A/N: If there's any problems you'd like to see addressed, simply leave it in a review and I'll get to it right away. Seriously, anything. Grammar, spelling, especially anything that seems a little OOC or awkward. I'm trying to keep this as canon as possible, and since I haven't seen all of the movies yet, I can't say whether I'll be including them as canon or not. I can say, however, that all of your favorite characters and pairings will make various and numerous appearances. Also, like all of my stories, I'm completely open to suggestions, and nothing about this plot outline laying in front of me is set in stone.

And lets not forget: I do not own Case Closed/Detective Conan OR Magic Kaito, or any characters included.
(Shocker, I know.)

Well, without going on for another month and a half, I think I've said everything I'd like to say. Review so I know what you think! : )

The chilly air outside penetrated the thin metal walls of the warehouse, unusually cold even for mid-November. It was not exactly the ideal place for art to be crafted, but an artist by the name of Takasu Ryuji didn't have much choice in the matter. His body wanted to shiver in the cold, but he couldn't allow it. His hands had to move with perfect precision, or else all would be for nothing. The glow from the monitor before him, set on the improvised desk of nearly empty barrels holding any possible number of things, was the only light to be seen in the entire expansive room. Save, of course, for the faint cherry red tip of a lit cigarette, some short ways behind the man's head.

Every few minutes there was the tap of a few keys, but the only sound to be heard at the moment was the harsh beating of his heart. The cursor seemed to have a life of its own as it jumped from one spot of the screen to the next, but in truth, it was all done with the utmost precision. Slowly but surely, the silhouette of a man in a video clip was taking form where there hadn't been one before. It was what he did, after all. He was a CG artist that prided himself on perfection. He never once thought that his dedication to detail could land him in a situation such as this.

That's when a loud voice snapped, making every muscle in his body twitch. "Just how much longer is this going to take?"

"It- Things like this, they take time! I can have it done by morning, easy, but I -"

His quivering response was cut short, not by further angry shouting, but by a calm, emotionless voice. Somehow, the sudden dip in volume was far more frightening than its predecessor. "But, " the voice said, smooth as silk, but something about it penetrated him, burned him straight through. Just like his namesake, his fearful mind spat out. Gin. It's then that he noticed the cherry ember fall to the floor before a strong stomp robs it of the last of its life. "It would be so much better for you, if you finished before sunrise."

A knot in his chest, throat tight and difficult to swallow, Ryuji gave the only answer he was capable of. "Y-Yes, sir."

A feral smile stretched over Gin's features, a chill crawling up Ryuji's spine. Just give them what they want, he repeated like a mantra in his head. And then get the hell out of here!

As the hours passed in a frigid silence which had nothing to do with the chilly night air, he found various thoughts racing through his head at various times. Surely someone would notice he was missing soon, if they hadn't already. It wouldn't take people long to wonder why he'd never made it home, right? But in his heart, he knew he was only giving himself false hope. Even if he was reported missing, why would anyone ever think to look here? Besides, it hadn't even been five hours since he was grabbed in the parking lot. Even if his wife was worried, no cop would ever go looking for someone who hadn't even been missing a day. And the alternative, that she could show up here herself... He gave his head a stern shake. That was too terrible to even consider.

He could feel the gaze of both men on his back, and it was starting to have an effect on his work. His hand was starting to shake, his lines were starting to grow jagged, and jagged lines meant he'd have to go back a step and start over, costing him invaluable time. And if he didn't get his job done in time... Well, they'd made it very clear that deadlines are named as such for a reason.

Another handful of hours passed and his eyesight was going bleary, both from starring at the screen for such a long time nonstop, and from the exhaustion gnawing at his body. But finally, with only thirty minutes until dawn, he leaned back in his chair with a relieved sigh, running his hands through his hair. "It's done."

