A rather old idea I had. Takes place between The Atlantic Complex and The Last Guardian.

Holly was still, focusing on the early-morning quiet of the old manor.

Something deep and primal inside her told her that something was wrong. Something was off.

Her small boots padded softly on the rich wine carpet as she crept closer to the carved wooden doors. Nothing but silence. Nothing but stillness.

With none trembling fingers, Holly tapped in the code, expertly disabling the machine gun that automatically pointed at her head.

Her gun held a comforting presence in her hand, as she slowly crept into the cold study, her goal currently residing in the custom made leather chair.

With a sudden burst of creaking, the chair whipped around to reveal Artemis Fowl, one of Holly's greatest friends, a possible lunatic, and one of the greatest minds in the world.

He stared at her sternly, but with a hint of something like humiliation. His face was stiff and formal, and his hair combed neatly.

A common picture, not one for causing alarm, but except for the fact that he was dressed in a great fur coat, zipped up to the chin, and falling to the ankles.

"Captain Short. I trust you are well?"

"Your trust is as always placed correctly." She replied, still on edge.

He nodded, a marble statue.

"The question, that I assume is coming shall not be answered." He replied cooly. Holly narrowed her eyes, taking in his nervous shifting of the collar.

"I presume you have only recently moved into this room?" She inquired, smelling the fresh paint.

"How could you tell?" He asked amused. It was not a reprimand, only an entertainment for challenging his genuis.

She smiled. "Your machine gun is only a 6-200. A true, prepared Fowl would do better.

He smiled, his eyes still cold.

"Besides," she continued in a nonchalant tone. "You have not properly outfitted this room to your requirements."

His gaze darkened and with a flip and a twist, Holly was next to the thermostat, cranking up the heat.

The state of the art system was only happy to comply and Artemis shifted as the room got hotter, plaguing him in his big fur coat.

It took precisely three minutes and Holly thanked Frond for his weak endurance.

"Fine" he managed, his face turning pink and he took off the coat to reveal what Artemis referred to as "Street clothing" and "hooligan rags"

In other words, jeans and a t-shirt.

Holly burst out laughing, and Artemis's face grew tight.

"My mother gifted me with these, and forced me, under the pretense of an emergency to promise to wear them."

Holly rolled on the Oriental rug, choking on the fact that the smartest, youngest, criminal mastermind in centuries was being forced by his mother to wear casual clothing.

Artemis returned to his work with a stony expression.

"If I find pictures on Foaly's blog, there shall be one less fairy captain." He proclaimed.

Holly closed her email window discreetly.