A/N: Short chapter again. But this is just kind of where the natural breaking point was. I promise I'll reward you with a longer chapter later. Maybe I'll get inspired and actually post the next chapter tonight. You never know...

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Gabriel.

"Do I have to wear this sling?" Gabriel whined as they climbed into the cab. "It makes my arm hurt."

"Your arm will hurt worse when you bang it on something," Sherlock said, pulling the seatbelt around Gabriel's body and fastening it tightly.

"I thought the place we were going was just a couple of blocks around the corner," he sighed. Gabriel had been very whiny all day. The paracetamol was taking the edge off of the pain in his arm, but it still ached, making him weepy and irritable. Sherlock had ignored three potential cases that morning in favor of taking care of Gabriel and that was making him irritable. Not to mention that he was nervous about buying this gift. He had already bought Molly a few things other than the mortician tools that no one knew about: the dress she wanted along with a matching set of frilly underthings to wear with it, a small box of chocolate truffles shaped like anatomically correct hearts (signed from Gabe) and tickets for the two of them to see the symphony on New Year's Eve. All of them were things he'd been assured that she would like, but his final gift for her was something more personal.

"It is, but it's raining so we're taking a cab," he sighed. "18 Oxford," he barked at the cabbie. The traffic was horrendous, but he couldn't be bothered with paying attention at the moment. He checked his mobile to make sure that he hadn't received any last minute messages from the jeweler. The old man had promised it would be done today. Gabriel sighed, sensing that his father was not interested in talking. For a moment, Sherlock felt a bit guilty for pulling the silent treatment on his child, but today was one of those days that he needed to be in his own head.

When he'd gone to the jewelry store on Oxford Street weeks ago, he'd intended to buy Molly the necklace in the window that she'd been eyeing since right around the time Gabe had come to Baker Street. Once he got there, he realized that the necklace was not nearly worthy of her. The gold was of little weight and the ruby that adorned the clichéd little heart charm was so small that one could barely see it. It was pretty, but not radiant. Molly deserved radiant. In fact, none of the jewelry on display was radiant and when Sherlock grumbled about it, the old man behind the counter mentioned that he could make "whatever Monsieur desired." He'd thought about it for a several moments. What sort of jewel would perfectly convey his feelings for her? Diamonds were dull and tended to send a message he wasn't quite ready for. Rubies and emeralds were common. Everyone had ruby or emerald necklaces. Expense wasn't much of a factor, but he didn't want her to be afraid to wear it in public. Then, something strange caught his eye. It was in a case at the back of the shop, all by itself. The most beautiful set of earrings. Even Sherlock, who didn't think beautiful women needed to adorn themselves with silly ornaments, had to admit that they were beautiful. Two peacock colored pearls set in swirls of platinum. As he moved closer to them, he could see that they were so changeable. In one light they appeared quite blue. In another they were green and from still another angle, they looked almost silvery black. They were the perfect jewel to highlight the surprising and understated beauty of his pathologist. But alas, Molly didn't wear earrings. The old man had noticed him staring and offered to pull them out. "Those are beautiful, but they aren't quite what I'm looking for," he'd said. The old man had nodded and brought out a small chest with the cultured pearls in every hue.

"Very expensive," he'd explained. "Some of these were cultured more than a seventy-five years ago. The peacock colored ones are the most rare and most expensive. If you like, I can fashion them into whatever setting Monsieur might want." While the old man waited on another customer, Sherlock had drawn a sketch in his notebook of what he thought might be a perfect necklace. Thin swirls of platinum that would wrap around her throat and curl down to nestle in the top of her cleavage, but never meeting. Not like an ordinary necklace that would encircle her neck. The design looked like smoke and inside each plume, eight in total, would be one of the old man's unusual treasures. One pearl for every year he had wasted.

He told the cabbie to wait when they arrived at the jewelry store and Sherlock helped Gabriel out of the seat. They hurried across the street and into the tiny shop. Gabriel was amazed by all of the shiny trinkets and Sherlock reminded him brusquely not to touch anything.

"Monsieur Holmes!" the old man called, shaking his hand. "You have come to pick up your piece?"

"Assuming it's ready," he replied.

