"Peter and the Lost Boys were not the only humans in Neverland. The island held everything a child could ever imagine, which, as I have already mentioned, included a band of fierce redskin braves, and a pack of the blackest-hearted pirates who ever swung at Execution Dock. And the wickedest of this cut-throat crew was the captain, James Hook, who hated the Lost Boys, and Peter most of all..."
"Blimey!" Wiggins exclaimed without thinking. "D'yer mean 'e was worse than Moriarty?"
The question might have been asked of Watson, but all eyes were unconsciously going to Holmes, who blushed in confusion under the collective stare. "I don't know," he scowled. "What's a Moriarty?"
"Don't spoil a good story for everyone else, Wiggins," Mary said hurriedly. "You know he comes in later."
"Right, sorry," the boy mumbled, looking sheepish. "G'on, Doctor."
Watson gave Mary a look of pure gratitude. "Well, as I was saying... No one knew exactly how the feud between the pirates and Lost Boys began, but Peter proudly claimed that he had once sliced off Captain Hook's hand during a fight. From that day on, the captain sported an iron hook upon his right wrist in its place, and swore to have his revenge..."
"No, I didn't."
Watson blinked at the outburst, train of thought now completely derailed. "What?"
"...was an accident..." Holmes's mumble was barely audible, head bowed.
Good Lord... Watson barely suppressed a gasp of excitement. Careful now, any sort of overreaction could ruin everything!
His wife, bless her, also seemed to have realised the significance of the moment, and laid a kindly hand on Holmes's knee. "What was an accident, dear?"
"Hook's hand." Holmes lifted his head and gave Mary a shy smile. "It still served him right, though."
Peter had long since stopped baiting the crocodile, if only for the Lost Boys' sake, but that did not keep him from looking in on the beast every now and then. It had grown as rapidly as Peter, and was now twice the length of a redskin canoe, and three times as wide. One day, while visiting the mermaids' lagoon, Peter noticed the pirate's longboat being rowed along by the bo'sun, Smee, while Hook sat at ease in the stern, though without his cigars on this occasion. The boat's prow was pointed directly at the entrance to the crocodile's lair, and Peter saw, first in surprise then in anger, a long harpoon poking up over the gunwale – Hook was hunting the crocodile!
Peter swam to the entrance under the water, careful not to leave any ripples. As the longboat passed into the half-sunken cave, he poked his head up carefully from behind a rock. Hook was raising the harpoon and peering all around the boat into the dark depths, eyes aglow with bloodlust in the lantern light. Not a sound could be heard but the gentle splash of the oars and a loud drip, drip, drip of water from the ceiling at the back of the cave. Peter took a huge, gleeful breath, then gave the deepest growl he could, which echoed around the cave, seeming to come from all directions. Hook spun around in alarm, much too quickly, and his foot caught on a rope, sending him to the bottom of the boat. The captain struggled to right himself, cursing Smee first for not helping him up, then for getting in the way when he tried.
Tick... tick... tick... tick...
A throaty rumble, full of malevolent intent, drifted across the water ahead of a long, slithering shadow. What Peter and the pirates had all mistaken for dripping water had really been the sound of a long-swallowed clock! Hook finally got to his feet again and scrabbled frantically for the harpoon, but the crocodile slammed its massive tail into the starboard side of the boat, stoving it in. The two men shouted as the water poured in, clutching each other in terror. Hook appeared to come to his senses first, and jumped into the water on the port side, leaving Smee to face the monster alone. That unworthy impulse was the worst mistake of his life, for the crocodile was already there waiting...
"Heavens!" Watson shivered, trying and failing to ignore the steady tick, tick of the grandfather clock out on Mycroft's landing. "Well, those two obviously got away eventually!"
Holmes nodded, not bothering to conceal his disappointment. "The crocodile caught Hook's right hand in its jaws. My, how he yelled! It let go for a better grip, though, then Smee made a lucky throw with the harpoon, knocking out one of its teeth. It retreated into the lagoon, and Hook made Smee row what was left of the longboat back to the ship, bleeding all the way. I suppose there wasn't enough left of his hand when they got back to make it worth saving."
"No, there wouldn't have been," Watson agreed somberly. "Shipboard medicine doesn't get much more sophisticated than buckets of boiling pitch..."
"John!" Mary protested, looking ill. "Must you? You're almost as bad as Peter!"
"But why did 'Ook blame you for that?" Charlie frowned. "Yer didn' tell 'im, did yer?"
Holmes shrugged carelessly. "I might have mentioned it, the next time we met."
Charlie cast a speaking look at the ceiling, but chose not to comment.
"And that hook wasn't the only reminder of his escape," Holmes chuckled. "The crocodile must have really liked the taste of Hook's hand – so much that it followed him around for the rest of his life!"
"So it got 'im?"
"Be a bit 'ard t' sneak up on 'im, wouldn' it, with that ruddy clock goin'?"
Holmes flashed the boys a mischievous grin. "Only until it ran down."
"Cor!"
Watson quietly took a sip of his rapidly cooling chocolate, which did nothing for the lump in his throat. It would do no harm for Holmes to take over the story for a while, and it would likely be his own turn again soon. He thought he understood now why Holmes had reverted to Peter Darling when he first awoke, with Mary scolding her husband on the landing, her voice so easy to mistake for another's. That must have been one of the last pleasant memories of Peter's life in Kensington Gardens: newly adopted into their family, his beloved 'mother' still alive, however ill, and clinging to the hope that she would soon recover. If only a thermometer could have saved her...