I know it's been quite a long while since I've last updated, and—as I now say every time I post—I am truly sorry for all of you who have been following my story and waiting so patently for me to update. So! In an attempt to make it up to you, I have written a chapter so stuffed full of fluffy, cuddling goodness that I hope it can begin to make up for my being a terrible updater.

So, with that said, I want to send out a HUGE thank you to everyone who is still there, still reading, and still following little Hamish. I love this story, and these characters, I truly do. Sometimes life gets in the way, and I just lack motivation. But all of you have been so impossibly kind and incredibly encouraging, and to have such wonderful followers is amazing. So: THANK YOU EVERYONE! I love each and every one of you! =)

Now please prepare to throw up from all the fluffy goodness in the chapter.

Chapter Fifty-Seven: A New Home and A New Surprise

The next morning, Sherlock awoke and padded into the sitting room to find Hamish, still clothed in his onesie, sitting nearly cross-legged in front of the carrier, gazing in at Toby.

Frowning, the detective took a seat next to his little son, and gazed into the carrier, wishing he could see the wonder Hamish obviously found in the cat. "How long have you been up?" he murmured, brushing away a few of his son's stray curls.

A shrug. "I nots know, Daddy," Hamish replied in a whisper, keeping his gaze fixed on Toby. "I likes ah cat."

Smiling fondly, Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I know you like the cat… Though I must admit, I do not understand your fascination."

"Mah what, Daddy?"

"Nevermind," Sherlock chuckled. "Are you not hungry, then?"

Finally tearing his eyes away from the anomaly in 221B that had become Toby, Hamish seemed to catch sight of his father for the first time.

Sherlock's brows furrowed slightly when the little boy suddenly bursted into a fit of bell-like giggles. "What?" he asked, glancing around him to see if John had managed to sneak up on them. "What's so funny?"

"Is lots messy, Daddy!"

"What is?" Sherlock asked confusedly.

Pressing his lips together in an attempt to contain his laughing, Hamish, cheeks turning pink, pointed a single finger towards his father's head.

Frowning confusedly, Sherlock stood up and then glanced in the mirror above the mantle. Rolling his eyes in fond understanding, the detective chuckled. "Ah. I see. Messy hair. I'll just fix it, then."

"No, Daddy. I cans!"

A chuckle. "If you wish." Once again lowering himself onto the ground, Sherlock crossed his legs and then pulled Hamish onto his lap. With a tiny grunt, the little boy clamored onto his father's lap, slipping slightly on the fabric of the detective's pajama bottoms. "I've go you," Sherlock assured with a warm twitch of his lips, keeping Hamish—and his onesie-clad feet—steady by holding him under the armpits.

Mouth falling open and tongue falling out as he concentrated on staying upright, little Hamish finally found himself situated. "'Kay. I gots it." Worrying his bottom lip as he concentrated, the little boy took two chubby hands and then pressed them flat over Sherlock's head, effectively smoothing out the unruly curls residing there.

"Did you get them?"

"'Ep, Daddy! I gots 'tem!"

"Excellent. Thank you very much, love."

"Is lots velcom'in, Daddy." Tiny chest puffed out with pride, Hamish, having clearly decided crawling off his father's lap would simply take too much effort, plopped down between the detective's crossed legs and then turned around to once again gaze at Toby. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Hamish?"

"What's will happ-men ah Toby?"

"Oh. Well… I'm not…"

"Toby needs ah fam'lwy," Hamish whispered with a content smile as he gazed at the cat. "Ah goods one. Likes we have."

Silverly gaze flicking down to study his son, Sherlock suddenly wrapped an arm around the little boy's middle and then hugged him close. "Yes, I suppose he does, doesn't he?"

"Daddy, squeez-ming lots tight!" Hamish exclaimed with a laugh as he attempted to squirm out of Sherlock's tight hold.

"Sorry." With a fond smile, the detective removed his arm.

"Is 'kay, Daddy. Cans take Toby out now?"

"Well…" Shooting the lazy cat in question a dithering look, Sherlock pursed his lips and then bargained, "How about we get some breakfast first. And then you can see Toby, yes?"

"Oh!" Clamoring out of his father's lap, Hamish stood and then nodded his agreement. "What's be?"

"Oh. Right." As John was usually the one who made breakfast, Sherlock frowned. "Well, I suppose we should go see what we have."

"We has eggs, Daddy," Hamish suggested matter-of-factly and with a quirk of his lips that so incredibly resembled his father.

