I Can Never Go Home // Lestrade and Dean (and possibly Sammy too)

A gentle rain was descending as a thick fog rolled in, blanketing the lonely stretch of road. Not a single night sound could be heard; not an owl or other bird of prey, not even the howling of a wolf. All that could be heard was the constant rustle of the leaves, despite there being no wind, as if they were whispering a sinister secret amongst themselves.

A forest loomed on both sides of the road. If it could even be called a forest. Once it had obviously been majestic but now it was nothing more than scraggly trees that bent over double from the constant beating of the wind, bushes with half the leaves ripped off, and tree stumps that served as a reminder of the once-great trees that had grown there long ago.

A lone woman wandered up and down the forest path that lined the road. She was dressed in a white gown, her brown locks cascading in gentle waves down her back. She would have been beautiful, had it not been for the look of sorrow written all over her pretty features.

A car was coming towards her and she turned her expectant brown eyes towards it. The driver was kind enough to stop and lower the passenger-side window. "Are you lost? Want a lift?" She gazed at him for a long moment, before uttering just one sentence. "Please take me home," she pleaded, her mournful eyes matching the tone of her voice. The youth looked at her for a long moment before leaning over and opening the door so she could get in. "Alright. Hop in."

She leant back in the seat and the driver studied her for a long moment. The dress of hers was low-cut and his breath caught in his throat as his eyes slid over the curve of her breasts. She turned to look at him, catching him right in the act. She looked at him for a second before leaning over and kissing him, long and soft. "Will you come home with me?" she whispered. His only reply was to rev the engine and speed off in the direction that she'd told him.

~*~

It wasn't right. It had to be the wrong address. How could someone live in this dump? he mused as he pulled up outside a ramshackle house that had definitely seen better days. The windows were busted and the wood was badly weather-beaten. It looked like no one had lived here in decades.

"You live here?" the youth questioned, looking at her strangely. "This is your home?"

The woman looked longingly at the house, pressing her hand up against the window. "I can never go home," she whispered, opening the door and stepping out. The male watched her go, but he blinked and she was gone.

~*~

"Hey, it's Andy. Leave a message!"

"Andy, it's Emma. Your work called, said you didn't show. Where are you, love?"

The phone gave a feeble beep before the screen turned black, the gadget dying. Yet another way it was oh so similar to its owner.

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Player: Calypso
Notes: Using this for reference. The body is missing, just to be clear. His car is...somewhere. Set in some random part of England. Have fun.

It was a foggy morning, typical, Lestrade thought as he walked toward a abandoned car. Homicide had been called in once blood was discovered inside the car, a series of disappearance had happened in the area, but this was the only one where any sort of evidence was left behind. Lestrade found that curious, if they were connected, the perpetrator had slipped up, and that never good. They tend to fly into rages, speed up the killings, not good at all.

Lestrade watched his co-workers cordon off the crime scene, once they were done, Lestrade started walking around the crime scene, writing down everything he observed. He started by looking at the surrounding area, to check if there was a corpse anywhere. He moved around slowly and methodically, the body had to be somewhere. Lestrade then glanced at the car and saw that forensics was doing its job and people were being to stop drop by, trying to see what was happening.

Lestrade noticed a male, late twenties early thirties try to sneak past the police line, now is rather suspicious. Lestrade then started approaching the male and ordering to halt. Your typical person would not cross the line, even if they were especially curious about the case.

Bloody Winter... Dean shivered as he turned up the heater to its highest setting. He wasn't sure he could take much more of this wretched English weather. Rain, snow, wind, hail, repeat. At least back in America the weather varied state-side so he and Sam could escape to somewhere warmer when it got too much. But here it was just cold all the time. And he couldn't adjust.

To say that Dean was grumpy with having been handed this case was somewhat of an understatement. He was freezing his ass off, he'd have to deal with police, plus he had to wear a damn suit. Dean hated the times when he had to wear a suit so he could masquerade as being FBI or CIA or Homeland Security. Wearing formal attire was way out of his comfort zone. Give him jeans and a leather jacket any old day.

A scowl pasted on his lips as he parked the Impala, Dean got out, cursing under his breath as the cold morning air hit him. Blowing on his hands to warm them, he stood watching the crime-scene for a minute. The local police were already there, complete with their squint team. Awesome. He almost rolled his eyes, but caught himself. This was just perfect. Another case screwed up because the local police had to get involved, thinking it was their job. Except that it wasn't - it was his and Sam's job. But because the police obviously didn't know it, they sucked at it.

Approaching the police line, he ducked under the tape as inconspicuously as he could while looking like he still belonged there. His trusty ID was tucked away in an inside pocket, ready to be shown the moment questions arose, but for now, Dean didn't want to draw too much attention to himself. It didn't work, however, and he was halted by a male that Dean guessed was probably the lead on this, Dean's, case. Let's see how Scotland Yard likes the FBI... "Special Agent Stevenson, FBI," he announced, withdrawing and flashing his ID to the silver-haired detective. "Here to examine the car."

As the man stopped and identified himself as a American FBI agent, Greg got slightly annoyed, who were they to just waltz in onto his crime scene. Greg then gave a slight chuckle at the hypocrisy of his words, that was exactly what he was letting Sherlock do, waltzing into his crime scenes. Greg took a moment to examine the card that the so called agent handed to him and then he replied "Even if you are FBI step back, this is not the United States, it may be a surprise but the universe does not revolve around the United States either." Greg then started to walk back to the car and ordered a few constables to escort the American away from the crime scene and to also keep a eye on the American.

Once he was at the car again, Lestrade started to continue his observation of the car. he also tried looking through the car trying to see if he can find any form of identification, trying to find out who the vehicle belonged to. Greg then glanced at the abandoned house nearby and wondered what was it's story and if the body was there,none of the Scotland Yard had entered the building yet, they were going to enter it after they finish looking around the outdoors.

He'd been expecting some smart-ass remark about the fact that the FBI had absolutely no jurisdiction in England, so Dean really wasn't all that surprised when the detective told him to beat it, albeit in politer terms. Dean, however, had a job to do and wasn't one to listen when the police told him to go away. "Y'mean this isn't New York? Damn! And I'd been wanting to see the Statue of Liberty so bad," the hunter shot back, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He turned to the two burly constables tasked with escorting him. "So, which one of you two wants to call the Director of the FBI and tell him that I can't have access to the car because your boss doesn't like the States?" he asked, handing over an official business card with the FBI director's number on it. Of course the number was actually one of Bobby's and it would be the ex-hunter that provided the credentials Dean needed, but they were not to know that.

Strutting past the constables, he sauntered up to the car and looked through the window at the inspector. "While your men argue 'bout who calls my boss, here's the 411. Your case here is actually our case. It fits his M.O exactly. We've been tracking this killer for months now, but he slipped right under our noses before we were about to make our arrest and came to your snowy corner of the world," Dean explained, watching the older male searching for IDs and other such useless stuff. He didn't even bother searching the car. All he wanted was to have enough of a moment alone to get an EMF reading on his meter. If he got a reading, it meant there was a demon to hunt and he had to stay. If it was clean, he'd be off the moment he thought of a clever lie. "So y'know how's about some inter-agency co-operation to catch this bastard, yeah?"