This is it! Chapter one of my Sherlock/BtVS crossover. Hopefully, it earns good reviews like my Sherlock fanfic. I won't hold my breath though, just to be safe. :O Just a bit of info before you read: This is basically to take place the winter after Buffy died saving the world from Glory, except in my disturbed mind, Willow didn't bring her back, and now Dawn is under Spike's care and everyone aside from Giles, Anya and Xander live at the Summer's residence. Enough said. Now read.

As always, please R&R and I own nothing. Really. I don't. :P

John sat at the desk staring at the blank page of his blog. It had been a rather quiet day. Sherlock sat on the sofa for a while, then left to see Lestrade and inquire about any open cases. When that turned up nothing, he returned and settled into his armchair to watch the telly for a bit. It was rainy and neither of them felt much up to going out that evening, so John decided to catch up on his blog a bit. There was little to report, and he wasn't sure where to begin writing about the boredom of the last week. He had gone shopping in the morning, and picked up a Christmas gift for Sherlock who, after only an hour, determined its hiding spot and had convinced John to let him open it early. It was a new riding crop and set of leather gloves, to replace the pair he'd ruined on the last case they were called for.

"John. Your phone." Sherlock's deep voice broke John's thoughts, and he realized his mobile was ringing in his pocket.

"Hello?" He spoke softly, as he walked out to the kitchen to avoid interrupting Sherlock's programme any further.

"John. Its Rupert. How are you?"

"Oh.. Rupert. Fine, fine. How's California treating you?"

"You'd wouldn't believe me if I told you. Look, I was hoping to talk with you about something. Is there any way you and your .. emm.. friend, would like to come to Sunnydale for holiday?"

"Oh, it would be nice," John replied, looking out at Sherlock who was cursing the game show host on the telly, then glancing at the rain-streaked windows. "I'm afraid we haven't the money for it right now though."

"That's no matter. I'll call ahead to reserve you both a seat on the next plane out. You don't mind do you?'

"Not at all. A change of scenery.. and pace.. would be lovely for Christmas. I've got to go let Sherlock know. Can you text me then, with the flight information?"

"Yes, that will be fine. Take care, John. See you soon!" The line went silent and John pocketed his phone.

"Sherlock. I have a surprise for you. Go pack."

"Not now, John. Can't you see-"

"Sherlock. Go PACK!" John shouted impatiently. He watched Sherlock's expression change from irritated to.. well, more irritated, as he stood and stomped off to his room. "Thank you." He called out, as he raced to his own room and flung open his wardrobe. As he stuffed his clothes and personal items into a suitcase, Sherlock appeared in the doorway with his suitcase in hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Its a surprise, I told you. Now go let Mrs Hudson know we'll be gone for a while, and I'll call when I know more."

"Is it a case? Oh, I do hope its a serial killer.. They're so much fun, all the suspense and waiting for him to make a mistake.. Is that it, John?"

"Surprise, Sherlock. What don't you understand about that?" John said over his shoulder, then heard Sherlock stalk off to see Mrs Hudson. Once done packing, John took their bags into the lounge and sat down on the sofa while he waited for Rupert to text him.

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a strand of John's hair through the microscope when John's phone beeped twice. John pulled it out and pressed a button, bringing up the new message.

British Airways flight 7702E

London-Heathrow Gate A21

10:40 pm your time tonight.

Will meet you at the baggage claim when you arrive in L.A.

R.G.

He glanced over at the clock. It was almost seven, leaving just about three and a half hours till their flight, meaning they needed to leave soon. John nudged Sherlock's elbow, then showed him the text, and walked out to the lounge. As they left the flat with luggage in tow, Sherlock gave one last look back over his shoulder, and sighed as he flipped off the light and shut the door. Once out on the pavement, John hailed a cab and loaded their luggage into the seat beside him as they climbed in.

"London Heathrow, please."

"John. L.A? Really? Who's R.G.?"

"An old friend. He's paid our way and has set up a place for us to stay while we're on holiday."

"So, not a case then. I'm already bored. I want to go home John."

"No, Sherlock. We've been sitting about in that flat for a week, and you've already destroyed another wall, the stereo, and set the shower curtain on fire. Twice. We need a holiday, far far away from Baker Street. Lestrade has nothing for you to do, and frankly, I'm sick and tired of cleaning up after your so-called 'experiments'. Can you just try to enjoy yourself? Please?" John gave him a desperate look that told Sherlock to just shut up and be thankful for the change of scenery. When they pulled up to the airport, John paid their fare, and Sherlock unloaded their bags onto a hand-trolley. They walked up to the ticketing desk, retrieved their tickets and made their way to the security check. John passed through the metal detector with no problems; Sherlock on the other hand, cause the machine to beep and screech wildly.

"Oh, for the love of-"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask that you come with me." Said the security official. He escorted Sherlock to a small room with no windows and shut the door behind him. After about ten minutes, the door flung open and a very irate and embarrassed Sherlock emerged, followed by the security official, carrying a plastic bag containing a Zippo lighter, two folding knives and a pack of nicotine patches. John held out Sherlock's bag, and laughed as Sherlock snatched it away, stomping off down to their gate.

"Really, Sherlock. You didn't know lighters and knives aren't allowed?"

"Its not important. I can't believe that bastard confiscated my patches! Now what am I going to do? Huh, John? Tell me that. This was your stupid idea."

