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Pink Dresses (Grey Deductions)

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This story is No. 3 in the series "The Myffy Chronicles". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: It's been two months and Mycroft and Buffy decide its time to introduce their siblings to each other. Part III of the Myffy Chronicles

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Crime > Sherlock HolmesJadedFR1511,8894245,6364 Mar 124 Mar 12Yes
Author: Jaded
Story: Pink Dresses (Grey Deductions)
Disclaimer: Joss owns Buffy, Sherlock (BBC) was created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss and is based on the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I write for fun, not for profit.
Summary: It's been two months and Mycroft and Buffy decide its time to introduce their siblings to each other. Sequel to Blue Paint (Green Bracelet) and White Wine (Purple Lilies).
Warning: Mentions of sex. Hints of slash.
A/N 1: I'm having entirely too much fun with this idea. :) Also, thanks to Brittany for the Sherlock betaing side. :) Oh, and the idea of a family dinner meet-up comes from Arkaedia. Thanks!

Pink Dresses (Grey Deductions)

Mycroft was barely through the door of 221B Baker street when his brother straightened in his chair, his violin stuttering out as his eyes narrowed on him.

“You're dating someone.”

At the table by the two windows, John looked up in perplexity. “How could you possibly know that?” he demanded of his flatmate (and possibly more, it was one thing Mycroft was still infuriatingly unsure of).

“His demeanor, obviously,” Sherlock said, as if he couldn't believe he had to explain it. He focused back on Mycroft as John rolled his eyes. “Who is she?”

“Her name is Elizabeth,” he said, knowing his brother would not stop pestering him until he answered. “We're having a family dinner, her and her sister, you and I, tonight. You will be there, Sherlock.”

“Only if John can come,” his brother answered after a moment of studying him. “You know I don't make the best first impression, ridiculous as the notion is.”

So Sherlock had already deduced Mycroft was more than just fond of Buffy. Interesting. He'd have to work harder at keeping Sherlock caught off-guard.

Though, perhaps, meeting the Slayer would do that for him. His lips quirked at the thought.

“Wait, hold on, what makes you think I'm going to go with you?” John interrupted. He was ignored. Both Holmes knew John would come, if only to assuage his curiosity about what type of woman would date Mycroft and vice-versa.

“I don't think you'll have anything to worry about, with first impressions,” Mycroft told his brother as John sputtered at being dismissed. “Her sister Dawn once met the Pope in pajamas.”

“The Catholic Pope?” John asked, jaw dropping as Sherlock's eyes got just a bit of a twinkle, enough so that anyone who knew him, really knew him, would know he thought the idea was amusing.

“Is there any other one?” Mycroft asked John, who's mouth snapped close. Sherlock was smirking and Mycroft could feel his lips struggling to do the same. He stamped down on that—no need to give his brother any more than he already had. “Tonight at seven, a car will pick you up. Do wear something more than a sheet this time.”

And with that, he walked out.


“Hey, Brat,” Buffy said, coming into her sisters flat in the Council owned apartment building. “I have news.”

“You found a way to fit in those new pumps Giles was grumbling about into your closet?” Dawn asked, looking up from the small table she had crammed into the tiny dinette off the kitchen.

Buffy pouted. “That Slervick demon drooled all over my old ones,” she complained. “And Giles promised all slayers would get replacement clothes when demons destroyed them.”

“A decision he's regretted since the day he uttered it,” Dawn smirked. “What do you need Buff? Willow wants this translated ASAP.”

“What is it?” Buffy asked, perking up as she looked at the squigglies across her sisters pad of paper. “Apocalypse?”

“It will be if the girls in Brazil have anything to say about it,” Dawn snorted and Buffy frowned. “It's a casserole recipe they got from one of the forest villagers. The girls are hungry.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I always knew the Brazil house was insane,” she noted and Dawn smiled. “How long till you finish?”

“Ten minutes, give or take,” she shrugged, looking down at the papers. “Its not a language I've had a lot of experience with.”

Which explained why Dawn had snagged such a mundane translation project. The Key wasn't content with just the languages she knew like the back of her hand; she just had to go after more.

“ should be done in time for dinner?” she asked, trying for innocense. She didn't think it worked, if Dawn's expression was any indication.

“What do you want?” she asked flatly.



“Mycroft and I are having dinner tonight,” she said and Dawn's eyes brightened.

“Is Mycroft the boytoy?” she asked eagerly. Buffy smirked. Caught you. Dawn had stopped snooping after the paint balloon but that didn't mean she wasn't still dying to know what was going on.

“Yes, his name is Mycroft,” she agreed. Two months and only Giles had known his name. She made a mental note to get her watcher something nice for not giving in and telling. She knew the others had probably been driving him nuts.

“Well, at least you know he won't make fun of your name,” Dawn said pragmatically. Buffy smirked.

“Anyway, we're having dinner tonight,” she said. “He's bringing his brother. You wanna come?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?” she demanded. When Buffy opened her mouth to answer, Dawn held up a hand, making a face. “Don't answer that. I know what you're going to say.”

Buffy snickered. Dawnie was never living that down. “At least you and Sherlock, that's his brother, will have something to talk about,” she said and Dawn frowned at her. “He apparently went to Buckingham Palace once in nothing but a sheet.”


Mycroft's first impression of Dr. Dawn Summers was one of cleverness, curiosity, deviousness, and mischief—not all that different from Sherlock, actually. Those who didn't know Sherlock as well as John and himself wouldn't think Sherlock could be mischievous but there was a veritable fountain inside his brother that only came out with people he truly trusted.

