All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. (This means Sherlock is owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, The Beeb, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. Buffy is owned by the Joss.) The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.Characters:
Sherlock Holmes, Dawn Summers, Mrs. Hudson, Andrew WellsRating/Warnings:
PG-13 Language, subtext, mild violenceWord Count: Spoilers:
noneThis is a crossover with the BBC mini-series Sherlock,
a modern day remake of the Arthur Conan Doyle classic, set in the 21st century. If you haven't seen it, I recommend you do so immediately as it is made of AWESOME. Seriously, just watch the first fifteen minutes of the first episode. I dare you to not get hooked. You can *mumble*find it somewhere online*mumble* or you can watch it on PBS when it starts airing next week. The first episode, "A Study in Pink", will be on Sunday, Oct. 24, at 8pm central. Check local listings for 'Masterpiece Theatre' or 'Masterpiece Mystery'.
Inspired by this manip
. I saw the pretty and then a plotbunny bit me. Seriously, it latched onto my neck and wouldn't let go.
Onwards to the ficmobile!
It was a one-bedroom basement flat, centrally located in London, not too small, and definitely not too expensive. She could keep her library and she could afford it on her own without asking Buffy for help. There were windows in the main room and the kitchen which allowed for emergency exits if needed and none in the bedroom which meant the sun would only be a problem for a few hours a day, and never when she was sleeping.
It was dingy and rundown, but structurally sound. The ceiling was low, but the floor could be lowered (even without utilizing magic) and her landlady was willing to accept remodeling costs as rent. “No one’s even given it a second look in years, and I can’t stand to just let it sit and mold any more.” She was also very friendly in a cat lady sort of way and Dawn got a good vibe off the woman.
Dawn had a good vibe on the whole place, despite the musty smell.
“I’ll take it,” she had said with a bright grin, and then spent the next hour discussing wallpaper and flooring with her new landlady over tea and biscuits.
At some point in the conversation, Dawn had brought it up as casually as she could.
“Oh, I know,” said Dawn, “I hate seasonal allergies too. But I also suffer from actinic prurigo, which is basically a sunlight allergy, and so I can’t really go out in the day.” She said this with the most innocent I’m-not-a-vampire look she could muster.
“Oh you poor dear,” Mrs. Hudson had said, setting her teacup down.
“It’s okay,” Dawn had hurried on, eager for the topic to be done with, “There’s no cure for it, and the current treatments all have their own problems, but I’m a night owl anyway. It works for my job and my studies. Plus I always outlast my friends when we go clubbing,” she added with a small smirk.
“Well you just let me know if you need anything extra for the flat dear and I’ll take care of it. And I’ll let the tenant upstairs know not to make too much fuss during the day, if you’ll be sleeping then.”
“No worries. I’ll just pick out some thick curtains and I’ll be good to go. And don’t worry about noise,” said Dawn, her smirk turning into a grin full of teeth, “I sleep like the dead.”
“Student. American. You have a somewhat wealthy benefactor paying your way, but you don’t particularly like them. I’d say father, estranged. You know martial arts, but not at the competition level, more for personal reasons: you’ve suffered an attack at some point in your past and are wary of another one. Wary, but not afraid; you go out at night, often and on your own. You seek to prove yourself capable and independent, mostly as a show of defiance to your father. You’re intellectual, but also superstitious, extremely so. Art student?”
Dawn blinked at the man that had just waltzed into her new flat. He was tall, pale (even slightly paler than she was), with curly black hair and icy blue eyes. He was dressed in blacks and charcoal grays.
Dawn paused to listen as she took a long, slow drag of air through the nose. His heart was beating steady and he smelled human.
Dawn was dressed in tailored khakis, a bright blue cardigan over a multi colored blouse, and matching blue patent leather shoes. Maybe she was putting too much effort into this whole don’t-look-like-a-vampire thing.
The man was still staring at her expectantly.
Dawn let the yellow measuring tape she had been laying along the perimeter roll up with a loud snap. “Why are you in my apartment?”
“It’s called a flat, you know that, you’ve been in this country–”
“I can and will break your nose with this if you don’t answer my question,” Dawn interrupted as she turned to fully face him, hefting the tape measurer up in her right hand and placing her left on her cocked hip.
He observed her for a moment, looking at her hips, but not the way most guys did. More like he recognized the checked violence in the change of her stance.
“My apologies,” he said with a disarming smile that quickly appeared on his face and which she didn’t buy for a second. He looked her directly in the eye. “The door was open and I… well I was curious. I’m Sherlock Holmes, your new neighbor. I live in 221B, just upstairs,” he spoke lightly, gesturing over his shoulders with a thumb, “Mrs. Hudson’s told me all about you.” His entire demeanor and tone of voice had switched from intensive and searching to open and innocent, and then he stalked four steps forward and offered his hand to shake.
Dawn briefly considered the fact that this guy might be her neighbor for a very long time and that maybe getting off to a friendly start was a good idea, but he already struck her as nosy and creepy and the last thing she needed was for the creepy dude who lived in the same building as her to misinterpret polite as interested and start stalking her.
Dawn didn’t change her position except to raise an eyebrow at him. “Open doesn’t mean nonexistent. There’s this thing called knocking. You should google it.”
He was within touching distance now and she could see that even with her wearing heels he had a couple of inches on her.
Not that it would matter if it came to a fight.
“Oh well… I, uh,” and here he seemed a bit flustered at Dawn not taking his hand and slowly withdrew it, “it honestly didn’t even occur to me. This flat’s been unoccupied for so long, I didn’t–”
“You can also cut the crap. Five-year-olds have better acting skills than you.”
His demeanor shifted again, lightning quick, “Theater major then?”
It should have been creepy. It was, but it was also kind of hot if the twinge in her belly was anything to go by. Which was irritating.
“Get out of my apartment.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Nor have I broken your nose. I’m starting to wonder why,” she said sweetly.
He responded by smiling slowly, and this time it was real and full of satisfaction. The twinge became a warm glow.
The man backed up a step, smirk still firmly attached, and then pivoted on his heel causing his coat to swirl dramatically. “You should consider adding a new lock to your door as well; the current one’s alarmingly easy to pick,” the stranger called over his shoulder as he strode out, coat flaring behind him in a way Dawn was absolutely not going to find sexy.
She stood still for a minute, listening to him storm up the stairs, enter the upstairs flat, and shut the door behind him.
In his wake, the faint hint of soap, clean sweat, and London remained.
“Oh balls,” Dawn swore.
Yes, Dawn is a vampire. Why? Hell if I know. Will I continue this? I don’t know. Depends on if the muse bites again. If you’ve got any ideas, I would love to hear them. If one of them strikes my fancy I’ll try to continue this. If anyone even likes this...