This was based on a dream I had. Misty and Ashleigh convinced me to write it.

Many Many thanks to Benedicted-Cumberbatched for helping me with this!

Disclaimer: I really don't own anything.

Waves crashed along the shore and water sprayed the bodies of the two who chased the tide. Life was free and never ending, or so thought the boy. With his family and his dog, what could go wrong? If only he could get the stubborn thing to go into the water.

"Father, Alfred won't go in the water," the boy called to his parents, who sat as far away from the water as they could get.

"Perhaps he just doesn't like it, darling," his mother called back.

He turned away from them and pouted. How could he not like the water? He picked up some of the sand that surrounded him and watched as it fell through his fingers. He watched as the water got closer and closer to him. He pulled his knees to his chest when he noticed his uncle coming toward him, Alfred right on his heels. The man plopped down beside him, leaned back on his arms and sniffed. After a couple of minutes, he looked over at the young boy.

"Are you going to talk to me or keep on ignoring me? Ignoring me it is then," he said when the boy didn't answer. "Thomas, what's wrong with you?"

"Alfred won't go in the water and Dad won't make him," Thomas muttered into his arm.

"Your father can't control everything. I know it seems like he can fix everything, but there are some things that he just can't fix. And Alfred not wanting to get in the water is one of them."

"Why does he not want to go in though?"

"Dogs are a bit like people, they have things they don't like and one of Alfred's is probably the water. You don't want to make him do something he doesn't like, do you?"

"I guess not." He sighed and threw himself back to lay on the sand. He watched as the clouds floated by and tried to find shapes. It wasn't long until his uncle followed suit. Eventually, Alfred laid his head on Thomas' stomach.

"And what are we doing?"

Thomas sat up as quick as he could causing Alfred whine. He watched as his father sat down beside him. "We're looking at the clouds and trying to find shapes."

"Do join us, brother dear," Sherlock said with a smirk.

Mycroft squinted out towards the horizon and sighed. He finally laid down beside his son and rested his head on his hands. "What have you found so far?"

"Uncle Sherlock found a microscope."

"Of course he did. What about you, Thomas?"

"I found a dragon!" he squeaked.

"Well, let's hope between your father and I, we can slay it," Sherlock murmured. "Have you found anything, Mycroft?"

"A pile of laundry," he said dryly.

"You have to try harder than that, Dad!" Thomas rolled over and wrapped his arm around his father's chest, looking up at his. Mycroft brought his arm down and gave the boy a quick squeeze.

"If you insist," he said. "There, it's a velociraptor," he pointed to the sky.

"Oh, I see it!" Thomas exclaimed, pointing towards the sky as well.

"Careful Brother, your childhood obsessions are coming out," Sherlock said.

"It seems they are," Mycroft chuckled.

They continued looking at the clouds for a half hour. Finally, Mrs. Holmes called out to them that it was time to leave. All three Holmes men stood up and wiped the sand off of themselves. Mycroft and Sherlock shared a look above Thomas' head. Both took off towards the lounging chairs, laughing as loud as they could. Alfred took off as well.

"Not Fair!" He yelled when he realized what they were doing. When he saw his father trip and go rolling, he ran as fast as he could.

"Dad!" He dropped to his knees and slid a bit when he reached him. When Thomas rolled him over, he found that his father was laughing. Mycroft pulled the boy down and started tickling him before he could realize what was about to happen.

After a couple of minutes, Sherlock reached down and picked Thomas up. He slung him over his shoulder and said, "We really need to work on your deductive skills. If he had actually fallen, I would have helped him."

"Thomas, I think it's time to introduce you to the game of deductions," Mycroft said as he attempted to wipe the sand off of him.

It was midnight when Thomas woke up. The gentle lull of the waves gave way to thunder as the yelling outside his bedroom door grew louder and louder.

"Mr. Holmes please, let him sleep. Tell him tomorrow," the butler pleaded.

"I'm sorry Jameson." a female voice said.

Suddenly his bedroom door bust open. Alfred growled as his uncle came storming in, Jameson and Molly Hooper right on his heels. Sherlock went to his closet and fished out his suitcase and began packing random items of clothing into it.

"What's going on?" Thomas asked, looking between the three adults in the room.

Molly came over and sat beside him on the bed. "It'll be alright. You're going to stay with us tonight."

"Alfred too?" he asked

"Alfred too," she said, rubbing his back.

Once Sherlock had his bag packed and a leash had been fetched for Alfred, Thomas was ushered into the black car waiting for them. Molly kept an arm wrapped around his shoulders and he leaned into her. His Uncle had yet to utter a word. He just stared ahead, unmoving and unblinking. He thought back to earlier in the week. His parents said that they had to go away on a business trip and that they'd be gone for a week. Maybe they had been delayed.

Eventually, the car turned the corner onto Baker Street. As soon as it came to a stop, Sherlock got out and grabbed Thomas's suitcase. He didn't wait for the other two to follow before he burst into the building. Molly guided Thomas out of the car, murmuring almost to herself. He and Alfred followed her into the building. Once they were inside, he let the dog off of his leash and he bounded up the stairs. Thomas and Molly went up together at a slower pace.

Once they entered the flat upstairs, they found Sherlock pacing in front of the fireplace. He kept running his hands through his hair, something he only did when he was upset. Molly went to the kitchen, and Thomas sat on the couch with Alfred. He pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. He followed his uncle's movements with his eyes. Molly eventually came back in carrying a tea tray. She sat it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. She came around to sit beside Thomas and gently ruffled his hair.

"Sherlock," she said. "Sherlock!" She said again when the detective didn't give any sign of having heard her.

He finally stopped and turned his head to look at the pair. He walked towards them, leaned down to move the tray and sat on the table. He flexed his hands and rested them on Thomas' feet. He looked up, catching the boy's gaze. Sherlock held it for a moment, took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but the only thing that came was silence. He swallowed hard and pressed his lips together before trying again. He gently squeezed Thomas's feet, trying to ground himself before he cleared his throat and looked at his nephew.

"Thomas, there's been an accident," he said, his voice cracking.