"They do have them in LA. Its not just a London thing, Sherlock. We'll pick some up when we land." John stifled another fit of laughter, settled into his seat and pulled out his laptop. He signed into his blog and began writing about the journey they were embarking upon, to the west coast of the States.

It was 10:15 when the first announcement came over the intercom system.

"British Airways Flight 7702E now boarding at gate A22... British Airways Flight 7702E now boarding at gate A22..."

"Sherlock.. Sherlock wake up. That's us. Come on." John stood up and stretched, then stuffed his laptop back into his carry-on as Sherlock picked up his own and headed towards the desk. John rushed ahead, and got into line, holding both their passports and boarding passes. Sherlock took his place beside John, and waited as the line slowly crept forward. Once at the desk, John presented the clerk with their documents, and after a few moments, took them back with fresh stamps on their passports. As they stepped into the plane, Sherlock bumped his head on an overhead compartment, earning a laugh and an 'are you okay?' from the attendant. He mumbled something inaudibly, waved her off and sat down in his seat.

"I hope they don't put on some stupid film.. None of that sappy, chick flick mess as you call it."

"Just relax, Sherlock. We'll be there in no time at all."

The intercom crackled and the attendant came on with an announcement.

"Thank you for choosing British Airways. We will be taking off in a few minutes, so I'd like to go over some safety and emergency information..."

"John. How long is this flight?"

"Umm.. Says we arrive at JFK around 1:45 am their time, then have a connecting flight to LAX at 3 am. So, we're going to be flying for.. awhile. Its like, 11 hours non-stop, but we have a layover for about an hour. Just.. quit asking so many questions!" John turned back to the window, trying to stop thinking about the maths involved in flying. He was beginning to confuse himself, and it was already late enough that he didn't want to care.

"John.."

"What?"

"Pass me your laptop."

"Why?"

"I refuse to let these people lower my IQ with such a film as '27 Dresses'. Now hand it over."

After hours of flying, and sitting at the Starbucks in JFK airport for an hour, then more flying, they finally landed in LA. They walked down to the baggage claim, where they saw an odd gang of what could be described by Sherlock only as "child-like fools". That gang, however, was their welcoming committee. John took his bag from the conveyor belt, and strutted over to Rupert, who gave him a brief hug before beginning the introductions.

"John, this is Anya, and the red head is Willow. Oh, and over there, with the flowers, that's Dawn. And Xander.. dear lord.. Where'd he wander to now? He turns into a two year old every time we come here. And this must be Sherlock Holmes." Rupert extended a hand to Sherlock, who reluctantly shook it as he scanned over the motley crew before him. "Its a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I'm Rupert Giles."

"Yes. I've never heard of you. Any of you, as a matter of fact. John, what is this? Are you holding an intervention? Is this about the skull?" Sherlock looked at John questioningly, as they started walking out of the airport. It was cool out, but comfortable. A nice change from the rainy, chilly weather back home. Anya and Willow climbed into Giles' car while Xander loaded the luggage into his own.

"John, you two will be riding with Xander and Dawn. We'll meet back at the house. I know you must be exhausted. See you then." Giles said matter-of-factly just before pulling out of the parking lot. John and Dawn slid into the back seat, allowing Sherlock to take the front seat since, according to Dawn, his legs were 'the longest legs ever' and thus required more space.

"Soo.. Sherlock. That's a neat name. Does it mean anything?" Dawn said cheerfully.

"Its just a name."

"Oh. Well.. So you're some kind of detective? That's pretty cool."

"I'm not just a detective. I'm the world's only consulting detective, not that it makes any difference in your tiny brain." He scoffed back, then leaned his head against the window as he watched the street lights pass overhead.

"My brain isn't.. tiny. It's average size.. Oh.. Xander, what if my brain isn't average size! You know, with the thing and the wonkiness with the monks..." Dawn pressed her hands to her head, as if to feel the size of her brain. John looked over at her puzzled expression and had to fight back a laugh. Xander shot her a 'don't-say-anything-about-that' look in the rear-view mirror, which Sherlock picked up on instantly.

"Let the child, speak. It could be very.. enlightening," Sherlock said in a mocking tone, whilst rolling his eyes at the thought of a teenage girl having anything remotely intelligent to say.

"Oh.. it's nothing. I.. umm.. was born in a monastery." Dawn lied, causing John and Sherlock to exchange equally amused looks.

"Erm.. Xander, right?" John mumbled, still trying to hold back a laugh. "How long is the drive to Sunnydale?"

"Maybe another hour and a half. Don't say you need to pee either, mister. The Xan-man stops for no pee." He replied, wagging his finger in the air to further the point. Dawn giggled uncontrollably at the statement, and Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes in disappointment.

"Brilliant bloody holiday.." Sherlock muttered to himself, as Dawn asked John to play the license plate game with her, -to which he reluctantly agreed- and she began explaining the rules.

Ok, folks. Was it good enough to warrant another chapter? I hope so, since I spent like an hour researching the amount of time it takes to fly from LHR to LAX with a stopover at JFK.. whew.. that was a mouthfull! Oh, and according to Wiki, "Sunnydale" is said to be 2 hours from LA. So I did my research there too. I feel like an regular old Sherlock, being all smart-ness and stuff.. ok, maybe not even close, but you get the idea.