Hello, everyone! It's been a bit, hasn't it? Thankfully classes are ending, so I should have more free time to do a bit of writing now and again. (That's part of the reason this story will be mostly made up of one-shots: I won't leave all of you on an unfair cliffhanger!)

Thank you so much to everyone who favorited, followed, or left a review. All of you are fantastic!

But enough of that- here's chapter 2!


Rosie: Age 9

It was a typical Tuesday night. Father and daughter sat across from each other at a small wooden table, a box of Chinese takeout between the two of them. Rosamund Watson kicked out her legs and sorted the cooked carrots out from the rest of her vegetables. Her dad used to make her eat everything on her plate, but after she caught him tossing the asparagus from the lady next door into the garbage disposal he was less inclined to give her a hard time about what she ate (or didn't). And so, when they got a vegetable medley with their weekly takeout, she picked out the carrots and gave him to her dad.

Rosie scooped some food into her mouth.

"Marcie Allen got a parakeet yesterday," she said, but through a mouthful of takeout, it sounded like, "Marffe Ammn ot a mffffnt esfay."

"Swallow before you speak, remember?" John Watson looked up at his daughter briefly before taking a drink out of his water glass. Rosie frowned slightly, but finished chewing her noodles and swallowed with more force than necessary. Her dad raised an eyebrow choosing only to spear another piece of chicken with his chopstick. Some battles weren't worth fighting. "Now what did you say about Marcie?"

Rosie bit her lip sullenly, "She got a parakeet for her birthday. And her parents let her keep it in her room and fly around!"

"That's nice," John said although he didn't really think so. His aunt had once kept a brightly colored parrot who flew around her house and left feathers and poop all over her furniture before escaping out an open window. If he had to guess, Marcie's bird wouldn't last for too long before it was returned to the pet store or 'disappeared'.

"She asked if I could come over after school tomorrow and see it—please, Daddy!" Rosie added when John hesitated to respond. "I haven't been to her house since her birthday!"

Her dad rubbed his eyes, "Fine, but it's a school night, so you have to be home by six. I'm working late at the hospital so against my better judgement, it's up to you to make sure you get home before then." He leveled her with a stare. "And you know that Kristen will let me know if you're even a minute late—"

"Kristen?"

"Ms. Kennedy." He corrected himself.

Rosie beamed, took a few more bites of her dinner, and then scooped her carrots onto her dad's plate while he watched warily.

"So, Dad," Rosie began, "did you have a pet growing up?" He stirred Rosie's carrots further into his rice before nodding slowly.

"I had a fish in uni, but it got knocked off the shelf one night when my girlfriend and I—" He stopped abruptly and coughed into the elbow of his sleeve. "Nevermind, that's not a story for children."

"Did the fish live?"

"Uhm… yes," John said slowly. Rosie furrowed her eyebrows and John continued quickly, "you know what, when your grandparents, Harry, and I lived out in the country, we adopted a dog that Harry found digging through our trashcan." John laughed slightly, "It had to be the ugliest thing on this side of the Thames, but it would come up to you and want to have its belly rubbed like it was a puppy. I'm pretty sure it had rabies though…" Her dad trailed off thoughtfully.

Rosie twirled her chopstick between her fingers, "Soooo, do you like dogs then?"

"They're not bad," John refocused his gaze towards his daughter. "Why are you so interested all of a sudden?"

"Well I was thinking," she folded her hands on the table, suddenly all business, "if you like dogs, which you do. And if I like dogs, which I do—why don't we get one?" She shrugged her shoulders like she had simply suggested they order a pizza. "It's a simple deduction."

"That does not qualify as a deduction, Rosamund." John took a swallow of water, "That's called putting an idea into someone's head. But nice try, sweetheart."

"Well, will you just think about it?" She jutted out her outer lip and fixed him with widened eyes, "Please?"

What John wanted to say was along the lines of "Absolutely not". No way could he manage taking care of Rosie and a dog and Sherlock at the same time. Who would take care of it when they had to leave for a case or on holiday? Who would take it on walks and make sure it had food and water every morning? And where would it sleep, because there was no way that it was going to share with John.

There were a million things that John could have said, but when he looked at Rosie what he said was "We'll see." So maybe John was a tiny bit of a push-over when it came to his daughter's pleading face. There were far worse things that he could be.

Rosie shrieked slightly and jumped out of her chair. "Thanks, Dad, you're the best!" She raced over to his side of the table and gave her father a quick kiss on his cheek, "Love you!"

And as John sat with his cooling dinner, wondering what sort of scheme he had just played into, Rosie sent out a text:

'Operation Canine is a go'