Fics about Women for Universe_The
Need to Know Basis
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock BBC
Rating: G
Notes: Three scenes, six women, 1303 words. Part of this crossover ‘verse I write in, sometimes, where Giles brings the Slayerettes to London after the fall of Sunnydale, and they get involved with the Sherlock crew in solving crimes. Now post-Series 3, apparently.
I.
“I was never that into biological sciences,” Willow said confidingly, as she took a stool at the lab bench. “More like computers and math. But once I started with the mag-uhhh, well, yeah, math, and all that,” she finished weakly, realizing she had no idea how much her present companion knew about the situation of her little group. Weird that it hadn’t occurred to her until just now. Oh well, not like she didn’t have years of experience at riding the line between concealment and disclosure.
The woman in the lab coat smiled at her with more confidence than Willow had seen in their previous, albeit brief, encounters. “Well that’s just fine,” she said brightly. “People come to forensic science from many backgrounds, and there’s a lot of it that is more physical; p’raps that can be your specialty. I’m more on the biological side myself, but I can get some colleagues in here to help train you.”
“I really appreciate this, Dr. Hooper, you taking the time out from your work to help me, I mean, someone you don’t know from Adam.” Willow grimaced a bit at the unpleasant memories brought up by that name; no more using that dumb cliché.
“No, no, ‘Molly,’ please, and I’m happy to. Anyone who comes vouched by Detective-Inspector Lestrade gets the royal treatment here.” Truth to tell, Molly was a touch puzzled by the sudden, and thorough, involvement of this band of Americans and their English … teacher, was he?--so handsome, and seems kind, too-in the doings of both Scotland Yard and Sherlock. But if there was one thing she’d learned in the past few years, it was to not try to apply Earth logic to anything to do with Sherlock Holmes. Just grab on for the ride, and hope it doesn’t lead to deadly explosions or bad boyfriend choices.
She smiled to herself, and, pulling forward a microscope, let her mind wander back to the charming countenance of Rupert Giles as she prepared a bloodwork slide to show to the eager redhead.
II.
Dawn sat at the battered wooden table, with less than her customary bounce and verve, toying with her chocolate digestive and teacup.
“More tea, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, looking over her shoulder from the counter, where she busied herself unnecessarily to give the girl some time. A woman of vast experience, she was neither surprised nor upset to see the usually ebullient young American in a bit of a snit. Just at the age to need some protection, but not to want it, and certainly to bridle against the idea of being baby-sat, no matter how it was explained.
“No. Thank you….Mrs. Hudson,” Dawn amended, trying to pull her lower lip back in from the pout that was threatening. She took a deep breath and tried not to let it become a sigh. After all, it wasn’t Mrs. Hudson’s fault that she was being treated like a baby. And, she admitted grudgingly to herself, acting like a baby was scarcely the best way to prove that you shouldn’t be treated as one.
Still, it was disappointing, even infuriating. You’d think that after surviving, and helping to thwart a global apocalypse, one wouldn’t be shunted off to the side during a serial-killlings debriefing. She’d seen plenty of death and destruction, hadn’t she?
Carefully placing the teapot on the table, Mrs. Hudson took the seat opposite and reached for a biscuit. She leveled a look at the girl, and reached out to pat her hand. “Never mind, love,” she said sympathetically. “They’re bound to want to protect you from time to time. After all you’ve been through…“--though she only knew glimmers, some kind of disaster they’d survived, which lord knows she was no stranger to-“let them coddle you a bit. Take it from me, being left out of the hard stuff can be a blessing. After what I went through with my late husband, well, I’m happy for a little peace and quiet for these old bones.” She shifted feelingly in her chair, even though the mere thought of her ex did make a part of her brain-and elsewhere-light up just a bit.
Dawn’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Late husband, oh I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I didn’t know. It must have been a terrible loss.”
Mrs. Hudson raised her teacup, quickly mulling her next move. Surely it wouldn’t be appropriate to be honest with this young lady about the peccadilloes of her shady past. Still, the girl was aching to be “let in” on something, so why not. It was just life, wasn’t it? Never hurt anyone to learn More About Life.
“Well, dear, let me tell you,” she began, leaning forward confidentially. “It all started with a fantastic physical attraction….”
III.
Buffy clutched the warm, smooth column, stroking her thumb down the length in her palm. She took a deep breath, let her eyes fall closed, and squeezed her finger against the trigger.
