Chapter 3

                    221B Baker Street

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"I can't believe you're still wearing the makeup," Dean snorted when (Y/n) walked out into the hall, meeting them so they could go to Baker Street.

"It makes me feel normal..." She mumbled, trailing off. Sam patted his twin's shoulder, giving her a sad smile.

"I call shotgun," he yelled, trying to cheer her up.

"Wait no-" Before (Y/n) could do anything Sam opened up the car door and jumped into the passenger side seat. "Hey!"

"He called it," Dean shrugged, turning the car on.

She huffed, getting into the back of the car. A mischievous grin spread across her face and she began to kick the back of Sam's seat.

"Still like the seat now my lovely twin?" (Y/n) questioned, leaning up to talk to Sam better.

"You, are a horrible person," Sam shook his head.

"Says you," (Y/n) shot back.

"Knock it off you two," Dean ordered, "You're acting like three year olds."

"Are not!" Sam and (Y/n) said at the same time. Dean shook his head in mock disappointment, pulling up to the address Sherlock had given them.

They got out of the car silently, Sam and (Y/n) were shooting dirty looks at each other, while Dean just looked like a disappointed parent. Sam reached out a long arm and rung the buzzer. An elderly woman opened the door a few seconds later.

She was kind, and liked to smile judging by the smile lines on her face. Her life was once and could still be stressful. She kept good care of herself and made sure to do the same to other people.

"We're here to see Sherlock Holmes," Dean gave a quick smile. The woman nodded and ushered them inside.

"I hope he hasn't gotten himself into any trouble," she shook her head, leading them up a flight of stairs, "He does that often. I'm Mrs. Hudson by the way, the landlady, not housemaid."

She stopped at a door labeled 221B and knocked loudly, "Sherlock! You have visitors!"

A man opened up the door, his gaze traveling to the group immediately. Mrs. Hudson nodded and walked down the stairs, presumably to her apartment.

"Right, clients I'm assuming." He stepped out of the way, allowing them to enter.

The apartment was organized and messy at the same time. The kitchen table was a mess, with science experiments all over it, but the rest of the apartment seemed to be quite orderly.

"Sherlock, client!" The man called, "I'm John, John Watson."

(Y/n) looked over the man, judging by the way he held himself he had served in the armed forces, most likely discharged due to injury. He didn't have any visible scars, but his hands weren't smooth. An army doctor most likely.

Sherlock entered the living room. Immediately sitting down in a certain chair. He put his hands together and placed his chin on them.

"So, who are you really?" He asked. John sat down in another chair, silently observing the conversation. "Not FBI, as I already said. Your stance suggests constant fighting, abuse. Not just FBI, this is natural, drilled into you. The shorter brother is wearing a jacket too big for him, his Father's. So it wasn't him who abused you, fighting with others then."

"We're hunters," (Y/n) started, Dean grabbed her wrist, stopping her from going any further.

"We can't just go around telling people what we do," he whispered.

"Why not?" (Y/n) glared, "The more people know the better chances they have."

"Dean she has a point," Sam joined the conversation, "If they're working on the case with us the least they could know is how to protect themselves."

"Fine," Dean grumbled, letting her wrist go.

"We're hunters," (Y/n) turned back to Sherlock and John, continuing what she was saying, "But we don't just hunt animals...We hunt the supernatural."

John laughed, looking to Sherlock, who stayed silent.

"You can't be serious," John said between his laughter, "The supernatural isn't real, it's just bedtime stories."

"They aren't stories," Sam shook his head, "We think demons are possessing these people and making them kill. Every killer has said they were possessed on trial."

"Sherlock?" (Y/n) turned to the detective.

"I have no way to believe you are telling the truth," he mumbled, standing up. He was at least five inches taller than (Y/n). "Your words are firm, but your hands are slightly shaking. You're maintaining eye contact but your stance is defensive."

"Here," (Y/n) grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest, above her heart, "My brothers and I hunt the supernatural. All the stories you heard as a kid are real, and we believe this case involves demons."

She let Sherlock's hand go, he took a step back. His gaze traveled over her, then to Sam and Dean.

"Tell me a lie," Sherlock ordered, she sighed, putting his hand on her heart once again.

"Both my Mother and Father are sitting in their home in Lawrence, Kansas right now."

"Tell me a truth."

"The man who was more of a Father to me than my actual Dad was a man named Bobby Singer, my Mother figure is named Ellen, and the girl I like to think of as my younger sister is named Jo. All of them are like my family."

Sam and Dean grinned, a spark of sadness in their eyes. Ellen, Bobby, and Jo were like family to all of them. Bobby was the one who gave them breaks, not making them continue to train to be warriors when they were twelve.

"Your heart rate increases when you're telling the truth, not when you're telling a lie. When you tell the truth you feel vulnerable, telling lies is second nature, perhaps because your line of work. You did convince the Scotland Yard that you're part of the FBI, although they're idiots. I'm sure this applies to your brothers as well."

"Sherlock you can't think these people are serious," John spoke up.

Dean, Sam, and (Y/n) shared the same look, each of them pulling down their shirts to show the anti-possession tattoos above their hearts.

"Believe it or not, but you need to know how to protect yourselves."

"Fine," John sighed, "We're looking for 'demons', what do you know about the case already?"

Sam sat down on the couch and pulled out his laptop and a few papers, (Y/n) slid a copy of the paper to both John and Sherlock, keeping a copy for herself.

"A few weeks ago, just before the murders started, we picked up on a few demonic omens, temperature fluctuations, lightning storms, and here, a few statues around London began crying when there was no rain." (Y/n) began.

"There aren't any hunters in London, so we...flew," Dean paused, shuddering, "Out here to handle the case. Now, recently, every killer has been caught in the act. The police claim there was black smoke at the scene, that's the demon leaving the body. Sulfur on the dead body. The killers have all claimed they didn't remember killing the person and it was like they were possessed."

"We think these demons are looking to cause some trouble," Sam continued, pulling up a website on his computer, "There have been a few other supernatural cases in London. Skinwalkers, poltergeists, Djinns."

"What in God's name are those?" John questioned.

"Looks like it's time for a crash course in everything supernatural," (Y/n) smirked, looking to Sam who pulled Dad's notebook out of his bag.