Half of him was saying run. Run now, get back in the car, and carry on alone. Trusting strange men, especially one in a dark, full length, high collared trench coat, was not a good idea. But the other half kept his feet glued firmly to the floor before them. They knew his mom. They knew him.They could help him find his family, help him get them back. He didn't even know where to start, and they already appeared to have intel. Asking random strangers in a world only Emma had set foot in if they had seen any of them was definitely not working. What choice did he have?
'So, you're Emma's son.' Sherlock said, more as a statement than a question, like he had always known.
Henry nodded. 'Sorry but, how do you know my mom? What do you mean 'welcome back to the map'?'
'Do you mind?' Sherlock asked, ignoring Henry and gesturing to the photos in his hands.
'Um, sure?' Hesitantly, Henry handed the photos over.
Sherlock snatched them into his own hands, his eyes manically flicking over each face, a frown fixated upon his own.
The other man, Watson, stood awkwardly beside them, glancing across at Henry and smiling every now and then.
'Your mum's old boss got in touch with us. She's been missing for four years now, they enlisted us to find her.' He explained briefly.
The great sense of shock and confusion that had overwhelmed him kept Henry from asking all the questions he wanted to. Instead he just stood there, dumbfound. The sudden appearance of the two men had also made him forget his urge to get out of there, before social services arrived. That was until he suddenly found himself tightly wrapped in the embrace of Doctor Watson.
'What the–' He began, attempting to worm out of his arms.
'Just go with it.' Watson hissed in his ear, then, 'Oh thank God we found you!'
Henry felt his ears burning as the whole diner turned to see what all the fuss was. The woman that was at the counter had reappeared, phone in hand, and now stopped dead as she took in what was going on before her.
'The things you put us through, Henry.' Watson gushed, holding him close and stroking his head. 'We were worried sick!'
The woman came forward. 'Is everything alright here?'
'It is now, thank you. We just woke up this morning and he was gone. But we're together again now.'
'He's yours?' The waitress asked warily. 'But, I didn't see you in any of the pictures -'
At the mention of the photos Sherlock's head snapped up. 'What?'
'Oh, he has this silly notion he's going to find his real family.' Watson sighed, as Sherlock placed the pictures in his pocket a little too suspiciously. He lowered his voice. 'You see, I adopted him a few months ago, he's not taking it very well.'
Henry still couldn't react, standing stiff beside the stranger he had met not five minutes ago, who was now pretending to be his guardian.
The woman smiled slowly. 'Well, I'm glad that you and you're um…' She frowned at Sherlock. 'Partner, were able to find him.'
Again, Sherlock frowned, looking between Watson and the woman in confusion. 'What? John-'
'Well, I assumed that–'
'Yes, thank you.' John interrupted, fixing Sherlock with an overly sweet yet also rather threatening smile. 'Come on Henry, we'll get you something before we head off.'
Henry smiled slightly at John, as Sherlock had called him, following him to the table they had been sitting at when he arrived.
'Sorry about that.' John said, sliding across the seat as Sherlock perched himself beside him.
Henry sat opposite them, looking between them.
'We're not…you know…' John added hastily. 'We just work together.'
'Solving cases.' Sherlock finally entered the conversation. 'As a matter of fact, we're here to solve yours, Henry.'
'Mine?' Henry asked, his brows knitting together in a frown. 'What are you talking about? And what did you mean, 'back to the map'?'
Sherlock didn't even blink at the flood of questions. 'Your mother is missing, yes?'
'Yes, but not for-'
'And so have you been, since you were just a few months old.'
'No, I haven't.' Henry replied, his confusion growing.
'According to the records you have. No one knows where you ended up ever since you were adopted fourteen years ago.'
John leaned across the table. 'On the adoption form it says that your adoptive mother was the mayor of the town you were being taken to.'
'Yes, Storybrooke.' Henry nodded. 'And that's where I've been for those fourteen years. I've lived there all my life.'
'Storybrooke?' John asked, as Sherlock had gone silent again. 'You've been there all your life?'
'Well, yes, except the one year my mom and I spent in New York, but I doubt that appeared on the records. I mean, our lives weren't real there.'
'What makes you say that?'
Henry paused for a moment, not meeting John's gaze. 'We…we were cursed.'
John collapsed back into the seat. 'Henry, we want to help but…'
Henry felt anger surging inside him. For ten years of his life he had been told he was crazy. No one believed him that Storybrooke was cursed, not even him own mother. He had been isolated, put into therapy, ignored and crushed in an attempt to make him more 'normal'. He wasn't going to sit here and have these two strangers tell him he was crazy, when they didn't know him or his family or what they had been through. They claimed to be looking for his mom, and so was he. If they weren't going to believe, they would never find his family. And that wasn't a risk Henry was willing to take.
'I am not crazy.' Henry snarled. 'If you don't want to believe me that's fine, I'll find my mom on my own.'
