Hey guys, I'm sorry it's been a whole week but i had a really big school project to do :( Anyway I'm sorry if my case is uninteresting or anything, I'm definitely not as good of a writer as the people at BCC :P

For this first scene, I wrote the dialogue in English although they would be speaking Italian.

Thanks for reading and please review! :D (no seriously, if you guys have ideas on how to make my case better, please let me know :P)

Chapter 25

"I'm telling you! This could be our chance." Deangelo tried to reason with his friends in the hallway of their high school. He stood in the path of his three male friends to try to stop them. "We could finally get out of this…" His voice became desperate. The three other boys glanced at each other with concerned looks. Two of the tall teenagers each grabbed an arm of Deangelo while the remaining one led them to an area they could speak. They went into an empty class room and shut the door behind them.

"You need to stop this Deangelo." The tallest of the four, a boy with short brown hair and light brown eyes, grabbed Deagelo's shirt collar as he spoke. "If Rizzotti finds out-"

"I know what will happen." Deangelo interrupted. "But we don't have to tell Rizzotti! We can get help without saying anything even with the drug!" He pleaded with his eyes.

"What do you mean?" the boy asked, voicing the thoughts of the other two teenagers.

"Sherlock Holmes. He can solve our problem without us telling! He can find the evidence and put away Rizzotti for good." Deangelo said, making the three others look at each other. They all read the same expression and the tallest let go of Deangelo's shirt collar.

"Sorry. We are not willing to risk it, Deangelo. Good luck." The tallest bid and left the class room with the other boys. Deangelo sighed and straightened his shirt, taking his leave as well.

Sherlock huffed in boredom as he, Jo-Ann, and Massimo sat on one of the many metal benches in Deangelo's high school. It was a wrestling match against a rival school and Sherlock couldn't be more bored. Three days in Italy and all he managed to get was a possible homicidal teenager and a suspicion about his doctor. Jo-Ann chatted away with Massimo like a mad woman while ignoring the detective beside her. Sherlock grumbled to himself and crossed his arms, wishing he was back in 221B with his black coffee and flatmate typing away beside him. She was beside him now of course, but talking to a man who confessed his love for her the day before. Jo-Ann nudged Sherlock, pointing to the doorway of the gym.

"Sherlock, there's Deangelo!" she told him. Sherlock squinted in the direction she pointed and recognized the teen. He looked tired and depressed, but immediately hid it when he saw his wrestling team coach. The coach was a tall man in his forties with brown hair and grey highlights. He had a scarred nose and scars along his burly arms and legs where his clothing allowed showing. He wore a blue polo shirt with gold stripes along the sides (school colors) and baggy cargo shorts. He was obviously the coach with his blue visor and how the students addressed him. It was hard to tell specific details about him from that distance, but the fact that his scars where visible from there meant they were once quite serious injuries. The coach saw Deangelo come in and scolded him for being late. Deangelo apologized and got ready to begin warming up. Sherlock watched with curiosity as the coach stopped the young boy that was about to wrestle the match and pushed Deangelo to fight instead. The boy agreed instantly and backed away, letting Deangelo step in the circle in his place. Massimo's little brother removed the clothes he wore over his singlet and prepared to wrestle.

"Jo-Ann? Aren't wrestlers supposed to warm up before matches?" Sherlock leaned over to his doctor to speak over the noise of the gym.

"Yeah, usually. I don't know why Deangelo is fighting so quickly…" Jo-Ann agreed with his concerns and then turned to Massimo to ask. Massimo said the same before the bell chimed for the match to start. The two teens danced around each other, each ready to fight. The rival opponent acted first, charging in to grab Deangelo's shoulders. Deangelo blocked but kept his head against his opponent, waiting to strike. They stayed neutral for a minute, getting into holds or getting out of them with no scores. Sherlock became bored once again when the couch yelled from the outside of the circle.

"Deangelo! smettere di scherzare e combattere!" He shouted. Deangelo's eyes shot open as he attacked the opponent. He bit the arms and punched the stomach of the boy repeatedly, pushing him against the ground. Instantly the referee and coach from the opposing school rushed to action. Massimo stood up in shock and ran down to the gym floor. Jo-Ann and Sherlock stared wide-eyed as they pulled the fighting boys apart. The doctor got up as well and followed Massimo to the scene. Sherlock watched as Jo-Ann worked with the school nurse to aid the injured boy while two school officials yelled at Deangelo and his coach. Massimo was asked to back away, but like Jo-Ann, explained his way through. He reached his little brother and looked like he was asking millions of questions. Deangelo looked surprised at his presence and tried to explain everything with a simple apology going by what his lips read. Sherlock then stared at his coach, who strangely said nothing and only smiled slightly.