Muscles pulling together to form a look of both confusion and amusement, Sherlock stood and then placed his hands on his hips. "How do you know that, Hamish?" he asked, genuinely curious, but suspecting he knew the answer none-the-less.

"I did sees them."

A proud smile graced Sherlock's lips. "Right. Of course you did." Chuckling when Hamish seemed to scowl confusedly up at him, the detective laughed. "Come along, you clever boy. We'll get you some eggs."

"And then I sees Toby?"

Sherlock nodded. "And then you'll see Toby."

"'Kay. Good."

Smiling at his rather adorable son, Sherlock offered a hand, which the little boy gladly accepted. Leading Hamish into the kitchen, Sherlock hoisted the little boy onto his hip and then opened the fridge. "Let's see… eggs. Eggs… Ah. Here we are." The detective pulled out the carton.

"I cans help cook ah eggs, Daddy?"

"Oh. Well, I don't see why not. But can you do something for me first?" Hamish nodded eagerly. "Excellent. I need you to go wake John up for me. Can you do that?" A firm nod. "Very good. Off you go, then. Oh! And Hamish?"

"Hmm?"

"John might wake more quickly if you jab him just a bit in the face, alright?"

"oh. Uh-kay, Daddy." A content smile on his lips, famish toddled out of view.

Smirking to himself, Sherlock pulled out a bowl, a whisk, and two eggs. Several moments later, the detective heard the sound of John's heavy footsteps, soon followed by Hamish's much lighter ones. Sensing the doctor's irritated form behind him, Sherlock taunted, "Did you have a good sleep, then, John?"

"Ask Hamish."

Frowning, as this was not the response he was anticipating, Sherlock turned around to find Hamish holding John's hand and glaring up at him. "What…"

"Not was nice, Daddy. John say was mean." Bottom lip sticking out as far as his mouth would allow it, Hamish stomped forward, tugging John behind him. "Now say is… Oh." Suddenly whispering, as if to prevent Sherlock from hearing him, Hamish gestured that he needed to whisper something to John. "What is the ah word?" he asked loudly once the doctor had bent down.

Smiling, John whispered his response.

"Oh! 'Es!" Now returning his voice to normal, Hamish continued. "Now 'ease must say 'pologies."

Mouth going slightly slack and his lips parting just slight, Sherlock squinted his eyes ever so slightly and turned an icy gaze to John. "My… apologies... John," the detective added with a sigh, releasing a steady, rather annoyed breath through his nose. Features softening as he turned his attention back to Hamish, Sherlock raised his brows in silent question. "Hmm?"

"'Kay. Much 'etter. Tanks you."

Eyes glowing with a fondness his expression was attempting to conceal, Sherlock nodded simply. "Right. Do you still want to help?"

"'Es 'ease."

"Very well. You can crack the eggs for me."

Green eyes brightening with excitement, Hamish nodded eagerly, and then outstretched his arms. "Up?"

Obliging, Sherlock hoisted the little boy onto his hip and then placed him on the counter next to the materials. Plucking an egg from the cardboard carton, the detective handed it to Hamish and then instructed him on how he needed to hit it gently against the side of the bowl. "Gently, now. If you squeeze too hard, it might break."

"Oh. Uh-kay, Daddy." Handling the egg with as much tenderness as his chubby little fingers would allow, Hamish—with a little more force than was necessary—tapped the egg to the side of the bowl, nearly gasping when it cracked. "Uh-oh."

"No," Sherlock chuckled, taking the egg from his son's hands. "That's what we want. See?" Finishing off what Hamish had started, the detective cracked the egg fully and then let the yolk fall into the bowl. "Here. Try again." Sherlock handed Hamish another egg.

"Tanks you."

"Excellent manners, Hame," John praised from the other side of kitchen where he was making a pot of coffee.

Grinning proudly, Hamish once again handled the egg delicately in his fingers and then cracked it on the side of the bowl. The little boy released a tiny huff of frustrated air when the egg didn't break.

"It's alright," Sherlock urged. "Just try it again."

"'Kay." Sticking his tongue out as his concentrated, Hamish once again tapped the egg to the side of the bowl. "Ah-ha!," he cried triumphantly when the egg broke apart, sending bits of shell and yolk flying this way and that. "Oh. Ew, Daddy."

Wiping a bit of egg off his cheek, Sherlock grimaced and agreed. "Indeed."

"Do you do need some help over there?" John chuckled.

"No tanks you, John."

"Alright, little man. If you say so. Sherlock?" The doctor held up a cup of coffee.