Mycroft had the numerable mental scars to prove it.

Ushering them forward, he felt more than saw Sherlock and John look over curiously as he led the two women inside the sitting room. Dawn looked around, unimpressed.

“Too clean,” he heard her whisper to Buffy. “I knew there had to be something wrong with him.”

“Shut up!” his girlfriend hissed back and when he glanced back at them, he saw Dawn smirking as her sister glared at her.

“Elizabeth, Dawn, I'd like to introduce you to my brother and his...flatmate,” Mycroft said and was rewarded by John hanging his head in obvious exasperation.

“One of these days...” the doctor mumbled as he and Sherlock both stood. Mycroft saw his brother look between him and Buffy a moment before nodding to himself.

“I'm Sherlock Holmes,” his brother said, giving a polite smile. John stared at him in surprise but Mycroft breathed a mental sigh of relief. Sherlock had deduced (correctly) that Buffy wasn't just a random shag or girlfriend. They may not get along most of the time, but family loyalty apparently still had some sway with the younger Holmes.

“Buffy Summers,” she answered, holding out a hand. Mycroft resisted the urge to pinch his nose when his brother eyed it with thinly veiled distaste before reluctantly taking it. Thank God he'd warned her about his brother's idiosyncrasies.

“Buffy?” Sherlock asked. “Short for Elizabeth?”

“No,” Dawn answered before Buffy could. “Only the Queen calls Buffy Elizabeth. And the boytoy, apparently. Her birth name is Buffy. Mom was a hippie.”

“Thank you, Dawn,” Buffy sighed. She gave Sherlock and John a rueful smile. “I'd argue with her but unfortunately she's not wrong.”

“Comes with the doctorate,” Dawn said smugly. Buffy rolled her eyes and Mycroft felt a stab of jealousy. He'd known from talking with her that Buffy was closer to her sister than he was to Sherlock but seeing it now...

“You have a doctorate?” John asked, looking at Dawn in surprise. Mycroft shrugged off the feelings. Now was not the time.

“Linguistics and Ancient Cultures,” she nodded. “Dr. Dawn Summers.”

“What university?” Sherlock asked, eying her.

“Oxford. Top of my class.” She didn't seem the least bit intimidated by the questioning. Interesting. It spoke of prior experience.

“How old are you?” John asked, still staring.

“Don't you know its rude to ask a woman her age?” Dawn asked archly. Mycroft saw Sherlock's lips twitch when John blushed faintly. He could feel the first stirrings of worry. Perhaps introducing a former kleptomaniac to his sociopathic brother wasn't the best idea he'd ever had.

“She's twenty-six,” Buffy said, shaking her head.

“That would make you thirty, thirty-one?” Sherlock asked, looking at Buffy again. Mycroft frowned when Buffy's eyes widened. She opened her mouth but her sister cut her off before she could say whatever it was she was about to say.

“Do we have to go over this again?” she asked and Buffy turned to her, looking faintly wounded. She started ticking things off on her fingers. “No, you do not have thirty-one hair, no you do not have thirty-one wrinkles, and no, you haven't gone downhill since you turned thirty.”



“Interesting,” Sherlock mused and then skewered Buffy with his gaze. “You're a confident, intelligent woman, despite your sister's joking assertions to the contrary and your hair color. You're strong—not just mentally, but physically as well. But you don't work out, it's tedious and unneeded, so you obviously are in a profession that requires a good deal of physical labor. You walk and hold yourself like a trained professional martial artist, but your personality would never allow for that type of activity. Dancer, gymnast, probably a cheerleader in school. You'd like the attention. Not Mycroft's typical type. He usually goes for simpering fools.”

The room was dead silent as Sherlock finished his deduction. Mycroft closed his eyes, certain this was the end of his relationship with Buffy.

“Wow,” Dawn was the one to break the silence and Mycroft opened his eyes to see her and Buffy were staring at Sherlock in fascination and not a little nostalgia. Dawn beamed and Mycroft was gifted with the sight of his brother looking at her in surprise and not a little confusion, a rare thing indeed. Dawn clapped delightedly. “He's like a male Anya!”

“Only hopefully without the blunt anecdotes about his sex life,” Buffy agreed, wrinkling her nose. John choked and she smiled warmly at him, eyes twinkling, and Mycroft felt himself relax. “No matter how many times we told Anya we didn't want to know how good Xander was at giving her orgasms, she insisted on telling us.”

“And then got irrationally jealous whenever Willow hung out with Xander,” Dawn said as John turned red and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. The linguist frowned, looking at Buffy. “I never did get that.”

“You weren't supposed to, you were fourteen,” Buffy answered dryly. Dawn stuck her tongue out at her. “Oh, very mature.”

“Says the woman who still has a collection of stuffed animals,” Dawn snorted and Buffy turned faintly pink.

Mycroft smiled, eyes shining, as his brother looked between the two women like he'd found a lovely new puzzle to work out. He knew introducing his brother to Buffy would bring about interesting results but this was better than he had expected. He looked forward to seeing what Sherlock attempted in his quest to properly deduce the slayer.

Though, he considered as John and Dawn began chatting about languages, Sherlock stared at Buffy, and the woman in question slipped her hand in his, perhaps he should warn her first.

He'd rather his brother not get too seriously broken, after all.

The End

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