Author's Note: Hellos! I just want you all to know-

Younger brother walks in: "Hey guys,"

"Son of a- No. You are not commenting on this story too! Go back to Magical Encounters, but for God's sakes leave this story be!" Author throws her arms in the air in exasperation. "Readers I apologize ahead of time for my brother."

"Well, this story could use my clever comments. How could you keep me away from this? I love NCIS! Especially Ziva..."

"How did you get in here? I thought I locked that door-"

"Hahaha. Locks are easy to pick as long as you have a credit card. Face it; I'm smarter than you."

"Argh, just go away, my readers are probably wishing for this too."

"Nooo, everyone loves me, btw readers; this chapter is graphic. I mean I was like :O "

"It's not that bad! It just has violence, gore, and... It's a freakin' murder mystery for crying outloud!" Author pushes brother out the door. "I'm so sorry about this, I wish I could say this is last time you'll see him, but I'm afraid he's too tenascious to be stopped. Please review, I love reviews. Thanks for reading and reviewing!" :D

Gibbs frowned as he looked at the thin man sitting lazily in front of him. McGee told him that Sherlock Holmes was a consulting detective…could have fooled him. Trent was restless as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and was looking around the room for any sign of his sister. Gibbs stepped up to him and asked. "Where is she?"

"You should be more specific Agent Gibbs." Holmes told him as his eyes analyzed him like a specimen. Gibbs had the musk of saw dust on him. Impressions of ring markings on his ring fingers. He was a carpenter of sorts and had remarried many times. He then saw a callous marking on his hand: trigger finger; uses guns consistently. Stature and appearance screamed military. His dialect was northern; Pennsylvania if he was correct, but he was sure he barely visited his hometown due to working in DC. His eyes were sharp; seeing that he spotted Holmes from such a far distance at Smith's crime scene. Sniper—that's it; his vision focus and constant use of long range guns was due to his experience as a sniper. The smell of coffee told him that this man was addicted to it. Holmes smirked at the man's manner; he was the type of man who didn't take any idiocy, impatient, and a leader.

The young man next to him was Angelina's twin brother and he could see from the numerous cavities and chocolate smudges on his sleeve that he lived on chocolate. His muscle structure was more athletic than military, but he was experienced seeing that he analyzed the room many times: probably estimating if his sister had been here, what was the best escape route, and what to manipulate in a battle. The boy's attitude was respectful, but arrogant. Over confidence most likely derived from making it into NCIS ranks through surpassing multiple schools and military training. He was standing close to Gibbs like a child; faithful, respectful, and naïve: in need of guidance. He could tell from his stance he was impatient to find his sister: fiery temper from the looks of his white knuckles and glowering scrutiny.

Gibbs leaned over and put his hands on either side of the chair's arms. "Alright; where the hell is Angelina Garrio?" He glared at Holmes evenly as his voice was extremely controlled and filled with authority.

"I'm not afraid of snipers or Marines agent Gibbs, so intimidation is a rather idiotic interrogation method." Holmes smiled as Gibbs' face was still controlled, but he blinked in surprise.

"How did you know that?" Gibbs scrutinized Holmes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's painfully obvious you're military and the callouses on your trigger finger as well as your precise vision indicated you were a sniper."

"Where is she?" Trent asked as he took a step forward.

Holmes sighed. "Your sister is fine agent Garrio."

Trent narrowed his eyes; he wanted answers. "If you're keeping her from NCIS—"

"You can't arrest me without any evidence and I doubt you would come after me due to your subordination to Gibbs." Sherlock told him. "You may have graduated ahead of everyone else, but you fail to even catch up with me."

Trent scowled; surprised the man knew he graduated ahead of his class. "And what makes you think Gibbs could stop me from getting to you?"

Gibbs gave Trent a cold stare; causing him to look at the floor in embarrassment. He wished Gibbs would let him demonstrate rule #16* on this smart-ass. (*If someone thinks they have the upper hand—break it.)

Holmes smirked. "Again; intimidation is a waste of time for you all."

Gibbs stared at him. "When did she become your client?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance. "That is a stupid—ay!" Gibbs suddenly slapped him in the back of the head.

Sherlock felt angered he didn't dispatch the agent for that and hissed. "Don't. Hit. Me."

"Then answer my questions!" Gibbs' voice was slightly raised in irritation as he glared down at the consulting detective.

Holmes stood face to face with him. "She became my client at 11:30 am after she was chased by an intruder. She is being framed for Shaw's murder and required my assistance."

"Why didn't she contact anyone?" Gibbs had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his rival's gaze. He wanted answers now even if it meant he had to make enemies with London's finest.

"For God's sakes, Don't be stu—foolish. I told her not to contact you because she would simply be arrested by you all." Holmes scoffed at their idiocy; they were almost as bad as Scotland Yard.

Gibbs stayed silent as he searched Sherlock's stare. He then turned to Trent: "Call Lestrade and let him know that his 'consulting detective' is withholding a suspect from this investigation."

Sherlock scowled. "What! You're honestly going to endanger her to have your own way? To think that she believed you would help is beyond me—"

Gibbs quickly turned and growled. "If you're trying to say something then say it before I read you of your rights."

Holmes gave Gibbs a seething look and spoke slowly. "I will not give up my client."

