Greetings, readers! It is I, your devoted nutball, J.J. Hatter! Welcome to this collaborative effort with author Shen's General...whom, unlike VanSkittles, could not make it for the fun today. The idea for this story is all his; if you love it, hug him. If you hate it, please be quiet, and leave him (and I) the heck alone; "if you don't have anything nice to say, kindly say nothing at all."

...With that said, PLEASE, SAY SOMETHING!

Ahem...anyway, onto the boring things we go...

Rating: T (because that was basically the rating for the films)

Disclaimer: Kung Fu Panda does not belong to either of us; rights go to Dreamworks and all those who worked on the project. Sherlock Holmes (2009 film) belongs to Guy Ritchie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (not to be confused with Conan O'Brien or Conan the Barbarian...sorry, it was too easy to resist), and anybody else I failed to mention. All OCs in these stories belong to me and Shen's General.

Now, with all that out of the way...

Prologue: Birds of a Feather

A dark carriage car rides through the night; the horse that pulls and drives the vehicle pants as his hooves splash through another thin, murky puddle, left by the rain showers earlier that day, making everything quite cold and very wet.

Inside the carriage, two figures sit. The shortest of the two fingers the staff in his hands anxiously, while the other continually loosens and tightens his feathery fingers.

Both glance up at each other.

"There's a reporter behind us."

"I know."

"...The rest of my men are just behind us, too."

"Well, he's ahead."

"Don't I know it...I wish he'd listen to me for once," the shorter one says, gruffly.

The taller figure smiles, but says nothing.

Elsewhere, a lone figure darts through the night, his long tail flashing about behind him. He sprints through the city, the night black as pitch, a contrast to his own silvery-white hue, like a comet moving through the shadows. He snaps around a corner, somersaults over a railing, and jumps down off an aging wall...

Finally, he finds it: the door, set under an old bridge. He glides down on wings of ivory, and approaches it cautiously. He flicks a winged wrist, and a small, feather-shaped knife slides into his grip. He flicks it into the keyhole, twists it quickly, and the door creaks open.

He winces faintly at the sound, and carefully creeps inside; speed was the goal earlier, now it is both that and stealth.

As quickly, yet quietly, as he can, he moves down a flight of stone steps and down a blackened hall...

He notices a fiery, warm light, and spins into a shadowed corner. He leans with his back to the wall, breathing slowly, deeply, listening to the footsteps. Cautiously, he pokes his feathered & beaked face out from behind the cover of the wall...

A crocodile, dressed in a straw, conical hat, holding a lantern, reptilian eyes darting around, moving towards him...

In less than a second, all this information processed, and the head snaps back behind the wall, where he waits, thinking...

Hmm...head cocked to the left, slightly...a guard with partial deafness.

Idiots.

First, box ears. Then, jab at the throat; stops the screaming short. Three, the paunch; possibly a drinker. Floating rib to bad liver. Drop, and strike patella.

Prognosis: unconscious for at least 90 seconds, martial efficacy in about 25 minutes...full faculty recovery not likely.

With a decisive nod, he ducks deeper into the shadows, as the croc enters...

Once the croc turns, two flashes of white flap out and his ears are ringing. Before the crocodile can properly react, something thick jabs his neck, leaving him unable to speak or cry out, his voice reduced to gasping, gagging sounds. A second later, a kick smashes him in the gut. He stumbles back, then falls with a groan as a final kick smacks him in the knee, an audible CRACK breaking the dark.

As the croc drops, he releases his lantern; his attacker catches it with his beak before it hits the ground, snatches the hat off of the stunned creature's head, and puts it on, scurrying away.

Thank you, sir.

He runs down a spiral staircase, deep into the catacombs. He eases against the wall as he nears the end, and leaves the lantern behind on the last step.

He finds himself inside a cavernous crypt, and hears soft murmurs and moans from below him. He peers down from behind two pillars cautiously, looking down to the source of the noise.