"Of course! I already have it boxed for you. I know you are anxious to see it. And I must say, it is probably the most beautiful and most unique custom piece I've ever done." He pulled a deep red velvet box from under the counter and placed it on the glass case. Sherlock was careful as he pulled it toward himself and opened the box carefully. Gabriel gasped upon seeing it and Sherlock smiled. In this light the color of the pearls mirrored his own eyes. The necklace was extravagant, but not gaudy. The platinum was not shiny, but looked almost smoky so as to not detract from the pearls. "I did not shine up the metal too much, as I don't think the pearls need anything to compete." It was a solid piece, more of a sculpture than a necklace. "The measurements you gave me were very precise. It should fit your lady friend like a glove, Monsieur. But if it does not, you might bring it back and…"

"No…it's perfect."

OoOoOo

"Are you sure about this, John? I mean… my mother always said that you should never invite another living thing into somebody's house without asking." Mary looked worried as they stood in the lobby of the veterinarian's office.

"Well, it is my house too, remember."

"Yes, but Sherlock does live there. And he's not really a… pet sort of person."

"We thought he wasn't a child sort of person either. And anyway, the dog isn't for him, its for Gabe." John shook his head, unable to believe that she wasn't as excited about this idea as he was. Every little boy needed a dog. And it seemed to be fated, even. Yesterday, a woman from the animal rescue had come in for an allergy shot and was talking to John about one of their rescue missions. A few weeks before, they'd found a woman in Devon who was running a puppy mill out of her tiny flat. They had rescued ten puppies being kept in cages in her attic. They were malnourished, dirty and sickly by the time the animal people had gotten there and for a couple of the dogs it was already too late. But most had lived and were currently residing in the shelter awaiting adoption. "And when she told me that story about how the dogs were hungry and didn't have homes, it just broke my heart, Mary. I got to thinking about Gabe's list."

"Yeah, but I don't think Sherlock meant for us to adopt a dog for Gabriel."

"Pssht… he'll be fine with it. And I already talked to Mrs. Hudson about it, so don't even try that argument. I can see you thinking of it already."

All of her arguments died on her lips as the attendant brought the puppy out from the back. The cutest black and tan spotted Artois hound they'd ever seen was perched in the arms of the vet assistant. The dog had enormous floppy ears, wide brown eyes and a curious nose that was already sniffing them out as they approached. "Oh my God…" Mary squealed. "That is the cutest puppy I've ever seen…" She immediately scooped the small dog out of the attendant's arms and snuggled it to her chest.

"She is precious, isn't she?" the man said. "I'm so glad that someone is adopting her. She's the runt of the litter and we were afraid that she wouldn't be adopted."

"How could anyone not want such an adorable thing," Mary cooed, kissing the hound on the nose.

"She's an Artois hound. They're medium sized dogs and they get along pretty well with everyone. Kind of like a Basset, but they're not as stocky. They can get lazy, so you have to be sure and walk them a few times every day. And they're also chewers, so make sure they have something to chew on and keep your shoes off the floor. But, they're excellent sniffer dogs, so nothing will get past her."

John smirked. "Sounds like the perfect dog for Sherlock."

"He's going to kill you," Mary mumbled.

OoOoOo

"So why did you get Dr. Molly a necklace?" Gabriel asked. "I never seen her wear one before."

"You have never seen her wear one before," Sherlock corrected. "And I got it for her because I thought she'd like it. You don't think she'd like it?"

Gabriel shrugged.

"Gabriel…"

"I know, shrugging isn't an answer," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "I think she'll like it. I still think you should have got her that ring."

"I'm not getting the ring."

"But dad…"

"No."

Gabriel sighed. "You're no fun."

"I know."

It was silent in the cab for a few minutes as they sat at the stoplight to turn onto Baker Street. Then Gabriel piped up again. "Dad?"

"Yes?" Heavy sigh.

"Mrs. Hudson says that people buy each other jewelry if they love each other. Is that true?"

"I suppose." His mobile buzzed and he fished around in his pocket to retrieve it.

"So then you love Doctor Molly?"

Sherlock dropped his phone as the cab screeched to a halt in front of 221B. "Damnit…" he grumbled, reaching down to grab the mobile. "Let's go see if John and Mary are home yet. I have to go out again."

"But dad… I thought you were going to stay with me all day," he whined, stomping up the stairs behind Sherlock.

"You know, no one ever considers the fact that I do have to work sometimes," Sherlock snapped. "You all think that I just lie around here doing nothing all the time. Before you lot, I always had cases and experiments and work to do. Now, apparently I'm just a...a... babysitter!" Seeing that John and Mary were sitting at the table having tea, Sherlock stormed off to his room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Gabriel gaping after him.