Title: Consolation Prize

Prompt: Kaitou KID breaks one of his detectives out of a jail cell.

Kinda choppy. Constructive criticism is more than welcome. Also, X Company reference, because Season 2 is airing now and I am obsessed.

Thanks for reading! I hope you find it half decent.

...

"A day of judgement and I won't have to hide

I'll reach out for your hand and you'll be by my side

The heavens will part and the sky will split blue

I wanna come home to you."

-Wanna Come Home, X Company S1E4

...

In retrospect, getting himself arrested (on purpose, no less) probably wasn't the smartest thing Shinichi had ever done, although it was still a helluva lot better than his brilliant idea to follow two suspicious men in black in Tropical Land all those years ago.

Six years, to be precise. Six years since he'd been fed an experimental poison and, either against or because of science, shruck into a seven-year-old. Three years since the Black Organization had finally put two and two together, around the same time Haibara had completed the antidote. Three years since everything had come to a crescendo with a delicate and incredibly desperate operation with Hattori, Hakuba (who just so happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time), and the Kaitou KID of all people. Three years since they left to America and began doing operation after unofficial operation with the FBI and sometimes CIA, ranging from reconnaissance in elegant ballrooms to undercover work in hellholes in enemy territoy. And, for Shinichi, it all started with a promise to take his childhood sweetheart on a date to an amusement park.

That was seven years ago.

Somehow, it had always felt much longer.

Anyways, this particular operation involved an asset to the FBI who had stop checking in for reasons that may or may not have been renegade and the search for an important memory chip that the aforementioned asset may or may not have possessed. And it all started with one Hakuba Saguru bursting into their current temporary accommodation and muttering, "We are never doing that ever again." Kaito was hot on his heels, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

Shinichi, long accustomed to their antics, didn't even pause to look up from the papers he'd been leafing through. "Should I be asking what happened?"

"Flirting plus ventriloquy. You do the math."

"Ah." The fact that this was completely normal really said something about their lives.

"Hey, it worked," Kaito huffed. "And it worked for Sleeping Kogoro too."

"Yes, but with all due respect to the great detective, I highly suspect he's a moron," Hakuba quipped. "No offence to you, Kudo."

"None taken. Where were you guys anyways?"

"That convenience store on Fifth," Kaito answered. "Their mocha was awful, by the way. Our guy was there two days ago. ATMs equals cameras. Lucky for us the manager lady had a thing for half-Brits. "

Saguru rolled his eyes. "We watched the footage. He dropped a plane ticket. And if our deduction about the recent bombing is correct, then he's definitely heading to London."

Just then, Heiji appeared at the doorway, leaned his right hand on the door frame, and said, "So? What's the plan?"

Thus, one stressful plane transfer, two close calls, and exactly 82 hours 29 minutes 36 seconds (or at least according to Hakuba) later, they were at London's egg-shaped city hall, with both Shinichi and Heiji on the inside, Kaito in position outside, and Saguru more than a little excited about being in London again. For his part, Shinichi couldn't resist the urge to reminiscence. That, however, was cut short when his phone rang. And it was Kaito on the other end, a touch of panic in his voice as he said, "It's a trap! Get out of there, now!"

For Shinichi, the big question was whether it was a trap for them or the man they'd been searching for. That, however, was answered at the sight of said man -Matsuoko Akio, his name was - being taken away by police officers.

It all happened so quickly. And so, Shinichi did the first thing that popped in his mind.

He got himself arrested too.

Later, Heiji would yell, "What the hell were ya thinking, Kudo?!"

"Kudo" was thinking about the fact that they haven't had a solid lead in a long time.

He was thinking about how the female victim of a case related to the Black Organization years ago shared the same surname as their target.

He was thinking about the wistful expression on Kuroba's face everytime he saw a blue rose or a mop. About the way Hattori could barely look at a police officer in the eye anymore. About the one time he caught a glimpse of Hakuba wearing his deerstalker cap and inverness coat when he thought no one was looking, because he couldn't wear it in public anymore.

He was thinking about every lie, every decision, every twist of fate, every miracle that had wound him there, standing under city hall's spiraling staircase, with the three people he trusted the most behind him and the police taking away the man they'd been searching for in front of him. He was thinking about how the photograph James had showed him hadn't captured the look he saw in the man's eyes –the same look that he saw in himself in the mirror every morning.

And he was thinking about the risk, really, but when did he let that stop him anyways? Certainly not every time he stood in front of an audience to present his deduction with a bravado that he didn't necessarily feel.

Certainly not when he, even as Conan, chased Them down, a red dot on his glasses blinking, his hand clutching onto a cellphone or a handkerchief or tracking device –onto hope.