On the level below him, he spies a crude sort of stone altar, circled by torches. Lying on the altar is a lamb, seemingly moving around in her sleep, whimpering and moaning and whispering pleas and squeals. On either side of this altar, a figure stands: one is a shabby-looking crow, dressed in a black vest and derby that matched his feathers, preening quietly as he watches the girl. On the other side is a figure shrouded in a black cloak, their form unseen beneath their robes, save for their sandled feet, which are rough and thick.

Another figure stands at the head of the altar, also garbed in a black robe, looming over the lamb. Though smaller than the other cloaked figure, this one somehow commands greater attention, his head bowed, arms splayed out, gray paws poking out from under his sleeves, a gray tail quietly whisking about behind him from under his robes.

Scattered about the room are more crocodiles, some gazing intently at the happenings on the altar, others looking about, either disinterested or checking for possible intruders...

A heavy footfall sounds behind him, and he whips about fast. A croc snarls and lunges for him...

Then lets out a short gasp, as a taloned foot pops up from behind him and catches his snout, then binds it fast with a chain. He struggles to break this, and a kick from the first bird and a sharp twist from the one behind him bring him down, leaving him unable to breathe, let alone speak through his bindings, as the first attacker slams a foot down around his neck.

Two pairs of avian eyes – one pair red, the other yellow – connect, the owners of each pair of eyes forgetting the writhing croc momentarily.

"Nice hat," says one, tipping his own with a wing.

"Oh, I just picked it up," the other shrugs, nonchalantly.

"Did you remember your whip?"

"Knives, halberd...ack! Knew I forgot something; I simply thought I'd left the stove on again..."

"Meh. That, too."

The red-eyed bird raised an eyebrow at the now unconscious crocodile.

"You stop putting your weight on his windpipe, now, I think. You ARE a doctor..."

The yellow-eyed one nods, and takes his foot off.

The croc, of course, does not move.

The two birds smile at each other, and shake wings.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Crane."

"I know that, Holmes."

Both turn to look down at the scene below.

"So," Holmes whispers, "Where is the Inspector?"

"Rallying his troops."

"Hmph. We could be here all week, then," muttered Holmes, and returned to the stairs, snatching the lantern back up. "Follow me!"

Crane chuckles, and the two sprint down the spiral staircase. They come up behind two crocodile guards. Holmes flips the hat off his head and into a croc's face, distracting it as he kicks the legs out from under it, knocking its thick skull against the even thicker stone floor.

The second guard lunges for Crane, raising a spiked bat over his head. Crane dodges, and spins about, his wings generating a whirlwind that sends the croc flying backwards into a pillar.

Alerted to the commotion, the figure in sandals runs off into the shadows, while the crow lets out a panicked caw and flies into the rafters. The figure at the altar, however, doesn't even move, simply continuing his incantation.

The other crocs, meanwhile, all snarl and growl and dash towards the two birds. Holmes lets his halberd slide out of his sleeve, spinning it about rapidly. One croc jumps about in front of him, trying to find and opening...and cries out in pain as the lantern in Holme's other wing slams into his face, sparks flying as he falls back onto the ground. Another comes up, but is distracted as a fan-like tail flares out in front of him...and gets a halberd's handle in the eye. He stumbles, trips on the first croc, and smacks his head hard on the ground.

Crane blocks as two staffs come at him, and flies into the air, diving down onto one crocodile before flipping around and kicking another away. Just then, a razor-edged throwing disc enters his vision, and he ducks. The disc ricochets off the wall behind him, and slams into the shoulder of a croc that was creeping up behind Holmes, who flings a knife in the direction of the oncoming croc, the blade and a second disc connecting in mid-air and falling helplessly to the ground.

Crane swoops at the disc-wielding croc, and launches two rapid, spinning kicks and a peck in the snout. The guard falls easily.

As the last croc falls, Holmes and Crane turn their attention to the altar. The lamb, still seemingly asleep, picks up a long, sharp dagger that has been lying beside her, and holds it over her own heart...

