AN: I do not own any of the characters from both series. Nor their plots. I own the stories I made up about them though.

Neal Caffrey was perfectly dead. Quite heroically too. Now a new identity roamed freely on the streets of Paris: Albert Aldric Hardy. He was a half-French student who drew tourists near Seine River for living. His father was a French businessman, a common middleclass, but his mother was an American aristocrat. There are no details about their affairs in the official document, but they did end up getting married. Thus, Albert Aldric Hardy came to existence. They both passed away some years ago but left poor Albert none of their well-stacked money. Not that it was a problem to Albert. He had cellars full of antiquities worth millions a piece—a courtesy of his former identity who only recently died.

Several months after Albert comfortably settled himself to the new life, there came a news that Codex Gigas was going to be featured in British Museum. Albert was fascinated by the chance to see—and no ulterior motive whatsoever—the actual manuscript of the well-known Devil's Bible. He also may had an idea or two about meeting a peculiar woman again. Hence he swiftly booked himself the fastest flight to London.

Sherlock was not the happiest man on earth at the moment. His flat mate John Watson whose wife was hospitalized currently for the coming of new life moved out permanently to become a proper father at home. "Home," a funny word it was. Sherlock could never sympathize with such sentiment. He perused for a while in his armchair and concluded that, as he had known, there was no place on earth appropriate enough to be called "home" by him.

He sighed and grabbed the newspaper placed on the table by Mrs. Hudson. Big bold letters screamed the significance of the new artifact display in British Museum this month. Then came the phone call. Sherlock almost immediately called John to pick up the phone for him, but his logical thinking saved himself from an embarrassment just in time. He rubbed him temples as he lethargically walked towards his cell phone and glared at it slightly before picking it up.

"Sherlock Holmes." He simple said.

"Yes, hello, Mr. Holmes. This is Sara Ellis from Sterling Bosch." Came a very clear and intelligent voice from the other side.

"Ah, Sterling Bosch. Thank you, but I'm afraid I'm not interested—" Sherlock sighed as he pulled the phone away from his ear only to be stopped by the woman's words afterwards.

"I guess you couldn't deduce that I wasn't calling to sell you anything." She said almost icily.

Sherlock's lips twisted in a strange angle, himself clearly dissatisfied with the woman's remark.

"…How may I help you, Miss Ellis."

"I'm an insurance investigator, Mr. Holmes. I need your help with a case with a stolen and forged manuscript about to be on display this week." She quipped.

"Codex Gigas?" Now Sherlock's eyebrow was raised.

"I'm afraid so." Answered Sara Ellis, and Sherlock cannot help but pick up her mocking his previous comment.

"And under whose authority are you demanding my aid?" Sherlock had several possibilities in his mind, but at the moment, he was too lazy to decide.

"Mycroft Holmes, of course." Sara answered matter-of-factly.

Sherlock sighed. He calculated the increased amount of sighs then sighed again.

"Of course. And I assume you are to join Detective Inspector Lestrade in this investigation?"

"Nope." She answered a little too brightly.

Sherlock raised his eyebrow again.

"It will be just us two. A special request from my client." Sherlock easily pictured this mysterious Sara Ellis smiling crazily while saying this.

"And I'm not to question who this client may be?"

"You've got it, Mr. Holmes." She must be still smiling, thought Sherlock.

"Very well. It seems that my brother gives me no chance to reject. When can you start?" Sherlock decided to be done with it as quickly as he can and regain his rest at the end of the day.

Then came three knocks on the door.

"I'm at your door."

Sherlock hung up and ever so slightly dashed to open the door. There stood a taller than average woman with blonde hair and quite beautiful eyes. She smiled. "I knew you'd say yes."

"You knew?" Am I that easy to read now? Sherlock sank into despair—only briefly before he sank into a deeper despair.

"Well, no, your brother did." Then she smiled again as Sherlock massaged his temples.