There was a muffled blast, her arm jerked, and as she regained her balance she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking over at the woman’s gestures, she flicked on the safety catch, laid the pistol down, and pulled off the earmuffs.
“Never close your eyes,” the woman admonished as she removed her own earmuffs. “Disorients. You need to be ready for the next move, just like in hand-to-hand.” Buffy nodded as she stepped back and removed her safety glasses, while Mary Morstan took up the pistol, cleared the chamber, then touched the button that swung the target toward them. She looked critically at the black paper figure, and shot Buffy an approving glance. “Looks like I’ll be giving a positive report to M,” she acknowledged.
“‘M’? You mean Mycroft, he goes by ‘M’?”
“No, that’s my name for him. Just winding him up; he hates it, actually. Why I do it, of course.” Mary winked as she set about packing up the handguns and other equipment. “He detests any hint of anything Bondsian. Dunno why.”
Buffy paused in pulling on her jacket, realized she had no idea what her companion was talking about, and did what she usually did in these situations: nodded and said vaguely “Oh, yeah.”
“Still and all, he’s hardly the greatest mystery around these parts. Such as why a California college student would be skilled at unarmed combat and the more arcane weaponry, but no experience with guns of any kind.” Mary turned and leveled a look at the younger woman. Buffy smoothed her hair and contrived to look innocent, but couldn’t resist saying, “Yeah well, I shot a rocket launcher once….” before realizing that the less said about that, the better. “Anyway, I’m not the only mysterious one, am I?” Best defense, good offense, right?
Mary hmm'd appraisingly as the two gazed at each other. The number of secrets between them was a vast canyon, yet paradoxically an equalizer. They both stared as though into the abyss, seeing a bridge of understanding wavering between them, then, in a moment, pulled back from the edge, and shifting their postures and expressions, began picking up the cases and moving away.
“So,” said Buffy airily, as they exited the steel door, “if you can get your hands on a cross-bow and a place to shoot it, I’d be happy to return the favor.”
“Ooo-eee, now that is an offer,” chirped Mary. “I’ve always wanted to play with one of those. I’m sure M could oblige.” Buffy nodded as she gripped the case handle and imagined shouldering a crossbow again. Would feel good, definitely. For the first time in ages, she felt her spirits lift. Maybe, just maybe, she could get used to this.
.
.
Fandoms: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock BBC
Rating: G
Notes: Three scenes, six women, 1303 words. Part of this crossover ‘verse I write in, sometimes, where Giles brings the Slayerettes to London after the fall of Sunnydale, and they get involved with the Sherlock crew in solving crimes. Now post-Series 3, apparently.
I.
“I was never that into biological sciences,” Willow said confidingly, as she took a stool at the lab bench. “More like computers and math. But once I started with the mag-uhhh, well, yeah, math, and all that,” she finished weakly, realizing she had no idea how much her present companion knew about the situation of her little group. Weird that it hadn’t occurred to her until just now. Oh well, not like she didn’t have years of experience at riding the line between concealment and disclosure.
The woman in the lab coat smiled at her with more confidence than Willow had seen in their previous, albeit brief, encounters. “Well that’s just fine,” she said brightly. “People come to forensic science from many backgrounds, and there’s a lot of it that is more physical; p’raps that can be your specialty. I’m more on the biological side myself, but I can get some colleagues in here to help train you.”
“I really appreciate this, Dr. Hooper, you taking the time out from your work to help me, I mean, someone you don’t know from Adam.” Willow grimaced a bit at the unpleasant memories brought up by that name; no more using that dumb cliché.
“No, no, ‘Molly,’ please, and I’m happy to. Anyone who comes vouched by Detective-Inspector Lestrade gets the royal treatment here.” Truth to tell, Molly was a touch puzzled by the sudden, and thorough, involvement of this band of Americans and their English … teacher, was he?--so handsome, and seems kind, too-in the doings of both Scotland Yard and Sherlock. But if there was one thing she’d learned in the past few years, it was to not try to apply Earth logic to anything to do with Sherlock Holmes. Just grab on for the ride, and hope it doesn’t lead to deadly explosions or bad boyfriend choices.
She smiled to herself, and, pulling forward a microscope, let her mind wander back to the charming countenance of Rupert Giles as she prepared a bloodwork slide to show to the eager redhead.
II.
Dawn sat at the battered wooden table, with less than her customary bounce and verve, toying with her chocolate digestive and teacup.
