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Black Reputations (White Amusements)

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This story is No. 8 in the series "The Myffy Chronicles". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: Dawn's not having a good week....and John's about to inadvertently make it worse. VIII of the Myffy Chronicles

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Crime > Sherlock HolmesJadedFR1511,6253194,82415 Mar 1215 Mar 12Yes
Author: Jaded
Story: Black Reputations (White Amusements)
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. The songs belong to their respective artists/writers. I write for fun, not for profit.
Summary: Dawn's not having a good week....and John's about to inadvertently make it worse. VIII of the Myffy Chronicles
A/N 1: So, apparently, this really is going in the direction I suspected it was. :) I'm gonna try and get a new chapter of Vox, for those who read that too, up this afternoon but the school is doing some network thing and I don't know if I'll have net access in an hour or so. :/

Black Reputations (White Amusements)

Dawn had been scrubbing her kitchen when John came in to help her and to store the food he didn't want to leave in the fridge upstairs, lest it disappear into one of Sherlock's experiments.

Stopping in the kitchen, he watched her for a few seconds. She had her laptop on the dining room table blasting out music as she bopped around the kitchen and scrubbed out the latest of Sherlock's experiments from her counter-top.

He needed to have a talk with his flatmate about using Dawn's kitchen. She really was going to follow through on some of her threats one of these days if he didn't stop.

His lips quirked as she started singing along with the song, still oblivious to his presence. Or Sherlock's, he noted, as he felt the other man come up behind him and just stand there, observing. He did that a lot. Dawn confused him, though the detective would never, ever admit it.

“I dug my key into the side of his
pretty little souped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seats...
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.”

Startled at the absolute viciousness in her voice as she sang, he considered the lyrics. Damn. Sherlock was right, the bloke she'd been seeing had been cheating. He frowned, anger coursing through him when she suddenly leaned against the counter, valiantly trying to stop what he suspected were tears. He felt Sherlock disappear from his back, heard him head to the staircase heading upstairs. He was glad—Dawn didn't need blunt honesty right now. She'd really liked the arse who'd broken her heart.

“You gonna say I told you so?” she asked, voice raw, shoulders hunched. He shook his head, putting the bags on the counter she'd just finished attacking.

“C'mere,” he said, pulling her to him. She went easily enough, laying her head against his wounded shoulder, and it didn't take long for him to feel the tell-tale moistness against his shoulder. He placed a hand against her head, eyes going to ceiling as he mentally wondered how he ended up the shoulder—Clara, Harry, Sarah, Dawn, even Buffy when she and Mycroft had that fight the one time.

“She was a chav,” he heard her mutter petulantly. He resolutely kept his laughter under control; instead, he just smiled at her use of the British slang. It always sounded funny coming from her. “Why are the good ones always interested in the stupid ones?”

He wasn't about to tell her Mark had been no good anyway, or that men like him were attracted to the women they thought could get into bed the easiest. He hadn't exactly been the smartest guy at that age but even he remembered the temptation for the women who had no interest in anything but a quick shag. He'd given in a time or two but it had never really done much for him.

He stayed that way for several moments before hearing someone come downstairs. Expecting Sherlock, he was surprised when it was Mrs. Hudson.

“Come here, deary,” the old lady said, taking her form his arms. “I have ice cream in the fridge. Mint chocolate chip.”

“Okay,” Dawn said after a quick glance at him. Mrs. Hudson gave him a smile and then led the woman away. John sighed and quickly put away the food (thank God he and Dawn had an agreement) before heading back upstairs. He found Sherlock waiting impatiently by the door, John's jacket in hand.

He didn't have to ask what Sherlock had planned, not after what he'd done to the CIA men who'd hurt Mrs. Hudson. Some things just didn't need to be spoken of.

Like don't mess with the quartet at 221 Baker Street; Sherlock knew how to make it look like an accident.


Mark was never spoken of after her ice cream binge with Mrs. Hudson, but Dawn knew something had happened. It was sort of hard to keep her from reading the paper, what with his picture smack dab in the middle of the front page, tied to one of the balconies of St. Peter's, and completely and utterly wasted.

