The elder Wiggins is canon in STUD and SIGN, and we've either seen or mentioned him in JWP 31: Bullets and Frying Pans, Choices, Indian Illuminations, Smoke 15, and Smoke 4. His sister has been seen or mentioned in Smoke 15, JWP 29: Irregular Alleys, Christmas Hopes, Smoke 4, and Fragment 22

Brown paper covered the top of the pile, and he leaned over the edge to burrow further. Trash. Disgusting. Inedible. Trash. Nasty. Inedible. Footsteps stopped behind him as he gave up on that bin to check the next.

"Find anything, Tom?"

The other boy shook his head. "Sorry, Wiggins. Had to look for food. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know." He resumed digging. "Did you find any extra for John? He's still moving pretty slow."

"A bit." A grimy hand displayed a quarter loaf of bread. "I'm going to him now." He started to move away, then scanned the debris along the walls. "Where's your sister?"

Wiggins pointed deeper into the alley, still focused on his bin. "Round that corner. She has another minute 'fore I go after her."

Tom laughed at his prompt answer. An only child, Tom had never felt the sheer panic Wiggins knew every time Charlie got too far away from him, but rustling cut off the older boy's teasing comment.

"Don't need ta come after me." The grumble came from his feet, and Wiggins pulled himself upright in time to see small fingers nudge a box aside. "Did you know some of the walls have tunnels in them?"

"Why are you in the wall?"

"Just told you that." Charlie's frown looked more like a pout. "There's tunnels. Could we make one of them a home?"

Wiggins considered but regretfully shook his head. "How would we light it? Candles need money, and a tunnel means no rooms. Anyone trying to sleep would get stepped on."

Her shoulders slumped. "I hadn't thought of that."

"It's alright, Charlie. We'll find something." She started dusting herself off as he turned to Tom. "We're gonna Run the main street a bit. Has Jacob found tonight's sleep spot yet?"

"Second alley," Tom replied easily. "He's still following the pattern. Says it makes it easier to find if we get separated."

Wiggins nodded, a quick glance upward figuring how long they had. "Should be back by sundown," he decided. "I don't fancy Runnin' after dark."

"More creepers," Tom agreed. "See ya."

He took off deeper into the shadows, probably headed back to where John watched their stuff, and Wiggins led Charlie towards the main street.

"What are you lookin' for?" she asked after a minute. "In a house, I mean. Why do we even need one?"

He detoured around a large stack of pallets. "You don't think it would be nice to be able to come back to the same place every night? To not have to post a guard but still know that no one's gonna bother a group of kids? You know grown-ups aren't always very nice."

She affected a shiver at the memory. "No, they're not, but how would a house fix that? Grown-ups are still grown-ups."

"We can hide the entrance," he answered. "Make sure only we can get in, and maybe even have two entrances, just in case. A home would be safe, where you and Billy can stay while us older ones find work. A house and even one of us getting a job would mean we don't have to spend all our time trying to eat. You remember how hard it was just us, right?"

She nodded. "Always hungry. The others have helped with that."

The others had helped far more than she knew. Wiggins had feared starvation before he convinced a few other street kids to band together. Now, if someone failed to find food, one of the others may have found extra. The additional hands had kept Charlie from going to bed hungry many times, and John would have struggled this last week without them. Convincing even two or three more to join them would only make day to day life easier.

Why should he wait ten years to be safe, fed, and comfortable when he could have it now? His age made it harder, not impossible.

"Wiggins?"

Her quiet voice brought him sharply out of his thoughts. "Hmm?"

"What was it like?"

They dodged across a street. Two more blocks would reach the busy thoroughfare and shopping center that Wiggins liked to Run.

"What was what like?"

"Havin' a home." She hopped up on a low wall, throwing her arms out to balance for a few steps before joining him back on the sidewalk. "You know I don't remember much. Mum used to stay with us, right?"

"She did." He ducked around a cart. "I've told you all this."

"Tell me again."

He sighed, but he would be asking the same questions, were their ages reversed. Charlie had been barely four when their parents' ship had gone down.

"Mum stayed home with us while Father worked at the hospital," he started, guiding her across another street. "We had a house over in Clerkenwell. It had one bedroom, a main room, and a small kitchen, and you slept on a cot near their bed while my cot stayed in the corner of the main room. Mum spent hours every week keeping the place clean, mostly because of you." She giggled when he tweaked her ear.

"But what was it like to have a home?" she asked again. "A house isn't a home."

"No, it's not," he agreed, "and our shack was barely a house. It let the wind through in the winter, and the roof liked to leak above the kitchen in the summer."

"Then what made it a home?"

The alley opened to the street he preferred, but she stopped to look up at him instead of scurrying off to rummage trash bins. He thought for a long moment.

"Family," he decided, "and safety. Mum and Father made it home. Father always had an hour or two for us in the evenings, and the house was a home because we all were together."

She tilted her head. "Is that why you're always so careful to know where I am?"

"'Course it is." He ruffled her hair. "You're my little sister, Charlie. It's my job to keep you safe. Family sticks together. No alley's home if I'm alone."