"Please," Sherlock answered as he took the leaking egg from Hamish's fingers and then quickly disposed of it. "Perhaps we still need a bit of practice, hmm?"

Hamish nodded his agreement.

Fetching another egg and his cup of coffee, Sherlock quickly cracked the ivory casing and then emptied the contents into the bowl. "Now to whisk," the detective murmured, taking an appreciative sip of his coffee. Setting the mug down, Sherlock handed Hamish the utensil. "Now. Very gentle, alright? Little movements." Sherlock indicated what Hamish was to do. The little boy nodded fervently.

With the tenderness of only Hamish Holmes, the little boy gently whisked t he eggs, taking special care not to splash any outside of the bowl.

His coffee now properly prepared, John leaned against the nearby counter, sipped his beverage, and watched the scene with a tender gaze.

"Excellent job, love." Taking the bowl containing the barely-whisked eggs from Hamish, Sherlock quickly finished the whisking, pulled out a pan and then transferred the eggs.

"I cans help?"

"Not with this bit, Hamish. I don't want you to get burned. Sorry, love."

"Oh. Is 'kay, Daddy… I can gets down now?"

"Oh. Certainly." Sherlock transferred the little boy from the counter to the ground.

"Tanks you."

"You're very welcome."

"… How longs it will take?" Hamish asked after a moment's pause.

Sherlock chuckled. "Just a few more minutes, Hamish."

"Uh-kay." Bouncing his legs ever so slightly, Hamish then hopped his way over to John and then indicated that he wished to be picked up. Obliging, the doctor pulled the little boy into his arms. "Hey there, little man," the doctor greeted warmly before taking a sip of his coffee.

"He'o… John?"

"Hmm?"

"What is?" Hamish pointed to the doctor's mug.

"Coffee."

"Oh. I can haves ah taste?"

"Oh, well… I don't think you'll… Here, how about you have a smell first?" The doctor placed the mug in front of Hamish's nose.

"Uh-kay." Inhaling deeply, Hamish suddenly coughed and then seemed to gag slightly. Scrambling out of the doctor's arms, the little boy promptly sat himself down on the kitchen linoleum and then rubbed fervently at his nose. "Much is yucky, John," he sighed, as if in exhaustion. "Ew."

Taking another sip, John chuckled while simultaneously nodding his agreement. "Sorry, little man. Maybe we'll just stick with juice and water, for now, yeah?'

Hamish hastily nodded his agreement. Wiping his nose with a finalizing flourish, as if to ensure all of the smell had been eradicated, the little boy then stood and toddled over to Sherlock. "Eggs is be done, Daddy?" he asked, tugging at the hem of the detective's trousers.

"Just about, love."

"Uh-kay." In preparation for the meal, Hamish tugged off his shirt, and then, with help from John, clambered into a kitchen chair.

"Alright. Done." Transferring the finished eggs into a bowl, Sherlock grabbed a fork and then placed the bowl in front of Hamish.

"Tanks you, Daddy."

"You're very welcome. Now, eat up."

"Wants some?" A piece of egg gripped perilously between his fingertips, Hamish outstretched a hand.

Sherlock declined with a chuckle.

"'Kay." The little boy turned his hand to the doctor. "John?"

Opening his mouth, the doctor accepted. "Mmm. Thank you, Hame. That was very nice you."

With a sweet, rather proud smile, Hamish returned to his food.

Despite the fact that Hamish and gotten more egg on the floor than in his mouth by the time breakfast was finished (and in record time, as the little boy was quite eager to once again play with Toby), Sherlock and John both praised Hamish for having made a genuine effort this go-around, and for making an attempt to clean up after himself.

"Now I cans see Toby?" the little boy asked excitedly while he was getting a thorough wipe-down from Sherlock.

"Just one more moment." Gently holding Hamish in place, Sherlock ran a wet wash cloth over the little boy's hands, wiping away any remnants of breakfast.

"Now?" Hamish cried once again, anxiously bouncing up and down.

With a fond smile, Sherlock stood, placed his hands on his hips and then nodded. "Now."

Arms curling up next to his face, as if because he just had so much excitement he didn't know what to do, Hamish bolted from the kitchen and back into the sitting room. "Oh. Daddy, I needs help. Cants get ah case open."

Exchanging a fond glance with John, Sherlock padded into the sitting room. "Just one moment, love. I'll help you." Kneeling down, and after shooting a quick scowl Toby's way, the detective unlocked the gate, thus setting the cat free.

