A/N: Hope y'all enjoy this, just a fun little fic that'll make ya feel good. If you happen to also frequent AO3 and see this under a similar username with a tinkerbell icon, don't worry, it's me.

Sherlock - BBC, Arthur Conan Doyle

Any other content - Me

Sherlock never celebrated his birthday and it drove Molly mad. The most they'd ever done was get cake and he never asked for anything; two years together-yes, an honest true pairing much as she couldn't believe it-two years and she'd never gotten him a present. She was usually respectful of peoples wishes, that's just how Molly was. But some part of it really bothered her and she thought she really ought to get him something at least once in their relationship. Sure, she could have gotten him some science things or maybe a foot from the morgue but then she'd have to figure out something for Christmas and-oh, hell. She was sitting with him in 221B-she had her own chair, sat beside his of course-watching trash television and it took all she had not to make it obvious how frustrated she was. But then it was like angels sang because Sherlock realized he forgot to pay rent or something and paused the show and popped downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's. She rang John.

"Hello?"

"John! It's Molly. Quickly now I haven't much time, you have any idea what Sherlock would like as a present?"

John paused. He knew well as her Sherlock sort of avoided his birthday being a thing. "Well, did you ask him?"

"I have asked. He just pretends I haven't."

"Mm, not surprised. 'Fraid I haven't got a clue besides cake. Or cocaine-but don't get him that."

"You know I wouldn't." She smiled slightly when she heard Rosie babbling in the background. "Well, have I got your pledge if I figure something out?"

"Certainly. I'll even drag one of my mates in if it means annoying Sherlock."

Molly grinned as the gears began to turn in her head. "Oh, absolutely. Thanks John." And she hung up before Sherlock was back. He stopped when he saw her and narrowed his eyes while she looked over as if nothing had happened.

"Somethings on."

"Hm?"

"That look on your face. You only ever have that look if your hiding something from me – what did you do? Am I going to find a finger in my crisps again?" He immediately went to the bag on the side table by his chair.

"Oh, please. I only did that once." She beamed. This only served to make him more paranoid. It was a testament to how much had changed in the last couple years that he got a plate and dumped the crisps on it instead of upturning the bag on the table itself, sifting through the contents cautiously. "Oh, come on, it wasn't even real."

"You say that, yet I never know." He put the plate on the side table, seeming satisfied, then sat down and relaxed a bit in his chair with enough trash telly and crisps to keep him from going out in the rain. Last time he'd gotten particularly bored on a rainy day he'd ended up with a cold, which was never a pleasant experience, especially for Molly. He would get a bit cuddly, which was nice as he wasn't usually the one to initiate much physical affection, but he was also annoying and would sometimes end up getting Molly sick, and if Molly got sick John would inevitably get it because she'd get it worse than Sherlock and poor John would have to make sure they didn't die, at which point Rosie would get quarantined with Mrs. Hudson while they all tried to recover or die, whichever came first.

She leaned over from her own chair and played with his hand, thinking on what to get him and what to do, subtly browsing Amazon a few moments before the idea, the perfect, perfect idea, came to her. It would be brilliant! Now all there was to do was find a reason to leave temporarily. It could be quite hard to fly under Sherlock's radar when he wasn't occupied with a case. Always on top of things; expression, pose, clothing, pulse and all of it-once he'd figured out she had just been trying to "secretly" Christmas shop by her breathing pattern (alright, and the rosy nose and cheeks and forehead and…Molly didn't color as well as she'd like) and further deduced she was hiding everything in Mrs. Hudson's car because it was the one thing of hers he didn't have a key to. So, it was quite difficult. Unless…

"Want to watch Maury?"

Sherlock shrugged slightly, so Molly went ahead and pulled it up on Netflix. Fifteen minutes later he had pulled his knees up to his chest and was shouting how it was so obvious he was the father based on the sole of his boot or the crinkles of skin around his finger joints or the freckle pattern on the left side of his forehead or something. Molly had talked at the right moments and quietly texted John to meet her at a café for "Operation Camaraderie". A few more minutes and she stood up, looking at her phone. "Oh, Sherlock, seems Toby got out again, over at the neighbors. I'll be back."

"Hm? Yes, yes very good – bring chips?" He glanced over and Molly laughed a little because he perked up sort of like a puppy waiting for a treat. She promised him she would, grabbed her coat and then left. It was only a few blocks, so she walked, much as she might have liked a cab. But she wasn't so posh as Sherlock and the idea of the cost and tip was enough to deter her. John was waiting under the awning holding little Rosie all bundled up in a purple raincoat with little white poodles Molly had gotten her, which made her smile.

"Hello John! And Rosie, look how big you are!" She ruffled the already frizzy curls, making Rosie giggle. "Only saw you last week and I swear you've grown."

Rosie grinned, holding her forefinger in her mouth by the middle. Odd little habit, but it was better than sucking her thumb. John was happy as he always was when someone made Rosie smile. "Good to see you, Molly. Lets get in then, it's freezing."