Holmes throws out a knife of his own, and his partner lets out a crane-call, snapping his wings...

The knife in the lamb's hand is knocked away, and all but two of the torches in the circle go out, illuminating the lone figure who stands over the lamb.

The lamb herself finally goes quiet and still, and the cloaked figure, for the first time, moves, lowering his arms and bringing his paws together, turning his hooded-head towards those behind him who dare interfere with his work.

"Well, if it isn't Shenlock Holmes," he purrs coolly. "And his loyal pigeon. Tell me, Dr. Crane, as an animal of science and medicine, are you enjoying my exploits?"

Crane sneers.

"Immensely," he snarls, and sprints forward, the figure turning to face him as he moves.

"DOCTOR, STOP!" Holmes calls out, and darts forward, holding Crane back...

Just in the nick of time; as he stops, Crane's confused eyes widen as he notes the point of a long, thin, shard of glass being held between the paws of the cloaked figure before him...the edge only scant inches away from his beak.

Instinctively, he jumps back a bit.

"Do you see it?"

Crane gulps.

"Y-yeah. How did you...?"

"I was looking for it," Holmes says dryly, and smashes the glass "blade" with his halberd. Then, carefully, with the very point of the weapon's blade, he lifts the hood off of the figure...

Revealing a thick-jawed, feline face, with light gray fur and golden spots. A smug smirk was stretched across the leopard's face, two fangs visible in a pronounced underbite, glowing, amber eyes flicking back and forth between the two birds.

"Lord Tai Lung," Dr. Crane utters.

The leopard grinned.

"You seem surprised," he hissed.

Crane said nothing.

"Crane," Holmes mumbled, never taking his gaze, or his blade, away from the cat. "Perhaps the lady needs your attention more than he?"

Crane nods and moves over to the lamb on the altar...but not before smacking the dark lord across the face with a wing.

As he did so, one of the fallen crocodiles – the one who had been whacked with the lantern – reached for a disc his comrade had dropped...

But stopped short as a staff suddenly went beneath his chin.

He looked up, and saw a red panda, dressed in mahogany-toned robes, with a thin, white beard, flanked by a veritable squadron of antelope, each one wielding a spear. It was the panda who held the staff.

"I really wouldn't," the panda said, simply.

And the croc didn't.

"Inspector Shifu!" smiled Holmes "So glad you could join us!"

Shifu frowned, then noticed Tai Lung.

The leopard just stared back, coldly.

"This one's for the rope," said Holmes, referring to the lord, "And the one with the doctor..."

"Is for a hospital," Crane interrupted. "NOW."

"Put her in the carriage car," the Inspector said to two of the antelope, who nodded and ran over to Dr. Crane.

"Zeng?" Shifu added.

A small duck popped up from behind the red panda, and nodded silently, holding up a pair of handcuffs and approaching Lord Tai Lung.

The snow leopard did not resist, actually bending down to let himself be handcuffed.

He did not resist until two more antelope came up and tried to bring him away...

"I'll walk on my own, thank you," he snarled.

The antelope snorted, but complied.

The inspector sniffed.

"Get him out of my sight."

The police pointed their spears at Lord Tai Lung, who flashed a final smile to Holmes and the Inspector, and was thus "escorted" out of the catacombs, a few more antelope following behind, carrying the unconscious lamb.

Shifu turned to Holmes, arms crossed.

"You were supposed to wait for my orders, Shenlock."

"If I had, the girl would be dead, and Tai Lung might have escaped. Besides which, her parents were the ones who came to me for help, not you."

The Inspector huffed.

"Well...either way, looks like China will be sleeping a little more soundly tonight."

"Indeed," smiled Crane, who had lingered behind.

All three turned, as a pig reporter held up his camera.

"Say 'noodles!'"

CLICK. FLASH!

Inspector Shifu smiled.

Dr. Crane smiled.

Shenlock Holmes hid his face behind a wing.

This was the end of yet another case in the career of Shenlock Holmes and his comrades...

Or was it?