fic: The Vampire in the Basement 4/10ish
Title: The Vampire in the Basement 4/10?
Author: Beneficia
Fandom: Sherlock BBC, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dawn Summers, Andrew Wells
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: 3,500
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: So I’m really really trying to make this a complete fic. I have a sort of ending planned out, and I kinda know where I want to go with this. Bear with me. Dawn’s situation will be explained in time. As for Sherlock’s behavior… Well, *cackles evilly* you’ll see : P
Also, if anyone’s interested, I could use a Brit-picker Beta for this fic. Drop me a line, or just leave a comment on anything you find is wrong. Dawn’s not a native, but Sherlock’s language and his reaction to her language needs to be looked over by someone not me.
Oh! And a shout out to AlisonKay. Her fanart/manips keep inspiring me. Go here to get a picture of what Dawn and Sherlock are wearing in this chapter.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Dawn had been around this rodeo before. She knew the signs.
“So… do you want to drink him or shag him? ‘Cause I’m not really clear on that part.”
“Both,” came Dawn’s muffled reply. She had folded her arms on the table and plunked her head down on them. She groaned. “What am I gonna do Andrew?”
“Well, you could leave. Find another apartment,” her roommate said from the other side of their kitchen table.
She raised head up, “It’s like five minutes from everywhere! And a basement! With exits in three directions! Do you know what an impossible find that is? And you know how much money I’ve already sunk into it. That baby’s mine until non-aging forces me to move. I can’t just leave.”
“You could make him leave.”
“How?” asked Dawn, as she listlessly stirred the spoon in her tea.
“Well he has-”
“I’ve got no proof.”
“Then we can get some. You said he tried to break in last night and you stopped him. We’ll put up some shielded cameras and catch him the next time.”
She sighed, “He’s a PI Andrew. A PI with cops for friends. I do not wanna go down that road if I can help it.”
“…You could always just jump him.”
She looked up from her tea to glare at him, “No.”
“Why not?” Andrew asked, “You said he was hot. Either he jumps you back and problem solved, or he doesn’t and he’s scared away from you forever. You’ve played lethal attraction before; I know you’re good at it.”
“I don’t want him to jump me back.”
“But why?” Andrew whined out.
“Why? You mean besides the huge personality flaws, the social ineptness, the complete disregard for personal and legal boundaries, the giant, crippling ego, and, oh yeah, the fact that he’s an ass?”
“Besides those, yes.”
“Arrggh.” Dawn raked her fingers through her hair. “He’s human, Andrew. One hundred percent human. And despite the massive ego, I think he might actually be good at his job; the police wouldn’t use him if he wasn’t. So even if I did want to try a relationship with him, which I don’t, there’s no way he wouldn’t eventually notice… you know, stuff.”
“So tell him.”
“Again, HUMAN. Ignorant human. I’m not dragging him into this world no matter how much of a jerk he is. The guy’s got the curiosity of a cat. And the self-preservation of one. He’d get himself killed in a day, and then I’d have to feel guilty about it. The jerk.”
Andrew took a slow sip of his tea, while appearing to think seriously. He then set his cup down and leaned back into his heavy leather chair, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Soooo… you aren’t leaving. He’s not leaving. And you refuse to act on the mounting sexual tension that’s drawing you to him like a steal-studded leather whip to Magneto.”
Dawn glared.
“I guess you’ll just have to be the bigger person and make peace with him.”
“What? You want me to let him break into my apartment? I keep blood in the fridge! Or at least I will once I have a fridge.”
“So invite him in when you don’t have blood in the fridge. Make him dinner, give him a tour, let him sneak around when he asks to use the bathroom, answer his questions. You misdirect all the time, this isn’t any different. Once he’s satisfied he’s figured you out, he should leave you alone, right? You said he’s only bothering you because of professional pride in his detective skills. So let him detect.”
“And if he detects the truth?”
Andrew’s eyebrows went up, “Then recruit him. If he’s smart enough, and open-minded enough, to figure out that vampires exist just from looking at your apartment and talking to you…” he trailed off, and picked up his cup of tea again.
Dawn groaned and thumped her head back on the table. “You suck.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Now there's a whole lot of life to be unsure of
But there's one thing I can safely say I know
That of all the things that finally desert us
Pride is always the last thing to go
That song kept playing on a loop in Dawn’s head as soon as she woke up that evening. It was one Mom liked to listen to. She used to sing it as a lullaby to Dawn sometimes, except that that had never actually happened.
