Chapter 2
Sherlock Holmes
🔎🔍
"You're upset, it's easy to see by the way your eyes aren't making contact with anyone else. Judging by the way you're looking at the door it's because Dad isn't home yet."
"How did you do that?"
"I've been practicing."
"Rise and shine (Y/n)!"
A bright light entered (Y/n)'s vision through closed eyes. (Y/n) groaned, rolling over and covering her head with her blanket.
"We need to go talk to the people at the station today."
"Scotland Yard," (Y/n) corrected automatically, pulling the blanket off of her head and groggily getting out of the bed.
"Five minutes," Dean held up five fingers, leaving with Sam to get into their monkey suits.
She let out a sigh, looking through her suitcase for her version of the monkey suit. A pencil skirt, blazer, blouse, and heels. FBI women were talented, being able to work in an outfit like this.
The young woman quickly changed, putting her hair up in a uniform bun, and a bit of makeup. Enough to look professional for the Scotland Yard people they spoke to.
Slipping on her shoes (Y/n) grabbed the room key and fake badge, 'Daisy Simmons' was the name printed across it, it was better than the celebrity names that Sam and Dean used on a weekly basis.
"I was hoping I wouldn't need to wear this on this trip," Sam looked down at his feet. His suit pants were shorter than it used to be, showing off his socks.
All of them did an inventory check, making sure they had a bottle of holy water and a gun hidden in their jackets, you never knew what you would come across.
The small family got into the Impala, it was (Y/n)'s turn in the front so Sam was pouting in the back of the car, complaining about the music as always.
"They're classics Sammy," Dean grinned as they pulled up to the large building.
Getting out of the car they confidently walked towards the doors. Dean uncomfortably shifted his arm.
"Why do we always have to wear this on cases?"
They made it through the front doors without any mishaps. The boys silently began rock paper scissors, debating who would be asking the receptionist if they could speak to someone.
"Boys," (Y/n) rolled her eyes, walking up to the desk and flashing her badge, "Agent Simmons, FBI. I'd like to speak with the person covering the recent murders."
"Right," the receptionist picked up the phone next to her, "Detective Lestrade, we have some people from the FBI here to see you... Alright, I'll send them up. Second floor, last office there."
"Thank you."
She turned back to the boys, who were still fighting as to who would be asking the receptionist the questions.
"Let's go boys," (Y/n) grabbed both of their ties, dragging them to the elevator. (Y/n) didn't have to worry about how professionally they acted here, for all they knew, this was what everyone did in America.
"Where are we going?" Dean asked, looking back at the receptionist with a wink.
"To speak to Detective Inspector Lestrade." (Y/n) informed, pressing the second floor button.
"I'm glad we brought you along," Sam smiled.
"You would have died by now if I didn't," (Y/n) smacked both of their arms.
The elevator dinged and the door opened. The guys straightened out their jackets and they walked out. (Y/n) stumbled a bit, her foot bending the wrong way. Dean grabbed her arm straightening her out.
"I hate these shoes," (Y/n) growled.
They reached the door and entered without knocking, he already knew they were coming up, no point in announcing their arrival again.
Lestrade was in his mid to late forties by his graying hair. He was a former smoker based on the nicotine patch on his neck, just peeking out from his shirt collar. He was formerly married, recently divorced shown from the tan line on his left hand's ring finger from a wedding ring.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade," (Y/n) nodded seriously, "I'm Agent Simmons with the American FBI, this is agents..."
"Ford and Hamill," Dean and Sam held up their badges. Star Wars, of course.
"What can I do for you?"
"We're here about the recent murders," Dean explained.
"I didn't know the American FBI would be concerned about this," he looked confused.
"We heard word that all of the killers claimed they were possessed, it raised concern," Sam explained.
"I want the files for this case," a tall man with dark curly hair walked into the room. Judging by the look of calmness Lestrade's face he knew the man. He was tall, wearing a trenchcoat and scarf, this was Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock turned to me, Sam, and Dean, "Who are you?"
"Agents Hamill, Ford, and Simmons, FBI."
Sherlock looked them over quickly, shaking his head and turning back to Lestrade.
"The files George, quickly." Sherlock ordered, Lestrade looked ready to argue before shaking his head and standing up.
"I'll be right back," he assured.
After Lestrade left Sherlock turned to the three, once again looking them over before breaking the thick silence that filled the room.
"You aren't FBI," Sherlock began to circle them, "The callouses between your thumb and forefinger suggest often use of a blunt force weapon, something that the FBI does not encourage."
"Well that doesn't-" Dean started.
"The shadows under your eyes suggest insomnia, lack of sleep. That would have gotten you taken out of duty within three months of the diagnosis. The tall ones hair is in no way regulation length, and the girl can barely walk in heels."
"I told you Sam, you need to cut your hair," (Y/n) crossed her arms turning to Sherlock, "We aren't FBI agents, and I don't think you'd believe me if I told you what we really are. All you need to know is that we're here to help. I know you're good at reading people and so am I, so, what are you going to do?"
Sherlock stayed silent, contemplating his options and reading them again.
"I won't tell the idiot who you really are, but you will come to Baker Street later and tell me who you really are. Say, seven? And don't be late, I know Americans tend to be just that. I don't believe that you can deduce."
Lestrade walked in with a copy of the file that Sherlock demanded he got. Once Lestrade was nearing his desk again (Y/n) made eye contact with Sherlock.
"Lestrade was a former smoker, trying to stay away from the bad habit. He was formerly married, recently divorced." (Y/n) said quickly. Sherlock looked at her calmly, the smallest amount of shock spreading across his face before he covered it up.
"America has one too?" Lestrade sighed, running a hand over his face, "This case is going to be the death of me."
"If Sherlock is going to be working on this case we can get the details from him. Thank you for your time," Sam gave a small smile, turning them around and briskly walking out of the room.
"If he tells we are so screwed," Dean hissed as the FBI imposters nearly ran out to the Impala.
"He won't tell, he wasn't lying about that," (Y/n) assured, hopping into the front seat. "Let's just hope he'll cooperate with us on this case. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into."