"Gradually, Peter and I became better acquainted as we continued the charade. An intelligent, sensitive boy, to be sure, but he also had the strangest gaps in his general knowledge. The very idea of Christmas seemed completely alien to him, whereas I had originally assumed that he'd simply never had the chance to celebrate properly before with his family."
"Did he... ever talk about any of us?"
"No – well, not then, at any rate. I coaxed out of him that he had family over the Christmas holidays, but no more. He became so agitated at even that small revelation that I thought it best to seek further information elsewhere; not for mere curiosity, you understand, but to better avoid distressing him with a careless remark in future. The housemaster told me that he had been sent to school by his parents after a death in the family, but would not elaborate."
"Yes... He took Wendy's passing so hard... and with Tinker Bell and the Lost Boys gone away, the rest of us must have seemed such poor substitutes... Mother and Father were at their wits' end." Watson blew his nose again. "I did sometimes wonder if the best thing for him would be to go back to Neverland, forget he had ever known her... but even if there had been any fairy dust left, Peter seemed incapable of thinking of anything happy. I don't even know if he could have remembered the way by then..."
"Hold on... You say the Lost Boys were gone?" Lestrade seemed to have temporarily forgotten his scepticism. "I thought the plan was to have your parents adopt them all."
Watson shook his head, smiling ruefully. "I don't think Wendy understood when she invited them just how poor our family really was. With the best will in the world, there simply wasn't enough money or room to care for ten children into adulthood! Besides, the Lost Boys had all had families before being taken by the fairies, it wouldn't have been fair not to make an effort to find them. The twins' parents were the easiest. There weren't many missing persons reports for identical twin boys on file at Scotland Yard."
"Good God," Lestrade gasped. "I remember that! I was only a trainee at the time, but... Yes, there was a right commotion over a bunch of recovered boys – the official story was a busted trafficking ring! Your parents claimed they'd hired a private detective when you three went missing, they wouldn't say who..."
"Well, they couldn't have, could they? Conducting enquiries was hard enough, as none of the boys could remember how old they were, or anything about their former families. Tootles was the next to go, then Nibs a few weeks later. Eventually, Curly and Slightly gave up hope. With the memory of Neverland fading daily, their affection for Peter and Wendy just wasn't enough to make them stay on with us. We couldn't stop them, after all... They took to the road together, bidding us a tearful farewell, and we never heard from them again. God only knows what happened to them." Watson sighed deeply. "For anything I know, they could even have returned to Neverland, unlikely as that seems!"
Lestrade eyed him uncertainly, forbearing to comment, as hasty footsteps approached up the passage.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes! I've brung the tea!"
"Maggie, I rang for you... good heavens, over half an hour ago!" Mycroft replied sternly as he glanced up at the clock. "I understand that this has been a trying day, but..."
"I know, sir. It won't happen again, sir, I promise!"
"Very well, you may go. Please tell Mrs. Dalton I should like to see her in an hour to discuss dinner arrangements."
"Yessir."
"Oh, that reminds me!" Watson exclaimed as the maid departed. "I need to send a message to Mrs. Hudson."
Mycroft nodded slowly. "You think that she could be the next piece of the puzzle in unlocking Sherlock's memory?"
"Who better at this point?" Watson replied excitedly, taking out his notebook and pencil. "She's been like a mother to Holmes and I for years!"
"Well, it certainly couldn't do any harm to try," Lestrade grunted, levering himself out his chair. "I'll go and fetch one of the boys down."
"Actually, send all three of them down, now that the tea's here." Watson hesitated, smile fading. "They've kept vigil long enough... It's my turn to stay with Holmes."
Lestrade knocked gently on the guest room door. "Mrs. Watson? There's tea and cake down in the parlour, if you and the boys would like some."
Wiggins and Charlie were quick to appear at the promise of further refreshments, grinning, but Mary shook her head, still sitting by Holmes's bedside. "...How's John?"
"Waiting for you downstairs," Lestrade reiterated firmly. "Oh, boys, one of you needs to run a message to Mrs. Hudson afterwards."
"I'll go!" Wiggins called as he hurried down.
"I wonder if he remembered that Saturday is Mrs. Hudson's usual baking day?" Lestrade said lightly, crossing the floor as softly as he could. "Mary... you really should go down. I can watch Holmes for a bit. To be honest, your husband's in a bit of a state just now, he needs you."
Mary bit her lip, looking torn. "You wouldn't mind?"
"Not at all," Lestrade lied, still avoiding looking directly at the bed and its deathly-still occupant. It was only when Mary had departed that he could allow himself to do so. He'd been so afraid of allowing the shameful revulsion he'd felt earlier to return to his expression where anyone else could see it... The hurt in Watson's eyes while Holmes had thrashed and screamed on the floor like a madman had been bad enough!
When he finally dared to look, however, Lestrade was relieved to find nothing of the fire that had raged earlier in the detective's face. He'd never seen his former colleague look so very young in slumber before... so like the boy his brothers claimed to remember... The shadow of grief was still there, true, but not... not so raw, Lestrade could swear, it was no longer burning him alive from the inside out. And Holmes... Peter... the man had called Mycroft 'Myke' before, had even understood French well enough to laugh at a joke! Heaven only knew what new incarnation would wake with him next!
"Pirates..." Lestrade groaned wearily, dragging his hands down his face. "Fairies... mermaids... magic islands... flying children..." God in heaven, how had he ever gotten caught up in all this madness! "Clocks in crocodiles – pah!" he spat at the air, not caring if anyone overheard. "I should be locked up with everyone else in this asylum!"
BANG!