A/N: Merry Christmas! And though I have not yet seen either of the Sherlock Christmas specials. This takes place between Series 2 and 3 of Sherlock and between the end of Bane's occupation and Alfred's vacation in Florence where he sees Bruce and Selina at the Cafe. Anyway, I think that's all, besides the footnote at the bottom, so thanks for readings and hope you enjoy and review.

The World's Greatest Detectives

In a small café on the streets of Paris sat a man. His very person and appearance were such as to strike the attention of the most casual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during intervals of torpor and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and squareness, which mark the man of determination. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, perfect for manipulating fragile philosophical instruments.

"Mr. Holmes," an American accented voice said. 'Mr. Holmes' looked up to see another man, about six foot two inches, ninety five kilograms, about thirty-nine with a cane in hand and blue eyes and black hair, which were obviously courtesy of contacts and hair dye as the man already seated knew they were both brown in reality. Nonetheless, the corner of Mr. Holmes twitched upward and he inclined his head toward the newcomer.

"Mr. Wayne," the English accented voice of the already seated man said and the other man's mouth twitched up as well before he took the seat across from Mr. Holmes. "Tea?" Holmes offered

"Sorry, I'm gonna need something a bit stronger," Wayne stated.

"Ah yes. Being a 'night owl' and all." The new man shrugged.

"Well you look pretty lively for a dead man," he noted.

"Same to you." The waitress came around and set down a black coffee for the newcomer and refilled the tea for Holmes.

"How's John?" Wayne asked suddenly and Holmes froze, before putting down his cup.

"I wouldn't know." The American frowned; in the few encounters he'd had with the man in front of him, he had known the Englishman to be rather cold and impatient, which was tempered by the former Army Doctor.

"Are you going to tell him? He has a right to know. They all do."

"Are you?" Wayne smirked, as though happy to be a step ahead of the other man for once.

"I already have."

"All of them?" The smirk faded slightly, becoming more mournful than smug.

"I have one last stop to make."

"To tell your butler," Holmes guessed.

"You know he's more than that."

"Of course. You'd've been six feet under long before if it hadn't been for him."

"Like with you and your housekeeper?" It was Holmes' turn to frown.

"Landlady." The two men took sips of their drinks. "You left Commissioner Gordon and Mr. Fox with quite a mess."

"I couldn't go back and help them without risking my enemies finding out."

"Like they aren't going to already? The Batman and Bruce Wayne, both targets of Bane, died on the same day, after the Batman came back not long after Bruce Wayne's reemergence into society?" Wayne chuckled, tapping his cane on the ground a few times.

"I love Gotham… but the people can be blind at times." Holmes nodded in agreement.

"Most people are. Doesn't matter where they're from."

"They'd have to be, to think you could commit those crimes and then solve them for fame. Even if that were the case, you'd have to be a genius. As for the mess I left, they can handle it. It's your DI I'd be worried about."

"Lestrade… may be incompetent, but he survived me being alive, I'm sure he can survive my death. And Mycroft will probably have the Richard Brooke mess cleaned up in a matter of months or minutes, depending on the state of the country's national security… and whatever international ordeal he's dealing with." Wayne chuckled.

"Sometimes I wish I had your city to deal with instead of mine, you get to deal with normal criminals, not the insanity I do."

"Jim Moriarty was not a man. He was a spider and insane and more dangerous than any other single criminal has ever been." The other man scoffed.

"I'd like to see you deal with the Joker."

"He'd be a low level thug compared to Moriarty. I'm still trying to demolish his network."

"Really? Then why have you still not told me who he is?" Holmes pursed his lips and put down his cup again.

"I have several theories–"

"That's not an answer." Holmes straightened up and pressed his fingers together and brought them to his lips.

"One is that the Joker was an escaped patient from Arkham Asylum, though this is the least likely as there was no apparent record of him as a patient before his initial emergence. There are ways of deleting that information, but it's still unlikely. The second was yours." The other man nodded.

"That the Joker was a former employee of the Haley Brothers Circus, which had mob connections and those connections left him scarred, insane, and with a grudge against the mob." Holmes nodded and hesitated before continuing.

"The third theory is that the Joker was a former soldier suffering from severe PTSD–"

"Explaining his knowledge of tactics and weaponry," Wayne finished. Holmes nodded.

"That's all I can come up with. Unless you could pull a few strings and let me meet him–"

"Not gonna happen," the American interrupted. The Brit sighed.

"Then I can't do anything else. It's a shame, when you first gave me the case I thought it would be easy. It's not often that I get one that outright stumps me. Man practically falls out of the sky, starts slaughtering city officials and mob leaders, turns one into a serial killer, and manages to last several encounters with a trained martial artist and even get the drop on him, however temporarily. Pity my brother won't let me go back to America, doesn't want to get on the wrong side of the CIA again."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a psychopath?" the American asked suddenly.

"High functioning sociopath," the Englishman corrected. He then noticed a brunette woman at the bar slip her hand off of a man's thigh and furtively put his wallet in her clutch, as the imbecile stared at her through heavy lidded eyes. He couldn't hold back the scoff. "I don't see why you're still with her." Wayne followed Holmes' gaze and chuckled.

"I try to think the best of people."

"While preparing for the worst."

"Exactly. Besides… it's a new start for both of us."

"Well then, my compliments to the both of you." He raised his cup to toast and the other man lifted his in turn. The two drank and put down their drinks. "While I personally think women like her are not to be trusted, I'm not going to interfere in others being idiots, there are far too many to make a real difference."

"Still hung up on Adler?"

"Why does everyone keep asking that?" The woman got up from the bar and winked discretely at Mr. Wayne, before heading for the door. He nodded and quickly but quietly paid the tab and stood, his comrade rising with him.

"Well, it was a pleasure seeing you, Mr. Holmes," Bruce Wayne said, holding his hand out to Holmes.

"Likewise, Mr. Wayne," Sherlock Holmes replied, taking the hand and shaking it.

And so the World's Greatest Detectives parted ways for the final time.

A/N: To clear up any confusion, Bruce Wayne, during the 8 years between "The Dark Knight" and "The Dark Knight Rises," anonymously consulted Detective Sherlock Holmes in hopes of figuring out more about the Joker, in hopes of keeping him locked up better/being able to find him sooner in the event he should break out. Holmes deduced Wayne's identity and the two kept in touch, Holmes helping Wayne with his detective skills to the point they knew that they both faked their deaths at the end of "The Dark Knight Rises" and "Reichenbach Falls." Also, Bruce and Selina are together, making their way across the globe to Venice. He tolerates her occasional pickpocketing and she tolerates the company he keeps. If you want me to write a prequel where that meeting takes place, please tell me, though I cannot promise anything since I am suffering from a combination of evil school and slight writer's block.