" she asked, sensing he might be in little space but still didn't want to be undressed by someone else. The last thing she wanted to do was to make him uncomfortable. He nodded and shrug off his shirt, while Joan left his sweatpants and t-shirt on the bed and went to change her own clothes, putting on her pyjamas.
"Done" he whispered a few seconds later.
"Okay" she answered, looking at him with a soft smile "now, time for bed. Come on"
But Sherlock didn't move. He was looking at his bed with suspicion, his shoulders squared tense and his jaw clenched.
"Sherlock?" Joan walked towards him again and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Big mistake.
He jumped far away from her reach, and when Joan tried to look at him, his face was scrunched in terror.
"NO!" he shouted, trying to bolt for the door. Joan was shocked at his rapid change of mood, but reacted fast enough and in two steps she was in front of him, preventing him from leaving.
"Sherlock, listen…" she tried, putting her hands in front of her in a non-threatening gesture.
"No! You can't make me go!" he screamed again, his arms flailing. He turned around, looking for something, and quickly grabbed a pillow and threw it to her "you can't!"
Joan ducked enough to be able to dodge the thrown pillow and thought quickly. She didn't want him to feel scared but he really needed to rest. What could she do? While she tried to think she jumped back to get out of the way of the books and stack of papers that had been resting neatly on the bedside table and now were sent flying in her direction. The lamp would've followed if Joan hadn't taken the few steps that separated them and hadn't stopped him.
"Sherlock stop!" she shouted, grabbing him by the wrist. He tensed as soon as she grabbed him though, not the reaction she was expecting. He gasped and tried to pry his hand away from her grasp, pulling with extreme force. But Joan held on.
"Let me go, stop, you can't make me, LET ME GO!" Sherlock was desperately struggling against Joan, but in a swift and strong movement, she grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to stop and face her. Then, as quickly as she could to avoid any more struggling, she surrounded Sherlock with her arms.
"Sherlock calm down. It's alright…"
"Don't make me go… don't…" he sniffled, his voice gradually sounding smaller and more painful until he finally gave in, his shoulders slumping forward as he struggled to breathe and sobbed against Joan's shoulder. She kept shushing and whispering sweet word near his ear and rubbing his back with one hand while the other grabbed and played with his short hair, until she felt Sherlock's cries subsiding a bit.
This temper tantrum had showed her that he was terrified of sleeping. It could've been a nightmare that had terrified him, or something had scared him so much he didn't want to revisit it in the nightmares he was sure would follow him in his dreams. In any case, there was a real need in the way he clung to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing tightly as he pressed his face against her shoulders, hiding it from view. He showed a need for physical contact and affection Sherlock had never displayed before, and it scared Joan, that meant something was very, very wrong.
"Sherlock listen" she whispered, trying to call his attention "you're exhausted and need to sleep. I know you're scared, but I will stay here with you…"
"No, no…" Sherlock started, but Joan placated him by caressing the back of his head, she quickly learnt that helped to calm him down.
"Shhh it's okay…" she whispered, nuzzling his forehead with her nose before continuing "I know you're scared but I will be here, okay? Joanie will be here, you won't be alone."
"Promise?" he whispered, his voice tremulous and small. He really seemed like a very small child, Joan had never realized how much until now. She kissed Sherlock's temple sweetly, her kiss soft and gentle.
"I promise you, darling" she whispered, smiling softly "and if you have nightmares I'll wake you up. Okay?"
Sherlock sniffled and finally nodded, looking at her with hopeful eyes. His expression was still afraid but Joan could see something there, a need to be protected and cared for she had never seen in Sherlock before. She knew she could be very protective of him and something of a mother hen to Sherlock, she had shown it plenty of times with his father Morland Holmes and in many other instances. But this time, when Sherlock was behaving like a small child, she knew her duty of care went beyond what she'd ever imagined.
Joan cupped his cheek with one hand, wiping away the tears with her thumb and trying to bring her big, little man a bit more peace.
Very slowly she moved towards the bed, taking Sherlock by the hand to urge him to go with her. She knew he would not budge unless she was already in bed, so she slid under the covers and lay on her back, stretching her arms in a clear invitation and encouraging him to do the same. He went into bed as well, and Joan was surprised to feel him press his body against her, curling up in her embrace.
She shouldn't have been though, it was obvious he was terrified of something or someone, and being close to Joan and drawing comfort from her was the only thing that was keeping him sane. Sherlock lay on his side, his neck supported by her arm and his head very close to Joan's, she could feel his breathing on her cheek, his nose gently brushing against her skin. She could also feel one of his arms over her stomach and one of his legs between her own, she knew he was trying to get as close to her as possible.
