AN - Hello dears. Terribly sorry for the wait for this one but having officially finished college for this year (I'm counting the days until my new course starts in August) I've been running about making sure I'll have something to live off over the summer. As always, love and thank yous to all who've followed or favourited and especially my lovely reviewers (you know who you all are) it's all very much appreciated. This little something comes from another one of my tumblr head canons.

Dominick Hooper-Holmes trotted along at his father's side, as fast as his five year old legs could carry him.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock responded vaguely, leading his son along the corridor that led to Lestrade's office.

"Why can't I have a dog? Mum said you had a dog when you were my age." The little boy looked up at his father, letting go of the consulting detective's hand.

"We already have Toby." Sherlock said, breezing into Lestrade's office only to find that the DI was nowhere to be seen.

"But Toby's a cat. And he's mum's anyway." Not for the first time in his young life, Dominick made himself at home in Lestrade's chair.

Sherlock pulled his phone from the pocket of his Belstaff and fired off a text to Lestrade.

I'm in your office. Put down whatever sugar coated thing you're eating and do some work. SH

Actually, bring the sugar coated thing with you. Dominick's here. SH

Texts sent, Sherlock pocketed his phone and turned his attention back to his child.

"There's is barely enough room at Baker Street for it's human residents without adding a dog. Unless you'd like to suggest to your mother that Toby be made homeless to accommodate one?" Sherlock arched a brow.

Dominick considered his father's words. Did he really want a dog enough to make his mother's beloved cat join the homeless network? His little face fell ever so slightly. "No dad." He stuck his bottom lip out and pushed off from Lestrade's desk, making the chair spin around.

"Well there you are then, no dog. And don't spin so fast on that chair, Dominick; I do not want to have to clean vomit off your clothes again." Sherlock shuddered, remembering what had happened the last time the detective and son had visited Mycroft's office.

Dominick heeded his father's warning, instead playing with a pen on the desk. "Dad?"

"Yes, Dominick?" Sherlock was endeavouring not to take his impatience out on the child.

"If I can't have a dog, can I have something else. A hamster like Lucy's? Or a goldfish?"

Sherlock thought it over for a moment or two. While he wasn't over fond of rodent's at least they were small and generally quiet. And a goldfish would be even less of a bother. "Maybe. We'll talk to your mother about it later."

A bright grin broke across Dominick's face, the child hopping down from Lestrade's chair and hurling himself happily at his father. "Thanks dad!"

Sherlock scooped his son up into his arms, if only to make sure he didn't hurt himself or break something.

The office door swung open, Lestrade balancing his coffee in one hand and two very sugary doughnuts in the other. The DI stopped, taking in the sight of detective and son; Sherlock wearing a look that prior to Dominick's birth, Lestrade had only seen on his face when in the thrall of a particularly interesting case.

Handing one of the doughnuts to Dominick who took it eagerly, the DI turned to Sherlock. "Alright, what's so urgent?"

"Hm?" Sherlock was torn between not dropping his son and making sure the child's sticky fingers didn't ruin his precious Belstaff. It took a moment for him to remember why he was in Lestrade's office in the first place. "Oh. I've solved the Quinn case for you. The wife's sister."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Sherlock, that case was solved 3 days ago. It was his wife."

"Nope." Sherlock stated, popping the p and setting his son back down on his feet. "Talk to the sister. You'll probably find she has a white cat, most likely a Persian but I can't be sure. Afternoon." With that Sherlock strode out of the office, Dominick waving goodbye as he followed along beside his father.

"Dominick wants a dog." Sherlock announced while he lounged across the sofa, his head resting in Molly's lap while she absent mindedly ran her fingers through his wild curls.

Molly tore her eyes away from the TV to look down at her husband, a small smile on her face. "Just like his dad." Molly giggled. "I don't suppose Toby's much of a substitute for a dog." The pathologists gaze shifted to the ball of fur who was currently curled up asleep in Sherlock's chair.

"No. Even Mycroft couldn't mistake that collection of noise and claws for a dog." Sherlock grinned.

Molly rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Sherlock was much fonder of Toby than he'd ever let on. "What did you say to Dominick?"

"That we didn't have room for a dog. I don't think he wants a dog so much as he just wants a pet that's his."

Molly couldn't help frowning slightly. "Well, Toby's his."

"Oh no..." Sherlock laughed "our son is of the opinion that Toby most definitely yours. Anyway, I told him the flat is far too small for a dog."

"I suppose so. I think a pet would be a good idea for him though. What about a guinea pig or hamster? They don't take up much room."

Sherlock's nose wrinkled in a way Molly found extremely endearing. "Rodents." Was all he said.

Molly giggled and tousled his hair. "Well a goldfish then."

"That was one of the suggestions I made to him, pending your approval."

Molly shrugged her petite shoulders, smiling softly down at Sherlock. "I don't have a problem with goldfish. Or rodents for that matter."

"A goldfish it is then."

Dominick was positively buzzing with excitement when Molly came home from the pet shop. A goldfish bowl and the few bits and pieces that went with it had been set up in the little boy's room the day before. All that was needed to complete the picture was the goldfish itself.

"Mum! Mum! Can I see it?" Dominick danced around his Molly's legs, making her laugh.

"In a minute darling." Molly brushed her son's unruly curls away from his beaming face. "Come on and we'll get him settled in upstairs." Mother and son ran upstairs, Sherlock following after them.

Molly took the little clear plastic bag containing Dominick's goldfish and placed it into the water that was already in the fish bowl.

"Now, darling, remember you're not to let your fish out of it's bag yet."

"Why?"

"Because the temperature of the water in the bowl is different from that of the water in the bag. Putting the fish straight into the bowl water without letting it acclimate to the temperature first could kill the fish. Sherlock stated, matter-of-factly.

"Oh. Okay." Dominick responded, happily watching his fish swim around inside it's bag.

"What are going to name, darling?" Molly asked.

"I don't know..." Dominick looked thoughtfully at his fish, trying to deduce what it's name should be.

"Why don't you name it after your Uncle Mycroft?" Sherlock suggested with a grin. The consulting detective remembering a conversation he'd once had with his older brother.

"Hello Mycroft." Dominick giggled, tapping on the side of the bowl.

"Dear me, brother mine. You haven't left the Government in charge of the country have you? Must be rather like leaving the inmates in charge of the asylum." Sherlock grinned. The list of things that made Sherlock happier than antagonising his brother was a very short list.

Mycroft heaved a long suffering sigh. "I was under the impression that you called me over here for a reason, little brother?"

"I did, as it happens. Your nephew has something he's very excited to show you. He's up in his room." Sherlock gestured towards the door.

Mycroft shot his brother a glare but headed up to his nephew's room all the same. Though Mycroft Holmes would never admit it to another living soul, he doted on Dominick.

"Uncle Mycroft!" Dominick hurled himself at his uncle's legs.

Mycroft somewhat awkwardly patted the top of his nephew's head. "Hello Dominick. Your father said you had something to show me?" Mycroft actually managed to smile down at the boy.

Dominick crossed the room happily, pointing to the goldfish bowl in the corner. "Look Uncle Mycroft! Mum and Dad got me a goldfish!"

Mycroft stepped further into the room. "Very nice Dominick. What's his name?"

Dominick giggled, bouncing on his little feet. "His name's Mycroft too, just like you Uncle Mycroft!"

"I..well..he's very nice, Dominick."

Mycroft left the little boy chattering away happily to his fish and made his way back downstairs.

"A word, little brother." Mycroft's glare was murderous.

Sherlock, on the other hand, was grinning like the Cheshire cat.