She straightened her hair with another pout. "What about the others?"

"They're important," he agreed, "but they're not you. Stay close, alright?"

She nodded, knowing he would follow if she wandered too far. "What are you doing?"

"There's a lot of people on this street. I'm gonna try to get us some money. What do you do if the police see?"

"Run," she answered immediately. "Get back to the others. You'll find us as soon as you can."

"Good girl. You'll do nothing but get us sent to the factories if the poes catch you, too." At least alone, most officers would have some sympathy for needing to take care of his sister. He would spend a night, perhaps two, at the Yard before they set him free. He much preferred a night in a cell over the endless, lonely drudgery that found anyone trapped in a factory orphanage.

Her quick hug announced her thoughts on that before she darted off. He watched long enough to see her choose the alley across the street, then wandered into the press. A constant flow of people meant a constant flow of targets, and wealthy people came to this street all the time. The shilling these toffs would never notice would feed them for days.

That lady's husband watched her closely. Too dangerous. That man had already spotted him and moved away. Too observant. That family's youngest loudly asked why he was so dirty. Too much attention. He kept moving.

There. A man wore an outfit far too expensive to have empty pockets, and he fought with his purchases instead of watching his surroundings. Wiggins drifted slowly closer.

"Sir!" His target halted at the call, making Wiggins edge further away as a shop clerk barreled out of a nearby store. "Sir, you forgot your change."

"Oh, thank you."

A handful of coins changed hands before the clerk went back inside, and Wiggins approached from another direction. He made use of the press to get within reach, then let someone run into him, driving him into the man from behind. A ragged leather wallet rested in Wiggin's pocket before the man knew what had happened.

"Sorry, guv'nor."

He backed away, tipping the hat that hid his face, but long, thin fingers grabbed his wrist as the bag hit the ground. The man's other hand easily reclaimed the wallet, knocking Wiggins' hat off in the process.

"Where is—" He paused. "Wiggins."

Terror shot through him. This man should not know him. This stranger should not be able to recognize him on sight. Someone had been following them, and Montague Street had effectively taught them what some grown-ups wanted with children. Had he not escaped those men like he thought? Had he put the others in danger by living together? He shoved his hat back on his head as he fought to free his wrist. He needed to escape, to warn them to change neighborhoods tonight.

"And Charlie as well," the man added. "I did not expect to catch you today."

He wrestled harder. How this man had spotted Charlie in the alley opposite them, Wiggins had no idea, but this smelled of danger. Whether that meant a cell or something worse, Charlie needed to run, and he needed to follow. He had to keep her safe. Even a cell would separate them long enough to make finding her a struggle.

"I will not hurt you," the man promised. "Either of you. Stop fighting for a moment and talk to me. Would you like a better job than pickpocketing strangers?"

No. He knew what that meant, too. "Let go of me!"

A bin clattered nearby, but Wiggins kept his focus on breaking the adult's tight hold. The hand readjusted, ensuring the grip did not hurt Wiggins while still preventing them from separating, and the man retrieved his bag and led them out of the press. He released Wiggins in the mouth of an alley.

"I am serious about that job."

Wiggins immediately darted to the other side, ready to bolt if the man came any closer, but the adult simply leaned against the wall. A strange expression crossed his face as he absorbed Wiggins' fear.

"We should probably restart," he acknowledged. "My name is Sherlock Holmes."

"How do you know me?"

"I have been watching you for the last week," Mr. Holmes answered, "but I did not plan to seek you out for another month. I work as a consulting detective, and I could use young ones like you to help."

"Doin' what?" he asked warily. He would rather work than steal, but even stealing was more honorable than some grown-ups' idea of work. He had intended to find a job as a shop clerk as soon as he could pass as old enough.

"Listening," Mr. Holmes answered shortly. "How many adults notice you?" Very few, but Wiggins said nothing. "When a criminal sees a policeman or even another adult," Mr. Holmes continued, "they stop talking, but you can go anywhere, hear anything. You would be able to find information I never could."

A small face peered at him from behind the next building. Charlie would have abandoned her rummaging when he told Mr. Holmes to let him go, but she knew better than to come closer until he signaled.

"Why?"

Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Expand your question."

Did all grown-ups say that? "Why follow me?" he shot back. "Why offer a job? I'm a 'dirty street kid' that almost walked away with your wallet, yet you offer me work?" He infused the last word with a heavy amount of scorn, pleased when realization bloomed on the adult's face. "I'm not an idiot. What do you really want?"

"Help," Mr. Holmes said simply. He crouched against the wall to be closer to Wiggins' level. "You can go places I cannot, and you probably know the London streets better than I do. You could watch a building for a certain man, note what he does, then report to me the next morning, and if your sister would help, one could watch my target while the other ran for me. In return, I would pay you."

Most of Wiggins' fear eased. Mr. Holmes could have presented it better, but this did not sound like that gang. "How much?"

"What is fair?" Mr. Holmes asked. "One sixpence per day? With an extra threepence for information that directly leads to an arrest? I probably would not have something for you every day."

A sixpence per day? He struggled to hide his surprise. Even if Mr. Holmes only needed him three days a week, that much money would still ensure they ate every day.

