A/N: Okay, so… I was supposed to focus on another project but then this idea struck me like a thunderball. I was powerless to stop it from being typed out so here we are. (smirks sheepishly)

WARNING: CROSSOVER. Adult themes. Gore. Language. Possible whump coming up later. Rather descriptive violence and crimes. (looks around) Where'd ya go?

DISCLAIMER: I really, seriously own nothing of 'Criminal Minds' or 'Sherlock'. You'd hear of it if I ever did because on that day I'd be flying with joy.

Awkay, because it's getting really late and I'm quite nervous right now… Let's move! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

The Case of Orion's Belt

The Sign of Three

/ It was a warm and dark yet extremely beautiful summer night. Three children, a boy and a girl at the age of eight and a boy at the age of fifteen, lay on soft grass, their eyes darted towards the sky above them. It was full of stars and for the longest time they were all so captivated that they didn't speak a word.

In the end the girl frowned, then pointed towards three stars that seemed to shine brighter than the rest. Or maybe it was just her child's imagination. "What's that called?"

"It's Orion's Belt", the oldest one of them informed instantly. The British accent was deep and rich. A long, elegant musician's finger rose to point upwards. "Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka. That's the name of the stars."

The girl smiled. "Three of them. Just like us."

The younger boy, who'd been worryingly quiet all evening, sighed. Longing appeared to the hazel eyes. "I wish that we didn't have to go back home in four days", he confessed in a silent, sad tone. "I wanna stay here, with you."

The girl giggled, ruffling the worried child's brown locks. "Don't be silly. We'll be friends forever. Just like those stars."

The brown haired boy mulled over the thought for a while. In the end a bright smile appeared. "I like that thought."

The older boy nodded in affirmation, wild black locks dancing. "Yeah. So do I." /

It was raining while a BAU team approached a crime scene at a more isolated part of the city centre of Colorado Springs. The local police had done what they could and several members of crime scene unit were already there but the weather was quickly washing away whatever little evidence there may have been. The killer had chosen the perfect time to strike.

They were about twenty steps away when they were spotted. At first the chief of police, a large middle aged man whose face suggested that he'd been through a tough life named Rick Stamson, squinted his pale blue eyes against the rain before straightening his nearly two meters tall frame and began to make his way to them. "Sorry about this", the chief apologized earnestly, a thick accent that was hard to place evident in his speech. He ran a noteably sized, scarred hand through shortcut, dark drown hair. "I know that you were already about to head home but I wanted to hear what you'd think about this."

Unit chief Aaron Hotchner stepped forward, a instinctive touch of authority in his steps. There was a frown on the agent's face. "What made you think so?"

Chief Stamson swallowed loudly. Even in the lack of light the man's face appeared suspiciously pale. "Just… Just come and see, will you?" As though out of mutual agreement they all began to move towards a smaller street. Chief Stamson, who must've seen a lot during his long career, shook his head, shoulders slumping noticeably under a weight the agents knew entirely too well. "The nightmare you just solved, and now this… I don't understand what the hell is going on in my city anymore."

That was when the team first truly saw it. They all froze, smacked by a yet another horror story presented to them. "Shit…", slipped through the lips of Derek Morgan. The rest of them agreed whole heartedly.

There on the street lay a strikingly beautiful woman in her early thirties or late twenties, her arms wide open and the gaze of her dead, glazed over blue eyes lifted towards the sky. Only the trickle of blood running from her nose tainted the white, porcelain color of her face. Wind and rain played with her long, blood stained blonde hair and white night dress. Her lips were still parted slightly, as though for a prayer that'd never be heard. It hadn't stopped the five, perfectly evenly placed stab wounds on her chest and abdomen that claimed her life. The whole sight was so perfect in its own macabre way that the group of professionals couldn't help feeling that it was staged. The only things tainting the image were the bruises and a couple of nails that'd almost been torn off.