'Henry, we will find her.' John said as calmly as possible. 'But we've not got a lot to go on.'
'Well lucky for you, I have.' Henry answered. 'They all disappeared this morning. Everyone in the whole town.'
'Emma's been missing for four years!'
'No she hasn't!' Henry groaned. 'When will you start listening to me?'
'I'm not going on a wild goose chase based on blind belief.'
'Who are these people?' Sherlock suddenly interrupted, making Henry jump as he shoved the pictures across the table.
'My family.'
'Family? There was no mention of any siblings or aunts or uncles in the records that do exist.'
'Because I don't have any.' Henry replied. He pointed to the smiling faces. 'That's my adoptive mom, Regina. And they're my grandparents.'
'Grandparents?' John asked incredulously.
'Hush John.' Sherlock shot. 'Emma's parents?'
'Yeah, Mary Margaret and David.' Henry answered, rummaging in his bag. 'More commonly known as…' he dropped a large book on the table. 'Snow White and Prince Charming.'
John made no attempt to hide his exasperated sigh, and Henry could see the pity behind his eyes. He didn't know how, but he had to convince them to believe. It took being poisoned to get his mom to believe, he'd have to try something a bit more discrete with these two.
Sherlock was flicking through the pages of the book, looking between the illustrations and the photos on the table. He reached the end, quickly reading the last few pages.
'So the Evil Queen cursed everyone and brought them here?' He asked slowly, lifting his gaze but not his head to look at Henry.
'Yeah, my mom.'
'Emma?'
'Other mom.'
'Right.'
They fell into silence, Henry determined to get them to believe, John determined to get out of there back to normal people, and Sherlock…well, who knows?
'You last saw them all this morning?'
'Yeah, we were going to get…' Henry trailed off, staring across the diner.
'Henry?' Sherlock followed his gaze.
Slowly, Henry rose to his feet, walking as if in a trance to a book shelf in the corner. His heart plummeted to the floor when he read the cover.
Heroes and Villains by Isaac Heller
His heart just about stopped. With trembling hands, he lifted a copy from the shelf, turning the book in his hands. Isaac's face smiled out at him from a photo on the back cover. It took all his strength to stop him from dropping it to the floor.
He returned to the table, shoving the book under the noses of Sherlock and John.
'I know him. He's the Author.'
'Right?' John pressed, obviously unimpressed.
'Like, The Author.' Henry clarified. 'The one that wrote the stories in here.' He tapped the cover of the storybook. 'I need to talk to him. He'll know what happened to my family.'
'Henry, you don't know that.' John sighed.
'Look, the author was trapped in this page here.' Henry began, producing the page with door from his pocket. 'He wanted to change the balance, give all the villains from the storybook a happy ending. We tried to trap him back inside with this but…next thing I knew everyone was gone. He's just got to know something.'
He held up the key for them to see before returning it safely to his pocket.
'But you can't be sure,we can't just up and leave to look for some random author!' John argued, his disbelief angering Henry more and more.
'Yes, we can. Please. They're myfamily. Trust me.'
'Very well.' Sherlock decided, looking up from his phone that Henry didn't even see him produce and picking up the page. 'According to his blog he has a book signing tonight in New York. What do you say we pay Mr Heller a little visit? He might like to see this.'
The door of the hall clashed against the wall as Henry pushed it open. Gasps were heard as everyone who was seated turned around in their chairs to get a better view of whoever it was that had interrupted this event.
Sherlock, John and Henry stood a few feet away from the last row of chairs. Henry reduced his focus solely to the man in question, Isaac Heller, who's demeanour had suddenly gone from light and cheerful to stiff and rigid.
Right, thought Henry. Be discreet. We don't need everyone knowing about our mess of a situation.
But before he could even open his mouth, a shout of, 'Isaac! We need to talk!' reverberated through the hall.
Henry closed his eyes in exasperation before turning his head swiftly to look at Sherlock. He gave the older man an incredulous tilt of the head, which merited him a shrug from said older man. So much for being discreet.
John looked pointedly at Sherlock. 'Let Henry deal with this,' he mouthed. Sherlock frowned.
'You have something of ours that we want back, Mr Heller!' Sherlock called out, earning him a groan each from John and Henry.
'Hey,' Henry hissed at him. 'What did I tell you about letting me do the talking?'
Sherlock gave him a sideways glance, frowning. 'I know what I'm talking about, Henry.'
'What? No you don't!' Henry looked desperately at John, while the audience's attention started to drift from Heller's new book to the trio. John shrugged, so Henry resigned himself and let the consulting detective speak. He started the walk up the aisle and stopped halfway.