“More tea, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, looking over her shoulder from the counter, where she busied herself unnecessarily to give the girl some time. A woman of vast experience, she was neither surprised nor upset to see the usually ebullient young American in a bit of a snit. Just at the age to need some protection, but not to want it, and certainly to bridle against the idea of being baby-sat, no matter how it was explained.
“No. Thank you….Mrs. Hudson,” Dawn amended, trying to pull her lower lip back in from the pout that was threatening. She took a deep breath and tried not to let it become a sigh. After all, it wasn’t Mrs. Hudson’s fault that she was being treated like a baby. And, she admitted grudgingly to herself, acting like a baby was scarcely the best way to prove that you shouldn’t be treated as one.
Still, it was disappointing, even infuriating. You’d think that after surviving, and helping to thwart a global apocalypse, one wouldn’t be shunted off to the side during a serial-killlings debriefing. She’d seen plenty of death and destruction, hadn’t she?
Carefully placing the teapot on the table, Mrs. Hudson took the seat opposite and reached for a biscuit. She leveled a look at the girl, and reached out to pat her hand. “Never mind, love,” she said sympathetically. “They’re bound to want to protect you from time to time. After all you’ve been through…“--though she only knew glimmers, some kind of disaster they’d survived, which lord knows she was no stranger to-“let them coddle you a bit. Take it from me, being left out of the hard stuff can be a blessing. After what I went through with my late husband, well, I’m happy for a little peace and quiet for these old bones.” She shifted feelingly in her chair, even though the mere thought of her ex did make a part of her brain-and elsewhere-light up just a bit.
Dawn’s expression shifted to one of concern. “Late husband, oh I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hudson, I didn’t know. It must have been a terrible loss.”
Mrs. Hudson raised her teacup, quickly mulling her next move. Surely it wouldn’t be appropriate to be honest with this young lady about the peccadilloes of her shady past. Still, the girl was aching to be “let in” on something, so why not. It was just life, wasn’t it? Never hurt anyone to learn More About Life.
“Well, dear, let me tell you,” she began, leaning forward confidentially. “It all started with a fantastic physical attraction….”
III.
Buffy clutched the warm, smooth column, stroking her thumb down the length in her palm. She took a deep breath, let her eyes fall closed, and squeezed her finger against the trigger.
There was a muffled blast, her arm jerked, and as she regained her balance she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking over at the woman’s gestures, she flicked on the safety catch, laid the pistol down, and pulled off the earmuffs.
“Never close your eyes,” the woman admonished as she removed her own earmuffs. “Disorients. You need to be ready for the next move, just like in hand-to-hand.” Buffy nodded as she stepped back and removed her safety glasses, while Mary Morstan took up the pistol, cleared the chamber, then touched the button that swung the target toward them. She looked critically at the black paper figure, and shot Buffy an approving glance. “Looks like I’ll be giving a positive report to M,” she acknowledged.
“‘M’? You mean Mycroft, he goes by ‘M’?”
“No, that’s my name for him. Just winding him up; he hates it, actually. Why I do it, of course.” Mary winked as she set about packing up the handguns and other equipment. “He detests any hint of anything Bondsian. Dunno why.”
Buffy paused in pulling on her jacket, realized she had no idea what her companion was talking about, and did what she usually did in these situations: nodded and said vaguely “Oh, yeah.”
“Still and all, he’s hardly the greatest mystery around these parts. Such as why a California college student would be skilled at unarmed combat and the more arcane weaponry, but no experience with guns of any kind.” Mary turned and leveled a look at the younger woman. Buffy smoothed her hair and contrived to look innocent, but couldn’t resist saying, “Yeah well, I shot a rocket launcher once….” before realizing that the less said about that, the better. “Anyway, I’m not the only mysterious one, am I?” Best defense, good offense, right?
Mary hmm'd appraisingly as the two gazed at each other. The number of secrets between them was a vast canyon, yet paradoxically an equalizer. They both stared as though into the abyss, seeing a bridge of understanding wavering between them, then, in a moment, pulled back from the edge, and shifting their postures and expressions, began picking up the cases and moving away.
“So,” said Buffy airily, as they exited the steel door, “if you can get your hands on a cross-bow and a place to shoot it, I’d be happy to return the favor.”
“Ooo-eee, now that is an offer,” chirped Mary. “I’ve always wanted to play with one of those. I’m sure M could oblige.” Buffy nodded as she gripped the case handle and imagined shouldering a crossbow again. Would feel good, definitely. For the first time in ages, she felt her spirits lift. Maybe, just maybe, she could get used to this.
.
.