Sherlock looked calmly at the young man who stood in front of him. Afro-American, most likely twenty-two years old, although he looked older. He carried two knifes and a gun and was the leader of the seven men who surrounded Sherlock. Well, men was too strong of a word. Kids was more appropriate. All but one came from poor families and the language they understood best was violence.

The 'Nightcrawlers' insisted that the gang-member the Sheriff had arrested three days ago had done nothing wrong and Sean Hawking, who they held hostage, was responsible instead.

"Give me one good reason why we shouldn't kill you," the youngster said to Sherlock. "You're trespassing. This street is ours."

"Because your mother would be upset if you did. She has enough problems without you being involved in my murder."

The man was as skinny as Sherlock used to be when he was still using drugs but the way he carried himself told Sherlock that he was an experienced street-fighter.

"What do you know about my momma?"

"Not much but I know a lot about you," Sherlock replied. "Your last five meals consisted of nothing but soft drinks, most likely coke. You write with your left hand but do everything else with your right. You used to carry three knives but now you carry only two, and the gun you have strapped to your ankle was purchased only three days ago. Furthermore," Sherlock leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "you are gay."

The anger that rose from the young man was palpable. His nostrils flared and he curled his hands into fists but the way he looked at Sherlock revealed that all he had said was true.

"Tell me something about him." The man pointed at a sixteen-year-old who stood close to Sherlock's left side.

The consulting detective barely glanced at him. "He went to McDonald's for lunch, which he shouldn't do because the food gave him an upset stomach. He's the latest addition to this group and right now he wonders if he's made the right decision. He has a baby sister and just recently gave her a kitten."

The kid jumped up. "How do you know that?" he shouted.

"You reek of fast-food and McDonald's is the only place in this vicinity. On your shirt are stains of something pink, Pepto Bismol I presume. Two stains are older than the others so you have to take it more often and your complexion is a dead give-away that you eat fast food almost daily."

"And the kitten for my sister?"

"You wear a strap around your neck that was undoubtedly made by a young girl. You care for her enough to wear it, therefore it's your younger sister. And the wounds on your wrists and hands are scratches and bite-marks typical when a young cat is handled. Perhaps while it was rescued from a rubbish bin."

"What bin?" the kid asked.

"Trash bin," another youngster translated.

"You're creepy," the kid told Sherlock but there was also a gleam of admiration in his dark eyes.

The group brought some distance between their strange visitor and themselves to confer. After several minutes the man Sherlock had talked to first approached him and introduced himself as Zack. "We're taking you to this piece of shit who started the trouble. Try anything funny and you're..." He made a move with his hand that indicated a slit throat.

Sherlock nodded, bored already by their threats.

oOo

Sean Hawking could hardly believe his eyes when Sherlock walked into the barn. The young man's clothes were filthy and he was chained to an old tractor.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes and I am here to determine your involvement in the break-in in the shop at the corner of 5th Street and Myrtle and the murder of the shop-owner," Sherlock introduced himself.

Hawking blinked. "You're not here to rescue me?"

"Elections are coming up and your family doesn't appreciate the attention. Studying in the US doesn't make you special."

Hawking looked insulted and Sherlock continued.

"Once the case is solved, you will most likely either walk free or I will deliver you to the police."

"But I am innocent!"

"That remains to be seen," said Sherlock and took a seat on a straw bale. "Why don't you tell me what happened that night."

"Okay. You know I'm in Springfield as a student. Exams are coming up and I needed some fresh air. When I walked past the shop, I saw that the door was open," Hawking said. "Guess it was stupid that I entered. All I wanted was a something to drink and some cigarettes. Once I got those, I left and some hours later those punks," he waved his hand at Zack and the other 'Nightcrawlers', who stood at the door of the barn, "picked me up and brought me here."

Sherlock shook is head. "I have serious doubts that."

"I thought you were on my side," Hawking hissed.

"I am on nobodies side. All I am here for is to find the truth so these riots can stop." Sherlock stood up, stretched to his full height and looked down his nose at Hawking. Having watched his older sibling closely, Sherlock had become really good at looking down his nose too; although his lacked a solid half inch in length.

"You know Jeremiah Cross, the man, who was arrested because you buy drugs from him on a regular basis. You both broke into the shop after your deal but the owner suddenly showed up. You took the gun Jeremiah carried in the waistband of his trousers and shot the shop-owner. Before you two could escape, a police-car stopped in front of the shop. You threw the gun at Jeremiah, who caught it. Therefore the police found traces of powder on his hands. You managed to escape through the basement, where oranges are stored. The smell is still all over your clothes."

Hawking's jaw worked, while he tried to come up with a reply. The members of the 'Nightcrawler' exchanged astonished looks.

"I knew the fucker was guilty," one 'Nightcrawler' growled and pulled a knife from his jacket.

Zack held his friend back and the group and Sherlock left the barn. Facing the gang, Sherlock looked at them with an unwavering, cool demeanour.

"You should not harm that man if you have any interest in Springfield returning back to normal and Jeremiah is only facing charges for the crime he did commit."

Once all 'Nightcrawlers' had nodded their understanding with more or less hesitation, he continued, "I will go to Sheriff Palin. He could either come here and pick Hawking up or you hand him over and I take him."

"No," Zack told Sherlock. " I don't want the Sheriff sniffing around this barn. Sammy will be in charge of Hawking. You two can go and take him to the cop-shop."

The sixteen-year-old, Sherlock had deduced before, looked at Zack in shock.

"Me?"

Zack put an arm around Sammy. "You go with him, man, because I trust you and you've done nothing wrong. You can go without getting arrested. He," Zack pointed at Sherlock, "can go with you but you're in charge, yeah?"

The kid nodded and half an hour later Sammy and Sherlock walked into the Sheriff's office with their prisoner.