Illyria stared into the mist. “The view is spectacular.”
“Brings back memories,” Spike said.
“Oh? Good ones, I hope.”
“Not hardly. Lost a colleague last time I was here – hundred and eighteen years ago today – and the bloody git who staked him escaped.”
“Escaped? From you?”
“James stationed me ‘way the Hell up there.” Spike waved toward the clifftop behind them. “Git scarpered before I could get down.”
Illyria frowned. “That sounds . . . familiar. Have you told the story before?”
Spike snorted. “No – bloody Conan Doyle did. Got it all wrong, mind.”
“I see,” Illyria said, still admiring the Reichenbach Falls.
The Buffyverse belongs to some combination of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the Kuzuis; the Sherlock Holmes stories were originally written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (or Dr. John H. Watson, depending on your point of view). [The status of Holmesian copyrights is...complicated, depending on which set of heirs and agents you talk to. None of whom are me.]