Buffy belongs to Joss. Sherlock Holmes was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the BBC's Sherlock is the work of Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat. I just like to play in their sandboxes now and then.Author's Note:
Just in case you're the type who doesn't read the disclaimer, this is a cross with the BBC series Sherlock
, not the original that Conan Doyle wrote.
John Watson could hear the argument as soon as he walked in the door. For a split second, he considered not going up the stairs. He could just turn around and walk right back out again. Sarah would probably let him crash at hers. By the time morning rolled around, they’d have either patched things up or killed each other. Though DI Lestrade would probably be upset if his favorite outside resource ended up dead… Nothing for it but going in, then.
“I can’t believe you forgot to mention the side effects!”
Their downstairs neighbor Dawn was nice enough, although were it not for the extremely interesting circumstances that brought her to London, Sherlock would never have considered allowing her to visit their flat more than once. But somehow Dawn had become their most frequent visitor aside from Mrs. Hudson. It helped that Dawn was willing to overlook all matters of tidiness and hygiene, not to mention Sherlock’s experiments and occasional ‘redecorating’.
“How can I be expected to predict-“
“How can you be expected? Excuse me, but how many times have you been thisclose
to being up on drugs charges? Sweet Christ on a cracker, even Lestrade knows he can pressure you any time he needs to just by turning this place over ‘looking for drugs’. As much ‘experimenting’ as you’ve done with yourself as the subject and you couldn’t steer me toward an effective painkiller that leaves you clearheaded?”
Watson winced. Sherlock and drugs were not things that should be put together, even in sentence form. He opened the door with some trepidation. Neither combatant was a pushover. Actually, with two such strong personalities, it was something of a minor miracle that they hadn’t had a blowup before this.
“Sherlock, what did you give her? And Dawn, out of curiosity, why didn’t you check with me first? Being as I am a doctor and all…”
Both parties glared at him.
“I recommended oxycodone hydrochloride,” Sherlock Holmes snapped. “She wanted something a bit stronger than the over the counter painkillers that wouldn’t knock her out. I’ve never experienced any side effects from it.”
Watson sighed. Before he could point out that it was doubtful Dawn had obtained prescription strength medication without leaving the house, she had charged back into the fray.
“No side effects? It made me think up was seventy-five degrees from the floor instead of the normal ninety! And that was just the start!”
Watson pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.
“And again, why didn’t you check with me first? I am a doctor. I work at your GP’s surgery. I probably could have gotten you what you needed, without the side effects. Legally
, I might add.”
Dawn plopped down into one of the chairs, still glaring daggers at Sherlock, but possibly over the worst of her anger.
“You were off with your girlfriend, and I didn’t want to bug you when my friendly local sociopath told me he knew what he was talking about. I mean, why would I suspect otherwise? Usually he does.”
“I did know what I was talking about. I also said I would never use it during a case. Just to be on the safe side.”
“I thought that meant it messed with your coordination, not your mental abilities!”
“Why, what did it do?” Sherlock asked, perking up. “As a matter of professional interest, of course.”
Dawn’s glare went up a notch. Watson contemplated backing away slowly and letting her inflict whatever damage she wanted on his fully deserving flatmate.
“I’d show you, but you won’t get what a disaster it is unless you can read Sumerian.”
“Sumerian? Sadly, no. But I’ll keep it in mind. One never knows where a case may lead.”
When Dawn muttered something about where her foot might lead, Watson decided it was time for a distraction.
“So, takeaway, anyone?”