The room became silent and heated as Gibbs and Holmes glared each other down. Trent narrowed his eyes at Holmes and hoped Gibbs would snap on him.

Molly gives John the evidence samples and some papers; they had all been chatting together about the case, and luckily Molly was willing to keep Angelina a secret as well, but Angelina had yet to go over to the lockers where Johnny was. He could tell that saying goodbye was going to be hard for her and that she wanted to be alone when she did it. He looks at the evidence results and knew Sherlock would need them ASAP. He peers at Angelina; she was quite safe in Bart's…but—

"John, you can go and drop off the results to Sherlock. I'll stay here for a bit…" Angelina said, like she was reading his mind.

"I don't think—" John tried to argue.

"No one will think to look for me here, besides, Sherlock said I was safer here than Baker Street. I can take care of myself." She pats her purse where her gun was. "Trust me…I just need some time alone."

John looks over at Molly who says. "Don't worry; it's just me in here today and the hospital has a great security system."

John finally agrees and leaves; he walked quickly, but for some reason his leg was bothering him again. For something psychosomatic; it was really troubling him lately. He hurried into a cab; he wanted to get back quickly. He thought about Sherlock's reaction to him leaving, but decided his friend would be indifferent; as long as he had his evidence.

I look down at the body and told Johnny. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you, but I promise I'll find out who did this to you…and I'll make things right. I won't let you die in vain Johnny." I finally close the locker and hear Molly approach.

"I've made you some coffee." She hands me a cup with an awkward smile.

"Thank you," I told her gratefully; she was such a nice girl.

"Was he your friend?" she asked timidly.

"Yes, I knew him since high school." I remember the goofy boy who let me sit at his lunch table; our first meeting and the beginning of our friendship.

Molly nodded. "I hope you find peace."

I look at her in surprise as she stutters. "S-sorry—I mean I know what it's like to lose someone and how hard it is to move on. I just hope it won't be hard for you."

I give her a small smile. "Thank you, I hope so too."

I suddenly hear doors slam open and Molly's head shoots up. "It must be John," she grinned as she goes over to the door. I drop my coffee and race over as I hear her shriek. I see two men in masks and gloves; one was holding Molly. No weapons; big mistake. I grab a pan and chuck at the head of Molly's captor. I then strike the other man in the diaphragm as hard as I could. He loses his breath and crazily lashes out with a right hook. I dodge it and grab the arm twist it. He hits me with his free hand; resulting in a black eye. I underestimated him and he shoves me into a table. I fall to my side, but jump up and grabbed a pick from the tools and my knife. I look over at my purse across the room; I needed to get to it. I slice out with my knife to keep the man back. The other man runs at me; jab the tool into his shoulder and kick him down to the floor. Molly tries to run, but is caught by the man who hit me. I run over and grab the gun from my purse and aim it at the man. When he turns when I was about to confront him, but froze when I saw he was holding a knife against Molly's throat.

In a dreadful, foax British dialect he told me. "Drop your weapons."

I slowly place them on the floor and kept my eyes on Molly. I was suddenly hit from behind and fell to my knees as my head throbbed. The man behind me wore the exact shoes as my shooter and I felt fear freeze me as he grabbed my hair and said. "Well, it's the one that got away…and she has a friend."

Molly whimpered as the knife was pressed into throat.

"No, stop," I said; hoping my voice sounded firm.

The man wrenches on my hair roughly. "Not yet, we need someone to carry a little message to the police—"

I watch Molly as horror filled me. "I'll do it!"

"What?" the captor asked.

"I'll carry the message; just don't hurt her. She has nothing to do with this." Tears leaked out of Molly's terrified eyes.

The man behind me grunted. "Fine by me," He pushes me against the floor and I hear him grab something from the table. I clench my fists fearfully as the back of my dress is cut away and my bra unclasped. I inhale sharply as I felt the cold metal pierce my skin. "Try not to scream," the man told me as the knife tore into my skin. I clench my fists tighter to keep from crying until my nails cut into my skin. The slices felt deep and stung as blood ran down my back and soaked my clothes. I softly hyperventilated and wondered what he was writing. He stops and gives my back a slap; causing a tremor to run through me. "How does it look?"

I could hear Molly sobbing quietly as the captor said. "It's missing something."

"You're right," I hear something open and I hissed as a stinging liquid was poured onto my cuts. I close my eyes tightly as I shook in pain. The man stands up and walks away, the other man throws Molly down next to me and leaves us while saying. "Be sure to let Sherlock, Scotland Yard, and NCIS know everything that happened and that the next time we see you; you'll be dead."

As soon as they leave; I burst into tears. Molly crawls over to me: "Angelina?"

"Please! Get this stuff off me," I sobbed; while fighting the urge to claw the searing liquid off my back. I feel warm blood cake onto my skin and soak my dress. "D-don't call anyone, but Holmes—"

Molly runs away and comes back with water, disinfectant, and bandages. She pours the water on me; washing away the liquid and blood. She then applies disinfectant and quickly bandages me up. She tries to help me onto a table as I wept and shook.

"Don't worry, I'll call them now. I've patched you up as well as I can." Molly tries to soothe me and grabs my phone and dials a number. Her hands were covered in blood and were shaking as well. I look over at where I was and saw blood covered the floor. I hyperventilated as she made the call; trying to calm myself as traumatic memories ensued.