"She put up one hell of a fight and the neighbors… They heard struggle", chief Stamson explained, a sickened look on his face. "By the time my men got here… Well."

A sombre silence lingered, only disturbed by the rain and the forensics team's members bustling around them. In the end David Rossi sighed. "This is a brutal murder. But what makes you think that you'll need the FBI?"

"I was kind of expecting you to ask that." Chief Stamson nodded towards something on the street. His face seemed even more grim than before. "That's why."

The team looked. Instantly chills went through them. There, almost washed away by the rain but still visible, were three words. Written in the victim's blood.

TWO MORE LEFT

Chief Stamson gritted his teeth. "I may not be a profiler, but… This sick bastard's already killed at least once. And if we don't stop him in time there'll be two more bodies."

Without the others noticing one member of the team was reacting particularly strongly to the sickening display before them. Dr. Spencer Reid's face had lost absolutely all color and small, barely visible tremors went through his whole body. He took a unsteady, hesitant step closer, then another.

Alarmed by his movements Derek turned his head and frowned. "Reid? Are you okay?"

No, Spencer wasn't. His eyes were wide and wild, full of moisture, while he stared at the dead woman. "I… I know her", he choked out in a voice that nearly got lost to the wind.

"I know her."

Night had claimed London hours ago but a city of that size never truly went to sleep. And there, amongst the restless beat, 221B Baker Street was bustling with life. The furious, anxious notes of a violin were nearly enough to cover the sounds of a very questionable scientific experiment that was hissing and boiling in the kitchen.

Until all of a sudden a pair of stunning eyes that in the lack of light seemed nearly black flew open. Exactly two seconds later a cell phone began to ring. The musician knew what it meant.

A case.

With a elegant, fluent motion the world's only consulting detective Sherlock Holmes set down the violin, then grabbed his phone. He frowned at the number before picking up. "Didn't we make a clear deal not to contact each other?"

It was impossible to recognize the sound coming from the other end. "It's… It's Alyssa." Spencer's voice was barely recognizeable, not least of all because they were mere kids when he last heard it. It was colored by grief, rage, shock and fear. "She's dead."

Cold shivers, such that nearly caught his breath, went through Sherlock. He refused to let the betrayal of his transport show in his voice. "She died years ago", he growled, despite his best efforts of remaining emotionless sounding like a wounded beast.

"I… I know. Or that's what I though. But I just saw her body in Colorado Springs, and…" There was a long moment of silence. Was that a restrained sob? "He found her."

Sherlock actually shuddered. He wasted a couple of precious seconds on trying to regain control over himself. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"William, no, don't…!"

But Sherlock had already hang up. Instead of listening he was dialing a familiar number. It took obnoxiously long before a very sleepy, very grumpy voice answered. "Sherlock…?"

Sherlock paced around the room, feeling like a caged wild animal. His thoughts were running madly and his pulse was clearly elevated. Which was nothing unusual when a new puzzle was presented to him but this particular one… "We have a case", he announced.

"Sherlock, it's… three o'clock in the bloody morning!" Dr. John Watson clearly didn't sound pleased or even remotely coherent. Somewhere in the background Mary Watson muttered something that sounded suspiciously lot like '… not again!… ' "What…?"

"You have fifteen minutes to pack up for a trip to Colorado Springs."

"Hang on, hang on…" He could hear John rubbing his face, trying to wake up. "You mean the Colorado in…?"

"… the United States of America, yes. Do try to keep up." Sherlock tapped with his foot, irritation and a stab of unfamiliar sentiment that he was far from comfortable with making him antsy. He squinted his eyes against the stinging that attempted to take over them. "John, it's vital that we depart as soon as possible. So start packing."

TBC OR NOT?

A/N: So… Thus starts a brand new story. And now, it's time to ask your opinion. Do you think that this is worth continuing or should I just bury this while it hasn't really began yet? You know how to let me know. (grins and winks)

In any case, thank you so much for reading! Who knows, maybe I'll be seeing you around.

Take care!