Certainly not when he grabbed Ran's arm in front of Big Ben all those years ago, when she wiped away the tears from her eyes and he said the single cheesiest thing he'd ever said in his life.

Certainly not when Haibara had held out the final antidote, when she warned him of the risk and he swallowed the pill anyways.

And certainly not every time he looked Death in the eyes and spat in its grotesque face, daring to live another day.

Because what choice did he have, really? They were six years and a thousand miles away from home, playing a game in which the stakes were too high but the odds were too low, and the only way out was to either win or lose.

And they couldn't lose.

They just couldn't.

…

"They think you might be a traitor, you know, Matsuoko-san."

The man sitting on the other end of the hard prison bench turns his head to look at Shinichi. He scrutinizes him for a moment before snorting. "No surprise there." A pause. "I seem to be at a disadvantage. Who are you?"

"Kudo Shinichi, detective. I'm also another person who's in way over his head."

"Aren't we all," Matsuoko-san drawled.

"The Bureau's been looking for a rogue asset and a certain memory chip." Shinichi raised his eyebrows. "You wouldn't happen to know where they are, would you?"

"Perhaps. Aren't you the one they call the Heisei Holmes? The one they called a hero. I knew he had dropped off the media's radar, but I didn't think he'd be working with the FBI now. You're someone who sees the worst of humanity on a daily basis, eh? The murder rate in some places are ridiculously high."

Shinichi snorted. "Tell me about it." He sighed. "The truth is, it's more of a consolation prize, really. I'd rather be able to save someone than to catch their murderer. 'Heros don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.' Or at least that's what BBC's Sherlock said. " Shinichi was silent for a moment. "You know… Four years ago, a woman by the name of Matsuoko Tomoko was murdered by a large-scale crime syndicate we're all too familiar with. I got there just in time to watch her bleed to death. Worst of humanity and all that. She mentioned her husband." He looked right into Matsuoko-san's eyes as he said, "She said she wanted to come home. That you'd know what she meant."

And then the faintest of smiles grew on Matsuoko-san's lips as he let out a breath and tilted his head to lean against the stone grey wall. "Kudo-kun, was it? Nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too."

And that was when the shot rang out.

…

Everything was at sixes and sevens.

Someone was shouting, "How the hell did the gunman get in?!" An officer was scrambling to unlock the door. Matsuoko had collapsed on the floor, and blood – so much blood – was blooming from his chest and pooling on the ground. Shinichi, in a panic and sheer instinct taking over, applied pressure on the wound, shouted for an ambulance, and-

It was a trap and-

Come on come on come on-

"North 35 degrees 41 point 378 minutes. East 139 degrees 41 point 502 minutes," Matsuoko choked out.

"What?"

"The memory chip. Compartment in the wall." He coughed, and blood splattered. "Kudo Shinichi –take them down, once and for all."

And then he died.

…

"I guess I'm too late, aren't I?"

Shinichi opens his eyes at the sound of the familiar voice. Sure enough, he looks up to see a face that is so alike his own, donning a monocle and white top hat. He sighs and looks away.

"We're always too late."

Kaito, or rather, Kaitou KID, starts picking the lock, and within seconds the iron bars of the jail cell slide open. "Come on," he said. "We have to go before the guard wakes up from his 'nap.'"

Shinichi, however, doesn't rise from his position on the floor. Instead, he asks, "Say… Kuroba… Do you ever… Do you ever wish you could do things differently?"

"…All the time, Kudo. All the time."

"Beika."

Kaito blinks. The word is so incongruous, yet not at the same time. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then Shinichi keeps talking. "The memory chip. It's in Beika."

And that was the place where it all began. The place where it would all end. The place he still called home.

Ouside, the sun is beginning to rise. Light, faint but still there, spills through the barred window. And there's a renewed determination in his eyes as Shinichi says, "We'll stop Them. I swear we will."

The smile on Kaito's face is unmistakably KID's. "Well then, Meitantei, let's go."

There is the sound of soft footsteps and of cloth swooshing ("Did you have to pull out your alter ego?"), and then they were gone.

…

Hours later, a man with long silver hair and a black trenchcoat walks around the perimeter of the jail cell, his heavy footsteps almost rhythmic as he scans the area. His partner, a heavily built man wearing sunglasses, stands by. "Aniki, why are we here? Our agent already killed the target."

The footsteps stop. "And if that imbecile had half a brain, he would've known a much bigger threat had been beside said target." He begins to leave.

"Where are we going?" His partner asks.

His lips curve up into a twisted grin. "Beika."