With a gasp, Hamish lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the startled cat. "He'o, Toby!" the little boy sighed into the cat's ruff. "I did miss." The cat purred appreciatively in response.

"Daddy, I can goes an' play wif Toby?"

"Oh, I suppose," Sherlock sighed playfully and with a wink. "Just… be nice to him, alright? You must remember cat's can be a tad bit touchy, yes?"

"Uh-kay, Daddy." Nodding his head, Hamish toddled away, pausing every few steps to hoist Toby—who kept slipping—back into his arms.

Sherlock watched with a warm, fatherly gaze. "Are you quite content now, then?" he murmured, the smile clear in his voice.

"Mmm. Much, Daddy," Hamish sighed, once again hoisting poor Toby into his arms.

Crossing his own arms, Sherlock laughed. "Good. I'm glad." Keeping a watchful eye on Hamish and the cat, the detective sauntered over to John, who was leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen. "We can't keep the cat," he sighed, pressing his lips into a thin a line.

John gazed into his coffee. "Yep," he agreed softly.

"… I hate cats."

A smile. "Yeah. We know, Sherlock." Chuckling, John abandoned his lukewarm coffee and then, before exiting the kitchen, called behind him, "Going to get dressed. Be back down in a few… Oh, and Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

A coy smile glanced across the doctor's lips. "Don't let him kill the cat."

As John had left for work, Sherlock had been staring at Hamish's little form for several hours, watching as the boy—also for several hours—played with and petted and snuggled Toby. Stupid bloody cat. Fingers pressed—almost painfully—against his lips, Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, mentally preparing himself for the conversation he knew he needed to have. Steeling himself, the detective removed his steepled fingers and then settled them in his pockets. "Hamish?" he asked hesitantly and with a sigh.

Looking up from Toby, who was sleeping soundly in his arms, Hamish whispered, "'Es, Daddy?"

As his son's sea-green eyes seemed to bore into his own silver ones, Sherlock choked on his words. "Right. Yes… Indeed. Um…" Heaving a sigh, the detective ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his raven curls. "Listen, love." Tugging up his trousers as he knelt down in front of Hamish, Sherlock smiled sympathetically. "I'm afraid Toby cannot stay with us forever. He needs a new home… And I'm afraid, as I've carried out all of my experiments, it's time for us to let him live with someone else."

Tears suddenly welling in his eyes, the little boy hugged Toby closer. "But I likes Toby."

"I know. I know you do, Hamish. Which is why I've arranged for him to live close by," Sherlock explained hurriedly, anxiously wiping away a stray tear that had fallen free.

Eyes lightening just slightly at the idea of Toby remaining close by, Hamish sniffled and then ran a few chubby fingers through the cat's grey fur. "Close?"

Sherlock smiled warmly and then nodded. "Very close."

"I can see?"

"Yes, you'll be able to see him nearly anytime you want."

"Oh… Well, where is, Daddy?"

"No, no, Sherlock, I said I couldn't take in a cat because I'm allergic, remember? We did discuss it."

"Did we?" Sherlock asked, feigning confusion as he gently pushed his way into Molly's flat, Toby's cat carrier in hand.

Huffing a soft sigh, Molly's gaze travelled to the ceiling. "Yes, Sherlock. Several times. A few hours ago. On the phone."

"Oh, right, must have slipped my mind, apologies," the detective rambled quickly, gesturing that Hamish was to follow him in. "Come along, love."

Still rather sullen, Hamish padded into the pathologist's flat, eyes downcast. "He'o, Molly," he mumbled sadly, trailing behind Sherlock's taller form.

"Oh…" Brows tugging together to form a rather confused, but sorrowful expression, Molly watched as Hamish dejectedly plopped down next to Rose, who was now beginning to crawl.

"He'o, Baby Rose. Cans have Toby. Is much nice."

"Oh," Molly once again mumbled, the word just a squeak.

Gaze reflecting the sadness Molly's voice had just translated, Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Exactly." Setting the carrier down on the floor, the detective tucked his hands into the pockets of his Belstaff and watched as Hamish let Toby out of his cage. "So. Thoughts on the cat, then?"

Voice still just a soft squeak, Molly's gaze darted back and forth between Hamish's heartbroken form and Sherlock's equally-heartbroken expression. "Gosh darn you, Sherlock," the pathologist sighed, tweaking her vernacular for the younger ones in the room. "Why must you always do things like this?"

Knowing full well that he'd won, Sherlock smiled appreciatively and then, quite unsure what to do, clapped Molly on the shoulder. Which in turn earned him a glare. "Right. Apologies." The detective then, more sincerely, thanked the pathologist. "Thank you, Molly. It means a lot that you are willing to do this. Both for me, and for Hamish."