The chaos died down as the gym was cleared of both Deangelo and the injured boy. The matches continued, but Sherlock and Jo-Ann left to get a coffee. At a café, the doctor's concerns rose.

"Why do you think Deangelo attacked like that? He knew it was wrong and it would get him disqualified." Jo-Ann said before taking a sip of her creamy coffee.

"The coach told him to fight, so he did." Sherlock explained vaguely, mixing the sugar in his own drink.

"What do you mean?" his doctor asked.

"'Deangelo, smettere di scherzare e combattere'. The coach said to stop fooling around and fight. In an instant, Deangelo was striking on his opponent even though he knew it was wrong."

"So his coach's words made him do it?" Jo-Ann suggested.

"I think it was the fact that his coach said it at all. An action caused just by someone's voice suggests a traumatizing event that encourages an exact body response. Something very dark is going on behind the scenes." Sherlock said as he stared out the window, thinking. Jo-Ann nodded although confused. Sherlock glanced at his doctor and enjoyed the sight.

She leaned on the table with her elbows, one hand holding her cheek and the other unconsciously stirring her coffee with her spoon as she looked out the window. The soft sunlight shone on her face and illuminated her hair in golden glow. With her red jumper and blonde hair, her blue eyes stood out underneath half-lidded eyelids. Sherlock smiled and found himself staring directly at her. The relaxed expression, unconscious coffee stirring, staring at the scenery, it all read that she was extremely relaxed. When Jo-Ann was alone, she didn't seem half as content as she did when she was with her detective. Without make-up, without a glamorous outfit, without even trying, she was absolutely lovely to him. Jo-Ann glanced at Sherlock casually, not expecting him to be looking intensely back at her.

"W…What?" she asked, turning her head to him and putting her arm down. Sherlock smiled wider and stood up.

"You are truly beautiful Jo-Ann," he began as he put on his coat, "no wonder you have so many admirers." He placed enough euros on the table to pay for their coffee and headed out the door. Jo-Ann was confused but took the last sip of her coffee and grabbed her coat to follow him.

"What was that?!" Jo-Ann loudly asked as she caught up to her detective. Sherlock didn't bother slowing down as she neared, although he wanted to avoid her question. "Sherlock, what did you mean?" Jo-Ann asked firmly as she stopped directly in front of him. She narrowed her eyes at him and stepped to block him every time he tried to walk around her.

"Is this argument even relevant right now?" Sherlock asked as he tried once more to move, only to be stopped.

"Yes." His doctor looked up to him a concerned expression. "Yes, it is relevant. What did you mean?" it was hard to hear her over the busyness of the street, but Sherlock had grown accustomed to focusing on only her voice.

"I meant…" He looked around at anything but her, but found his eyes settling on her, almost scolding himself for looking away from her for even a second. "I meant exactly as it sounded. You're beautiful and lovely…" Sherlock slid his hand down her head and played with a strand of her hair for a moment. "…and don't believe anyone who tells you different."

Jo-Ann blinked a few times since she couldn't bear to look away. Feeling the embarrassment of flattery coming her secret love her instinct to joke rushed in.

"Feeling sentiment are we? How… sentimental." She stuttered and smiled. Sherlock looked confused and a bit offended.

"Of course I have sentiment for you. You're no… ordinary person… far from it." Sherlock explained and successfully walked around her.

"I hope so!" Jo-Ann joked, continuing to follow him. "I'd like to think you wouldn't move in with any sod off the street."

"Well you were a stranger when we moved in together." Sherlock pointed out. "Although there was some kind of… connection beforehand." He said although he couldn't truly explain.

"Oh, you felt it too?" Jo-Ann asked innocently, not knowing what a cord it struck. Sherlock stopped walking and gently grabbed his doctor's arm.

"You felt something when we met?" he asked seriously.

"Of course." Jo-Ann put her hands in her pockets. "I said before that when I met you I knew I was going to be with you for a very long time." She blushed a bit. Sherlock kept staring intensely. She began mumbling, too quiet for Sherlock to hear. "… and I felt something before entering the room too…"

"How long do you intend to stay with me?" Sherlock asked with all seriousness while still holding her arm. His blue eyes pierced Jo-Ann's as he patiently waited for an answer. Although every millisecond grinded his patience to the ground.

"Forever."

Jo-Ann didn't smile nor laugh to ease the heaviness of what she said. Only staring into her detective's eyes she let the statement sink in, her expression reading the seriousness of the word. Sherlock could feel his temperature rising. The silence lasted a few moments before Jo-Ann felt the seriousness had surely sunk in. "I mean if you'll keep me around that long." She laughed.

"Of course I would keep you around keep you around. Why wouldn't I keep you around? Why would-am I… That is…" Sherlock tore his eyes away from her and blushed slightly, letting go of her arm.

