fic: The Vampire in the Basement 2/?
Title: The Vampire in the Basement 2/?
Author: Beneficia
Fandom: Sherlock BBC, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dawn Summers
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13: Language
Word Count: 1,400
Spoilers: none
Summary: Dawn Summers’ life is already weird enough. Maybe she should have done a background check on her neighbors before moving into Baker Street.
AN: Okay, so I tried. I like really really tried to make Dawn’s flat as accurate to the show as possible (seriously, I drew maps and squinted at freeze frames and everything), but we only got like one scene, and 221 Baker Street is just WEIRD okay, because 221c has two windows facing in two perpendicular directions so it has to be at the end of the street, but that would put it under what’s clearly labeled on the show as Speedy’s sandwich shop and 223 Baker Street and so I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want with it even if it make no sense and you are going to ignore any geometrical impossibilities or canonical inconsistencies mm’kay?
Also AlisonKay has made more pretty WHICH IS EATING MY BRAIN DAMN YOU ALISON and you should totally go check that out.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Dawn was in Japan infiltrating a vampire drug running business during the two weeks that the Xander-approved construction workers were tearing out the walls and floors of 221C Baker Street. She called Mrs. Hudson once a day to check on progress and hear reports of any problems, and on Sunday night she was back to look at the gutted place.
There was much more standing room without the walls and floors. The ceiling had been ripped out along with the walls, leaving exposed wires running everywhere along heavy beams. Jack drills and mallets had been taken to parts of the concrete floors on Thursday and Friday, and now there were plywood boards laid down over the pipes and dirt, creating a very rickety path around the flat.
The main door that let out into the street (or technically into a depression below the street, behind and below a wrought iron gate), was in the kitchen and it and the kitchen window faced east onto Baker Street. There were two windows in the living room which faced west and north, and what was left of a fireplace was along what was left of the east wall of the living room. Between the kitchen and the living room had been a walk-in pantry that was the size of another small room and which was now so much empty space.
Mrs. Hudson had explained that the building had originally been a four story town home meant to house one rich individual or family, and had been renovated in the 40’s to accommodate three separate apartments. The basement area had originally been designed as a cooking and storage area for servants’ use, which explained the humongous kitchen and pantry, the tiny living room, and the depressingly low ceiling.
Load bearing portions of the walls had been kept of course, but now Dawn could see that the kitchen and living room only had to be separated by a few pillars and the fireplace if she chose. She could put a nice dining/planning table where the pantry had been.
There was a back door made of wood and glass which was up a flight of stairs that led from the living room to the interior of the building, to the stairways and hallways that connected flats A, B, and C, and was right next to the indoor entrance to 221A, where Mrs. Hudson lived.
Between the kitchen and living room, across from what had been a pantry was the entrance to a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom on the west side and a bedroom on the east. This hallway and the wall separating the kitchen and bedroom had been left mostly intact. What had previously been an abnormally large walk-in closet attached to the bedroom could now be turned into a study/weapons locker. She could install a fake wall for a door and keep normal appearances up for the rest of the flat. Or she could expand the bedroom and keep it as a more normal sized closet.
Choices, choices.
“So…” she addressed her companion as they stood on a board in the middle of the living room after having taken the tour, “What do you think?”
“I’ve always wanted to design an underground lair, and now I finally get to do it,” he said happily and somewhat breathily.
“You designed Scotland HQ and the Cleveland base.”
“Yes, but those were for the whole group and they only used a small fraction of my ideas and they were only partially underground. That’s like giving advice on the SHIELD Helicarrier and this is designing the Batcave after Christian Bale burns it down at the end of Batman Begins.”
…
“It’s a one-bedroom flat, Andrew. I just need you to give it the standard connections and protections, not turn it into the batcave.”
“But I-”
“I don’t wanna see a single bat-themed anything, Andrew.”
“What about just-”
“I can hurt you.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The second time Dawn Summers ran into Sherlock Holmes was two days after the new concrete had been laid in her flat. The sun had set only a half-hour before and she had come to examine the new floor space and stopped still three steps into the kitchen. The air was filled with the smells of many men, fresh lumber, fresh concrete, and a host of other expected aromas.
And one unexpected one.
She followed it around the flat. He had been everywhere; the bedroom, the closet, the bath…
It was recent too. He must have broken in as soon as the workers had left for the day.
Had she had a less hectic day, one which hadn’t involved being woken up with two hours sleep to go chase after a runaway mini-slayer and a nine-hour pursuit of leads that finally led to mangled corpse only minutes too late to save, then she might have simply sighed and decided to get better locks and a security system.
But she hadn’t had a less hectic day and she was pissed.
Reining in a snarl and checking her speed, she marched through her flat, up her stairs, down the hallway, up his stairs and straight to the door the smell had led her and through which the strains of a violin were coming.