It was also one of the first lessons that the junior Slayers ever learned. Don’t be cocky. Don’t let anger make your decisions for you. Know when to run away. Know when to lose. More often than not, that lesson had to be beaten in, but they all eventually learned it. That, or they got dead real fast.
Sometimes, you had to lose. Sometimes you had to sacrifice. Sometimes you had to let the bad guys win the battle so you could take the war.
And sometimes you had to bake cookies for your nemesis.
“This is quite possibly the least subtle attempt at poisoning that I’ve ever seen undertaken.”
Dawn stood in the hallway on the second floor, dressed in a white tank top, light pink jacket, grey jeans, and brown sandals. She was holding a shrink-wrapped plate and trying not to look at the top two undone buttons in the burgundy shirt he was wearing. Or the rolled up sleeves. Or the very clear handprint on the left side of his face. Maybe she had hit him a bit harder than she thought. Or he just bruised easy. Blood had certainly come to the surface of his cheeks easily enough the night before. Which meant that hickeys-
“Cute, but no,” Dawn cut off her own train of thought before it could descend further into the gutter. “I did consider rat poison cookies at one point, but I decided to go for the more traditional chocolate chip.”
He just kept looking at her with that questioning gaze that did funny things to her insides.
Dawn shuffled her feet standing outside his door and took a deep breath.
“Look, it’s a peace offering, okay? I shouldn’t have hit you, no matter how badly you insulted me and I talked to Mrs. Hudson and she kind of told me that you really can’t help being an obnoxious ass, and I guess I can’t really blame you for breaking the law if it’s like a clinical disability or something and I basically got that insulting people and invading their personal lives is just your way of getting to know them, soooo….”
She held the cookie platter up higher. “So this is me, giving you a clean slate. And asking for one in return.”
Deep breath. “Hi, I’m Dawn Summers. I just moved into the flat downstairs. We’re going to be neighbors. Howdy neighbor! I thought we could get to know each other over cookies and milk. Can I come in?”
This was delivered in a bright cheery voice and with a little wave.
“They’re called biscuits.”
Her fake grin dropped, “Oh my god, could you at least try to act like a civilized human being! I baked you cookies for crying out loud!”
“Biscuits.”
Dawn held in a growl and inhaled deeply through her nose. She let the unused air and tension drain out in a rush.
“Look, would you like to get to know me or not? ‘Cause the way I see it it’s either conversation over milk and…biscuits,” she ground out, “or it’s harassment lawsuits and formal criminal charges. Personally, I prefer the coo- biscuits option.”
…
“Hmm… Dull. The courts option sounds much more appealing. You’d lose of course. And I’d have a newly refurbished apartment at my disposal.” He smirked.
The sound of Dawn’s grinding teeth was sudden and loud. She looked away from him, to door on her left, and focused on the wood pattern. There was always option E: murder him and dump his body in the sewers. Andrew had missed that one. And really it would be doing the world a favor, so it couldn’t technically be considered evil, right?
“But ultimately it would be more trouble than it’s worth,” he said suddenly, and his whole demeanor switched from smug to polite, “You’re planning to live here long term, several years at least; you wouldn’t spend so much money otherwise. I have no intention of leaving anytime in the foreseeable future either. There shouldn’t be any need for us to ever interact in all that time, but I have no intention of living in the same building with someone…”
She turned her head back and looked at him as he searched for the words.
“… With someone I am unsure of.”
“…Well, at least we have one thing in common,” Dawn finally said.
He stood up a little taller, and after one more measuring glance from her hair down to her toes and back up to her face, he took the plate of cookies from her and went further into his apartment. “I believe there’s milk in the refrigerator,” he called somewhere out of her sight. The door was left open, an obvious unspoken invitation.
Dawn folded her left arm across her torso, propped her right elbow in her left hand and dropped her head into her right palm with a heavy sigh.
Couldn’t anything be easy with him? Just once?
She waited in the dim hallway until he walked back into her line of sight.
She waited for him to say something.
He gazed at her curiously, silently.
Dawn lifted her head and folded her right arm into her left.
“Would it kill you to hold the door open and say the words, ‘please come in’?”
He turned his head slightly, as if to focus on her with a different eye.
