A/N: Okay, for those of you who may have read this story on my other account before I deleted it, I will be posting each chapter after my awesome beta has looked it over. Alli and I are working on new chapters, and will hopefully have one for you previous readers. I've also added new (small) part to this chapter to make it better than ever. So I encourage you to check it out, and feel free to leave me a review again. I also encourage those of you who read this on my previous account, to check out Unlikely Crossroads (if you are familiar with BBC Sherlock) it's another crossover that I'm sure will you will enjoy.

To those of you stumbling upon this for the first time, WELCOME! My cousin Alli and I thought that Capt. Jack and Sherlock would make an entertaining duo, so this is what we've come up with. Some of it may be a little off the wall, but then again, Sparrow and Holmes are a little nutty! We already have four chapters written, and I shall be posting them in-between updates on my other fic on here. Please let me know what you thought, and I will answer any questions I can, as well as respond to each one of your reviews personally. :D Just something I like to do to get my readers input.

Can't wait to hear from you all.

ENJOY!

Chels


Chapter One

The Pirate and the Detective

Locked up again. It never failed to amaze the witty pirate how often he found himself in such a position. The four walls that caged him, one made of thick iron bars, the other gray heavy rock and clay, stank of damp stone and rusty metals along with years of human excrement. Sickly yellow straw cluttered the stone ground in a thin blanket beneath the soles of his worn in scruffy, brown boots. Torch light from down the corridor cast eerie elongated shadows along the damp hall outside his cage, flickering in an amber glow.

He was about sixty percent sure he'd visited the dark confines he found himself in before, although, after so many exploits that ended in ways such as this, every cell began to look and feel the same.

Thinking to himself, he paced the perimeter of his new bared enclosure, devising a clever way to escape the hellish hole in which he currently resided. Surely if he stayed, a noose would be waiting for him - somewhat of an occupational hazard, and he wasn't sure exactly how near or far the dreaded hanging rope was in his future. One thing he was certain of - he didn't plan staying long enough to find out.

"Leverage. . ." he murmured to himself, coming up with an idea to free himself. Years ago, a young man named William Turner revealed to him one of the most helpful talents he'd now perfected.

"With the right leverage, and the proper application of strength, the door will lift free."

The pirate's dark brown eyes looked over his small cell for something of appropriate size and weight, only to realize there was nothing. He scowled; just mere feet from his cell door was a wooden bench, which he knew could aid in his escape. It seemed as though he was going to have to give the idea of escaping more thought. Simply lifting his cage door from its hinges with a wooden bench made the whole situation easier than he truly wanted. Half the fun was conjuring up an escape plan; the other half was it actually working. He'd have to wait until someone with keys opened the iron bars, then his wicked mind could meditate something that would set him free.

With a heavy sigh, he placed himself on the stone wall bench, tilting his three pointed hat over his charcoal smudged eyes. There wasn't much he could do now but wait for the opportune moment.


Watson knocked on the door yet again, already knowing that he would receive no answer. Mrs. Hudson was on holiday and there was no way Holmes would be leaving his room to allow him entrance into the flat they had once shared. With a sigh, Watson tried the doorknob with no luck. It would be so incredibly easy to leave and not look back, but he knew that if he didn't get in, Holmes would probably not eat, sleep, drink, or bathe unless Watson forced him to.

Stepping back onto the street, Watson cursed his luck under his breath as he made his way to the broken window located at the back of Holmes' house. It'd been broken for weeks, and no matter how much Mrs. Hudson had warned Holmes that it needed to be fixed, Holmes had never given her the okay to do the job. Holmes classically putting off what needed to be taken care of for his own safety.

"Holmes?" Watson called through the partially opened window. He pulled himself up with a grunt, trying to keep his suit as clean as possible. "Holmes?" he repeated in the dark hallway. A light sound of violin playing reached his ears, echoing from the direction of Holmes's room.

'Not again,' Watson thought to himself as he strode down the hall. Something hard smacked to the floor and the sounds of breaking glass reached Watson's ears. "Holmes?" He reached the door and forced it open a few inches before hitting the large crate that was on the floor.

"My dear Watson!" Holmes's face appeared in the door crack. "Impeccable timing as always!" The genius's wild eyes disappeared as Holmes dislodged the crate blocking the door. "Hurry in! Before it escapes!" Holmes cried.

"What escapes exactly?" Watson asked, hesitating with one foot in the door. The doctor peeked into his friend's messy room, evaluating the damage he'd heard. Of the destruction the only thing worth noting was yet another broken window.