Anger fading from her eyes as she glanced back at the little boy in question, who seemed to be saying his goodbyes to Toby, Molly nodded. "It's fine. I'll just take allergy medication." A weak smile gracing her lips, the pathologist nodded at Sherlock and then padded over to Hamish and the cat. "Hello, darling."

"He'o, Molly. Is goings ah take Toby?"

"Yes, love, I am. He's going to live here with me and Rose. And you are more than welcome to visit him anytime you want," Molly assured, running a comforting hand up and down the length of the tiny boy's spine.

A sniffle. "Uh-kays… Molly?"

"Yes, love?"

"Will tell Toby I 'oves?"

Molly smiled. "Absolutely I will."

"E'ry day?"

"Each and every day. Promise."

"I 'tinks I has ah go now." Tears once again welling in his eyes, Hamish hugged Toby close.

Eyes tinged with sadness, and practically filling with tears of his own, Sherlock watched as Hamish, quite clearly dejected by the situation, kept his little fingers buried in Toby's fur, as if refusing to let him go.

Internally rolling his eyes at what he knew he was about to do, Sherlock quietly excused himself from the room and then pulled out his mobile and dialed a number.

"What?"

"Mycroft, I need you to do something for me."

"I does miss Toby," Hamish whimpered against Sherlock's chest as they rode home together, the little boy settled safely in his father's comforting and familiar arms. "Does miss lots."

"I know you do, little one. I know… I'm very sorry we couldn't keep him."

"Was ah good kitty."

Sherlock smiled, the movement bittersweet. "Yes, I suppose he was… You know, you will still be able to see him," the detective assured, smoothing a hand over Hamish's auburn curls.

"'Es, I does know… But does not fix."

"No," Sherlock murmured, setting his cheek atop the little boy's curls. "I suppose it doesn't." The detective frowned as Hamish moaned quietly against his chest, burying his tiny face in the folds of his jacket.

By the time the cab rolled up outside 221B, Hamish's saddened whimpers had stopped and the little boy merely clung to Sherlock's collar as the detective stepped out of the cab, hugging his son close. "We're home, Hamish."

"Mm-hmm," the little boy agreed sadly.

Smiling sorrowfully to himself, Sherlock opened the door to the flat with his free hand and began the descent up to their flat. "Hamish?"

"Hmm?"

"I know you're very upset about Toby, but… well, I'm hoping I can make it up to you."

A sniffle. Finally Hamish pulled his face from the detective's chest. "What, Daddy?"

"Well… I have rather a gift for you." Having reached the landing, Sherlock tugged gently on Hamish's little arm, indicating he was to turn around.

"What is, Daddy?"

"You'll see."

Frowning in confusion, Hamish turned around. "Unc'mel Myc?" he asked in confusion. "Is pres'ment?"

Sherlock chuckled and then set the little boy on the ground. "Not quite." The detective gently patted his son on the back, urging him forward. "Go on."

The frown still set on his lips, Hamish took a step forward, clearly confused. "Does have ah pres'ment, Myc?" he asked.

"Indeed I do." A grin melting away his cold exterior, the government official—umbrella in hand—stepped aside to reveal an animal carrier.

Understanding soon dawning him, Hamish's jaw dropped and he turned around, eyes meeting his father's, as if to check and see if the situation was real.

A grin of his own dancing over his lips, Sherlock nodded eagerly and then urged again, "Why don't you see what's in there, hmm?"

Nodding fervently, Hamish rushed towards the cage, nearly tripping over himself in the process. "I needs help!" he cried upon realizing he would not be able to open the case.

One step ahead of his little son, Sherlock hurried over and clicked open the little latch. "I hope this makes up for everything," the detective hummed, already knowing the answer as he watched as Hamish caught sight of the contents of the cage.

No longer buzzing with excitement, but rather frozen still, Hamish's mouth once again fell open. "Daddy," he sighed in amazement and joy.

Once again grinning, Sherlock nodded, and then pulled his rather stricken son into his arms. "What do you see in there, Hamish? Hmm?"

A large and impossibly overjoyed smile lighting his features, Hamish suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. "Daddy! Myc!" he cried, eagerly reaching into the cage and pulling out the fluffy creature within. "A puppy!"

P.S. A VERY happy birthday to my grandma, who is an avid reader, follower, and supporter of this fic! =) Happy Birthday, Grandma! I love you!