Underneath the cold, London winter sky, two men pushed open a glass door. Puppies yipped, and sleeping cats opened wary eyes as the small collection of bells attached to the pet store's door jingled lightly as it closed behind the detective and his doctor. John smiled, pointing to the small metal dog pen in the center of the tile floor, dragging Sherlock over to it. He retracted his hand and placed inside the cage, picking up a wiggly black lab. "Mr. Holmes," he cooed into the dog's ear, bouncing the puppy up and down, "they were the foot prints of a gigantic hound!" he laughed, grinning as he showed the small dog to Sherlock.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose with a light chuckle, "Very funny," he said, "We're not getting a dog."

John sighed in response, returning the baby dog to it's rightful place among its siblings and friends, "Fine," he said, taking Sherlock's hand again, cooing when he saw the most perfect bull dog puppy, but dismissing the thought almost instantaneously, "Let's go get what we came here for."

Sherlock smiled, leading John over to the wall of glass cages, carefully inspecting each one, looking for the smallest mouse he could find. He pressed a long finger to the glass and tapped at it, "That one," he said, pointing to a small black mouse who was interrupted in his ear cleaning, "Tell them that I want that one."

John sighed, detaching himself from Sherlock to grab an associate. A small teenage girl came over, unlocked the cage, and placed the mouse in a small cardboard box, "Is that all for you today?" she asked, hesitant to close the glass drawer, handing Sherlock the small box.

"Yes, that'll be all," John answered for the detective, as they still had food and a cage from the last experiment, the mouse that ran away. He delicately wiggled the cardboard box out of Sherlock's hand and took it over to the register to pay for the mouse while Sherlock browsed the store, wasting his talents to read the several critters and creatures inside the shop.

"John!" the detective called as the other man was getting his change from the transaction, "Look, I must have it. It's like a mini John," he grinned, pointing to the small hedgehog inside a glass cage, "He just needs to wear a jumper, and I won't be talking to myself when you leave the flat."

John chuckled sheepishly, eyeing the hedgehog curiously, "Do you even know how to take care of a hedgehog?" he asked, poking at the glass. It was very cute, although he didn't see the resemblance to himself.

Sherlock shrugged, "If taking care of you is any indication, he just needs a collection of jumpers, some tea, and a laptop," he joked, smiling longingly at the small quilled creature, "Come on, John."

John sighed in resignation, "Fine," he said, Sherlock never got this excited about something that wasn't a murder-suicide. "Excuse me, miss," he said towards the cash register, "We'll also be taking the hedgehog."

The mousy girl complied to the customer's want, placing the animal in another cardboard box and giving basic instructions as she showed them a variety of cages and foods and beddings. The couple picked out what they needed rather quickly, paid for their things, and returned with their newfound companions to Baker Street.