So, she didn't deny him the cuddle he obviously needed. She twisted her arm beneath his head so her hand could brush against his shoulder, squeezing gently, while she grabbed the hand that was placed on her stomach, reminding him that she was there, he wasn't alone.
It didn't take long for her to feel Sherlock's breathing become even, his body became heavier and finally, he dozed off to sleep. Joan sighed, she would have to devise a plan for the following morning. She didn't know if Sherlock would still be in little space, so she had to prepare for any eventuality. And she made a mental note of retrieving any articles and books she could get her hands on about age regression. She sighed and a few minutes later, with worry still plaguing her dreams, she too fell asleep.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
She slept until she was violently woken up by a piercing scream. She opened her eyes, disoriented, and heard a rustling noise. Sherlock was still next to her but he was obviously in distress, and without a second thought, she leaned over and turned on her bedside lamp.
She had the feeling that the image she saw would be forever seared into her mind. Sherlock was attempting to sit up but couldn't, he had taken all of the sheets and blankets and somehow managed to tangle them around his legs and torso. It was his eyes that Joan felt scared though, they were wide open in alarm and terror, so great she felt shivers down her spine. Tears had already rolled down his cheeks, and was not looking at her, his eyes darting to every place of the room but hers.
She didn't say anything, just made shushing sounds while she reached and tried to disentangle him from the bundle trapping him, her hands trembling slightly. As soon as he was free he threw himself to Joan's arms, shaking uncontrollably and his shoulders heaving, his throat not able to control his sobs any longer.
"It's okay Sherlock… it was just a dream, you're alright…" she whispered, allowing him to cling to her. She'd seen him enough times shirtless and had fought with him enough times to know he was fit and strong, but she never realized how much until now. He was clutching to her with such force that it was hurting her, and while she would never complain because she understood, she knew that right now Sherlock was in no state to control his strength "I'm right here…"
Sherlock's sobs were wracking, he had difficulty breathing and Joan's heart was breaking at the sight.
"I… I…" he tried, but couldn't speak.
"It's okay Sherlock, you don't have to – "
"N-no, you... you don't understand!" he finally shouted, pushing her away from him "I-I wet the b-bed" he finally said between sobs. He pushed his knees towards his chest automatically and hid his face between his arms, his cries intensifying.
Joan stayed still for a second. Had she heard him correctly? She had to, otherwise Sherlock wouldn't look so mortified as he did now. He looked utterly miserable. Joan patted the mattress and effectively, felt wetness on the sheets. She felt her heart constrict inside her, she hadn't even thought of that! Of course, Sherlock may have been regressed and in little headspace, but the idea of buying something as obvious as some nappies hadn't even crossed her mind. This was something she would have to do some research on, but for now, she had a very distressed man on her bed. She didn't know what to say, but she did what she thought was best: rely on instinct.
Her hand went to Sherlock's back, very careful for any indication he didn't want her touching him, and resumed her shushing sounds while she rubbed his back, up and down.
"It's okay" she whispered, applying pressure on his back to remind him of where he was. She moved a bit closer, trying to avoid the wet patch on the sheets, and pulled Sherlock to her "it's okay Sherlock, accidents happen"
"But… but not to adults!" he whined. He wasn't in little space anymore but he wasn't behaving like the adult Sherlock she knew either, and he didn't seem to understand what was happening. She knew what Sherlock was like when he didn't understand something, and not grasping what was going on in his mind was terrifying to him "w-what's wrong with m-me?"
"Nothing's wrong, Sherlock. It's alright, these things happen" she lied. She didn't like lying to Sherlock but he was upset and was in no state to have a serious conversation about this yet "we'll talk about all of this tomorrow. For now, let's get you cleaned up, okay?" she added, her voice reassuring and comforting.
Joan got out of the bed and helped Sherlock, leading him towards the bathroom. She tried to avoid looking at the very obvious wet patch on his sweatpants around his groin, it must've felt really uncomfortable. She quickly turned on the hot water on the bathtub and started to fill it in. Then, she sighed and turned around, about to tell Sherlock to have a bath while she changed the sheets.
When she did turn around, however, she was momentarily taken aback. Sherlock had sat on the toilet and resumed the position he had taken on the bed, with his knees against his chest. The difference now was that his right-hand thumb had found a way towards his mouth again, and he was sucking on it. His eyes were half-closed, still red-rimmed and wet from crying, and they were looking at a fixed point on the bathtub. Empty, vacant. He looked like a small, miserable child, and she was surprised of how quickly he'd fallen into a state of infancy. But this time, she knew what to do.