The door wasn’t locked, which was a good thing as she would have broken the handle if it had been. She hit the door with her right hand even as she twisted the handle with her left, and the door burst open and slammed into the wall, bouncing back halfway, and startling the man sitting on a chair in the middle of the room several yards away from her.
It was at this moment Dawn became aware of the flaw in her plan and could only be grateful the man hadn’t seen her physically recoil from his doorway as she attempted to stride in without an invitation.
She lowered her right hand from where it hovered in front of the invisible barrier and crossed her arms.
“What the hell were you doing in my flat?”
He raised an eyebrow at her spectacular non-entrance and lowered the violin to his lap. “I wasn’t in your flat.”
“You’re as crap a liar as you are an actor. Why were you in my flat? Again, I might add?”
He stared at her with that piercing gaze of his, “What makes you think I was in your flat?”
“I have a security system dumbass. You tripped it.”
He looked like someone had just kicked his puppy and his balls, “You don’t have a security system; you barely have electricity, and besides I would have noticed.”
“Well obviously you’re wrong. Again.” That her security system was her nose was neither here nor there and she was starting to feel like an idiot, standing outside a half open door that she couldn’t fully open to yell at him across a room from a hallway.
His eyes were wide and he was starting to look a little… panicked?
“When was I wrong before?”
“Stay the hell out of my apartment and away from me or I’ll sic the cops and my lawyers on you.”
“When was I wrong before?” he repeated more urgently, “What was I wrong about?”
“And you really don’t want to tangle with my lawyers.”
“What was I wrong about?!” he shouted standing up from his chair.
“Everything,” she snapped at him, “That whole psycho-analysis mumbo jumbo you threw at me the first time you invaded my apartment. Just because you’re under some delusion as to who you think I am doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to invade my personal space. Stop it. Or I’ll make you stop.”
She turned and left and was on the landing halfway down his stairs when he caught up to her at the top of the stairs and called down to her.
“I wasn’t wrong,” he spat.
“Oh no that’s right, I forgot. You got the American student part right,” she glared right back at him, “Amazing deduction by the way. No one else could have ever figured that out. It’s not like my backpack full of books was just sitting on the floor or that it’s got a freakin’ Californian button on it, or that you could’ve, I don’t know, heard me talk.” She rolled her eyes and continued her march down the stairs.
“Moron,” she muttered.
Only her vampiric senses allowed her to hear the stifled choking sound he made at her proclamation.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Author: Beneficia
Fandom: Sherlock BBC, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dawn Summers
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13: Language
Word Count: 1,400
Spoilers: none
Summary: Dawn Summers’ life is already weird enough. Maybe she should have done a background check on her neighbors before moving into Baker Street.
AN: Okay, so I tried. I like really really tried to make Dawn’s flat as accurate to the show as possible (seriously, I drew maps and squinted at freeze frames and everything), but we only got like one scene, and 221 Baker Street is just WEIRD okay, because 221c has two windows facing in two perpendicular directions so it has to be at the end of the street, but that would put it under what’s clearly labeled on the show as Speedy’s sandwich shop and 223 Baker Street and so I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want with it even if it make no sense and you are going to ignore any geometrical impossibilities or canonical inconsistencies mm’kay?
Also AlisonKay has made more pretty WHICH IS EATING MY BRAIN DAMN YOU ALISON and you should totally go check that out.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Dawn was in Japan infiltrating a vampire drug running business during the two weeks that the Xander-approved construction workers were tearing out the walls and floors of 221C Baker Street. She called Mrs. Hudson once a day to check on progress and hear reports of any problems, and on Sunday night she was back to look at the gutted place.
There was much more standing room without the walls and floors. The ceiling had been ripped out along with the walls, leaving exposed wires running everywhere along heavy beams. Jack drills and mallets had been taken to parts of the concrete floors on Thursday and Friday, and now there were plywood boards laid down over the pipes and dirt, creating a very rickety path around the flat.
The main door that let out into the street (or technically into a depression below the street, behind and below a wrought iron gate), was in the kitchen and it and the kitchen window faced east onto Baker Street. There were two windows in the living room which faced west and north, and what was left of a fireplace was along what was left of the east wall of the living room. Between the kitchen and the living room had been a walk-in pantry that was the size of another small room and which was now so much empty space.
Mrs. Hudson had explained that the building had originally been a four story town home meant to house one rich individual or family, and had been renovated in the 40’s to accommodate three separate apartments. The basement area had originally been designed as a cooking and storage area for servants’ use, which explained the humongous kitchen and pantry, the tiny living room, and the depressingly low ceiling.
Load bearing portions of the walls had been kept of course, but now Dawn could see that the kitchen and living room only had to be separated by a few pillars and the fireplace if she chose. She could put a nice dining/planning table where the pantry had been.