John was pretty sure Lestrade, who knew Mark had been dating Dawn, suspected they had had something to do with it but had never asked and they'd never tell.

Shaking his head at the amusement the detective had gotten out of the entire ordeal, John made his way downstairs. He'd actually bought food to cook tonight, instead of his and Dawn's penchant for either eating whatever Mrs. Hudson deigned to hand out or ordering in. Unfortunately, Sherlock was working with spleens at the moment and there was only so much one person could take.

Cooking at a stove while his flatmate dissected organs a few scant feet away was apparently one of those things.

“One, two, three,
Not only you and me.
Got 180 degrees and I'm caught inbetween.
Countin' one, two, three...
Peter, Paul and Mary.
Getting down with 3P, everybody loves... Ooh!”

Dawn was singing again, he realized as he opened the door at the bottom of the staircase. Gone were the moldy walls, yellowing wallpaper, and utterly gross flat he, Sherlock, and Lestrade had found the sneakers in. The walls had been cleaned and scrubbed, painted a simple white with tan accents. Not that you could see them, granted, as one of the first things Dawn had done was call in a friend to put in floor to ceiling bookcases on every available wall. She actually had more books than Sherlock, something he hadn't thought possible until he stepped into what he'd started mentally referring to as the Baker Street Library.

The only wall that didn't contain books was the one with the fireplace, which had, instead, a flat-screen telly, numerous DVD's, and photos of her family, with the important ones sitting on the mantle above the fire.

The day before, she'd added two photos, the first of him and Sherlock, with her squeezed in the middle, and the other of Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock had been the one to notice first and John was still trying to figure out what the look on his face had meant. It wasn't one he'd seen before.

Going around the wall, he stopped, just watching and grinning as he found Dawn in her kitchen, bouncing and dancing in the small area to the music blaring from the stereo Sherlock had found and dumped in her flat.

“Three is a charm,
Two is not the same.
I don't see the harm,
So are you game?

Let's make a team,
Make 'em say my name
Loving the extreme.
Now, are you game?”

Grinning, he pulled out his cell phone and lifted it, clicking record. She'd kill him if she ever found out but it was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

It didn't even occur to him what the song was, he was just too amused by Dawn's little show to pay attention to the lyrics.

The song finished as he sent the video file to Buffy, knowing she would get a kick out of it. The stereo went onto another song and he watched as she turned and saw him. He breathed a sigh of relief that he'd been able to slip his phone into his pocket without her seeing it.

“John!” She crowed and just past her, he could see the three Starbucks cups she'd apparently had. That explained her pep, then. “Dance with me!”

“I don't think so,” he balked and she pouted. Just as he felt Sherlock come up behind him, her eyes lit up.

“No,” Sherlock replied firmly and succinctly, before she could say anything. Dawn drooped, the pout coming back stronger than before. In an attempt to avoid looking at it, he moved past her with his food.

“You two are absolutely no fun,” she informed them. “The music was turned down and he glanced over to find her hoping up on the counter. She looked between them. “Whatcha doing?”

“He's working with spleens upstairs,” he said, pulling out a pan. Dawn wrinkled her nose but gave no other outward reaction to the information. Not for the first time did he wonder what, exactly, she'd gone through that made her so easy-going to Sherlock's insanity.

Thing was, he was pretty sure Sherlock had an idea and, for some reason, was keeping it quiet instead of blurting it all out for the world to hear.

“What are you looking at spleens for?” Dawn asked, honestly curious.One day, he thought wryly to himself as Sherlock launched into a detailed explanation of the experiment, he'd find mates who didn't have odd fixations and weird hobbies.


Buffy had been in the middle of unpacking yet another box in the townhouse when her phone beeped at her. Deciding to take a break, she pulled the phone out, smiling when she saw it was from John, a video message. She clicked open.

And then nearly passed out from laughter.

Once she got herself back under control, she pulled open her contacts list and started forwarding the video. Giles, Willow, Xander, Faith, Spike, one by one everyone in Dawn's immediate family had a copy.

It wasn't until she was showing it to Mycroft when he got home that afternoon that the lyrics finally caught her attention and she doubled over again.

Oh, Dawnie, she thought as she wiped tears from her eyes. How I adore your subconscious.

The End

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