“Look,” said Dawn, holding up her palms in a conciliatory gesture, “consider it your peacemaking gift to me; the knowledge that you actually can be polite. Plus, no one can ever say that I entered your apartment without your express permission.”
Dawn mentally crossed her fingers.
He walked back towards the door, grasped the handle with his left hand, pulling it more open and gestured inside with his right. “Please come in,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Oh damn. She hoped he didn’t use that voice often.
She breathed a sigh of relief at the invite and stepped inside. Dawn walked several steps into the cluttered room, taking everything in. He had given her a verbal invite, which answered the question as to whether or not he already knew vampires existed. She tried not to be disappointed. Or worried.
There was clutter everywhere. Like, really everywhere. Papers and knickknacks strewn over the chairs, the couch, the tables… Magazines and newspapers piled knee high in sloppy piles leaning against every vertical surface. And everything looked lived in and well worn. The floors, the wallpaper, the furniture, the giant red carpet… The furniture looked like it had been cobbled together from yard sales. It was obvious the place had never seen an interior decorator, or even heard of feng shui.
Street light came in through the two windows and there were lamps everywhere. There was a music stand with sheet music on it and a violin case propped against it. There was a fire lit in the fireplace and a skull on the mantle. There were books filling all the shelves.
Dawn didn’t see any mirrors.
The kitchen was just as cluttered. But here, it was test tubes and apparatus that Dawn couldn’t name spread out over the table and countertops. There was a laundry line hung between a cabinet and the overhanging florescent light and shoe soles were hanging from the line.
There was a tiny mirror hanging over the countertop in the corner, behind the line of shoe soles, and the refrigerator was a shiny burnished steel that reflected everything in blurred lines.
Sherlock had been silent during her perusal of his flat, observing her and waiting for her judgment.
Dawn stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “It’s… very cozy.”
“Thank you for that social platitude, now what do you really think?”
“This is one of the worst decorated flats I have ever seen and have you even heard of storage? Or cleaning? Or dusting?”
“I take it your flat will be the embodiment of modern tastes and tidiness.”
Dawn bit back a bit of smile and looked around again. “Still, it’s… well it’s…”
She looked straight at Sherlock, “Well it is actually pretty homey. And very you.”
“Considering your opinion of me, that’s not actually a compliment.”
Dawn couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across her face. Sherlock twitched and looked startled for a moment. “Well I-” Dawn stopped as she caught sight of something over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Is that a- Why are there- Why is there a carving of a cattle head on your wall? And why is it wearing headphones?”
“It was there when I moved in.”
“The headphones?” She raised an eyebrow.
“The head.”
“Why is it wearing headphones?”
“It’s not wearing headphones, the headphones are merely on it.”
“Why are- nevermind, just… nevermind.” Dawn shook her head and looked at the skull on the mantle then back at Sherlock. “So you said something about having milk?”
He waved to kitchen behind her, and turned to clear a comfy looking chair off. “Yes it’s in the fridge.”
Dawn walked up behind the chair, turned and flopped herself into it as soon as he had turned away with the pile of papers he had just picked up. Her legs were over the back of the chair, her head hanging off the seat and she lazily kicked her feet in the air.
She smiled up at him from her upside down position, “Manners lesson number 2: The host serves the food. The guest does diddly squat. Besides, considering the rest of this place, I’m not sure I want to know what the inside of your fridge looks like.”
He observed her for a moment, before walking to the kitchen without a word. He was being accommodating. That didn’t bode well. Or maybe he finally decided he could get more out of her by being nice. She was kind of hoping for option two.
“So you do you live here alone?” she called out to him. There were the scents of several people in the flat, but none so pronounced as his. Mrs. Hudson’s came second, but a distant second at that.
“I’m still looking for a flatmate.”
She snorted, “Yeah, good luck with that.”
She winced, “Sorry. Habit.”
“Accurate,” he said, coming back with two mugs of milk and her cookie platter. She maneuvered herself upright and took a mug from him, snagging a cookie. “My attempts to secure a decent flatmate have been unsuccessful so far.”
“How long have you lived here?
“Three years.”
She took a bite of her cookie and chewed, swallowed. She took a sip of her milk. “Mrs. Hudson really likes you. You could probably get away with never getting a roomie.”
“A what?”
“Flatmate.”
