You were having a peaceful day. Emphasis on were. Sherlock had no cases, John was out with Rosie visiting family, and you were on the couch in 221B, reading your favorite book. It was so nice having nothing to do and allowing your already active mind rest for a while. And then those all too familiar footsteps came bounding up the stairs with a softer, but just as powerful pair followed behind them.
With a loud sigh, you closed the book after marking the page and prepared yourself to have piles of information about a case dumped on you at once.
“Y/N!” Sherlock, your twin brother, called out when he entered the flat. He looked around until he spotted you resting on the couch. “Y/N.”
“Yes, brother?” You responded casually. Mycroft came in only a few seconds after, umbrella held in his hand as it always was. “Brothers?”
“Free your schedule for next week. Maybe the next one as well. It depends on how quick we can work,” Sherlock declared.
“What? Why?” You questioned, standing up from the couch.
“We’re going to Quantico, Virginia,” Mycroft explained as Sherlock bounced around the apartment in search of some suitcases and duffel bags.
“Quantico? Isn’t that where the FBI Academy is?”
Sherlock threw a duffel bag at you and your quick reflexes let you catch it with ease. “Yes. It’s where we’re going.”
“And are you going to tell me why?”
“We’ll have to explain on the plane, Y/N. Time is of the essence, dear sister,” Mycroft explained in a calmer voice than Sherlock had. The two brothers had an odd balance that seemed to work much to your confusion. “Please bag your bags as quickly as you can.”
You quickly nodded and jogged up the stairs to your bedroom. All the while you were packing your bags with clothes and toiletries, you wondered what the FBI could possibly want with yourself and your two brothers. For a split second, you thought that maybe Sherlock had gone and done something stupid as he tends to do a lot but Mycroft wouldn’t be as calm as he was. You simply decided to focus on packing bags and in a black car heading to the airport 10 minutes later.
“So can you explain why we’re heading to Virginia? What could the FBI possibly need from us?” You asked the two.
Mycroft handed you three manila folders that were packed with documents and pictures. He gestured for you to open and sift through them while he explained what was happening.
“In the past two months, six serial killers have escaped from top security prisons and have seemed to form some sort of alliance. They’re all highly dangerous and have taken over thirty lives. They fear that this group may pass crossing state lines and start to migrate to other countries which makes it a security threat thus landing this folder on my desk at approximately 8:32 in the morning,” Mycroft told you.
The details and pictures of the cases were horrifying and gory. You were sure that you could feel your previous meals trying to come up.
“Supposedly the police forces and the FBI have done everything they can to find out how they escaped, where they are, and what they’re going to do next but they’re proving to be highly unpredictable. So, I reached out and offered our help.”
“What are we going to do?” You said, closing the folders and sitting them down then rubbing your stomach in an attempt to sooth the sickness you felt.
Sherlock remained still but spoke up. “The two of us are highly regarded in English media and we share similar deduction skills though I fear you may be losing your speed, Y/N. Mycroft is the British Government. I feel as though that one should be self-explanatory.”
Mycroft noticed your contorted, nauseated appearance and dug through his pockets for a packet of medicine. He politely offered them to you and you gratefully accepted, taking a bottle of water he handed to you next. Once he was sure you felt fine, Mycroft continued to brief you on what would happen once you arrived in Quantico. “We’ll be working side by side with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, or the BAU, no matter how bad any of us would prefer to work alone. If we can get this done quickly-”
“Which we will,” Sherlock interrupted.
“-we can go back home and you can finish rereading the book you have read 15 times now, Y/N.”
“How silly of you to think I didn’t pack it so I could continue reading,” you said with a smile, pulling the book out of your carry on bag and opening back up to the page you were on.
“Guys. Briefing room,” Aaron Hotchner called out to the bullpen of BAU agents in front of him. “It’s important,” he added before heading into the room.
The agents looked at each other with slightly confused expressions but did as their boss asked.
“Do you think they got any new information?” JJ asked, coming up to Spencer who was sucking on a red lollipop that was staining his lips and tongue.
“I doubt it. If we got new information, Hotch wouldn’t waste the time to properly and professionally brief us. The case is too important for him to do something like that,” Spencer answered.
The team gathered in the room, all taking their respective seats at the round table. Hotch was fiddling around with a laptop but none of them could see what he was trying to bring up. Eventually, a picture of two people who looked strikingly similar, both wearing black overcoats, the collars tilted up in an effort to hide their faces from cameras.
Another picture came up beside that one, this time an older man with an appearance that matched the other two. He was dressed in a professional suit and seated at a large desk. Spencer’s sharp eyes looked at the unknown people on the screen and figured that the resemblance wasn’t a coincidence and the three people were all related. His gaze, though, seemed to linger on the woman in the first photograph. He committed her face to memory before giving his attention to Hotch.
“Due to the extremity of this case and the very possible threat to other countries, we’ve attracted the attention of England national security. Particularly the MI6 and one of their higher-ups, Mycroft Holmes,” Hotch gestured to the older man in the suit when he said the name. “He’s offered his own personal help along with the help of his two younger siblings, Sherlock and Y/N Holmes.”
The agents in front of Hotch followed his gestures to each person on the screen, soaking up the information. “What can three random British people possibly do to help this case?” Morgan spoke up, completely confused by the concept.
Hotch took a breath and pulled up multiple articles, news clippings, videos, and reports all of which praised the intelligent minds of the Holmes siblings. “Sherlock and Y/N Holmes run a sort of private investigation and consultation business that has time and time again solved some of the hardest, most unsolvable cases. They’re credited as being ‘masters of deduction’,” Hotch said, placing air quotes around the phrase.
“So they’re like us just private? I still don’t see the significance.”
“Well actually, deduction is quite different from profiling. Whereas we’re able to define an unsub based on crime scenes and victimology, deduction is the ability to pull the tiniest to most important details of a person or situation from a simple observation. Those who are credited with the skill of deduction tend to have hyperactive, busy minds,” Spencer explained, finishing off his explanation with a loud crunch to his lollipop.
“I’ve done some of my own research into the Holmes family and they could be a very valuable asset to our investigation. And if they aren’t, at least it was worth a try,” Hotch said.
“You are correct,” a voice drew the attention away from Hotch and to the door. “We are and will be a very valuable asset.”
Standing in the doorway were the three people who were still on the large screen in the room. Everyone in the room stood, ready to give introductions and welcome the family. Spencer was standing behind JJ though his tall frame was still visible above her. He looked over the two men before focusing all of his attention on the woman who stood in the middle of the two.
Reid could’ve passed out from the wave of nervousness that suddenly took him over. The photograph didn’t do your looks justice, he thought. At that moment, he could’ve swore he had butterflies flying all throughout his body and they only amplified when he heard your voice.
“I’m Y/N Holmes.”