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Red Blood (Yellow Translations)

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This story is No. 4 in the series "The Myffy Chronicles". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Sherlock's assisting Lestrade with a case and needs a translator. Enter Dawn and Buffy. Part IV of the Myffy Chronicles

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Crime > Sherlock HolmesJadedFR1511,5187355,7906 Mar 126 Mar 12Yes
Author: Jaded
Story: Red Blood (Yellow Translations)
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: Sherlock's assisting Lestrade with a case and needs a translator. Enter Dawn and Buffy.
A/N 1: Doesn't have as much Mycroft this time, little mentions. Enjoy!

Red Blood (Yellow Translations)

Greg Lestrade had seen a lot of weird stuff in his police career but this...he was pretty sure this took the cake.

Sherlock didn't actually know everything.

Apparently, he didn't read Ancient Egyptian and had no idea why the killer would write in the dead language in the victims blood. It made no sense.

Thank God the division had recently gotten a language consultant Greg could call. The sooner Sherlock found out what the language said, the sooner they could figure out who'd killed the poor unfortunate man.

“I've called in a translator,” Greg told the consultant, knowing it was going to rankle him. Behind him, he could practically hear Sally and Anderson smirking. He resisted the urge to scowl at them. It wouldn't do any good and the less Sherlock knew about how protective he was of the younger man, the better.

“So did I,” John said and Greg frowned at him. He held up his hands. “We need someone who can actually get along with Sherlock. Can your guy?”

It rankled that John had a point. Their translator had never met Sherlock. Hell, Greg hadn't even met the guy, but apparently Dr. Summers was the best in his field. Still... “You can't just call in your own consultants,” he reprimanded. “The higher ups barely tolerate you and Sherlock!”

“Good thing they adore me then,” a voice said from the doorway to the house. Greg looked over, taking in the two woman standing there. The one who spoke had long brown hair pulled back in a braid, was dressed in a short skirt, a low-cut tank top, and had a cardigan over it. It should have looked frumpy, like it would have on Molly, but the woman made it work.

He had a unfortunate flashback to the sexy-library fantasies he'd had as a teen and shifted uncomfortably.

The other was a shorter (and older) blonde, hair pulled back in a low bun, green eyes assessing the scene with a critical and practiced eye. He frowned. Who were they?

“Dawn, Elizabeth,” Sherlock greeted the two women. He looked...pleased. Greg frowned, getting more confused by the minute. Sherlock focused on the younger of the two expectantly. “What does it say?”

“Depends,” the brunette said.

“On what?”

“Do you know pig-latin?”

“That is not pig-latin,” Anderson said nearby, clear skepticism in his voice.

“It's the Ancient Egyptian equivelant,” she agreed. She fired off a rapid string of what he guessed was Egyptian. “Roughly translated, it's a riddle. 'This thing all things devours: birds, beasts, trees, flowers; gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal; slays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down.'”

“They left us a bloody riddle?” Sally asked and Greg saw both women smile slightly. “That's sick.”

“No kidding,” the blonde said. She glanced at her companion. “Dawn, do you know the answer?”

“Of course,” the brunette, Dawn, said, looking affronted. Which meant the blonde was Elizabeth. Dawn looked at Sherlock, who was frowning. She smirked and Greg got even more confused than he had been before. “You've never read The Hobbit, have you? Pity. I always liked Smaug.”

“Time,” John said suddenly and everyone looked at him. “The answer's time. But how would that help?”

“Perhaps it's not just a riddle,” Sherlock mused.

“A message?” Elizabeth asked and he nodded curtly. She made a face. “There's going to be more, aren't there?” Greg felt his stomach lurch as Sherlock nodded again.

“Most likely,” the consutlant agreed. He smiled. “Good. Something to look forward to.”

Both women shook their heads but didn't look disturbed. Obviously they knew what to expect when it came to Sherlock.

“Freak,” he heard Sally mutter. Sherlock didn't seem concerned but both women froze.

“What did you just call him?” Dawn asked, eyes narrowing into slits. Sherlock straightened, eyes flickering between Sally, Dawn, and Elizabeth worriedly.

“He's a freak,” Sally apparently was either very blind or very stupid—couldn't she sense the way the temperature in the room had gone down? “He gets off on this.”

“Does he now?” the blonde asked lowly. She sounded just as pissed as her sister.

“Why else would he come and work with us when he doesn't get paid?” Sally argued.

