Phweeeeeeet! Phweeeeeeet!

The still of the evening was shattered by the sound of a police whistle, blasting long and loud. A few moments later, it was joined by the sound of running footsteps, as a lone constable dashed up Baker Street towards the source. The policeman halted in front of 221B, staring up at the open sitting room window, where a familiar face was sticking out, glaring around. "Inspector?"

"That you, Phillips?"

"Yes, sir! What's the trouble?"

"Never mind that now! Go and round up as many of the lads as you can find, and a four-wheeler. I want you all at the back door of this place in fifteen minutes! Hop to it!"

"Lestrade?" Inspector Hopkins tapped softly on the office door. "Tea's up."

Lestrade opened the door and took the mugs. "Thanks, Stanley. Oh, and see if you can scrounge up something edible, will you? Just..." He hesitated, looking over his shoulder at the slumped figure in the other chair. "Maybe not biscuits."

"I'll see what I can do." Hopkins peered anxiously past Lestrade. "How is he?"

His colleague gave him a Look.

"Right, right, stupid... Look, Lestrade, isn't there something we can give him to do? I know he's not exactly... you know... but he still might find something on that notepaper the analysts didn't, or the knife. Or that footprint you found on the windowsill..." Hopkins frowned. "Was that really on the top floor?"

"Sorry, Stanley. I know you've got more faith in him than anyone here..." And God knew Holmes needed that level of confidence from his friends right now. "But, unfortunately, this case is a lot bigger than a few hostages – yes, even a government official! Especially since the commissioner agrees that none of them are in any real danger until Moriarty reveals what he actually wants from Holmes! If I let him handle any of the evidence in his current mental state, and it went wrong..."

Hopkins nodded morosely. "And you don't have any idea what the Professor does want, I suppose?"

"I wouldn't like to speculate at this point, no," Lestrade answered carefully. "Thanks for the tea, I'll see you later." The Inspector pushed the door closed with his foot, and took care to set his own mug on the desk before trying to get Holmes's attention. The detective had said nothing since finding the note, or even looked at Lestrade, sitting in a mute huddle under the coat draped around his shoulders all the way to the Yard. At least his shock seemed to have mostly given way to fury by now, Lestrade could work with that!

"If you don't tell me whether you want this tea in five seconds, Holmes, I'm going to pour it into your lap." He was fairly sure the man's dignity wouldn't suffer that, even now.

Holmes reached out and snatched the mug, some of the tea splashing onto his hand and the floor, but didn't drink.

Well, it was a start. "Hopkins stopped by to see how you were. He's going to bring some food back – yes, I know you're not hungry, you don't eat on cases, etcetera, etcetera. Tough. How are you going to be any good to Watson and the others, if you don't look after yourself first?"

No reply.

"I know you're angry with me for not telling you about Watson. Good God, man, what do you think bringing you to Baker Street was really all about? There was no point in telling you he'd been taken, until you could remember who he was!" Perfectly true, just not the whole truth! Holmes thought he was livid now... Wait until he finally learned that John Darling had been masquerading as an entirely different doctor for the last ten years, and most of it under the detective's own roof! Whatever explanation Watson had planned to give his brother about that, it had better be a bloody masterpiece.

"...still can't..." Poor Holmes's knuckles were white, Stanley had been wise not to bring him a proper tea cup.

Lestrade crouched in front of the detective and gripped his arm. "It'll come back, Holmes. Give it time. Faces often take longer in cases of memory loss, I'm told." He'd never actually heard anything of the sort, but Holmes didn't need to know that. As to what he did need... The Inspector hesitated, then reached into his coat pocket. "Here."

"The Death Ship," Holmes whispered, staring at the worn volume, which Lestrade deftly exchanged for the untouched mug of tea in the detective's trembling hold.

"Something of Watson's, hm? Oh, and if you tell anyone I didn't hand in a potential piece of evidence, you're going down with me." Lestrade chuckled. "And I know how to fly now, remember!" Though it seemed the enemy could do that now, too...

"...Thank you..."

Lestrade's knees were starting to ache, and he got up to fetch his own chair around the desk. "Tell me something, Holmes. Do you really need to remember your best friend's face, to know what he means to you? To want to see him safe?" To defeat Moriarty...

Holmes shook his head miserably. "It's not that... I shouldn't... should never have..."

"Oh, for the love of... Holmes, it wasn't your fault!" Lestrade scraped his chair across the floor and sat beside the detective. "You're only human, after all, not cast iron! Do you... remember what happened, yesterday morning? On the way to Mycroft's house?" He felt rather than saw his colleague shiver suddenly, the detective's hand going involuntarily up to the bandage on his neck. "All of it?"

"Pieces. The man's face..."

Before it had ended up in the detective's... Lestrade shook his head to dislodge the gruesome thought. "We... weren't able to identify him. His clothing and personal effects suggested that he was a retired sailor, but no one down at the docks or the nearby pubs seemed to know his name. I don't suppose...?"

A jerky nod. "His name was Smee. He was Hook's bo'sun."

"Hold on... Are you telling me that was an actual pirate? From Neverland?" The Inspector scratched his head. "But how the devil did he get back here? Don't you need fairy dust for that?"

"Usually... Oh, good heavens..."

"What?"

"There... could have been another way. We flew the Jolly Roger back to London! Smee might have crept away during the fight, hidden himself on board!"

Lestrade nodded, relieved to see his colleague applying himself to a problem again, however small. "Sounds reasonable. It was his home, after all. He could easily have concealed himself in some hidden compartment that you just never noticed!" And that was a chilling thought in itself... Given Smee's recent attempt on Holmes's life, it would have been so easy for a lone pirate to creep out while all the children were asleep, and start slitting throats... Thank God the bo'sun's desire to leave the island had overruled any thirst for vengeance at the time!

Holmes's expression told the Inspector that he was having much the same thoughts. "But what I don't understand is why he waited so long! Not to mention when he finally did catch up with me..."

Lestrade gripped the detective's shoulder in sympathy as he shuddered. "Well, if you think you can handle hearing what we found at the scene... All right, then, stop me if it gets too much for you."