They were settled quickly as it wasn't very busy, right by the window. The rain started falling in sheets and made the world all wibbly-wobbly, kind of what it was like when Molly wasn't wearing glasses or contacts. Except being able to see it properly made it prettier without all the colors blurring together. She paused to take a picture with her phone, thinking she might print it later with how pretty the car lights looked in the droplets streaking the window. Then she turned to John. "So, I think I've got an idea."

John shrugged off his coat over the back of the chair. "Ah yeah, "Operation Camaraderie" – what should I take from that?" He helped Rosie out of her coat.

"Well, mostly I just liked the word." She smiled sheepishly while tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "But I think it fits."

"Yeah?" They paused to order tea and milk for Rosie and then went back to it. "What exactly is your plan?"

Molly fiddled with one of the sugar packets. "Well, call me mad, but I think Sherlock gets lonely sometimes. I mean-without a case and all sometimes he just…gets a bit melancholy."

John paused and inclined his head. "Happens when you discover your human."

Molly relaxed. "I'm glad I'm not the only one that's noticed. It's weird."

"Yeah. Don't think it's noticeable less you've known him a long time."

Molly nodded, struck with the realization she'd known Sherlock for…a decade. And it'd taken a majority of that decade, one John Watson, and one very, very unexpected sibling discovery for him to begin to show himself at all. Hm. "Really. Well, then you might not think I'm so mad."

"Might I?"

"I want to get him a dog."

John sipped his tea thoughtfully and after a long, agonizing pause, nodded once. "Alright. Can't be too big."

She blinked. "That's it? you don't think it's a bad idea?"

He shook his head. "No, no. Was worried there might be a Redbeard connection but….well, no Irish Setters and not too big. He loves dogs more than humans anyway." He stopped. "Except maybe us-actually, no, no dogs are better."

"Dogs are better." She agreed.

"Doggies!" Rosie said, beaming.

"Just don't be surprised if he goes all," John stopped and stared blankly at the table a moment, then looked at her. "I think it happens when he gets overloaded."

Molly agreed, and they figured the rules quickly; smallish, intelligent and not quite a puppy but not too old, and good with children, or at least Rosie. With this in mind they Googled until they found a shelter nearby, hailed a cab, and were soon enough at Pawsome Pet Place. It did cross Molly's mind to let Sherlock pick his own dog, but she didn't really know if he'd actually do it for himself. Perhaps the thought had never occurred to him and she should have just said, "hey, love, let me get you a dog?" and he would have hopped up and found himself the smartest little mutt in the world. Maybe whatever dog they found would love them and hate Sherlock. Maybe it would growl and bite and piss on the rug and-oh no, what if this was a bad idea? Maybe it was and, oh dear, she'd gone and dragged John into it too! Oh dear, oh dear…

She worried at her lip but did her best to make it look like she was just thinking while looking at the dogs. Small, big, medium, of all coats, colors, dispositions and barks. They were quite cute some of them, and other's very friendly, but none quite struck her right. There was one chihuahua that looked like he might be quite smart, but then he pissed in his own food bowl, so she had to rule him out.

They didn't find anyone at that shelter, so they went ahead and tried another while Molly began to quietly wring her hands. Sherlock would have noticed her gone now. She had to think of a cover soo-oh, no, right now. A little violin chimed from her pocket, catching Rosie's attention.

? – SH

That's all he'd sent. He wasn't worried, but curious. Likely still watching Maury, or maybe trying to make the hand he had in his fridge dance. Meera. That's it, that's all it needed. Meera, her lovely but chatty friend, had simply dropped by. Perfect. Not perfect everything was going to go wrong and she'd be out too long and he'd get very suspicious and possibly worried-because he worried he never like to admit it but he really did – and probably not that she was with anyone he knew better but that was always sort of at the back of her mind and she really wasn't sure what she was doing or why she was even panicking suddenly on really Molly old girl you should have just bought a bloody cake you-

"Hey, hey Molly are you alright?"

She snapped forward, turned and smiled. "Never better!" If I pass out and die that'd be alright.

John didn't look like he believed her and just gestured out the window. "Were here."

She stumbled out and followed into the rescue, but all they had were displeased cats and a mutt that tried to bite Rosie through the chain-link door. They tried one more rescue, and once again…nothing. Molly was devastated. Sure, she'd try again some other time, maybe make it some sort of date, but it wouldn't be quite the same. John could see the disappointment, she knew it was oh so obvious, and tried his best to cheer her up. He said they could just do cake again, they knew Sherlock liked that last time, it'd be fine, blah, blah, blah. He was so sweet and Molly felt bad she wasn't cheering up, but she went along with it and tried to keep chipper. Just as they were getting out of the cab in front of 221B Rosie pointed toward Speedy's excitedly. "Doggie!".