He looked into his untouched cup of milk. “She can’t afford to let the second bedroom remain empty for much longer. Your renovations will raise the value of the building but won’t provide any direct income for some time.”
She didn’t really have anything to say to that and took another bite of her cookie. It sounded like he cared, but saying that aloud would be insulting if he did, and there was still the chance that he was just playing her.
She looked into the fire on her left and remembered why she came.
“I do have an estranged father, but he’s not my “benefactor” or anything. I haven’t seen him in over a decade and the last I heard he was living somewhere in Spain with the woman he left my mom for. I have other family and friends, people who help me out, but no one’s my sugar daddy.”
“I’ve never been attacked or assaulted like you suggested, and I’ve never trained in martial arts. I have taken self-defense classes before and my sister dated a guy in the army for two years who taught me some stuff. I occasionally travel to less civilized countries for my job, so it’s only practical that I know how to take care of myself.”
“I have a job as the research assistant to the head of my department and I’m working on my doctoral dissertation. My research and my work is in religion and mythology of ancient cultures. I specialize in Proto-Indo-European languages and artifacts. Occasionally I get to visit digs, or I come along for an in-person consultation; the travel is the best part of what I do.”
“My education’s been funded mostly through scholarships, and while my job doesn’t exactly pay the big bucks, it pays enough considering I’m single and have no debt. I’ve flat-shared with a friend for the last two years, but his work is taking him out of the country next year and I wanted a place of my own.”
“I travel a lot for fun too. I’ve been to a few of the less pleasant parts of the world; London at night isn’t exactly scary. Plus I have a sunlight allergy, it’s called actinic prurigo, and I’ve given up on most treatments, which is why I picked a basement flat that has a bedroom with no windows and why I spend my days indoors. I do go out during the day when I have to, but people in London give you weird looks when you only use your umbrella on the days the sun is shining.”
Dawn put the last part of the cookie in her mouth and started chewing as she looked away from the fire and back at Sherlock. “So, does that answer all your questions, or was there something else about my personal life you just can’t stand not knowing?”
He was staring at her again, elbows on his knees and hands fisted together in front of his mouth. He propped his chin onto his fists. “You travel, but have no tan. You stand and move as if you’ve been trained to fight, but you’ve never had formal instruction. You’re young, early twenties, and by all statistical probability should still be dependent on your parents for the majority of your support, especially living in another country and wearing new designer clothes, but your intelligence and work ethic have given you employment that pays far higher than the average person your age and set you apart from your peers. You wear charms and have Nordic runes chalked into your backpack, but it’s an expression of your field of study, not an active belief in the supernatural. You go out at night because you don’t take medication for your condition, only avoid the cause of outbreaks, leaving no sign of the condition except your nocturnal habits. You’re independent because you simply are, not out of a need for others’ approval or as a show of defiance.”
His upper lip curled. “So stupid.”
“Hey!”
He jerked upright, “It’s obvious,” he said, agitated, pacing. “I’d just come off a case… I was… distracted. I made an assumption about your financial situation based on what is typical and most likely for a female, early twenties, American, student, designer clothes, living in London for the last several years, able to afford the flat and afford to remodel it.”
He turned back in her direction and looked at her. “It skewed all my other observations.”
“Well you know what they say. When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you and some guy named umption.” She took a sip from her mug to hide her smile.
“What?”
She swallowed. “It’s a joke Sherlock. You know that thing, that people sometimes do, that injects humor into a situation?”
Unnerving stare.
“Assume? Ass-U-Me? An ass out of you and me- Oh never mind. You can google it later.”
Dawn stood up, placing her hands on her lower back. “Soooo… Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
Dawn rolled her eyes, “You know for a guy that supposedly prides himself on his deduction skills, you can be pretty thick.” She hopped up onto the back of the comfy chair, balancing herself with her left foot on the right arm, her right leg dangling and swinging. “Do you have any more questions for me?” she enunciated out.
“What makes you think I pride myself-”
“Please. I get my info the old fashioned way. Gossip. Mrs. H told me all about you. And your website. I’m amazed your head hasn’t popped off and floated away yet.”
Another stare.
“You know, from the over-inflated ego.”
“It’s not ego. It’s fact. I am smarter than everyone else.”
…
“…Wow,” Dawn said finally. “You actually said that with a straight face. I’m honestly impressed.”
