"Ahoy, there you lubbers! Set the redskin free! At once, d'ye hear, or I'll plunge my hook in you!"

It was an uncanny imitation of Hook's voice, and Watson was glad for an excuse to step out of the room just then, closing the door behind him. He hadn't discovered until much later how close Wendy and Peter had really been to drowning...

Lestrade still sat where Watson had left him, in a comfortable chair outside the guest room door, looking utterly bemused – as well he might! It was a shame there hadn't been room for one more person in the room. Then again, the Inspector's palpably sceptical expression might easily have kept Holmes from lowering his guard nearly as much as he had.

"How's the head?" Watson asked softly, looking Lestrade over again for signs of concussion, just to be on the safe side.

"Still aching," Lestrade admitted, touching his cheek gingerly. "I won't ask how... how your brother's doing, I can hear well enough! ...He certainly didn't get any less vain with the years, did he?"

Watson chuckled. "Or any less of a magnet for trouble. Don't worry, I'm not expecting you to actually believe any of what you've heard!"

"Much obliged!" Lestrade snorted, though perhaps not as forcefully as he might have. "Look, Watson, if... if you and Mycroft really think this is the best way to help him, who am I to argue? Let's just leave it at that, shall we?"

"Fair enough." Though Mycroft hadn't said a word since the story began, either, merely listening intently, the porcelain cup turning around and around in his hands the only clue to whatever inner turmoil the man was experiencing. "There's just one more thing we need now, I think..."

Opening the door again, Watson inwardly groaned. Dear Lord, who had let Holmes get his hands on the fireside poker?

His brother was now standing on the bed, pointing the iron bar like a sword at an unseen foe, with everyone else standing well back against the walls and furniture. "Put up your swords, boys," he cried gleefully. "Hook is mine!"

So they were up to the final battle at last! Watson edged carefully around the room until he reached Mary's side. "Everything all right?"

"Where have you been?" she hissed over the noise of the one-sided duel. "Such a job I had to keep the boys from joining him up there! How's all this going to end?"

"As I recall," Watson murmured back, wilfully misunderstanding the question, "Hook finally realised he couldn't win on his own against Peter, and dived off the ship... Yes, there he goes!"

Holmes was now peering down at the floor over the side of the 'ship', with a look of deep satisfaction. "But the captain didn't realise that the crocodile was waiting below, its clock run down at last. And so perished James Hook!"

The Irregulars cheered and scrambled up beside their captain, jumping around on the bed while brandishing their own make-believe swords at each other. Watson had to smile at their enthusiasm, but the bed frame was creaking ominously in protest. He and Mary eventually managed to convince the excited trio to sit down again, persuading Holmes to give up the poker with some difficulty; and all the while, Watson was steeling himself for what must come next.

"Peter," he remarked mildly as he replaced the poker on the stand, "do you recall why you had to save us all from the pirates? What happened in the cave that evening?"

Holmes's exultant grin froze. "Oh, yes," he said airily. "Someone told a silly story and put everyone in a fright. They all climbed up the trees without me... and of course the pirates caught them!"

"Yes... but what was the story, Peter? Why was everyone in such a bother?"

Holmes scowled. "I don't know, I wasn't listening!"

"Yes, you were," Watson said quietly. "It was bedtime. Wendy told all of us the story we loved best, and the only one you hated. I don't quite know why you chose to listen that time..." He made a sign to Wiggins to move up, and sat back down on the bed, near his brother but not too near. "The story was about our family, how we children had flown away to Neverland, heartlessly leaving our poor mother and father behind... but that there was no need for fear, because it didn't matter how long we might take to go back, the window would always be open for us." A sad smile. "I can't say whether or not Wendy was right about that..." No parent lives forever, after all! "But then you told us a story, remember?"

The scowl deepened. "No."

"You told Wendy that she was wrong about mothers, that the one time you'd tried to go back to your own window, your mother had forgotten you, replaced you. Now, I don't believe for a moment that that was really true," Watson added firmly, chest aching at the growing pain in the grey eyes. "Mothers never forget any of their children, however many they have... but you believed it, and that was enough. The thought of being forgotten frightened Michael and I so much that we begged to go home at once. And when Wendy saw how sad you and the Lost Boys were to lose her, she invited every one of you to come with us and be adopted by our parents."

"I wasn't sad!" Holmes burst out. "I told her she could go if she wanted, I didn't care!"

"You cared enough to change your mind when she asked you again in London!" Watson retorted without thinking, then reddened as he realised how he'd sounded.

"John!" Mary came over and knelt on the floor between them, her expression one of gentle reproof. "Peter, dear..." taking his hand, "I know this must be difficult... but falsehoods aren't going to help. Wendy must have loved you dearly, to want you for a brother as much as John and Michael. Think how it would have hurt her, to see her family quarrelling so over her memory!"

Watson paled in the same moment that Holmes made a choking noise. Mary had just let the cat out of the bag, much too soon!