"It's quite harmless, I assure you, but you must come inside immediately." Holmes ushered Watson the rest of the way into the room and quickly closed the door.

Watson scanned the room for any living thing that might cause him harm. "What is going on?" The room was in shambles. More in shambles than it normally was, anyway, and it was impossible to make out any creature that might be lurking.

"After my experiment with the fruit flies and major and minor scales, which you so rudely interrupted by the way, I decided to move on to larger animals. Unfortunately, your dog is no longer an option since you moved out. I was thus forced to invest."

"You got a dog?" Watson asked in shock.

"I was going to, but then I remembered the remarkable intelligence of pigs."

"You got a pig?"

"A boar to be exact. I was not expecting his immense size of course. He's much bigger than your dog."

"And now he's loose in the room?"

"Yes, a slight setback. I tried to redirect him into the crate, but my violin was unsuccessful and just seemed to drive him in to a frenzy," Holmes mused.

"So now a crazed boar is lost in this mess and you need me to get it back in?"

Holmes nodded, pulled out his pipe, and collapsed in the only clear armchair. "I'll leave you to it, then."

Watson sighed, knowing there was no point to argue against him.

XXXXXXXXX

"Holmes, could you please stop making that racket? You are not helping!"

"I'm simply trying to help encourage it into the crate," Holmes explained as he continued to play various melodies on his violin. "I simply need to find the right combination of notes to encourage the animal back."

"Is that really necessary?" Watson asked as a significantly high screech echoed through the room.

"If it works, then yes." Another screech made the boar squeal from its hiding place and a mountain of papers shifted as the animal shuddered and began another rampage about the room, flinging papers everywhere.

A letter hit Watson in the eye and as he bent to pick it up, he noticed the seal of Scotland Yard. "What's this?"

"Oh, the Yard has requested my help on a case. It's quite trivial, really. I just need to show up tomorrow to receive the information on the case."

"When did you get this letter?" Watson asked, quickly skimming the writing.

"Yesterday. I'm supposed to report tomorrow, which is Monday." Holmes absentmindedly plucked another cord.

"Holmes, today is Monday! Come on! You need to be there in an hour." Watson grabbed Holmes and the nearest stack of clothing. "But first you need a bath," he added as he wrinkled his nose.


"Sparrow!"

Jack jumped, startled awake by the sound of his last name being shouted. He'd been lost in a dream, drifting idly on the baby blue waters of the Caribbean, with a warm salty sea breeze kissing the tanned skin on his face as he sailed upon his beloved vessel The Black Pearl. One could only imagine his immense displeasure when he woke up to find he was still trapped behind iron bars. Unfortunately for him, his prized ship was also imprisoned; inside of a glass bottle which he carried with him at all times. Although, at the moment, it appeared all of his belongings, including his ship in a bottle, were being kept from him. With a grunt he shifted out of an uncomfortable laying position on the straw covered stone into a sitting position.

"Captain Sparrow, mate," Jack corrected as he tilted his hat back into proper placement.

The prison guard, who happened to be employed by Scotland Yard, chuckled. Upon seeing the plump, bearded man's uniform, Jack remembered where he was and why he was there, kind of. He recalled returning to the charming city of London shortly after marooning the only woman he loved on an island somewhere in the Caribbean waters. He and his trusted - though currently missing - first mate Gibbs returned in order to acquire various negligible items to restore his precious Pearl to all of her glory. At the moment, as far as Jack knew, they were both empty handed.

"Oh well, pardon me Sir," the guard mocked, "Captain Sparrow, some poor fool's paid your bail. Now into the yard with ya."

"Bail?" the pirate slurred. "How be it I got meself abled to be freed by bail?"

Jack had to admit, from what he could remember, this was the only time he'd ever been bailed out of his cage.

The guard shrugged. "You wanna stay in the cell? 'Cause I'm sure we can think of something to charge you with that would end very poorly for you."

Jack quickly shook his head. "No," he smiled at the guard and wobbled to his feet just as the fleshy guard opened his cell door, causing a series of loud clangs to echo through the dim corridor. With his sea legs, he ambled down the hall until the dreary light of a London day made his dark eyes squint. A thick layer of grey clouds hid the sun and the vast blue sky behind them, leaving a dull overcast.

"Might I inquire as to how I came about being imprisoned?" Jack mused.

