Trent walks downstairs to get Ducky and explains the situation to Angel. He saw her blink and looked distant, but it wasn't anger which he expected. She looked sad. "Alright, do you guys need any help examining the body?"

Trent gave his sister a small smile. "Yeah, come on." He leads his team upstairs and kept looking at his sister who was already pulling on latex gloves. He smirks at her as he walks into the crime scene; some things never change.

I saw the blood soak into the carpet and Calhourn's shirt. Calhourn's mouth was partially open and his eyes wide. I stared at the body, and then the room. The killer shot the door handle…wait they would have heard the shot…they probably used a silencer. I noticed Ziva was already taking some photos as Ducky and John examined the body while telling Lestrade, Gibbs, and Holmes how he was killed. I peeked into the hallway to see McGee and Tony questioning the Scotland Yard agent with Sergeant Donovan, whom Tony tried to flirt with but was quickly shot down mercilessly.

I looked back down at Calhourn as I stared at the slashes. Why didn't we hear anything? Why didn't anyone notice? I saw that the scalpel was lodged into his throat…just like when the knife was stuck in Mike's chest…The memories seeped over me slowly, but powerfully like I was being put to sleep. No! Not again! Not again!

I was sitting in Gibbs's extra room and sketching out a memory of Kate sketching at her desk. Granted, I was never as good as she was; she was a master of shading, while I was better with line. I suddenly hear the door open. I look out the window to see Mike walking outside in the rain. I had gut-feeling that I should follow. I grab my gun and placed it in its holster as I went after him. The rain came down hard and I couldn't see Mike anymore; like some intense game of hide and seek. As the tape of my childhood played out at the back of my head I see two figures in the street. Mike! He was talking to someone…I felt myself tense when I heard Mike's words: "Ain't you smart enough to get out of the rain?" I suddenly see who the other man is and get out my gun. "Me neither, JONAS... My name is Mike Franks. I figure I got one more fight left inside me. You want it?" Mike asked him gruffly.

Before I lifted my gun they collided into a fight. Mike's gun was lifted into the air and I felt everything flashing inside my head. I froze and was spinning through memories of Kate, Jenny, Cassidy…Thomas, Grandpa, too many gunshots by Ari…no Paloma…I start from my memories when I heard Mike's yell. I felt cold fear spike through me when I saw Mike on the ground and Cobb was gone. No… I run up to Mike and see the knife sticking out of his chest as he breathed his last breaths. "Mike." I whispered as I held his hand. Gibbs suddenly runs over and kneels down beside him; pain all over his face as he held onto his mentor and friend. I stand and look around for Cobb. I felt everything crashing around me…wait it was just the rain. I realized that my worst nightmare came true…I fazed out during a mission…and it cost Mike his life. I cover my eyes and bit my cheek until I tasted bitter blood.

I gasp when I was brought out of it…everyone was staring at me. I peer at my friends' worried expressions, and I froze when I saw Gibbs. "I'm sorry…I need to…" I rush out the room. I stand out in the hallway and covered my face as I tried not to let this get to me. Too late, no one knew what happened that night, except one person. Mike's death, my mistake, was the true reason I left NCIS. I couldn't let my disorder cost anyone else's life. Never again. Leon agreed with my resignation; he understood and was the only one I told about what happened. Mike was my friend; Uncle Jethro's Gibbs. I could have saved him. He was right there! I was there! Just like with everyone else. I push away from the wall and kicked it like a child. I suddenly see someone standing beside me. Sherlock was watching me closely. I stare back at him as he asked. "So that's what happened."

"What?"

"Your resignation. You resigned because of your disorder. You knew you couldn't control it anymore—" He explained calmly as I felt my emotions erupt.

"Yeah Sherlock," I snapped, but my voice was a whisper. "I quit because of this damn disorder. Congratulations you solved the mystery. I fazed out when a friend was in danger, and that friend died! I had the gun, I saw what happened, and…" I stopped as I turned away from him and hugged myself as I breathed slowly to calm myself down. I was too emotional for my own good: weak.

Sherlock watched her. She gave him the answer he hypothesized; he was right. Why wasn't he pleased at finding the answer? He stepped up so he could see her face; she was staring at the wall like she was trying not to abuse it as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

"You never told anyone." He answered.

I nod as I bit my lip. "If I did…"

Sherlock pulled me away so we were far from the interrogation room. "They wouldn't hate you." He tells me. "It was not your fault."

I looked up at him, but quickly looked away. "Thanks."

"Thanks?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

I snort a laugh. "Yeah; thanks for trying to make me feel better." My tone was grateful as I try to seem casual.

"I was not trying to make you feel better; I was simply stating a fact."

"Without any real evidence? Didn't you say 'To create a theory you need evidence; it's a mistake to theorize before you have evidence. It creates bias.'" I recite his words back to him while copying his dialect and tone.

Sherlock starts laughing at me and I smirk at him and start laughing with him; happy to get my mind off of what just happened.

"How touching." A voice says. Sherlock and I recognize the voice as we turn toward its source. Mycroft stood before us with his umbrella and charmed grin; analyzing us closely. I glower at him and say. "So we meet again Mr. Holmes."

"Hopefully for the last time, I heard you caught the man responsible for the Shaws' murders."

"Yes, he's dead." I replied sardonically.