'I see you're trying your hardest to make a new start after a past of rejection, the neatness of your suit and your general appearance suggests you're trying a little too hard to gain acceptance when we all know that you've cheated your way to get here. You know what could happen if you lie to us here onwards.' Sherlock paused, though he tried his hardest to keep it hidden that he really didn't know what he was talking about and was just grasping at straws. He held illustration of the door up. Isaac's body visibly stiffened. 'So it's best you let us know what we want to know.'
Sherlock ended up at Isaac's podium, slamming the page down on top of the stack of papers. 'I suggest we take this somewhere private,' he hissed. 'We don't want anyone finding out about this, now, do we?'
Isaac hid his frustration behind mock surprise. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' he dismissed with a smile.
'Uh uh,' came Henry's voice from next to Sherlock. 'You're lying.'
Isaac scowled, looking at each of them with narrowed eyes. The attention of the audience had scattered, no longer focused on the book but gossiping about the situation.
'What have you done to my family? Where are they?' Henry pressed on, showing Isaac the key and giving him a knowing look.
Isaac rolled his eyes and stood up so fast that his chair almost tipped. Side stepping the podium, he addressed the people seated: 'Ladies and gentlemen, due to a minor inconvenience, we are going to take a short break. We will resume shortly.'
Isaac lead them to a room at the back of the hall. He then disappeared into an office-like room for five minutes before emerging once again. 'Okay,' he sighed. 'Much to the chagrin of my publicist, you have my undivided attention.'
Sherlock glanced at Henry, inviting the young boy to speak. Henry gave him a nod before stepping forward.
'Where. Are my family?' he asked forcefully. When Isaac didn't answer, he held up the page and held the key to the pictorial keyhole. 'Are they dead?'
'Wait, wait!' Isaac held his hands up to stop Henry. 'Look around you,' he instructed, gesturing around the room. 'They're right here.'
Henry frowned. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
'The book. They're in the book.'
Henry whipped his head round to look at Sherlock.
'Sherlock, what are you talking about?' John piped up. 'How the hell can they be in a storybook?'
'Henry was telling us how his family are all fairy tale characters, like Snow White, Prince Charming, Captain Hook etcetera. They were trapped in that book he showed us, before his mother brought them to Storybrooke, their home—'
'Sherlock, you actually believe him?' John interjected incredulously.
'John, haven't I told you?' Sherlock questioned. 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth. I'm not entirely convinced of this in this case but it is a possibility.'
'Um, Sherlock? What do you mean my family is in the book?' Henry prompted impatiently.
'Ah yes. Mr Heller has a past of rejection, each of his novels and storylines ending before they had even begun. He wanted a world in which he was the good guy he was praised, not criticised and hated.
'As the heroes of the normal world are people like Snow White and Prince Charming, he decided to turn the tables, making them the villains and him the hero. I'm not exactly sure how he did it but they are trapped in this book.' Sherlock held up a paper copy of Isaac's Heroes & Villains book.
'There must be a hardback copy somewhere in his possession—'
'You mean this?' Isaac interrupted. Sherlock, John and Henry turned to him, to see him holding up a version of Heroes & Villains that was the same size as Henry's storybook. 'You would be correct. Henry's family is inside.'
'Get them out!' Henry yelled, once again threatening Isaac with the door and the key.
Isaac laughed derisively. 'I can't,' he said simply. 'There is the one rule The Author has to follow: don't write your own happy ending—' Henry saw John and Sherlock share a confused glance. '—which, whoops, I didn't follow so the pen is just a pen now.'
'Well if you can't get them out, I will!' Henry gripped the book and tugged. He stumbled backwards a bit but the book was finally in his grasp.
Isaac guffawed. 'You? You can't get them out!' he sneered, taking the book back without struggle. 'You're not a hero, Henry. You're from a world without magic, you're an ordinary kid who needs saving, you can never be a knight in shining armour.'
Henry's temper had risen, and he stood in his place, fists shaking. Suddenly he jumped at Isaac, tackling him to the ground. The book fell out of The Author's hands as Henry pushed against his wrists to hold him, and slid to John's feet. John gripped it and handed it to Sherlock.
'Henry! Get the key!' he called as he opened the book, frantically flipping through to find the page with the door.
Isaac laughed mockingly. 'You're crazy. You know that? Crazy.'
Sherlock smirked at him, while holding the book open. 'No. I'm a high functioning sociopath. Do your research.'
Henry managed to stop wrestling with Isaac and ran over to Sherlock with the key. Isaac hauled himself off the floor and went to follow him, but John pulled him back, turning him round and swinging a punch to the side of his face. The Author fell to the ground, groaning. John winced as burning pain erupted across his knuckles, though he stopped short when he heard his name.
'John, stand back,' Sherlock instructed as Henry positioned the key.
'What? Sherlock, no!' John protested.
'Stand. Back.'
John stumbled back, his face stricken. 'Sherlock, what are you—'
Before he could finish his sentence, Henry's wrist turned and both he and Sherlock were engulfed in a bright yellow light.
