Trying out a new story! Crossover between SPN and Sherlock. Lemme know what you think please! :D

The great and famous Sherlock Holmes. He just had to be working my case, didn't he? Of course, it would figure that a case where several women of the same size and hair color, drained of all the blood in their bodies, would attract such a madman. Still, it had to be my case. I hadn't been in England very long, and London much shorter, but it was where my chase led me and so I followed. The vamps I had been after for a couple of months had been pretty ingenious when they decided to hop frickin' countries, but it wasn't good enough to keep me off their trail. Now that I knew they were out there, hunting innocent girls, there was no way I'd back down from finding them and putting them down.

But Sherlock was going to be an issue. He's too smart for his own damn good. I have a feeling he isn't gonna back down from this case very easily… and that I would have to tread very lightly when I assert that the "FBI" has been following a string of murders like this from the states to here. I've never been detained by authorities on this side of the ocean, and I have a feeling it'll be a little more difficult to get away from them in London.

So, tugging at the stupidly tight charcoal colored suit pants I was wearing, with a matching blazer and underneath a tame blue camisole (and reasonable boots, heels are ridiculous), I made my way over to the yellow crime tape. Beyond it was the dark alley in which the most recent murders had taken place. Two young girls, brunette and petite (like myself, which is why I'm hoping that eventually it'll make me a target for the vamps), lay dead in the far corner by a dumpster, some policemen and one Sherlock Holmes hovering around them. It couldn't be much harder to dupe these cops than it is to dupe them in the States, so I marched to a younger looking black woman who seemed to be standing guard at the tape and flashed my badge at her.

"Special Agent Demaris," I barked at her sharply, narrowing my green eyes at her in the same authoritative manner I used on the cops in the States. "FBI. We've been following a string of cases like what you've had going on in the States. I'm here to see if it could be the same perp."

The woman seemed suspicious as she eyed my badge and then me, but ultimately she tugged the tape up and let me pass under it. "Sergeant Sally Donovan, Scotland Yard. I'll take you over to the Detective Inspector," she motioned for me to follow her to the crime scene, which I did obligingly. Before we got too close she turned back to me, keeping her voice low. "Sherlock is here, so be warned. He's a right arse."

I raised an eyebrow at her in response, choosing not to say anything to that. I had heard enough about Sherlock from some local hunters to know that I needed to play it safe, but her warning was kind.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," Donovan spoke up to get his attention, motioning to where I stood behind her. "FBI's here."

The Detective Inspector looked pretty startled when he gave me a once-over, apparently not anticipating some overseas operatives to show up on this case. I took my badge back out and flashed it at him, pocketing it as soon as he got a decent look at it. I knew Sherlock had to be watching us interact somehow… it was just his M.O..

"Detective Inspector, I'm Special Agent Demaris," I introduced myself cordially, holding a hand out to shake his as he extended it. "Sorry to intrude without a proper warning, but I've only just got here and heard there had been another attack. I've been following cases like the ones you've got popping up here in the States. I'm here to find out if it's the same perp, because we've gone cold Stateside."

"Right, of course," he shook his head, his salt-n-pepper hair flopping around as he did. "Well, feel free to have a look around. Never let it be said we don't help out our brothers across the pond."

I smiled coyly at him, winking as I moved forward and tugged some latex gloves out of my pocket to put on. "Never," I repeated him, winking at him as I pulled the gloves on. "So what do we have?"

I expected Lestrade to answer my question, but instead my entire sight was suddenly filled with none other than Sherlock Holmes as he towered over my 5'5" frame and glowered down at me. "Well, Special Agent Demaris," he practically spat out as he narrowed his gray-blue eyes down at me. "Why don't you start by telling us what the crime scenes looked like that were under your jurisdiction."

I took a step back from him and returned his cold glare, frowning at him. He really was an ass. "Usually two vics, female, brunette, petite. Blood drained from them with just a couple of pretty small wounds in the necks, wrists, or thighs. No other observable cause of death, even with an autopsy. Now, may I please have a look at the bodies?"

Sherlock said nothing in response but did move out of my way, which I took to be a good sign. Maybe I had passed his stupid little test. I hadn't lied, after all. He seemed to not trust that I was actually an FBI agent, but if he wanted he could call my good friend Bobby Singer for confirmation. Of course… he wouldn't know it was just an old redneck in South Dakota. He'd think it was some head honcho in an FBI HQ.

I crouched in between the bodies, maneuvering around a little so that the gun in the back of my pants wasn't quite pressing into my buttbone so hard, and got to work. It was relatively easy to find out if they were vamp kills, and they were. It was unmistakable that they were the same vamps I were following, too. They always left a creepy little lovebite or something on the inside of the vic's lips. It was their calling card or something, I dunno. It was just weird. But apparently Mr. Holmes hadn't found that, because as soon as I opened one of the mouths he was down beside of me and pushing my hand out of the way so he could grab the lip and look at it. I rolled my eyes at his antics, standing up and removing my gloves with a pop and throwing them down next to his shoe.

"Yeah, same mark," I turned to the Detective Inspector, expecting him to ask me what all I knew about the perps, but was instead met with a flabbergasted face and beside of him Sergeant Donovan was holding back a grin. "I'm sorry, what? Is there something on my face?"

Donovan was the first to speak up, shaking her head in amusement. "You found something the freak missed. Never seen him look so flustered before."

"I…" a light smile graced my painted red lips as I glanced back at Sherlock, who was studiously ignoring us to try and figure out why there was a bite on the lip. From the outside, seeing such a tall, pale, and honestly hunk of a guy who was known to be an ass and extremely intelligent beside of a short, tanned and freckled, average looking chick who was unknown to the people here must've made it a fun scene to see when the chick outwitted the dude. Our hair color was pretty similar, but that's as far as similarities went. So… I may have laughed a little. Not too loudly, but also not quietly. "Yeah. I get how that's funny. Anyway, here's my number," I fished out one of my fake cards with my FBI credentials, my number, and my "superviser" Bobby's number on it. "Call me if you get another like this. I'll be hanging around town for a few days."

We exchanged farewells and I moved on, hoping that they wouldn't actually call me and expect me to show up. I just needed to get in that one crime scene with the bodies to find out of it was the same couple of vamps I had been tracking. Now that I knew there was no way I intended to go back around those cops. Or Sherlock, for that matter. One way or the other I'd be found out. So after popping back into the cab I had left waiting for me around the corner and asking for the cheapest motel in town to stay at I started to get down to business. It was time for the hunt to start. London was a hotspot for night activity; a perfect hunting ground for vamps… and for a hunter.

And I'm a damned good hunter.