There was a back door made of wood and glass which was up a flight of stairs that led from the living room to the interior of the building, to the stairways and hallways that connected flats A, B, and C, and was right next to the indoor entrance to 221A, where Mrs. Hudson lived.
Between the kitchen and living room, across from what had been a pantry was the entrance to a narrow hallway that led to a bathroom on the west side and a bedroom on the east. This hallway and the wall separating the kitchen and bedroom had been left mostly intact. What had previously been an abnormally large walk-in closet attached to the bedroom could now be turned into a study/weapons locker. She could install a fake wall for a door and keep normal appearances up for the rest of the flat. Or she could expand the bedroom and keep it as a more normal sized closet.
Choices, choices.
“So…” she addressed her companion as they stood on a board in the middle of the living room after having taken the tour, “What do you think?”
“I’ve always wanted to design an underground lair, and now I finally get to do it,” he said happily and somewhat breathily.
“You designed Scotland HQ and the Cleveland base.”
“Yes, but those were for the whole group and they only used a small fraction of my ideas and they were only partially underground. That’s like giving advice on the SHIELD Helicarrier and this is designing the Batcave after Christian Bale burns it down at the end of Batman Begins.”
…
“It’s a one-bedroom flat, Andrew. I just need you to give it the standard connections and protections, not turn it into the batcave.”
“But I-”
“I don’t wanna see a single bat-themed anything, Andrew.”
“What about just-”
“I can hurt you.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The second time Dawn Summers ran into Sherlock Holmes was two days after the new concrete had been laid in her flat. The sun had set only a half-hour before and she had come to examine the new floor space and stopped still three steps into the kitchen. The air was filled with the smells of many men, fresh lumber, fresh concrete, and a host of other expected aromas.
And one unexpected one.
She followed it around the flat. He had been everywhere; the bedroom, the closet, the bath…
It was recent too. He must have broken in as soon as the workers had left for the day.
Had she had a less hectic day, one which hadn’t involved being woken up with two hours sleep to go chase after a runaway mini-slayer and a nine-hour pursuit of leads that finally led to mangled corpse only minutes too late to save, then she might have simply sighed and decided to get better locks and a security system.
But she hadn’t had a less hectic day and she was pissed.
Reining in a snarl and checking her speed, she marched through her flat, up her stairs, down the hallway, up his stairs and straight to the door the smell had led her and through which the strains of a violin were coming.
The door wasn’t locked, which was a good thing as she would have broken the handle if it had been. She hit the door with her right hand even as she twisted the handle with her left, and the door burst open and slammed into the wall, bouncing back halfway, and startling the man sitting on a chair in the middle of the room several yards away from her.
It was at this moment Dawn became aware of the flaw in her plan and could only be grateful the man hadn’t seen her physically recoil from his doorway as she attempted to stride in without an invitation.
She lowered her right hand from where it hovered in front of the invisible barrier and crossed her arms.
“What the hell were you doing in my flat?”
He raised an eyebrow at her spectacular non-entrance and lowered the violin to his lap. “I wasn’t in your flat.”
“You’re as crap a liar as you are an actor. Why were you in my flat? Again, I might add?”
He stared at her with that piercing gaze of his, “What makes you think I was in your flat?”
“I have a security system dumbass. You tripped it.”
He looked like someone had just kicked his puppy and his balls, “You don’t have a security system; you barely have electricity, and besides I would have noticed.”
“Well obviously you’re wrong. Again.” That her security system was her nose was neither here nor there and she was starting to feel like an idiot, standing outside a half open door that she couldn’t fully open to yell at him across a room from a hallway.
His eyes were wide and he was starting to look a little… panicked?
“When was I wrong before?”
“Stay the hell out of my apartment and away from me or I’ll sic the cops and my lawyers on you.”
“When was I wrong before?” he repeated more urgently, “What was I wrong about?”
“And you really don’t want to tangle with my lawyers.”
“What was I wrong about?!” he shouted standing up from his chair.
“Everything,” she snapped at him, “That whole psycho-analysis mumbo jumbo you threw at me the first time you invaded my apartment. Just because you’re under some delusion as to who you think I am doesn’t mean you’ve got the right to invade my personal space. Stop it. Or I’ll make you stop.”
She turned and left and was on the landing halfway down his stairs when he caught up to her at the top of the stairs and called down to her.
“I wasn’t wrong,” he spat.
“Oh no that’s right, I forgot. You got the American student part right,” she glared right back at him, “Amazing deduction by the way. No one else could have ever figured that out. It’s not like my backpack full of books was just sitting on the floor or that it’s got a freakin’ Californian button on it, or that you could’ve, I don’t know, heard me talk.” She rolled her eyes and continued her march down the stairs.
“Moron,” she muttered.
Only her vampiric senses allowed her to hear the stifled choking sound he made at her proclamation.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.