fic: The Vampire in the Basement 3/10?
Title: The Vampire in the Basement 3/?
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, subtext
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.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Tea with Mrs. Hudson looked like it might become a regular thing.
There were paint swatches and wallpaper samples laid out over Mrs. Hudson’s lacy tablecloth when Dawn had innocently asked -
“So, I’ve met the 221b guy, and I was wondering…”
“Oh you’ve met Sherlock! Oh he’s a darling, and a nice, reliable man too; I couldn’t ask for a better tenant.”
“Uh… yeah, that’s not quite the impression I got. He, uh, he broke into my flat and told me I had daddy issues. I mean, not in that order. Well he broke in twice. Except the first time wasn’t so much breaking and entering as just… entering. And then proceeding to tell me I’m superstitious and must have a sugar daddy paying my way. Which I’m not and I don’t.”
“Oh that man,” Mrs. Hudson sighed, setting her teacup down quickly, “It’s that job of his. He’s always dashing about and running away with his mouth. I’ve told him before he needs to watch his tongue but he never listens.”
“…What’s his job?”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Dawn Summers third meeting with her neighbor went something like this:
Six weeks after Dawn had signed on the dotted line, two wiccans from the Seven Sisters League of the London Union of Covens had come over to help her set up some of the protections the day before the newly finished walls and ceiling were to be painted and wallpapered.
They had finished carving and sketching the necessary symbols in the main room and had just collected enough blood from Dawn to begin painting the walls when someone knocked on her double bolted inner door.
The witches froze, one holding a bowl and whisk where she had been mixing vampire ash with holy water, another in the process of lighting the black and white candles lined around the three pentagrams carved into the concrete.
Dawn was on a ladder, blood dipped paintbrush in hand and one sigil on the ceiling half painted.
“Ignore it,” said Dawn.
They waited. Another series of knocks sounded out, someone pounding on the door. Dawn had a good guess as to who it was. A minute passed. Then a third pounding.
“Maybe you should-” Bethel started.
“I know who it is,” Dawn cut her off, “I’m not talking to him. Just ignore it.”
They relaxed and turned back to their chores, ignoring two more sets of pounding on the door. She had just finished the second sigil when Dawn heard the door handle being quietly tested.
She froze again, bloody paintbrush dripping onto the ladder as she turned her head to look at the stairway leading up to the door.
Then someone was picking the top lock.
“Damn it,” she cussed, and slid off the ladder to her feet without spilling a drop of blood from the bowl. She set the bowl and brush down on the top step and marched up the stairs towards the door, wiping her hands on her jeans as she did so.
She opened the door just as the second lock was being picked, strode out in one quick step and yanked the door shut behind her while her neighbor was still kneeling on the ground, tools in hand.
Her movement into his space pushed him back into the narrow hallway, even as he jolted upward and quickly regained his equilibrium, back straight against the wall behind him.
The hallway was very narrow and they stood very close.
“And I shouldn’t call the police and have you arrested for breaking and entering, because…?” asked Dawn, crossing her bare arms. This close, she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. He wasn’t wearing the heavy coat and scarf she had first seen him in, and his long pale neck was exposed. She knew if she looked that she would see could hearfeeltaste the pulse at his neck, and for a moment she had to suppress a growl as the thought of pinning him to the wall and latching onto his neck flashed through her brain.
He smelled very very yummy and she had just donated two pints of her own blood without having replenished them yet.
So focused was she with glaring directly into his icy blue eyes and not looking at his neck that she barely heard his reply.
It was something about her not having any proof (he had quickly put his tools back into his pockets), and then he was glaring at the papered windows of the door behind her and saying, “… no one in the flat. I checked.”
“You knocked. I didn’t answer, and that still-”
“I listened. Your stairs creek something awful. I would have heard you come up. I didn’t. You must have been standing at the door. Silent, for twenty minutes, why would you do that?” He was wearing his searching look again, but this time it was perplexed and not cocky.
No way was she explaining silencing spells to - wait, did he say-?
“You were listening at my door for twenty minutes? Pervert!”
“Oh yes of course, I must be sexually attracted to you, I couldn’t possibly have any other-”
“I don’t care!”
“-reason for searching your flat when you weren’t even there.”
“Well, obviously I was home, and what, were you going to do? Go through my underwear-”
“Although I’m sure you’re used to using your body to get your way, it being your only useful feature-”
“-drawer? Steal my used chewing gum from the trash? -”
“-that I can see and oh yes, of course I was going to rifle through your imaginary belongings-”
“-And he comes out swinging with the male chauvinism-”
“-in your empty flat-”
“-So typical and why am I not surprised-”
“-and it’s not typical. It’s obvious from the way you dress-”
“-that you degenerate to calling me a brainless slut-”
“-and speak and comport yourself that you’re used-”
“-because I don’t find you attractive and you just can’t fathom-”
“-to men losing what little IQ they have in your presence simply because-”
“-a woman not thinking that-”
“-you have a pair of breasts!”
