(Y/n) Winchester joins her brothers in a hunt in London, England. Upon entering the large city they followed several signs of demonic omens, joining Sherlock on the case along the way.
As the demons become aware that they're being hunted the game ta...
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"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."