“Because he's a decent human being,” Dawn said flatly.

“He's arrogant, rude, blunt--”

“None of which have anything to do with being a decent human being,” Dawn broke in. “Some of the most uncouth, rude, and arrogant people I know would die for others in a second if they could. Just because you're too self-righteous to see it doesn't mean it isn't true.”

Sally scoffed. “Trust the freak to have freakish friends.”

John was tense, and Greg had been an officer long enough to tell when someone was about to snap. “Alright, stop it, both of you,” he ordered. “Sargent, back off. That's an order. Anderson, don't speak.”

Sally did as she was told, which was good because if she didn't, Greg wasn't sure things would have turned out well for her. He sighed, looking at Dawn.

“Look, I'm grateful for the assist,” and the defense of Sherlock, “but until our translator gets here we can't just take your word—what?” Greg asked, because at his comment, Sherlock, John, Dawn, and Elizabeth all looked at him like he was stupid, Sally forgotten.

Dawn held out a hand, smirking as the blonde snickered. “Allow me to introduce myself, Detective Inspector. I'm Dr. Dawn Summers, Division Linguist Consultant,” she said and Greg gaped. She made an obvious show of grabbing his hand and shaking it before letting go. She waved a hand at the blonde. “And my sister, Buffy Summers. She's paranoid about murder scenes so tagged along.”

“Last time we let you go to one alone, you got kidnapped...for the fifteenth time,” her sister pointed out. Greg did a double take and was gratified and somewhat surprised to see Sherlock and John do the same thing. Apparently they hadn't known that.

“I thought your name was Elizabeth?” Anderson asked, ignoring the kidnapping mention. Greg could hear the flirtation in his voice and he resisted the urge to sigh. He should stock up on aspirin, Sally was going to be bitchy. Sherlock suddenly dropped down next to the body, inspecting something, as John glared at Anderson.

“Only three people can get away with calling me Elizabeth,” the blonde—Buffy? What kind of name was Buffy?--said firmly. She glared at the room in large and Greg saw John smirk. “It's Buffy. You call me Elizabeth, I'll punch you out.”

“Who can get away with calling you Elizabeth?” Sally asked as more than one officer looked at her skeptically. She seemed too tiny to be able to do much damage.

“Sherlock, her boyfriend, and the Queen,” Dr. Summers rattled off before Buffy could. “Not even I can get away with calling her Elizabeth and I'm her bloody sister.”

“The queen?” someone, he wasn't sure who, squeaked. Dawn smirked as her sister shifted uncomfortably.

“Let me reintroduce my sister--”

“Don't you dare!” Buffy hissed.

“--Lady Elizabeth Summers, LG,” Dawn finished as if her sister hadn't spoken. “She's a Lady Companion.”

Greg more than saw the various officers still in hearing distance straighten to attention. He couldn't help but stare. This tiny little woman was a member of the Order of the Garter? How? He was momentarily distracted by Sally, who sucked in a deep breath. Oh yeah. She'd called the Lady a freak. That couldn't end well.

“I have it,” Sherlock said suddenly and everyone looked at him. “Dawn, is this Arabic?”

He was holding up the woman's digital watch, which Greg could see didn't have the traditional numbers.

“Yup,” she said, glancing at it. “Two o'clock, pm. The date's for tomorrow though.”

“That's how long we have to find him before he does it again,” Sherlock announced. “He's playing with you, Lestrade. He has no intention of stopping.”

With that, Sherlock left the house, grabbing Dr. Summers' arm and dragging her with him as he babbled something about Ancient Egyptian and Arabic and regions. Greg didn't understand it, but the brunette apparently did as she shot back at him just as quickly.

He saw Lady Elizabeth look at John. “Come on,” she said. “Let's go make sure they don't get themselves killed.”

“Or anyone else,” John agreed easily. “Think we can convince them to stop somewhere for lunch?”

“I hope so, I'm starving,” she replied as they made their way after Sherlock and Dr. Summers. “Mycroft had to cancel brunch. Apparently Qumar is threatening to blow something up again...”

“Please tell him to clear it up, Sherlock always gets tetchy when that happens.”

“Dawn does too.”

“That's because Sherlock and Dawn are horrible influences on each other. … You ever think Mycroft lost his mind when he decided to have us all over for dinner?”

“All the time.”

Somehow, Greg didn't think he'd seen the last of the Summers sisters.

The End

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