“-the sun shines out your ass!”
Dawn was on her toes, stretched to crowd his face with hers, her hands now on her hips. He had moved away from the wall to loom over her.
The distance separating their bodies was as thick as a sheet of paper, and they were breathing the same air. His heart rate was slightly elevated, filling the capillaries in his cheeks and thundering out a mesmerizing beat from his exposed neck, and she could feel the beat of his heart under his shirt.
His smell and his heat engulfed her and his eyes, centimeters from her own, were icy, icy blue.
Dawn threw herself backwards lightning fast, slamming her back into her door.
It wasn’t far enough.
If she didn’t get away from him she would - she was going to…
“Stay away from me,” said Dawn, and her voice was a shaky whisper.
She half-turned and grabbed at her door handle with her right hand, missed, and then caught it. She had taken half a step inside when he caught her left arm in a sharp grip, whirled her around, and-
“Your arm is hurt,” he stated flatly, staring at her bandaged left wrist. His left hand was still gripping her bare upper arm, and his right hand had come up to gently hold the wounded wrist.
Dawn looked at the bandages blankly. How had those…?
Blood. Downstairs in a bowl. The blood that she was supposed to be painting on the ceiling right now.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, looking into those eyes.
He stared back. Seconds ticked by. She didn’t move and she didn’t breathe.
“I… I’m never wrong. Never. But you weren’t lying. I don’t understand you; your pieces don’t make sense anymore. There’s something I’ve missed and I can’t see it.”
…
“This… this is an ego thing?”
The words were barely out of her mouth before right hand came up and, holding back her full strength, well mostly, she slapped him across the face and escaped back inside while he was still reeling.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
“So, about Sherlock…”
“Yes, dear?”
“What else can you tell me about him?”
Mrs. Hudson smiled brightly and began. “Well the first time I met him…”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
AN: So, I think I should mention that when I started this fic, the first chapter just wrote itself. I had no idea Dawn and Sherlock would be doing the smoldering stares and building UST the moment they laid eyes on each other. My Sherlock-muse and Dawn-muse both blind-sided me: as soon as I put them in a scene together Sherlock-muse was all seduction and Dawn-muse was all grr-me-likey. I've never written UST before, never even gotten close to writing anything about... raw physical attraction, although I did try for romantic subtext in my BtVS/DW fic, Howling in the Wilderness. So, if you guys could give me some constructive crit, I'd appreciate it. Is the fight believable? I had actually planned a more... sedate confrontation, but once again, as soon as I put Dawn and Sherlock together they just went at it.
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, subtext
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.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Tea with Mrs. Hudson looked like it might become a regular thing.
There were paint swatches and wallpaper samples laid out over Mrs. Hudson’s lacy tablecloth when Dawn had innocently asked -
“So, I’ve met the 221b guy, and I was wondering…”
“Oh you’ve met Sherlock! Oh he’s a darling, and a nice, reliable man too; I couldn’t ask for a better tenant.”
“Uh… yeah, that’s not quite the impression I got. He, uh, he broke into my flat and told me I had daddy issues. I mean, not in that order. Well he broke in twice. Except the first time wasn’t so much breaking and entering as just… entering. And then proceeding to tell me I’m superstitious and must have a sugar daddy paying my way. Which I’m not and I don’t.”
“Oh that man,” Mrs. Hudson sighed, setting her teacup down quickly, “It’s that job of his. He’s always dashing about and running away with his mouth. I’ve told him before he needs to watch his tongue but he never listens.”
“…What’s his job?”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Dawn Summers third meeting with her neighbor went something like this:
Six weeks after Dawn had signed on the dotted line, two wiccans from the Seven Sisters League of the London Union of Covens had come over to help her set up some of the protections the day before the newly finished walls and ceiling were to be painted and wallpapered.
They had finished carving and sketching the necessary symbols in the main room and had just collected enough blood from Dawn to begin painting the walls when someone knocked on her double bolted inner door.
The witches froze, one holding a bowl and whisk where she had been mixing vampire ash with holy water, another in the process of lighting the black and white candles lined around the three pentagrams carved into the concrete.
Dawn was on a ladder, blood dipped paintbrush in hand and one sigil on the ceiling half painted.
“Ignore it,” said Dawn.
They waited. Another series of knocks sounded out, someone pounding on the door. Dawn had a good guess as to who it was. A minute passed. Then a third pounding.
“Maybe you should-” Bethel started.
“I know who it is,” Dawn cut her off, “I’m not talking to him. Just ignore it.”
They relaxed and turned back to their chores, ignoring two more sets of pounding on the door. She had just finished the second sigil when Dawn heard the door handle being quietly tested.
She froze again, bloody paintbrush dripping onto the ladder as she turned her head to look at the stairway leading up to the door.
Then someone was picking the top lock.
“Damn it,” she cussed, and slid off the ladder to her feet without spilling a drop of blood from the bowl. She set the bowl and brush down on the top step and marched up the stairs towards the door, wiping her hands on her jeans as she did so.