"Have I made Sherlock Holmes speechless yet again?" Jo-Ann smiled wildly, trying to look at his face every time he moved.

"N-no-what do you mean, again?!" Sherlock looked back at her, making her laugh even more. She began to list the times she made the detective flustered not knowing someone across the street had their sights the two.

A man sat at an outside table of a café, reading a newspaper and watching the detective and his doctor as they playfully argued. They made their way to Deangelo's school under the request of Sherlock, and the man quietly followed from a distance.

"Sherlock I don't think we are supposed to be here…" Jo-Ann warned from behind her detective as the crept into the empty high school, thanks to Sherlock's lock-picking skills.

"Relax, dear Watson. It's nothing we haven't done before." He reassured, glancing in both directions of the main hallway before sneaking in.

"Yes, but at least in London we have Lestrade or Mycroft to bail us out." Jo-Ann mumbled as she followed Sherlock's steps. "You know someone was following us right?" she asked in hushed tones.

"Yes I know. However in a place as quiet as this we will be able to hear him approaching. Do you have your gun?" Sherlock asked as he peaked around another corner and kept moving silently.

"Of course Sherlock, I smuggled a pistol through two airport security centers and have it loaded and ready right now!" Jo-Ann said sarcastically in a loud whisper.

"Good let me have it-"

"I WAS JOKING." She whispered so loud she was quietly screaming. Sherlock shot a confused look her way.

"No need to get huffy." Sherlock said calmly as they moved through the hallways and found a locked stairway. His curiosity of such a peculiar finding made him stop in his tracks. Jo-Ann sighed and rubbed her arm.

"Sorry… I just have a bad feeling about this… a really bad feeling…" the doctor said, knowing Sherlock wouldn't fully understand since the circumstances didn't seem all that dangerous. Sherlock looked up to her as he kneeled by the door, beginning to pick the number lock the secured the door handle with a chain.

"Oh? The only thing I'd worry about is the man following and he gave up a few minutes ago." Sherlock glanced at her every few seconds as he tried to figure out the number code or how to break the chain, either one.

"Think again." Jo-Ann said seriously as she stared down the hallway behind them. Sherlock looked up from the lock, and seeing her face, followed her gaze. The man, the one who had been following them, stood at the far and of the hallway and began walking rapidly towards them.

"You can't go there." The man said loudly in a very think accent, suggesting he didn't speak English very often.

"Uh scusateci, non volevamo alcun danno. E 'solo il nostro figlio ha lasciato qualcosa in là-(Uh please excuse us, we did not mean any harm. It's just that our son left something in there-)" Sherlock began to explain but was interrupted by the man that was now only a few feet away.

"Non ci sono no ragazzi inglesi qui (there are no English boys here)" The buff and tall man said intimidatingly. He had buzz cut black hair and dark tan skin, marked and blemished with scars that covered everywhere and overlapped each other in some places. But the scar that was most eye-catching was the dark red line going from the corner of his mouth stretching back to the bottom of his ear. He wore a plain brown suit but with trainers and his feet.

"Lui è adottato.(he is adopted.)" Sherlock explained the lie. The man smiled and nodded, but quickly pulled a revolver out from his jacket.

"Shit!" Jo-Ann cursed and immediately to action. She jumped in front of Sherlock and pushed the gun to the side, twisting the man's wrist to make him let go. But the man only stared at her, gripping the gun despite the action that would normally make someone drop it. Not a flinch came from him. Jo-Ann twisted harder while looking in disbelief, but was only met with a low chuckle. The man used is other large hand and gave hard a strike to her face. The doctor rocketed to the ground as the pain seared through her cheekbone and nose. She was sure one or the other was fractured, but she couldn't worry about that now.

Sherlock, after seeing Jo-Ann fall to the ground, tried to get the gun away as well. He grabbed the wrist Jo-Ann twisted and did the same, but this time using his other hand to hit the sensitive area to break the bone. Success was granted as the crack from the bone erupted, but the man remained emotionless. The hand became useless and the gun dropped to the ground. Sherlock dived for it but was met with a knee to the gut. Jo-Ann scrambled for the weapon, but it was kicked away by the apparent assassin. He grabbed Jo-Ann by the collar of her jacket with his good hand and lifted her off her feet. She clawed at his arm and kicked against his body, but nothing showed any result. Without a second thought, the man threw Jo-Ann to the wall, causing her to crash into it back-first. She groaned with pain but was thankful she didn't hit her head too hard. Sherlock regained himself enough to stand up and try to attack once more, but the man had picked up the revolver and had it pointed right at the detective's chest. Jo-Ann's heart raced as she looked up in time to see the man pull the hammer of the gun back and go for the trigger.

Bang!