“You should be.”
“Don’t get snarky.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Author: Beneficia
Fandom: Sherlock BBC, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Dawn Summers, Andrew Wells
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: 3,500
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: So I’m really really trying to make this a complete fic. I have a sort of ending planned out, and I kinda know where I want to go with this. Bear with me. Dawn’s situation will be explained in time. As for Sherlock’s behavior… Well, *cackles evilly* you’ll see : P
Also, if anyone’s interested, I could use a Brit-picker Beta for this fic. Drop me a line, or just leave a comment on anything you find is wrong. Dawn’s not a native, but Sherlock’s language and his reaction to her language needs to be looked over by someone not me.
Oh! And a shout out to AlisonKay. Her fanart/manips keep inspiring me. Go here to get a picture of what Dawn and Sherlock are wearing in this chapter.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Dawn had been around this rodeo before. She knew the signs.
“So… do you want to drink him or shag him? ‘Cause I’m not really clear on that part.”
“Both,” came Dawn’s muffled reply. She had folded her arms on the table and plunked her head down on them. She groaned. “What am I gonna do Andrew?”
“Well, you could leave. Find another apartment,” her roommate said from the other side of their kitchen table.
She raised head up, “It’s like five minutes from everywhere! And a basement! With exits in three directions! Do you know what an impossible find that is? And you know how much money I’ve already sunk into it. That baby’s mine until non-aging forces me to move. I can’t just leave.”
“You could make him leave.”
“How?” asked Dawn, as she listlessly stirred the spoon in her tea.
“Well he has-”
“I’ve got no proof.”
“Then we can get some. You said he tried to break in last night and you stopped him. We’ll put up some shielded cameras and catch him the next time.”
She sighed, “He’s a PI Andrew. A PI with cops for friends. I do not wanna go down that road if I can help it.”
“…You could always just jump him.”
She looked up from her tea to glare at him, “No.”
“Why not?” Andrew asked, “You said he was hot. Either he jumps you back and problem solved, or he doesn’t and he’s scared away from you forever. You’ve played lethal attraction before; I know you’re good at it.”
“I don’t want him to jump me back.”
“But why?” Andrew whined out.
“Why? You mean besides the huge personality flaws, the social ineptness, the complete disregard for personal and legal boundaries, the giant, crippling ego, and, oh yeah, the fact that he’s an ass?”
“Besides those, yes.”
“Arrggh.” Dawn raked her fingers through her hair. “He’s human, Andrew. One hundred percent human. And despite the massive ego, I think he might actually be good at his job; the police wouldn’t use him if he wasn’t. So even if I did want to try a relationship with him, which I don’t, there’s no way he wouldn’t eventually notice… you know, stuff.”
“So tell him.”
“Again, HUMAN. Ignorant human. I’m not dragging him into this world no matter how much of a jerk he is. The guy’s got the curiosity of a cat. And the self-preservation of one. He’d get himself killed in a day, and then I’d have to feel guilty about it. The jerk.”
Andrew took a slow sip of his tea, while appearing to think seriously. He then set his cup down and leaned back into his heavy leather chair, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. “Soooo… you aren’t leaving. He’s not leaving. And you refuse to act on the mounting sexual tension that’s drawing you to him like a steal-studded leather whip to Magneto.”
Dawn glared.
“I guess you’ll just have to be the bigger person and make peace with him.”
“What? You want me to let him break into my apartment? I keep blood in the fridge! Or at least I will once I have a fridge.”
“So invite him in when you don’t have blood in the fridge. Make him dinner, give him a tour, let him sneak around when he asks to use the bathroom, answer his questions. You misdirect all the time, this isn’t any different. Once he’s satisfied he’s figured you out, he should leave you alone, right? You said he’s only bothering you because of professional pride in his detective skills. So let him detect.”
“And if he detects the truth?”
Andrew’s eyebrows went up, “Then recruit him. If he’s smart enough, and open-minded enough, to figure out that vampires exist just from looking at your apartment and talking to you…” he trailed off, and picked up his cup of tea again.
Dawn groaned and thumped her head back on the table. “You suck.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Now there's a whole lot of life to be unsure of
But there's one thing I can safely say I know
That of all the things that finally desert us
Pride is always the last thing to go
That song kept playing on a loop in Dawn’s head as soon as she woke up that evening. It was one Mom liked to listen to. She used to sing it as a lullaby to Dawn sometimes, except that that had never actually happened.