She opened the door just as the second lock was being picked, strode out in one quick step and yanked the door shut behind her while her neighbor was still kneeling on the ground, tools in hand.
Her movement into his space pushed him back into the narrow hallway, even as he jolted upward and quickly regained his equilibrium, back straight against the wall behind him.
The hallway was very narrow and they stood very close.
“And I shouldn’t call the police and have you arrested for breaking and entering, because…?” asked Dawn, crossing her bare arms. This close, she had to tilt her head up to look him in the eye. He wasn’t wearing the heavy coat and scarf she had first seen him in, and his long pale neck was exposed. She knew if she looked that she would see could hearfeeltaste the pulse at his neck, and for a moment she had to suppress a growl as the thought of pinning him to the wall and latching onto his neck flashed through her brain.
He smelled very very yummy and she had just donated two pints of her own blood without having replenished them yet.
So focused was she with glaring directly into his icy blue eyes and not looking at his neck that she barely heard his reply.
It was something about her not having any proof (he had quickly put his tools back into his pockets), and then he was glaring at the papered windows of the door behind her and saying, “… no one in the flat. I checked.”
“You knocked. I didn’t answer, and that still-”
“I listened. Your stairs creek something awful. I would have heard you come up. I didn’t. You must have been standing at the door. Silent, for twenty minutes, why would you do that?” He was wearing his searching look again, but this time it was perplexed and not cocky.
No way was she explaining silencing spells to - wait, did he say-?
“You were listening at my door for twenty minutes? Pervert!”
“Oh yes of course, I must be sexually attracted to you, I couldn’t possibly have any other-”
“I don’t care!”
“-reason for searching your flat when you weren’t even there.”
“Well, obviously I was home, and what, were you going to do? Go through my underwear-”
“Although I’m sure you’re used to using your body to get your way, it being your only useful feature-”
“-drawer? Steal my used chewing gum from the trash? -”
“-that I can see and oh yes, of course I was going to rifle through your imaginary belongings-”
“-And he comes out swinging with the male chauvinism-”
“-in your empty flat-”
“-So typical and why am I not surprised-”
“-and it’s not typical. It’s obvious from the way you dress-”
“-that you degenerate to calling me a brainless slut-”
“-and speak and comport yourself that you’re used-”
“-because I don’t find you attractive and you just can’t fathom-”
“-to men losing what little IQ they have in your presence simply because-”
“-a woman not thinking that-”
“-you have a pair of breasts!”
“-the sun shines out your ass!”
Dawn was on her toes, stretched to crowd his face with hers, her hands now on her hips. He had moved away from the wall to loom over her.
The distance separating their bodies was as thick as a sheet of paper, and they were breathing the same air. His heart rate was slightly elevated, filling the capillaries in his cheeks and thundering out a mesmerizing beat from his exposed neck, and she could feel the beat of his heart under his shirt.
His smell and his heat engulfed her and his eyes, centimeters from her own, were icy, icy blue.
Dawn threw herself backwards lightning fast, slamming her back into her door.
It wasn’t far enough.
If she didn’t get away from him she would - she was going to…
“Stay away from me,” said Dawn, and her voice was a shaky whisper.
She half-turned and grabbed at her door handle with her right hand, missed, and then caught it. She had taken half a step inside when he caught her left arm in a sharp grip, whirled her around, and-
“Your arm is hurt,” he stated flatly, staring at her bandaged left wrist. His left hand was still gripping her bare upper arm, and his right hand had come up to gently hold the wounded wrist.
Dawn looked at the bandages blankly. How had those…?
Blood. Downstairs in a bowl. The blood that she was supposed to be painting on the ceiling right now.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, looking into those eyes.
He stared back. Seconds ticked by. She didn’t move and she didn’t breathe.
“I… I’m never wrong. Never. But you weren’t lying. I don’t understand you; your pieces don’t make sense anymore. There’s something I’ve missed and I can’t see it.”
…
“This… this is an ego thing?”
The words were barely out of her mouth before right hand came up and, holding back her full strength, well mostly, she slapped him across the face and escaped back inside while he was still reeling.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
“So, about Sherlock…”
“Yes, dear?”
“What else can you tell me about him?”
Mrs. Hudson smiled brightly and began. “Well the first time I met him…”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
AN: So, I think I should mention that when I started this fic, the first chapter just wrote itself. I had no idea Dawn and Sherlock would be doing the smoldering stares and building UST the moment they laid eyes on each other. My Sherlock-muse and Dawn-muse both blind-sided me: as soon as I put them in a scene together Sherlock-muse was all seduction and Dawn-muse was all grr-me-likey. I've never written UST before, never even gotten close to writing anything about... raw physical attraction, although I did try for romantic subtext in my BtVS/DW fic, Howling in the Wilderness. So, if you guys could give me some constructive crit, I'd appreciate it. Is the fight believable? I had actually planned a more... sedate confrontation, but once again, as soon as I put Dawn and Sherlock together they just went at it.