Behind him, he could hear the larger of the two men give a quiet chuckle, followed by what sounded like a light bulb being screwed into a socket. Without so much as a word the trigger receives a firm, confident tug. There was a pop, like that of opening a can of soda without the following hiss, and then the sound of a body falling face first onto a keyboard, a single bullet lost somewhere in the confines of the skull. Not that it really mattered where the bullet was at the moment, anyway.

The casing was retrieved, for what it was worth, and a small explosive planted on the side of a barrel which the two men just happened to know was filled with gasoline. In ten minutes, any and all evidence of what had transpired inside that room would be wiped away, turned to so much ash and random bits of bent metal. The purpose of all this effort was tucked safely away inside Gin's pocket. A hard drive, containing an altered camera feed. One that was about to start a chain of actions and reactions longer than the eye could see.

It caused a grin to break out over his face just thinking about it. This time you won't get away, he thought, a flurry of glee coursing through him. Sherry.

Conan laid wide awake, watching the red digits of the clock slowly tick towards the time the alarm was set to go off. The reason for his abrupt consciousness, just thirty minutes before, was a sudden surge in a certain someone's snoring. He cast a dark, irritated, but mostly tired glare at the form behind him, sleeping away on a comfortable bed while he had what equated to a thick blanket thrown over the floor. Oh the generosity of the famed Mouri Kogoro. It was times like this where he missed some of the simpler parts about being Shinichi. Like his old bed. Or his room. Or-

He stopped that dangerous train of thought. It wouldn't lead to anything good, and after nearly two years he had learned to nip those buds before they blossomed into anything else. Letting out a sigh he threw back his sheet, rising into a sitting position. Without having to look he reached over and grabbed his glasses, stretching silently as he fought off a yawn. Being only five after six, it wasn't even all that early anymore, considering he was usually awake by 6:15. He decided that, for once, it might be good to skip that awful screech. It was always such a sour note to start the day on.

He opened the door slowly, knowing that it often groaned in protest to even the slightest movements, and fearing Kogoro's wrath should he be woken up even five seconds early. It doesn't take long before the door is opened wide enough for him to squeeze his small frame through. There are still advantages to being Conan, he thinks absently, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stifles a yawn, passing by Ran's room, finding the door slightly ajar.

I really shouldn't, he thinks, even as he's taking a silent step closer to the door. Holding his breath, he peeks in through the crack, where his breath catches in his throat. She's laying there, hair spilling out from her like some kind of dark silky halo, pajama shirt pulled up exposing her stomach, blanket laying in a jumbled mess only reaching to her knees. Her mouth was slightly agape, her slow, steady breathing causing her chest to expand and contract. He felt the heat racing to his cheeks, growing hotter and somehow more pleasant with every second he stayed outside her door.

It was then he saw her moving, her face contorting into a look of fear, desperation, and her lips moving in the same rhythm again and again. If only he could hear what she was saying...

He hadn't noticed that he'd been leaning on the door until it fell open, Conan himself similarly winding up falling face first onto the beige carpet. But it was worth the stinging pain in his nose when he caught a breathy whisper. He strained himself to make out her gasps. They left him feeling like a hollowed shell. "Shinichi. Come back." In whatever dream she was having, whatever was upsetting her so much, he was right at the center of it. The cause of her pain, whatever form it was in, was centered around him. "Shinichi."

He'd already risen back to his feet before the words had registered, but once they had, he stood stock still, ashamed. He felt like he was violating her privacy on some deep, personal level, by listening to her. By listening to the words that she didn't intend for him to hear her utter. But that wasn't everything. Not by a long shot. He was ashamed for everything that had happened, whether it was out of his control or not didn't matter. If only he hadn't left. If only... Buds, he thought. He gave his second sigh of the day, at a time when he'd normally not even be awake. Today looked to be promising.

It was then that the wretched alarms filled the air. By the time Ran had opened her eyes, Conan was long gone, her door left exactly as he had found it.

I suppose some things never change, he thought sullenly. Weekdays always start on a sour note. He took position in the kitchen, fully prepared to act like he was trying to find something for breakfast when the two Mouri's walked in. Some, worse than others.