"Mama, is he going to be all right?"

"I don't know, Honey. I hope so. We're going to do the best we can to see that he gets well." Milo slid over against her and snuggled into a hug.

"He seems to be a nice man, I think. He could be a Daddy, couldn't he?" Molly, fearing that he meant his Daddy just murmured a non-committal something. "If he doesn't get better he can't go home to his kid, like Daddy. I know how sad his kid will be." Eyes moist and throat achy, Molly picked Milo up and set him on her knee, hugging him tight.

"We'll do everything we can think of to make him better. Now you go to bed, and I'll sit up with him." She shoved Milo in the direction of her bed and turned her attention back to the gentleman, resuming her nursing duties, praying that her efforts would be successful. After a couple days of barely breathing and constant almost round the clock attention, Sherlock began tossing his arms around on Molly's cot, mumbling and occasionally crying out.  Molly heard him moaning and hurried to his side, in case she needed to help him, or if he displayed violence, to restrain him.  

Suddenly he sat up, awake and alert.  He looked around the small room cautiously, lifting a hand to his pounding head. Seeing a young woman standing next to him, he slowly raised his eyes to her face. She was displaying concern and not a little agitation.  "Sir, how are you feeling?" she queried quietly.

Sherlock blinked his eyes and glanced worriedly at the young woman's face.  "I... I don't know what I ...Where am I?"  With a little more force, he asked brusquely, "Who are you?"  Then, with a flash of panic, "Who... who am I?"  Molly's brows flew to her hairline.  She glanced around uncertainly, as if someone could tell her.

"I'm sorry, sir.  I was waiting for you to awaken, so that we might determine your name... or where you came from."

"Where I came from?" He lifted his hands, palms down, and looked straight ahead, trying to compose himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. Lowering his hands to the bed, he opened his eyes and gazed cautiously at Molly's face.  "Please... let me catch up here. From the beginning as you know it... Please tell me what has happened..."

Molly blinked rapidly. "Okay." She moved closer to where he sat on his bed and dropped onto a small stool at his feet. "First, my name is Molly.  A couple days ago, my son found you on the beach, you having washed up on shore with a rather large dog, the two of you lying on a wooden door."  Locke raised a hand to stop her a moment.

"A wooden door?"

She smiled a not-quite-smile and continued, "Yes, sir.  You were lying unconscious on a wooden door, it evidently having come off a boat, with the dog lying on his side next to you. The dog was wearing a collar with his name on it: "Shelby's Mariner".  We thought your name must be Shelby, and the dog was Mariner.  The dog and Milo... He's my son... helped me get you back here to the house. You've been unconscious for two whole days.  We've been very worried about you."

Sherlock frowned and shook his head slowly. "Shelby?"

"That's not your name?"

"I don't know. It could be, but I can't... remember.  Let me get this straight.  A dog and I came ashore on a beach near here?"  Molly nodded eagerly.  "I've been unconscious for two days?"  She nodded one time again. "I just now woke up?"

"Yes, sir.  For the first time in all that time.  And now you don't remember who you are?  Amnesia sometimes clears up very quickly.  You do have a head injury."  She scooted over to sit on the edge of the bed and perched next to him, touching the back of his head gingerly.  He reached up to grab her wrist as her fingers brushed through his hair. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? You have a wound that was bleeding when we first found you. "

Locke touched the bump on his scalp, shook his head, and looked unhappy. Hanging his head, he placed his hands over his face to cover his confusion. He grabbed a handful of the breeches covering his legs. "Are these my clothes?"

"No, sir... May I call you Shelby or Mr. Shelby... at least for now?"

"Sure. Just Shelby."

"Thank you... Shelby." She stood and moved to a large chest situated at the foot of his cot.  "You had on a very elaborate costume and a whole arsenal of weapons. We stored them carefully, so they wouldn't get damaged." She was reaching for the lid to the chest when she espied Locke turning on the soft mattress.

Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, he started to stand.  As he leaned, his hands gripping the edge of the bed, a wave of dizziness washed over him and he nearly pitched forward onto the floor. Molly jumped to his aid, catching him about his shoulders and easing him back to a sitting position. She sat with her arms around him until he stopped weaving. His lips quirked ruefully. "I'm guessing I'm not used to feeling this helpless. I really felt I should be able to stand."

"You must be weakened from your ordeal. You've been lying here without moving and haven't had anything but a few swallows of tea and broth.  You're going to have to build your strength."

Feeling discouraged and somewhat disappointed in himself, he gave in to an impulse, and let someone ease his discomfort. Leaning his head on her shoulder, he sighed heavily and let her stroke his hair and his back. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that he always carried a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, not one to allow another to take care of him. He let himself relax. She was soft and warm, and a part of him just wanted to give in and let her comfort him.  

Molly let him rest his head against her shoulder for a few moments, letting her memory drift to days past when her husband had sought her arms to cause the cares of the day to be less monumental. She swallowed hard to overcome the choking lump in her throat. A movement from Shelby brought her thoughts came back to the present. Recalling what they had been discussing, she moved carefully away from him and went to stand by the chest.

"Shelby? Do you want to see your clothes and weapons now?  If you don't feel up to it yet, I'll let you rest some more." The door crashed open, and Milo and his new boon companion, Mariner, bounded into the room.

"Mr. Shelby!  You're awake!" He skipped over to stand in front of Locke with Mariner wagging his tail so hard that his whole rump moved back and forth.  "How are you feeling, sir?"  

His mother wrapped her arm around Milo's shoulders, pulling him against her side. "Milo, Mr. Shelby has just now awakened. He may not feel up to your shenanigans just yet."

Locke interjected, "That's okay.  If I'm to look at the weapons, perhaps Milo would like to examine them with me..." Locke eyed Milo with raised brows and an inviting smile.

"Oh, yes, sir.  I should like that more than anything!"  He dropped onto the cot next to Locke, clapping his hands noisily.  Molly shook her head, mouthed a silent "thank you" to Shelby and turned again to the trunk full of treasures.  Lifting the lid, she withdrew his much-loved katana from the top of the pile inside. It was carefully wrapped in a long strip of soft linen. Unwrapping it gingerly, she lay it across Locke's outstretched hands.

Locke felt a fleeting moment of pride and a sweet burst of confidence.  He felt that he knew how to use this beautiful weapon. Milo's eyes were wide with wonder as he asked, "Sir?  Do you know how to use this sword?" 

Locke glanced at the boy's excited face and nodded. "I believe I do. When your mother lets me leave this bed, I'll show you."  He winked at Molly and handed the sword back to her.  Turning around, she folded the strip of linen and set the antique weapon onto the eating table on top of the folded linen. 

Next she withdrew an intricately carved wooden box, a feminine accessory, obviously a former jewel case of Molly's.  Locke's brows knit as she set it on his flattened palms. She flipped the lid up for him and exposed a set of four-barreled pistols, polished to a high sheen, resting on a bed of crushed green velvet. Locke murmured a soft, "Oh, my..."

Milo reached over to take one of them and stopped just as his hand touched the handle of a pistol. He glanced worriedly at Locke.  Locke nodded and gave him an amused consent, "Go ahead. They're not loaded."

"How do you know, sir?" Locke turned a knowing smile on Molly. Lifting the corner of the cushioning velvet, he displayed eight bullets.

"Your mother removed them before she packed them away." Molly bit her lower lip and blushed pink. "She likely learned proper storage from your Papa." Molly and Milo glanced at each other and both dropped their eyes.

Locke noticed the quiet in that moment. "I'm sorry. Did I say something wrong?"

Milo smiled awkwardly and a little sadly. "That's okay, sir.  It's just that my Papa went away to sea and hasn't come home yet. It's been a long time."  Over Milo's head, Locke noticed Molly give a quick shake of her head. He made a mental note to ask her about her husband later, best probably when Milo was not present.