It was also one of the first lessons that the junior Slayers ever learned. Don’t be cocky. Don’t let anger make your decisions for you. Know when to run away. Know when to lose. More often than not, that lesson had to be beaten in, but they all eventually learned it. That, or they got dead real fast.
Sometimes, you had to lose. Sometimes you had to sacrifice. Sometimes you had to let the bad guys win the battle so you could take the war.
And sometimes you had to bake cookies for your nemesis.
“This is quite possibly the least subtle attempt at poisoning that I’ve ever seen undertaken.”
Dawn stood in the hallway on the second floor, dressed in a white tank top, light pink jacket, grey jeans, and brown sandals. She was holding a shrink-wrapped plate and trying not to look at the top two undone buttons in the burgundy shirt he was wearing. Or the rolled up sleeves. Or the very clear handprint on the left side of his face. Maybe she had hit him a bit harder than she thought. Or he just bruised easy. Blood had certainly come to the surface of his cheeks easily enough the night before. Which meant that hickeys-
“Cute, but no,” Dawn cut off her own train of thought before it could descend further into the gutter. “I did consider rat poison cookies at one point, but I decided to go for the more traditional chocolate chip.”
He just kept looking at her with that questioning gaze that did funny things to her insides.
Dawn shuffled her feet standing outside his door and took a deep breath.
“Look, it’s a peace offering, okay? I shouldn’t have hit you, no matter how badly you insulted me and I talked to Mrs. Hudson and she kind of told me that you really can’t help being an obnoxious ass, and I guess I can’t really blame you for breaking the law if it’s like a clinical disability or something and I basically got that insulting people and invading their personal lives is just your way of getting to know them, soooo….”
She held the cookie platter up higher. “So this is me, giving you a clean slate. And asking for one in return.”
Deep breath. “Hi, I’m Dawn Summers. I just moved into the flat downstairs. We’re going to be neighbors. Howdy neighbor! I thought we could get to know each other over cookies and milk. Can I come in?”
This was delivered in a bright cheery voice and with a little wave.
“They’re called biscuits.”
Her fake grin dropped, “Oh my god, could you at least try to act like a civilized human being! I baked you cookies for crying out loud!”
“Biscuits.”
Dawn held in a growl and inhaled deeply through her nose. She let the unused air and tension drain out in a rush.
“Look, would you like to get to know me or not? ‘Cause the way I see it it’s either conversation over milk and…biscuits,” she ground out, “or it’s harassment lawsuits and formal criminal charges. Personally, I prefer the coo- biscuits option.”
…
“Hmm… Dull. The courts option sounds much more appealing. You’d lose of course. And I’d have a newly refurbished apartment at my disposal.” He smirked.
The sound of Dawn’s grinding teeth was sudden and loud. She looked away from him, to door on her left, and focused on the wood pattern. There was always option E: murder him and dump his body in the sewers. Andrew had missed that one. And really it would be doing the world a favor, so it couldn’t technically be considered evil, right?
“But ultimately it would be more trouble than it’s worth,” he said suddenly, and his whole demeanor switched from smug to polite, “You’re planning to live here long term, several years at least; you wouldn’t spend so much money otherwise. I have no intention of leaving anytime in the foreseeable future either. There shouldn’t be any need for us to ever interact in all that time, but I have no intention of living in the same building with someone…”
She turned her head back and looked at him as he searched for the words.
“… With someone I am unsure of.”
“…Well, at least we have one thing in common,” Dawn finally said.
He stood up a little taller, and after one more measuring glance from her hair down to her toes and back up to her face, he took the plate of cookies from her and went further into his apartment. “I believe there’s milk in the refrigerator,” he called somewhere out of her sight. The door was left open, an obvious unspoken invitation.
Dawn folded her left arm across her torso, propped her right elbow in her left hand and dropped her head into her right palm with a heavy sigh.
Couldn’t anything be easy with him? Just once?
She waited in the dim hallway until he walked back into her line of sight.
She waited for him to say something.
He gazed at her curiously, silently.
Dawn lifted her head and folded her right arm into her left.
“Would it kill you to hold the door open and say the words, ‘please come in’?”
He turned his head slightly, as if to focus on her with a different eye.
“Look,” said Dawn, holding up her palms in a conciliatory gesture, “consider it your peacemaking gift to me; the knowledge that you actually can be polite. Plus, no one can ever say that I entered your apartment without your express permission.”
Dawn mentally crossed her fingers.
He walked back towards the door, grasped the handle with his left hand, pulling it more open and gestured inside with his right. “Please come in,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.
Oh damn. She hoped he didn’t use that voice often.
She breathed a sigh of relief at the invite and stepped inside. Dawn walked several steps into the cluttered room, taking everything in. He had given her a verbal invite, which answered the question as to whether or not he already knew vampires existed. She tried not to be disappointed. Or worried.
There was clutter everywhere. Like, really everywhere. Papers and knickknacks strewn over the chairs, the couch, the tables… Magazines and newspapers piled knee high in sloppy piles leaning against every vertical surface. And everything looked lived in and well worn. The floors, the wallpaper, the furniture, the giant red carpet… The furniture looked like it had been cobbled together from yard sales. It was obvious the place had never seen an interior decorator, or even heard of feng shui.
Street light came in through the two windows and there were lamps everywhere. There was a music stand with sheet music on it and a violin case propped against it. There was a fire lit in the fireplace and a skull on the mantle. There were books filling all the shelves.
Dawn didn’t see any mirrors.
The kitchen was just as cluttered. But here, it was test tubes and apparatus that Dawn couldn’t name spread out over the table and countertops. There was a laundry line hung between a cabinet and the overhanging florescent light and shoe soles were hanging from the line.
There was a tiny mirror hanging over the countertop in the corner, behind the line of shoe soles, and the refrigerator was a shiny burnished steel that reflected everything in blurred lines.
Sherlock had been silent during her perusal of his flat, observing her and waiting for her judgment.
Dawn stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “It’s… very cozy.”
“Thank you for that social platitude, now what do you really think?”
“This is one of the worst decorated flats I have ever seen and have you even heard of storage? Or cleaning? Or dusting?”
“I take it your flat will be the embodiment of modern tastes and tidiness.”
Dawn bit back a bit of smile and looked around again. “Still, it’s… well it’s…”
She looked straight at Sherlock, “Well it is actually pretty homey. And very you.”
“Considering your opinion of me, that’s not actually a compliment.”
Dawn couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across her face. Sherlock twitched and looked startled for a moment. “Well I-” Dawn stopped as she caught sight of something over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Is that a- Why are there- Why is there a carving of a cattle head on your wall? And why is it wearing headphones?”
“It was there when I moved in.”
“The headphones?” She raised an eyebrow.
“The head.”
“Why is it wearing headphones?”
“It’s not wearing headphones, the headphones are merely on it.”
“Why are- nevermind, just… nevermind.” Dawn shook her head and looked at the skull on the mantle then back at Sherlock. “So you said something about having milk?”
He waved to kitchen behind her, and turned to clear a comfy looking chair off. “Yes it’s in the fridge.”
Dawn walked up behind the chair, turned and flopped herself into it as soon as he had turned away with the pile of papers he had just picked up. Her legs were over the back of the chair, her head hanging off the seat and she lazily kicked her feet in the air.
She smiled up at him from her upside down position, “Manners lesson number 2: The host serves the food. The guest does diddly squat. Besides, considering the rest of this place, I’m not sure I want to know what the inside of your fridge looks like.”
He observed her for a moment, before walking to the kitchen without a word. He was being accommodating. That didn’t bode well. Or maybe he finally decided he could get more out of her by being nice. She was kind of hoping for option two.
“So you do you live here alone?” she called out to him. There were the scents of several people in the flat, but none so pronounced as his. Mrs. Hudson’s came second, but a distant second at that.
“I’m still looking for a flatmate.”
She snorted, “Yeah, good luck with that.”
She winced, “Sorry. Habit.”
“Accurate,” he said, coming back with two mugs of milk and her cookie platter. She maneuvered herself upright and took a mug from him, snagging a cookie. “My attempts to secure a decent flatmate have been unsuccessful so far.”
“How long have you lived here?
“Three years.”
She took a bite of her cookie and chewed, swallowed. She took a sip of her milk. “Mrs. Hudson really likes you. You could probably get away with never getting a roomie.”
“A what?”
“Flatmate.”
He looked into his untouched cup of milk. “She can’t afford to let the second bedroom remain empty for much longer. Your renovations will raise the value of the building but won’t provide any direct income for some time.”
She didn’t really have anything to say to that and took another bite of her cookie. It sounded like he cared, but saying that aloud would be insulting if he did, and there was still the chance that he was just playing her.
She looked into the fire on her left and remembered why she came.
“I do have an estranged father, but he’s not my “benefactor” or anything. I haven’t seen him in over a decade and the last I heard he was living somewhere in Spain with the woman he left my mom for. I have other family and friends, people who help me out, but no one’s my sugar daddy.”
“I’ve never been attacked or assaulted like you suggested, and I’ve never trained in martial arts. I have taken self-defense classes before and my sister dated a guy in the army for two years who taught me some stuff. I occasionally travel to less civilized countries for my job, so it’s only practical that I know how to take care of myself.”
“I have a job as the research assistant to the head of my department and I’m working on my doctoral dissertation. My research and my work is in religion and mythology of ancient cultures. I specialize in Proto-Indo-European languages and artifacts. Occasionally I get to visit digs, or I come along for an in-person consultation; the travel is the best part of what I do.”
“My education’s been funded mostly through scholarships, and while my job doesn’t exactly pay the big bucks, it pays enough considering I’m single and have no debt. I’ve flat-shared with a friend for the last two years, but his work is taking him out of the country next year and I wanted a place of my own.”
“I travel a lot for fun too. I’ve been to a few of the less pleasant parts of the world; London at night isn’t exactly scary. Plus I have a sunlight allergy, it’s called actinic prurigo, and I’ve given up on most treatments, which is why I picked a basement flat that has a bedroom with no windows and why I spend my days indoors. I do go out during the day when I have to, but people in London give you weird looks when you only use your umbrella on the days the sun is shining.”
Dawn put the last part of the cookie in her mouth and started chewing as she looked away from the fire and back at Sherlock. “So, does that answer all your questions, or was there something else about my personal life you just can’t stand not knowing?”
He was staring at her again, elbows on his knees and hands fisted together in front of his mouth. He propped his chin onto his fists. “You travel, but have no tan. You stand and move as if you’ve been trained to fight, but you’ve never had formal instruction. You’re young, early twenties, and by all statistical probability should still be dependent on your parents for the majority of your support, especially living in another country and wearing new designer clothes, but your intelligence and work ethic have given you employment that pays far higher than the average person your age and set you apart from your peers. You wear charms and have Nordic runes chalked into your backpack, but it’s an expression of your field of study, not an active belief in the supernatural. You go out at night because you don’t take medication for your condition, only avoid the cause of outbreaks, leaving no sign of the condition except your nocturnal habits. You’re independent because you simply are, not out of a need for others’ approval or as a show of defiance.”
His upper lip curled. “So stupid.”
“Hey!”
He jerked upright, “It’s obvious,” he said, agitated, pacing. “I’d just come off a case… I was… distracted. I made an assumption about your financial situation based on what is typical and most likely for a female, early twenties, American, student, designer clothes, living in London for the last several years, able to afford the flat and afford to remodel it.”
He turned back in her direction and looked at her. “It skewed all my other observations.”
“Well you know what they say. When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you and some guy named umption.” She took a sip from her mug to hide her smile.
“What?”
She swallowed. “It’s a joke Sherlock. You know that thing, that people sometimes do, that injects humor into a situation?”
Unnerving stare.
“Assume? Ass-U-Me? An ass out of you and me- Oh never mind. You can google it later.”
Dawn stood up, placing her hands on her lower back. “Soooo… Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
Dawn rolled her eyes, “You know for a guy that supposedly prides himself on his deduction skills, you can be pretty thick.” She hopped up onto the back of the comfy chair, balancing herself with her left foot on the right arm, her right leg dangling and swinging. “Do you have any more questions for me?” she enunciated out.
“What makes you think I pride myself-”
“Please. I get my info the old fashioned way. Gossip. Mrs. H told me all about you. And your website. I’m amazed your head hasn’t popped off and floated away yet.”
Another stare.
“You know, from the over-inflated ego.”
“It’s not ego. It’s fact. I am smarter than everyone else.”
…
“…Wow,” Dawn said finally. “You actually said that with a straight face. I’m honestly impressed.”
“You should be.”
“Don’t get snarky.”
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.