"Caught is caught, so now I suppose you'll be going back to the states?"

"Why so interested in her departure, dear brother?" Sherlock asked while scrutinizing him.

Mycroft smirked. "Let's just say a lot has happened since she showed up."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Why not?" Mycroft walks off as Sherlock follows.

I watch them and then go back into the interrogation room.

Mycroft stares out a window as Sherlock stands next to him. "Care to tell me why you're nosing your way into my case? And for God's sakes, don't say it's brotherly sentiment."

Mycroft sighs. "I am trying to make sure you won't make a fool of yourself."

"I'm making a fool of myself? I don't kidnap people to cut deals."

Mycorft rolls his eyes. "Do you even know why I tried?"

"No, but I'm pretty sure you're going to tell me some elaborate lie you've just thought of." Sherlock snipped.

"Sherlock, drop the case."

"No."

"It's over, Sherlock." Mycroft tells him. "I've sent a message to Director Vance; he'll order his team to come home—"

"The game isn't over—"

"Your murderer is dead. Isn't there a morbid saying about 'beating a dead horse'?"

"You ought to know, you dated one." Sherlock muttered.

Mycroft gives him a seething look. "Grow up! You have no idea what you've been dealing with Sherlock; how dangerous these men were. I'll just tell you that what you were playing at was not a game. You all were lucky to even survive."

Sherlock sneers. "Really? Well I know Angelina would beg to differ—by the way, thanks for convincing Scotland Yard to send Warton home—"

Mycroft frowned. "The President of the United States—"

"Oh since when did you care what he demands of foreign policy?" Sherlock sneered.

Mycroft sighed in frustration. "Certain people agreed that NCIS should be sent home; the case will be given to Scotland Yard—"

"Are you trying to let the killer get away?" Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft swung his umbrella casually. "No, I'm trying to keep the homicide percentage low…can you assure me that they'll make it back to America alive if they continue to investigate? You and I both know who is really behind this."

Sherlock remains silent. "I won't leave this case…but I can convince NCIS to; I doubt agent Gibbs would listen to his Director about leaving a case."

"You'll do anything to solve a case." Mycroft muttered.

Sherlock doesn't answer as he leaves for the interrogation room.

We all walk down into the tube in tense silence. I see Gibbs was pissed off, and the others weren't happy either. I would be too…Vance ordering them to leave a case to Scotland Yard was a slap in the face. Luckily, Sherlock managed to convince us that there was really nothing else to be done…strange, but he was right. Even though I wasn't satisfied with how this case ended, I was happy to finally go home. I see a coffee vender and get some coffee for everyone with a serene smile; just like old times. I would always deliver the coffee to my team; it became a tradition for me when I was at NCIS.

Ducky joins me and helps me carry the coffee to our team and the others. I hand Gibbs a coffee with a small smile. Gibbs manages to crack a smirk as he takes the cup gladly. I hand some more around to John and Sherlock. John thanks me cheerfully and Sherlock nods. We didn't say much as we waited for a train to take us to the hotel so we could pack. Finally, Ducky broke the silence with one of his many anecdotes and historical facts. I grin as I take Trent's empty cup and mine to throw away. It was difficult to get through the crowd to a trash bin. Soon, I made it to the edge near the tracks. I threw away the cups and looked back at my friends who were listening to Ducky. I stifle a laugh; it was just like old times.

I stood at the edge of people along the track. I didn't enjoy crowds and felt nervous as people crowded behind me. It was honestly my first time in an underground subway—tube. Sherlock and the others were still behind me chatting as I look back at the drainage pits along the track. I heard the screeching of an oncoming train. Hands suddenly push onto my back and I was shoved: hard. I screamed as I tumbled onto the track. My head bashed onto the rail and everything went black…

Ducky was discussing one of his many stories of London to everyone; Sherlock barely listened to their prattle and saw agent Gibbs was the same way. The old marine drank his coffee and looked distant, yet he seemed very much a part of the conversation. Perhaps he and the marine had more in common than he thought. Sherlock looked around for Angelina who seemed to have gone with the flow of the crowds. Sherlock saw her at the edge of the track and made his way over to her. He suddenly sees a man snaking his way through the throngs of people; straight toward her. Sherlock tried to rush through as he barked: "Angelina!" she doesn't notice the man approaching her from behind.

Sherlock felt like everything, time itself, slowed as he heard the train. He waded through the crowds, and saw the man shove Angelina onto the tracks. Her scream ripped through the hundreds of voices in the tube. Sherlock shoved through and caught a glimpse of her on the track; eyes shut and mouth agape in unconsciousness. He tried to get onto the track, but people held him back as he yelled. "Angelina!" The girl soon started to wake, but Sherlock heard the train approach.

I wearily opened my eyes as my skull throbbed. I lifted my head as much as I could and heard ringing, yells, and terrible shrieks—wait that's the sound of metal. My heart stopped as I saw the train race toward me.

Author's note: All rights reserved to Sherlock and NCIS : I don't own their characters I am simply borrowing them. All rights reserved to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's story The Five Orange Pips,*which is a story I adopted from Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries. I only own Angelina and Trent Garrio.

Haha! This scene was fun to write. I love cliff hangers. Poor Angelina can never catch a break. I hope you guys like it. Please review and criticize, and thanks for reading.