I breathed in the fresh air as I stepped out of a pub called Mother Goose; I was lost in thought for a moment, but was immediately snapped out of it by the voice of a girl behind me, sounding a little awkward. "W-Where are we going, Alice?" I turned round and saw a girl with light ash-coloured hair and skin as white as snow—in stark contrast to her shy demeanour; her blood-red lips made her stand out quite strikingly.
"Let's find somewhere quiet to think and make a plan," I replied, and the girl named Snow White simply nodded obediently without asking any further questions—I gave her a friendly smile to let her know I wasn't angry anymore, unlike when we were at Mother's house earlier. "Do you have any ideas for a good place?"
"I've got a few places we could visit!" Snow sounded very enthusiastic, but when I looked ahead again, my eyes widened at the sight of the man standing in front of me—he had black hair parted down the side, and our blue eyes met. The man was wearing a cream-coloured trench coat with a fedora of the same colour; between his fingers was a cigarette holder emitting smoke.
"Miss Lindsey." Although he addressed me by my surname, his voice was still very familiar to my ears—he was the last person I wanted to see right now, but fate seemed to have other ideas. "Just back from seeing Mother, I suppose?"
I nodded and walked past him; I still couldn't bring myself to face him after what I'd said to him that day—I'd only just realised that the way I'd behaved back then had been wrong, and that I'd simply been looking for someone to take it out on at the time. "Miss Lindsey, I happened to overhear you saying you were looking for a quiet place to think, weren't you?"
My feet stopped moving, and Snow, who was following me, looked confused by the situation—who exactly was this mysterious man Alice was trying to avoid? That must have been the question on her mind. "May I join you? I'd like to set the record straight on a few things, and perhaps we can exchange information later," he said; even after what I'd done to him, he remained polite, highlighting just how much more mature he was than me.
I didn't reply for a moment, and Snow became even more awkward because of this long, serious silence. "…She gets to choose the place," I replied, my thumb pointing towards Snow, who was taken aback by being singled out like that.
"Understood," the man nodded, and Snow suddenly felt the weight of responsibility resting on her shoulders to choose a place that he would like—we ordered a taxi as the place turned out to be quite far away, and inside the taxi, the conversation was dominated by the man's chat with the driver.
When we got out, we saw a simple restaurant decorated with blooming flowers—we walked in and chose a table at the very far corner so our conversation wouldn't reach too many other customers' ears. "What'd you like to order, Snowie?" I asked the girl sitting next to me.
"I'd like to order—er, hang on, I've already told you not to call me that!" She protested again, and that was the only thing keeping me entertained at the moment.
"Oh! Please forgive my rudeness—I haven't introduced myself, have I?" murmured the man. I'd only just realised that this was the first time Snow had met him—the girl sat up straight and turned her full attention to the man in front of her. "No need to be so formal; my name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm a detective. Perhaps you've heard of me… Miss…?"
"S-Snow White… And I've read about your amazing ability to solve cases in the newspaper, and I—I…" Her voice faltered, and eventually, the embarrassment reached her head—it felt as though it might go up in smoke any moment—so she bowed her head, and a bluish-white light appeared, forming a dwarf-hand puppet just like the one I'd seen after that massage back then. "I'm Slate! Snow isn't used to chatting with famous people, which is why she's acting like this."
Holmes seemed taken aback by the puppet's sudden appearance, but he still chuckled. "It's quite unexpected that I should find myself sitting here chatting with a little man stuffed with cotton in broad daylight like this—pleased to make your acquaintance, it's lovely to meet you," Holmes said, offering his hand for Slate to shake. "And do tell Miss White she needn't feel shy or self-conscious around me."
"Now, what if we order some food and I'm not sure you'll be able to swallow it, Mr Slate?" Holmes remarked, and at that very moment the hand puppet disappeared, revealing Snow's pale skin; the girl lifted her head, her cheeks still flushed red. "You were the one speaking through that puppet just now, weren't you? Don't take this the wrong way, but I found it rather amusing to picture you doing that"
That made Snow blush even more, and I didn't want this to go anywhere. "Don't bother her; let's order some food first," I replied before calling over the waiter—as luck would have it, I hadn't had lunch yet, and it seemed Snow hadn't either; she pointed at various dishes on the menu but ended up choosing just one.
After the waiter had left, a long silence fell again, and for a moment I simply gazed out at the sky beyond the window. "Miss Lindsey," she called, and so as not to appear arrogant in front of Snow, I turned round and looked at the detective. "I'll get straight to the point—I'm truly sorry for lying to you."
"The reason I pretended to be a Fable was because I wanted to find out more about you lot, because… my assistant—was killed by a Fable."
Snow was shocked to hear this, but I hadn't changed my expression in the slightest; I'd long assumed that Holmes was trying to find out about the Fables not just out of curiosity but for other reasons, and this turned out to be the reason.
"However, after I returned from the funeral, I saw you using your Everafter to help a small child who was nearly hit by a car."
"My perception of the Fables changed instantly—you are wretched souls given a second chance at life, and if it's true that the God of Casuality grants someone an Everafter, why would they give it to someone who commits a crime?"
"If they really are gods, surely they can see what the people they take pity on will do in the future, can't they?"
It does make sense that he'd feel curious, but having met many criminals who are Fables, most of them are simply people who'd failed in their lives and are using Everafter to do things they could never do before. However, it's a good question and an interesting one to discuss—I'd wondered about the same thing before, but being busy as a Fable meant I hadn't had the chance to bring it up. "When you met Mother, why didn't you ask her?" I asked.
"I did ask, but her answer was so vague, as if she were trying to hide something—I tried to dig deeper for information, but it just left us going round in circles," Holmes replied, his face full of disappointment as he recalled that moment.
"M-Maybe the only one who can see the future is the God of Time?" Snow interjected; she seemed to be trying to make herself useful by contributing her thoughts to the discussion. "But that can't be right, can it… The three Gods of Neverland must have talked or discussed things —it's impossible that the God of Time never warned the God of Casuality."
The waiter suddenly arrived, bringing our food and placing it on the table; after he had gone, Snow and I immediately tuck in, as my hunger was starting to affect my concentration. "Now that I have explained everything, will you accept my apology, Miss Lindsey?" asked Holmes, who hadn't touched his food at all.
Snow's spoon stopped mid-way to her mouth as the conversation turned serious again; I looked into her eyes and could tell she was serious about this—my hand reached into my bag, pulled out a photograph, and placed it right beside Holmes's plate.
"Red is still missing, but I've now found a girl who claims to be her twin," I began, and Holmes had already taken the photograph to examine it closely. "Yet I feel that this girl named Juliet isn't who she claims to be—because her resemblance to Red is unnatural."
"But isn't that just how twins are? And in this photo, the girl is smiling broadly in quite a dramatic pose—isn't that in stark contrast to the real Red?" It is hard for me to imagine Red having the same personality as Juliet—yet I still feel that there is something amiss with this girl that I cannot quite put my finger on.
Holmes placed the photograph back on the table; his eyes fixed on me, and he smiled as if hinting at something. "But there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact."