Sorry about the wait. My summer has been crazy, and my notes for this story is only on our laptop..which my dad is using for college. Oh Well. I want to give everyone who reviewed Ding Dongs. I might go back and fix mistakes later, and as far as OOC goes…I deserve any reviews about people being OOC for picking two characters that are the hardest to do. Complete lapse of sanity on my part. Next time, if I want to do something with Sherlock, I will pick a nice, easy character to do it with, like the Murder of Blues Clues. Oh well. OOOH OOOH! There was a cheesy movie on called A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Sherlock wasn't in it, but Mycroft was. Best line:

Captain Nemo: What's an American doing here? This is so far just a war in Europe.

Invisible Man: You kidding? When Europe goes to war, America gets dragged in

Dorian Grey: *Toward Unknown American Sharpshooter* Who are you then?

UA: Special Agent Sawyer, of the American Secret Service.

Disclaimer: You kidding? If I owned Artemis…I would be doing more that 8 shows for the Release of the next book. As far as being the person to own Sherlock…I like being not-dead.

"You want to check out the crime scene, Red?"

"Yeah, me and my assistant, eh, Watson."

"You're hilarious"

-Half Moon Investigations

Bloodshot eyes bored a hole into Sherlock, the darting pupils trying to find an ounce of understanding to grab onto. Sherlock, in return, gave a bored look, although inside he was mildly impressed. This Artemis was mildly skilled. He somehow was able to evade capture and death, heal his bodyguard of a bullet wound to the chest, fool the man that had been an ally to the mob, break in, and played an entire building of mobsters and bodyguards to the tune of his fiddle. That was, if the files and this man were to be believed. What was fascinating though was that he drew the line at killing.

He wasn't sure if that made him more interesting, or if that took the edge off.

John was leaning in the corner. Sherlock was taking over, best to just back off. He sat contently watching the man called Spiro who had grabbed Sherlock and tried to shake him like a rag doll when Sherlock started to show signs of disinterest. Sherlock had simply looked down him with an air of disdain (His normal state) before shooting John a look that clearly read Can you believe this guy?

I live with you. I can.

"Well." Said Sherlock, standing up as if here disappointed. " I'm Afraid I will have to be leaving. Goodbye." He stood up and walked out casually, as if he didn't notice the pleads coming Spiro, who was on the ground, begging to be believed. "John, coming?"

John nodded, and tried to smile at the man sobbing on the floor. "Er, good day." He didn't tear his eyes away from him until the door was shut. The mental pictures of a man who had his mind torn to bits by rage, obsessed with the fact that a thirteen-year-old had taken everything from him had burned into his memory.

For the first time since picking up Artemis Fowl's file, John Watson felt nervousness take over his other emotions. Normally, If Sherlock was confident, he was confident. After Moriarty though, he had felt it was an eye-opener. Criminals can be smart too. This was someone who didn't view his age as a handicap. He used it to his full advantage.

Sherlock strode out. "Ever get that feeling you are being watched?"

John rolled his eyes, thinking of the fan girls in England. "More that you think."

….

"You are absolutely sure he didn't see you?"

"I was shielded. Don't worry Miss Koboi."

Opal pushed her manicured nails into the scaled skin of the goblin called Tooley. "Idiot" she hissed. A slight whistle came out with the hiss, between her sharp teeth. "The Fowl boy isn't even fooled by cam-foil." She dropped him, and started playing with her hair. She stopped on a particular strand and looked over at Tooley. In that moment, she reflected over the situation. It didn't matter. She was a genius and she had allowed enough to make enough room if Artemis knew she was here She knew he was here, because he had bought ticket to fly here after a failure to contact a Sherlock Holmes before he left the country. She slightly regretted using a goblin that was too dumb to use a camera. If the goblin was wrong, it didn't matter as much to her, as much as the fact that the LEP might catch on if too many people died in the Chicago area with pale skin, black hair, blue eyes and were dressed nicely. This one, however, was smarter than he looked, and could work a recorder. A poor quality one. To her disappointment, she could only hear parts of the conversation she realized, after beckoning with a pale finger for it to have the recorder handed over.

"What do you think?"

"From my army experience, this would be someone who…"

"I wouldn't mind some tea.."

"Simple. The man is an utter imbecile."

Again, with the bad quality, it was hard to figure out whose voice it was, but it did have a distinctive European accent to it. Older, but the Artemis that she had met in the compound was about eighteen. She was afraid to touch the computer, not knowing what programs of hers Foaly had used in the future, and the Goblin had said that according to his LEP contact, the boy aged three years in the time stream, so he might be twenty one now, if he was eighteen when she met him. Any younger, and he wouldn't have been able to defeat someone as pretty as herself. It simply wasn't possible. She nodded her head, signaling to kill the pale, blue-eyed, dark haired genius, put fingers to her blood red lips, and pressed them to a picture of Artemis Fowl, one of the many spread on the wall.

….

Sherlock had his tea interrupted by a laser blast firing from thin air. Instinctively, he jumped away from the table, to the sound of confused people. He jerked his head up and scanned the sky for its source, when John jumped from his crouched position to push him out of the way from one coming from behind him. The odd red chunk of light ate at the concrete below his feet, leaving a tendril of smoke. John rolled to the side, and jumped up, as Sherlock scrabbled to his feet, leaving the bystanders filming the red chunks to upload to YouTube.

Sherlock rushed forward in a zigzag motion reveling in the chase.

"GET DOWN! DUCK" roared John from behind him. He threw up his hands to cover his neck and threw his head down in a sharp motion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another bolt of light whizz over his head like a boomerang. He grabbed John by the wrist and pulled him behind a bus. John used his free hand to help push Sherlock under the bus. He laid down with his check pressed against the gravel. He heard a raspy voice converse in a language he was not familiar with. His body tensed, and he felt John do the same.

People around John always called it the moment before a storm. That silence when a sniper aims in movies, before everyone starts laughing when a kid's pants fall off on stage. That horrifying silence. In real life, silence was not golden. It was deadly. He was hearing nothing. Hiding under the bus had bought them a few minutes, and even a dumb criminal would surround the bus and fire. It helped that the bus was stationary, though. He drew his revolver from a holster, and signaled Sherlock to do the same, as if he already didn't have his cocked.

"Mr. Holmes? Mr. Watson? Impressive job dodging those, ah, pieces of mob technology. Mind coming out now?" said a gently accented voice.

John gritted his teeth. This was either a trap, or someone had figured out how to defeat the alien weapons. Under the bus had a few drawbacks as far as living arrangements, so they couldn't wait it out too long.

A Chuckle came from outside the bus. "It's perfectly safe."

John came out.

Gun first, of course.

He found himself eye-level with a smirking Artemis Fowl the Second. He reached into his breastpocket and picked out four slips of paper. "Our plane leaves in twenty minutes. I hope you did not pack too much luggage?"

….

Artemis had breathed a sigh of relief when John lowered his gun. Butler was off dealing with the goblins, and possibly gathering a name from whoever had sent them. It had taken him a few seconds to figure out the situation, and he had to admit, the detective and the doctor had handled it beautifully. He had Butler park the car close to the bus to distract them from the fact nobody around them was moving, due to the mind-wipe electrodes wrapped around their skulls. The fact that all but three of everyone had beat it made that easier.

Sherlock observed. But did not comment.

Artemis leaned back into the cushions of the Bentley with a glass of chilled water in his hand, legs crossed, his two visitors sitting far away as possible. Butler had thrown the goblin and his softnose into the trunk and was now driving. He grinned, his eyes slightly crinkling from the anticipation of something about to happen.

"Well, Mr. Holmes?" It was a loaded question, and all three of them knew it. What did he think of him, Why was he being investigated.

Sherlock gave Artemis one of his looks. John pinched his nose bridge, awaiting Sherlock to get them thrown out of the car. Artemis noted his reaction, and wanted to smirk even more.

"Lets start with the patently obvious. Rich, smart, defiantly in genius territory, arrogant. You brought us here, so you want a challenge. You wouldn't view me as a challenge, or a possible threat of you didn't have something to hide. Your hands, despite clearly being cared for, you nails are kept very short, more even than macho men, meaning you cut them everyday, not chew them off. Why? You use a computer on a daily basis. You wear Armani, but no jewelry besides a ring, but due to the fact that everything else around you is elegant and tasteful, it's not a ring, but you want to pass it off as one. Microphone perhaps? Hmm..Coin around your neck. Leather strap, crudely done. Its sentimental. Someone of your wealth would most likely date someone of the same social status, so not a girlfriend. Guys don't give gifts like that, so probably a friend that just happens to be a girl. You talked to us first, not your bodyguard. You want to make it clear that you speak for yourself, that you are someone different from your father. You bought us tickets out of curiosity of what we knew. If you were trying to intimidate us, you would have brought your private jet down to Chicago. You came on a normal plane, showing this was planned last minute, using a private jet, and having us ride in it would remind us every minute the money you have at your fingertips .Again, intimidation is not a priority in this situation for you. Sleeves show signs of someone tugging on it. Your left cufflink is worn down, showing your habit of rubbing it, so someone else is tugging on it on a normal basis. Someone short. A sibling perhaps? I could go on, this car is filled to bursting with everything about you."

Foaly, who had been listening in, sat back. "D'arvit."

John hadn't followed most of that. Usually Sherlock didn't jump around like that, but he had been testing the waters, seeing of Artemis would keep up. Judging by Artemis's expression, he had.

"The rumors were true. Impressive, Mr. Holmes. Geniis are rare enough. Deductive Genii are even rarer. A pleasure." He stuck out his hand. "Artemis Fowl the Second." Sherlock tilted his head slowly, then shook. Artemis transferred his hard gaze to John. "Equally rare is a reliable support system." He held out his hand. John shook it with a little more enthusiasm than Sherlock. He felt like his months of being held in the same regard as a skull were being acknowledged.

"Before we get down to business, I never did hear what happened in Baskerville. Sharing is caring."

Sherlock shot a look at John. "Do we care?" John elbowed him, then started explaining.

"We were hearing reports of a large dog terrorizing the area around Baskerville, so we went to check it out. Someone's dad had apparently been killed by this thing, ripped to shreds, mauled, you get the picture. So we went. Still have nightmares-

"Was it a permanently pregnant female Doberman?" Artemis inquired innocently.

Sherlock sat up a little. Here was someone who might present a challenge in the smart-arse commentary competition. "Story times over. Old Case. Old News. We were hired by Scotland Yard to investigate you. Anything you say or do will turn up on John's blog. That is why we are here. Simple enough, puppy-boy?"

Butler growled from the front seat.

Artemis raised an eyebrow, "Care to Conduct you investigation at Fowl Manor? I could use a birthday treat."

"Pleasure. When's your birthday?"

"In six months."

"Excellent. It might take me five months and two weeks to find a bow for your arrest warrant."

"Make it a blue one."

"Someone's fancy."

John had his head buried in his knees. "Both of you shut up. Please."

"Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius."
― Arthur Conan Doyle, The Valley of Fear