The large man in uniform chuckled. "You were wandering around the streets of London, screaming about some ship you had in a bottle, and proceeded to attack a pedestrian who attempted to take the bottle from you."

Jacks nose wrinkled as they continued to walk, the previous night's escapades slowly returning to his memory ever so slightly.

"Wait here," the guard demanded, forcing Jack onto one of the wooden benches, occupied by some monstrous human beings. Jack shifted uncomfortably, doing his best not to make eye contact with any of them. He doubted his ability to talk himself out of any confrontation that might take place.

"Gentlemen, I have far better things to do than go hunting for some crook who may or may not have taken this man's prized shelf ordainments."

"Like what Holmes? The doctor here says you haven't been out of the house in weeks."

Jack couldn't help but overhear the group of men talking just outside the gated wall. A shorter man, who appeared to be under the employment of Scotland Yard, scolded a scruffy, seeming well dressed man who held an empty bottle at his side. Beside him was a man dressed neatly, holding a cane in one hand, and then the older gentleman who appeared to be the one that had been stolen from. Jack tilted his head slightly, so he could better understand the predicament.

"Oh please. If by better things you mean watching me run around that room of yours to catch the pig -"

"Boar."

"Whatever. If that is your idea of better things to do, then we are taking this case."

A large hand gripped Jack's shoulder suddenly. "Let's get you outta here, Mr. Captain Sir."

"If I may ask mate, who be that man over there holding that bottle?" Jack asked as he started walking to the door that would set him free.

"That would be Sherlock Holmes. Odd fellow. A genius, but borderline insane," the guard explained.

"I've gotten that description once or twice," Jack mumbled to himself. As he walked out, he took one last glance at the man named Holmes, and the bottle in his hand.

Thankfully, a familiar scruffy face was waiting to greet him.

"Master Gibbs, be it you who paid my bail?" Jack questioned loudly in his drunken slur.

"Aye. Me winnings from a lucky hand at cards," he winked.

"I thank you, Master Gibbs." Jack tilted his hat, and then spun around on his heels to the guards surrounding them. "And thank you gentlemen for a lovely stay."

Without another word both pirates strolled out onto the bustling streets of London.

XXXXXXXXXX

"You lost the Pearl?" Gibbs asked, somewhat surprised.

"I told you mate. Those Yard fellows took everything from me apart from me hat. And of those things they took, only one has not been returned."

"The Pearl. . ."

"Precisely." Jack gulped down his last bit of rum, and sat the mug back on the wooden table.

The Captain's Daughter was the only tavern in all of London a pirate could go to feel at home. It was loud, dimly lit, and smelled of ale and salt water; everything one would find at sea aboard a ship. Drunken laughter resonated inside the building, while some men clobbered one another with fists and broken stools. Yes, this was exactly where the pirates flocked to.

"What would Scotland Yard want with The Black Pearl in a bottle?" Gibbs asked puzzled.

"I'm not sure it is Scotland Yard who has it."

Gibbs brow pulled together. "Aye?"

"There was a man, can't remember his blasted name at the moment, but, he was standing outside the holding yard with an empty bottle resembling the one that holds my Pearl," Jack stated.

"Why would he be wanting it?"

"I don't know. But I do know that I will find out for sure if he is the one who took it."

XXXXXXXXX

By nightfall, Jack was snooping around the alleyways outside of a home with broken windows. Sitting in his flat palm was his compass, a tool he used often. It had led the two of them to the home, and Gibbs was skeptical.

"Are you sure this is where we're supposed to be?"

"The compass never lies mate." Jack closed the lid and fastened it back to his belt. "Be a good lad and give me a boost would ya?" He pointed to a broken window two stories up.

"There be a lower window over there," Gibbs informed him, pointing to the other broken window.

"The compass be pointin' to this one mate."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and got down on his hands and knees as Jack proceeded through the open window as gracefully as he could manage.

Inside the cluttered, unfamiliar room, Jack found it rather difficult to move about due to the mess and lack of visibility. He stumbled around slowly at first, letting his eyes adjust to the blackness. Surrounding him were piles of books, broken candle sticks, heaps of newspapers, various tools and mounds of letters, but not a bottle in sight.

There was a grunting noise from somewhere in the room that made Jack stop in his tracks. As far as he knew he was the only one in the messy room. He tip toed around the room some more, keeping his eyes open for whatever made the grunting sound.

"Did you find it yet?" Gibbs called from the window.

"No, just a bunch of useless junk." Jack paused. "To tell you the truth mate, this place is making my skin crawl."