"Come on, Sherlock" she said, taking his left hand and pulling him up "let's get you out of these sweatpants"
He had fallen silent, only the occasional sniffle would come out, but complied to Joan's request and got up from the toilet. Joan took the seam of his T-shirt and whispering "put your arms up, please" she pulled up and took it off. She then grabbed the elastic band of his sweatpants and pulled down, discarding them for the next load of laundry along with the bed sheets. She gulped once when she looked at Sherlock's boxer-briefs, she knew she would have to take them off too and felt apprehensive about it. This was obviously something very intimate, and a part of it felt wrong to Joan, to see Sherlock in such a state.
However, she shook her head and cleared her mind. Sherlock needed her and she wasn't going to chicken out. So, she grabbed the elastic band of his boxer-briefs, careful not to touch anything wet, and pulled down as well. Sherlock shivered violently, and she could see he had goosebumps on his skin, so she urged him to get into the bathtub, which by now was almost full with warm, inviting water.
She knew baths could be very relaxing to babies and small children, and Sherlock was still upset so she was going to take the opportunity to help him calm down. She made Sherlock sit down on the bathtub and rest his back against it.
"Cold!" he shouted when his back touched the back of the tub, and jumped. Joan smiled and reached to open one of the cupboards, to fetch a small towel. She then put it in the water to get it wet and warm, and then placed it against the back of the bathtub.
"Lean back, darling" Joan whispered "it won't be cold now"
Sherlock did, and Joan could swear she had heard him sigh. She took the shower head and started to move it around Sherlock's still dry shoulders and neck, then she gently moved it towards his face and head. Sherlock closed his eyes on instinct and Joan's hand hovered around his face, clearing the excess water out of his eyes so he could open them.
When he was completely wet she poured a generous quantity of shampoo on her hand, and started to clean Sherlock's hair. Her movements were slow and soothing, and she could sense Sherlock's stiffness melt away with the warm water. Not long afterwards she poured soap on a sponge and started to rub it Sherlock's body with it. She didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable so she made a quick job of it, but still made sure to get rid of all the urine in his parts and legs.
When she was done, Sherlock seemed much more relaxed, and had a soft smile on his lips. She grabbed a handful of bubbles and threw them in the air, and Sherlock giggled delightfully when they fell all over his face.
"Bubbles!" he shouted, excited. Joan fought a smile but she couldn't, this Sherlock was actually adorable.
"Honey, why don't you play with the bubbles while I change the bedsheets?" she suggested.
Sherlock stood still for a moment, and Joan was afraid she had taken a misstep. Had she said something wrong?
"Come back?" Sherlock asked, his voice sounding unsure, small. He was using very basic English, unlike the adult version of Sherlock, and this was something Joan wasn't expecting. She was reminded, again, of the urgency of reading as much as she could on age regression. Hopefully, next morning she'd be able to.
"Yes darling" she smiled and tousled his still wet her with her fingers "I'll come back and fetch you when I'm done. Okay?"
"Okay" he agreed, and started to take bubbles in his hand to then throw them in the air again and giggle. Joan smiled, if this was what it meant for Sherlock to regress, she was glad she was able to witness it.
She made a quick job of changing the bedsheets, she didn't want to let Sherlock too much time to play. She knew a lot about how to deal with an overstimulated Sherlock and he was hard to deal with as an adult, she didn't want to deal with a tired but overstimulated little Sherlock too. He needed rest, and she needed it too, she could felt exhaustion in her aching joints and muscles, and her sore eyes as as well.
When she came back to the bathroom the bubbles were nearly gone, so she smiled and told Sherlock to get up from the tub. She grabbed the biggest, softest towel they had, used it to wrap him with it, and made him sit on the toilet while she took another towel and started to ruffle his hair with it, applying pressure on strands of hair to make sure it was getting dry. She did the same with his body, not taking the towel off until she was sure he was completely dry.
On the way up the stairs she had gone to Sherlock's bedroom and had grabbed another pair of boxer-briefs, sweatpants and a T-shirt, and he used them to get him dressed. Joan silently prayed that he didn't wet the bedsheets again, and took mental note of buying other supplies such as a dummy along with some diapers if this was going to be a normal occurrence.
"All done! My baby's all clean and smells great" Joan praised him when he took him by the hand to lead him to the bedroom. He gave her a sleepy smile, and Joan returned it "now let's go to sleep"
Sherlock was already half-asleep by the way they got to Joan's bedroom, she resumed her position in bed, laying on her side, and invited Sherlock in. This time, though, she didn't wait until he curled up against her, as soon as he had lain on the bed with her back against her she moved closer, until her chest collided with her back. Her arm went around his stomach and her face rested against the nape of his neck, inhaling the fresh smell of his shampoo. Sherlock sighed against her and cuddled up a bit closer to her, and she smiled.
"Good night, Sherlock" she whispered, kissing the skin of his neck.
"G'night Joanie" came his sleepy reply, and a few seconds later, he was dozing off.