"Deal," he announced, signaling Charlie. "Where do I find you?"

"Montague Street for now," was Mr. Holmes' careless reply. "I have a small flat on the south end."

Oh. Fear, followed by disappointment, abruptly replaced Wiggin's excitement. Even if Mr. Holmes proved as safe as Wiggins thought, he could not take this job.

"I am looking for other lodgings closer to Regent's, however," Mr. Holmes added, apparently confused at Wiggins' reaction. He paused, watching. "Will you come to Montague Street?"

Wiggins ducked his head. "No," he answered quietly, one foot tracing patterns against the cobblestones. He would never let Charlie go there again, and even Tom avoided Montague Street after Wiggins told him what had happened the one time they went. Something about those few blocks attracted trouble worse than anywhere in the East End. None of them were safe there.

"Can you come to us?" Charlie stopped on Wiggins' left, still outside the alley but able to hear their conversation. She glanced between them. "What are we meeting for?"

"Doesn't work like that," Wiggins said shortly. He might have liked working for Mr. Holmes, but his priority would remain protecting his sister. "Employers never come to the employee."

"Who said anything about 'employer'?" Mr. Holmes interjected before Wiggins could leave. "Montague Street is temporary. Where can I find you?"

He hesitated. "You would really come to us?"

Mr. Holmes nodded sharply. "Until I find new lodgings."

He eyed the adult, trying to determine a reasoning. This made no sense. "Why?"

"Why not?" Mr. Holmes shot back. "You travel over half the city every day, and you are sharp enough to identify me in the crowd as a potential target. You cannot be more than eleven, but you nearly escaped the trap I set for two eighteen-year-olds that have been targeting this area. Apply that to the correct side of the law, and you would do well."

"How do you know we travel half the city?" Charlie asked.

"The same way I know that you live with at least three others but are the only girl," he replied. "It is called 'deducing,' and it is how I can work as a consulting detective. Do you live on this street?"

Wait a minute. "How can you follow us for a week and not know where we live?" Wiggins asked warily.

"A week?" Charlie glanced between them, then took a step behind him. "Wiggins?"

Are we safe? that asked. He stayed between her and Mr. Holmes, but one hand reached back to grab hers. While this did not yet add up, he doubted Mr. Holmes would hurt them.

"You never go back to the same place," Mr. Holmes replied, a pointed glance noting their silent conversation, "which would indicate homelessness, except you live with several others. Since you are not with them now, you must have either a regular meeting place or a home that I have not yet found."

That would explain why Mr. Holmes had intended to wait a month before talking to them. Wiggins wavered for another moment before one finger pointed away from the main thoroughfare.

"Our current alley is five streets that way. We'll be around there for about another week."

"'Current' alley," Mr. Holmes noted. "You sleep there, but it is not your home?"

"Home is where my sister is."

"You mean a house," Charlie said almost simultaneously. "No, we don't have a house, but Wiggins has been trying to find us one. Maybe we'll have a house by the time you move away from that scary street."

Mr. Holmes looked between them. "The others are not related to you," he realized. "Would they be interested in this as well? How many are you?"

"Six," Wiggins replied, "and probably. How many helpers do you need?"

"All of you," Mr. Holmes answered, glancing at an old, scratched watch he pulled from one pocket. "Some cases might only need one runner, but others might need six or more. Do you know the Clerkenwell Jeweler?"

Their mother had frequented that shop. "Yes."

"Meet me there tomorrow morning around eight. The shop owner also manages a hidden courtyard nearby, and he might let you use it."

Wiggins hesitated. They had not used clocks in years. Could he learn enough on his own to make that time?

Charlie voiced the question before he could decide. "When is eight?"

Mr. Holmes said nothing for a long moment, obviously thinking. "You have no reason for clocks," he finally remembered. "Do you know hours?" Wiggins waved his hand in a so-so motion. "Meet me three hours after dawn."

"Clerkenwell Jeweler three hours after dawn," he repeated. He could do that. "Can the others come, too?"

"Yes. Here." Mr. Holmes shoved a hand into his pocket, withdrawing two of the coins the shopkeeper had given him. "For your time today and tomorrow," he said when Wiggins tried to protest, "and as earnest money."

Wiggins' objection died unspoken, but he stared in surprise as Mr. Holmes rapidly disappeared into the crowd.

A shopkeeper would never give this as change. What kind of man would give a stranger—whether thief or employee—two whole shillings?

I've always wondered how they started, haven't you? Hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to review! :)

Thank you to MHC1987 and Cc for your reviews on To Find Home Again

Cc: yes, I still reply to reviews! Doing so through PM is difficult if you don't sign in (or if I don't see anything that needs a specific reply. "Thank you" seems repetitive in a PM after a while, and I have no wish to make you stop reviewing), but I'll always include a thanks and answer any questions in the next chapter's AN :D
And it just seemed to fit that some of those biscuits left out every Christmas would have to be for the reindeer, lol. I would expect Father Christmas to have a stomachache if he ate 5-10 biscuits at every house. Much better to only have one or two and share the rest.