Before he could take a full breath, something darted out of the darkness and under Jack's legs, causing him to fall backward into a pile of papers.

"Jack! What was that?"

"Um. . ." Jack sat up to find the boar staring him straight in the eye. "That was a pig. A very mad, monstrous, sneaky, smelly, sharp tusked pig."

"Why in God's name would there be a pig in the house?" Gibbs' muffled reply said from outside.

Neither the boar or Jack moved, instead the pirate eyed him down intensely, as if he was playing some mind game on the wild beast. After a while, the animal got bored of the stare down and trotted back into the darkness of the room. Jack stood, no longer cornered and took a gold pocket watch from a nearby desk. If he wasn't going to steal his ship back tonight, then he might as well take something else for the heck of it.

"Did you find it?" Gibbs asked as Jack jumped out of the window and onto the cobblestone street.

"No, but I will Master Gibbs. Mark my words."


"How else was I supposed to question her?" Holmes asked Watson in a huff as they reentered Holmes's house.

"Not by saying 'did you kill your husband because he was sleeping with your sister'!" Watson exclaimed.

"I had no idea that she didn't know about his scandalous affairs. It was quite obvious to me."

"Everything is obvious to you, Holmes," Watson sighed. "And it's not right to ask a person if they murdered their husband."

"I was simply judging her reaction. By the fact that she burst into tears and tried to strike me over the head with a vase I can clearly tell that she did no such thing. As to why I questioned her in the first place, it is because her husband was a well-known grave robber of Egyptian artifacts when he was alive. Since I've been forced to accept this assignment, I need to check all of my -" Holmes froze in the doorway of his room. "Something's not right."

"Of course something's not right! There's a pig running around in your room!"

"Boar," Holmes corrected automatically, his brow furrowed as he surveyed the room. "Something is missing."

"How can you tell?" Watson jumped as something the size of a large dog brushed against his leg. "The lights aren't even on!"

"Could you take care of that for me?" Holmes placed the bottle he held on the table as Watson turned on the lights. "Something's missing," he repeated.

"What?" Watson asked in exasperation. "What could possibly be missing from this place that has you so -"

"Pocket watch!" Holmes exclaimed triumphantly. "The gold pocket watch from my table is missing. I set it down just this morning after the boar showed an unnerving amount of interest in it. I put it on the table so it couldn't be reached."

"How do you know the boar didn't find it? We've been gone all day, it could have taken a chance."

"I seriously doubt it. The papers on the table were not knocked off, and the boar would have had to have shown great initiative to get up there. No, someone broke in."

Watson hurried over to the broken window and looked out. From the little light emitting from the room, he could just make out the outline of two sets of boots on the ground. "I told you to get the windows fixed," Watson said as he shook his head. "This is what you get, you were robbed."

"I'm not sure if I was…" Holmes mused.

"Will you make up your mind? Were you or were you not robbed?"

"I think whoever it was, was looking for something in particular. What, I don't know."

"You don't think the watch was the object of desire?"

"I highly doubt it. The watch was simply in plain sight and most likely taken out of frustration."

"It's impossible to find anything in here, including that stinking pig," Watson commented, crinkling his nose at the smell that may or may not have been caused by the animal.

"Actually, it might have been the boar that helped scare the intruder away! I suddenly understand the use of guard dogs."

"Since this is really your fault for not fixing your windows, could we move on with this case? I'm afraid the crook may soon make off with the artifacts, leaving us far behind."

"Oh, not yet, my dear Watson. I noticed while in the woman's house earlier a picture of a very intriguing Egyptian artifact. The owner has commissioned the work to go on tour throughout England, and next week it will be stopping here in London. Our crook will most certainly attempt to steal it."

"You don't think that he will go to the next town and wait for it there?"

"London is the last stop. He, or she, will have to make their bid here. We must find them before that."

Watson knew that tone of voice. No matter what Holmes said, he was excited to be back on a case. And nothing could possibly dissuade him from the path to finding the artifact thief.

"But first," Holmes interrupted Watson's thoughts, "we must find the culprit who stole my watch and find out what they actually wanted."

'It seems I spoke too soon,' Watson thought to himself.


A/N: That's Chapter one! and in case you were wondering, Alli and I do realize that the time difference between Sherlock Holmes and Pirates of the Caribbean is quite large, so for the sake of our writing muses please just go with it, lol we will try to incorporated a little bit of both time periods. Also, this is sorta an AU fic. . .obviously ;)

Reviews are always lovely!