A/N: I don't own them, but in a perfect world, I would. Plot and subordinate characters are mine, the rest belong to Anthony Zuicker and company. Special thanks to my husband and my beta readers, Ash and Anne. Without those three, I would never have the courage to continue writing.

Chapter 3

"Now arriving at gate 96, British Airways flight 143."

Inspector Charles Beckingham looked up from the morning edition of the London Times to view the gate. He was sent to meet the crime fighting duo from the former colonies.

Scotland Yard wanted to let the Americans know that they would help in almost any way they could in this case, short of arresting the suspect, Devon McAllister.

Hearing the announcement once again, Beckingham placed the paper on the seat next to him, grabbed the poster board sign sitting on the floor and rose to stand where those departing the flight could easily see him.

Dr. Grissom, the sign read. Beckingham held it up and waited.

Grissom and Sara walked down the ramp, weary but laughing over something someone ahead of them had said. A black backpack was slung over Sara's shoulder and Grissom carried his briefcase. They each had a suitcase that they had checked in, but they would be getting those later. For now, they walked as though they had been traveling thousands of miles everyday. Grissom looked up as Sara said something.

"Looks like we have a welcoming committee."

"What?"

Sara pointed out the white poster board sign, "You are Dr. Grissom, I presume?" She smiled.

Grissom just grimaced.

Inspector Beckingham approached the duo, "Dr. Grissom and Ms. Sidle? I'm Inspector Beckingham. Welcome to London. Allow me to extend all curtsies from Scotland Yard and her Majesty. We will offer any help that we may." He extended his hand towards Grissom.

"Please, just Grissom. The city of Las Vegas appreciates all of your help, Inspector. I understand that Sheriff Mobley contacted your superiors earlier and explained our intentions? We just need to question Mr. McAllister concerning a series of robberies."

"And Las Vegas sent you and Ms. Sidle over here for a series of robberies? I would imagine that your citizens would rather be spending the city's monies in a much better fashion. Allow me to help you with those, Ms. Sidle," he stated as Sara reached for her suitcase as it circled the luggage carousal.

"Please, call me Sara. And I can get it, thanks." Sara smiled at him.

Grissom looked annoyed. Was she flirting with Inspector Beckingham? Surely not. Maybe the jetlag was playing games with him.

"Call me Charles, please, Sara. I do hope you enjoy your stay in our lovely city. If you are in need of anything, please, do not hesitate to ring me. Wont you?"

Oh, Sara might not be flirting, but Inspector Charles Beckingham certainly was. And the sooner he got Sara away from the man, the better. Time to get the gentleman back on topic.

"The robberies were of some priceless antiquities that belonged to some of Las Vegas' prominent citizens. And friends of the sheriff."

"Ah, I see. And Mr. McAllister is the prime suspect?"

"Yes, we just need to question him in regards to his whereabouts on several nights."

The conversation continued as the trio exited the baggage claim area and proceeded to exit Heathrow Airport.

"Ah, here we are, taxi," Beckingham gestured for one of the legendary London taxis.

After placing their luggage in the car's trunk, Grissom and Sara entered the taxi and were followed by Beckingham.

The driver looked over his shoulder and asked "Where too, gov?"

"The Ritz on Piccadilly, please."

"Right you are," the driver turned back around and proceeded to battle the London traffic.

"I am afraid that we had a slight bit of a problem with your lodgings. There appears to be several conventions in town this weekend in addition to the All England Lawn tennis tournament, so we've had to situate you at the Ritz. And I'm afraid that there was only one room available. You will have to share but I am assured from the management that as soon as a suite opens up, you will be established there. I am truly sorry for the inconvenience, but with the "Sherlock Holmes" convention and the tennis tournament, all of the hotel rooms have been booked for weeks."

Grissom just looked at Sara and thought to himself, "Share a room with Sara? I hope that it has a couch. As much as I would love to be with her, the first time I sleep with Sara, I don't plan on getting much sleep."

Sara just looked at Grissom and thought, "Share a room with Grissom? Be still my heart. I don't want the first time that I sleep with Grissom to be on a stakeout. Besides, the first time we sleep together, neither one of us is going to be getting much rest."

Beckingham seemed unaware that the two Americans were looking at each other. He continued, "Now, we have 23 kilometers until we get to your hotel so I can brief you on what information we have on Mr. McAllister. From your information, we were able to obtain a copy of his itinerary. It appears that he will be at the All England Lawn Tennis tournament for the better part of the day. That's Wimbledon to you Yanks."

Grissom picked that time to change the focus of his thoughts. They were still on sharing a room with Sara. "Could we by any chance get a pair of tickets to Wimbledon? Possibly in the same area as McAllister?"

"I'm afraid that isn't possible. Wimbledon was sold out last January. Mr. McAllister will be there tomorrow all day, as well. For the four days following, he will be doing the typical tourist things, according to his itinerary. I have a copy of it here for you," the Inspector said as he reached into his suit. "Ah, there we are. He is staying at the same hotel as you, so that might make meeting him a slight bit easier. We informed the management that you were married, as a cover of course, but rest assured that they know that you truly aren't. We didn't want to arouse suspicion in the other guests."

"Of course not," Grissom smirked. Was this guy serious? As much as he cared about Sara, as much as he loved her, he was sure that they weren't at a position in their non-existent relationship to comfortably share a room. Besides, the man was starting to get on his nerves. "That won't be so hard, will it, Babylove?" Grissom placed his hand over Sara's.

His touch made her hand tingle, warming it ever so slightly. "Oh course not, Hunnybun," she smiled. He was going to see that two could play this game he had been playing.

Beckingham just looked from one CSI to the other and shook his head. "You aren't married, are you? Or you two have done undercover work before?"

"Nope," Sara returned, smiling. "We just work well together."

Beckingham seemed to accept the explanation as the taxi stopped in front of the hotel. "Right, here we are. I'll leave you to your assignment. Just ring me at Scotland Yard if you need anything."

"We'll be sure to remember that. Thank you for all of your help, Inspector."

"You're welcome. Ms. Sidle, it has been a pleasure meeting you. If you have some time after you are finished with Mr. McAllister, perhaps I can show you London?"

Sara blushed. Charles Beckingham wasn't that difficult to look at, he was gracious and he did have that accent. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine Patrick Stewart or Pierce Brosnan. "Thank you, Charles. I..."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. We have to leave as soon as we question Mr. McAllister." Grissom wanted her away from the man as soon as possible.

"Oh, sorry. I do hope that everything works out for the better. Please let me know if you need any assistance, won't you?"

"Don't worry, I'm sure that we will 'ring' you if we need any help." Grissom finished retrieving the luggage from the trunk. "Sara, are you coming?"

TBC