Red Annoyance (Brown Shock)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:
In an attempt to get away from the aggravation that was John in denial, Dawn finds herself besieged by Sherlock's curiosity instead. IX of the Myffy Chronicles. Warnings:
INSANE mentions of sex. Not the act itself, just a discussion.A/N 1:
I....may have had entirely too much fun writing this. Also, this is dedicated to BuffyCharmed, who made new art that is, just let me say, perfect! Thank you!
Red Annoyance (Brown Shock)
It was all John's fault, she later decided, once she was padlocked in her flat downstairs and away from the boys and the discussion she didn't want to have. He was the one who, when she made one innocent little comment, got angry and almost shouted that he was not in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes.
“Seriously, John, who are you trying to kid?” Dawn asked, exasperated. Really, he could be really freaking oblivious sometimes and she was getting tired of him denying it. “You live together, you work together, you have dinner out all the time, you have your inside jokes, and you talk without talking—the only people in the world who don't know you're dating without the good bits are you and him!”
She ended the declaration by throwing her hands up in the air and stomping from the room. Unfortunately, since she was stomping away
from the stairs, through the kitchen, she ended up in Sherlock's bedroom.
It wasn't until after she slammed the door that she realized the detective actually was in the house. It had been so quiet she had assumed he'd gone out.
She groaned, slapping a hand to her face when he peered up at her sleepily from between his comforter and his pillow. Luckily, when she peeked between her fingers, he was studying her with a look on his face that seemed to say “I think I should be amused,” so she hoped she hadn't woken him up with the slamming of his door.
“The good bits?” he finally asked, voice rough. She squeaked. He smirked and something in Dawn snapped, just like it had with John. She was really going to have to do something about that.
“Yes, the good bits,” she retorted angrily, pacing from his wardrobe, to the door, and back again. “The parts that truly make a relationship, even one as unconventional as yours, work out. He'd follow you into Hell, Sherlock—we both would—but that doesn't make what you have so bloody amazing! What makes it amazing is that, whether or not you want to accept it, you're better because of him. And he's better because of you.”
“Hm,” he rumbled again, throwing back his covers and sliding to his feet with a fluidness that distracted Dawn long enough to not recognize the danger. “You'd follow me into hell?”
She stared at him, mouth opened slightly, before she was able to pull herself together. “I'd want a coat,” she finally said, hoping he'd be distracted trying to figure that out that he'd forget what she'd initially said. It didn't look like it'd worked. Damn.
“And sex has nothing to do with the good bits?” he asked, arms at his side, an odd look on his face. Dawn flushed.
“No!” she almost shouted and then caught herself. “I mean, it shouldn't but...oh God.”
She groaned and buried her face into her hands. Was she really talking sex with Sherlock? Seriously?
“Yes,” Sherlock answered her unspoken question and she peeked over at him when she heard some shuffling. Sherlock was sitting back down on his bed, staring at her.
“How does a physical relationship play into a relationship?” he asked. He crossed his arms. “What benefit could it possibly have in bringing me and John closer together?”
“Uh...” she was frantically trying to find a way out of this conversation but nothing (and no one) was coming to her rescue. Damnit, why did she have to storm in here? This was all John's fault!
“The result of such acts is nothing more than a chemical reaction,” he continued, either oblivious to the way her face was heating up or ignoring it (she suspected the latter). “How does that have any bearing on a relationship between two people?”
“Can we NOT talk about this?” she asked. Well, pleaded. His eyes narrowed.
“Because why?” he demanded, looking more irritated than curious now. Good, maybe if she got him irritated enough he'd kick her out. She could deal with John if it meant avoiding this conversation.
“Because I'm not comfortable with the topic!”
“You're not comfortable with sex?”
“No! I mean, yes! I mean...”
“You either are or you're not,” Sherlock said flatly. “It's not too difficult a decision.”
“I like sex, okay!” she finally shouted and then slapped a hand over her mouth in horror. That had been entirely too loud, if the sudden crash outside the bedroom was any indication.
“Alright,” Sherlock said, lips twitching in amusement as they could hear John cursing a blue streak in the living room. “Then why don't you want to talk to me about this?”
“Are we on that again?” he asked disdainfully and she took in a deep breath. If she didn't calm down and explain, this could go on entirely too long. She thought she could hear footsteps but when Sherlock didn't give any motion of hearing it as well, she decided it was her imagination.
“Alright, Sherlock, I don't want to talk about this with you because it makes me uncomfortable,” she said as calmly as she could. He opened his mouth and she held up a hand. “Not that sex … itself … makes me uncomfortable, just talking about it with you does.”
Dawn's head dropped her to her chest as her hands came up to rub at her temples. “Because...oh hell, what was the question again?”
She wasn't getting out of this conversation, that much was clear. Better just get on with it.
She mentally grimaced. Bad choice of phrase.
“What does a chemical reaction have to do with the relationship between two people?” he asked.
“It's not so much the chemicals as it's the intimacy associated with sex,” she told him. He frowned and she sighed. “Sherlock, you trust John, right?”
“Okay, what do you think is the most intimate act of trust someone can engage in?” she asked. She glared. “And do not say fighting crime.”
“You're saying the act of sex is really an act of trust between two people,” he clarified, frowning.
“For most people, yes,” she agreed wearily. She was SO getting Mycroft to buy her chocolate, the expensive kind. Then again, she'd have to tell him why
he was buying her chocolate and that just wouldn't do. She focused on Sherlock. “You're trusting someone with your body. It's something that can easily get turned around and hurt you if in the wrong hands. Just because you ignore your body most of the time doesn't mean its not as important as your mind palace.”
“My mind palace is infinitely--” he began but she cut him off.
“Your mind palace needs a foundation, Sherlock, and that's your body,” she informed him. “Even the Great Pyramids needed a solid foundation to stay upright.”
He clearly wanted to argue that point but was more interested in the discussion of sex. Damn.
“So if I were to engage in sex with someone, it would be an act of trust?” he asked. She frowned, sure she'd heard choking from the door. She ignored it when Sherlock didn't take his eyes off her.
“In a way,” she agreed. “Sex with anyone is a sign of trust—but sex, kissing, the whole enchilada, with someone you care about, is a whole other kettle of fish.”
Dawn took in a deep breath, not wanting to have to explain to John why his boyfriend was strangled.
It was weird, she knew, how uncomfortable she was discussing this with Sherlock. Normally she had no problem with open discussions of sex (thank you Anya!) but for some reason, discussing it with her neighbor made her fidgety. The only way this could be worse, she suspected, was if John were in the room.
“It just is, Sherlock,” she told him. “It's a societal normality that those who don't have a mind palace have to deal with.”
“You think I cannot make that kind of connection?” he asked, looking annoyed.
“I didn't say—oomph!”
Dawn fell back on her ass, caught off guard as Sherlock's mouth crashed into hers. She was so surprised she wasn't able to respond much, just pretty much let him do what he wanted before he pulled away, eyes wide and calculating as he stared at her.
She swallowed and then asked the first thing that came to mind.
“Where the hell did you learn to kiss?!”
And that was when the door apparently decided it had had enough and crashed down inside the room, John sprawled on top of it. He stared at them like a stunned bunny as Dawn stared back, one thought flickering through her head on repeat. Buffy's never going to let me hear the end of this.