Title: A delicate test
Author: clarrie
Disclaimer: Most of what you see is owned by, respectively, Joss Whedon, Fox, The WB, The estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Jean Marsh and Eileen Atkins, Bram Stoker and Laurie R King.
This is a Sherlock Holmes, Buffy, Dracula, Upstairs Downstairs, Beekeeper crossover. There was a bet.
An illustrated version of this fic can be found at www.geocities.com/bakesale_bitca/deltest.html
Author's note
An Earling = A potential slayer, being trained by the council, but as yet uncalled


The decrepit cab jerked roughly upon the cobbles, throwing the occupant into the air with every change in speed or road surface. Van Helsing gritted his teeth and leant forward, lost in his fog of anger and frustration, impervious to the jarring effect that his choice of transport was having on his old bones.
They had refused him, him! He who had tracked the scourge of three cities to it's lair, until... Who had cornered the fiend of Berne, only to... Who had pursued the Count Molleirrenz across... Who had been failed. Over and again.
He rubbed thoughtfully at his sore joints. And now, they tied him in knots with their... He dug his fingernails into the soft flesh on the palms of his hands in his rage, Their words and their inactivity, no more, no more...
'Fret not thyself because of evildoers, neither be thou envious against the workers of iniquity.' He smiled coldly to himself. 'Choose you this day whom ye will serve.'


Holmes rinsed the last of the dried blood from his throat and pressed at the smooth new skin with his fingertips. He carefully, if needlessly, applied a clean gauze to the area where the injuries had been and returned to his seat at the fireside. Taking up the notebook at his side he bent forward over a low table and began to sort through the eclectic items before him, his hand hovering for a moment over the clutter before picking out a small scalpel.
'If you prick us do we not bleed?' He murmured to himself as he drew a fine score down his thumb and watched the dark liquid swell up. 'Hmm.' He gave a satisfied nod of his head and made a mark in his book. 'Evidently we do.'


'Enter.'
The young man who had been responsible for the knock took a bashful step inside the heavy warmth of the room. Heated through by the fire which snapped and rumbled in the fireplace, the air lay solid and undisturbed cosseted by the thick carpeting and curtains, and as the cold draught of the hallway blew into the study there was a very real risk of an indoor rainstorm.
'Sir?' The youth peered through fogged up glasses. 'We had another visit from Dr Van Helsing, He was most... He seems to think that there's a new vampire hunting in the city.'
'Another?' The elder Holmes brother's low voice rumbled drowsily from the unseen depths of some armchair. 'The Compte De Longueville has been sighted again I know, presumably it is our old friend Albin to whom he refers?'
'No Sir.' Wyndham took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the mist from his spectacles. 'He claims that it, that is, that he was unable... It was unknown to him.' Wyndham replaced his glasses and blinked theatrically. 'He wished to research in the library but...'
'You didn't let him of course.'
'Yes Sir, that is, no Sir, as per the given instructions.'
'Good, good.' There was a creak as Mycroft shifted within his seat. 'Keep an eye on him though would you. It is as well to know his movements just that little bit better than he himself. After all.' He chuckled softly. 'It would not do to have total anarchy.'
'No Sir.' Wyndham stood stiff backed at the doorway.
'Was that all?'
'Yes... Well, sir, we, that is, Travers...' Stumbled Wyndham.
'Out with it man.' Countered Mycroft wearily. 'Before we all freeze.'
'The Earlings sir, they're becoming restless.' He cleared his throat. 'What with the recent weather and some of them are so very homesick and...'
'To the point man, to the point.'
Wyndham blushed. 'Travers and I wondered whether we might take them to the theatre Sir. Miss Pryce has offered to chaperone and there's a production of...'
'Wyndham, are you seriously suggesting that I allow you to take an entire battalion of potential slayers to the theatre?'
'Sir.'
There was a pause, and a lengthy sigh from within the depths of the chair. 'Have them back before nine. Matron worries if they lose sleep.'


'Aaaaahoooooffffffghfufff.' I blushed as I felt the woman glaring at me in irritation, and fumbled for my handkerchief. 'It was just...' I prickled at her air of smug superiority. 'It *is* unhealthy to suppress a sneeze you know.'
She raised an eyebrow in infuriating silence before consenting to continue.


'So, what is it brought you back to this gilded midden anyway?' Albin lolled back in his chair, elevating his boots to the table-top beside Spike as the skinny youth attending him began to scrape a thick layer of shaving foam from his exposed neck and chin. 'Don't mind Alfie, will you, William. He may be painfully vital but he has the morals of an alley cat, don't you my dear?'
'I prefer to think of me'self as an entrepreneur, Guv.' Alfie grinned wickedly to himself as he ran the heavy Turkish blade along the vampire's profile. 'Filling a niche in the market, like.'
'Tsk.' Albin raised an eyebrow carefully as the blade passed a final delicate circuit along his jaw. ' Guv He says, guv. Such inelegance!' He purred to himself like a contented Persian. 'I daresay I could smooth out a few of those ghastly little mannerisms...'
'With respect guv, I'd have a sharp stick through your waistcoat before you could say 'knife'.'
Alfie wiped his blade carefully on a towel and replaced it carefully in his somewhat dilapidated bag. 'I got this barra' down the market see, for when business with your class a gentlemen is going a bit slow, And I'd hate to lose me morning trade.' He took a tin of tea and a brown paper packet of sugar from his bag and placed them on the table in front of him, to Albin's appreciative murmurs. 'Speakin' of morning trade, which of you lot was it did in Vi Strensall the other night?' Alfie rummaged in his bag for the rest of Albin's groceries. 'Only out of curiosity like, on account of it didn't seem like your style, guv.' Albin grinned wolfishly. 'And she's more what you might call a veal girl i'n't she?' Alfie nodded towards Drusilla as she slumbered peacefully on the floor. 'Likes the kiddies as I remember.'
'Vi?' Spike frowned. 'Ginger? About...' He held his hand out at shoulder height, 'So high? Runs a whelk stall?'
Alfie shook his head. 'Nah,' he paused. 'It was you who got old Bet then?'
Spike shrugged without shame. 'We got peckish. Couldn't...' He ignored Albin's knowing smile. 'Couldn't tell you who got your friend.'
'Ah.' Chuckled Albin under his breath. 'The modesty of youth.'


Holmes stared at his palm as it smoked gently beneath the tiny wooden cross. A rapidly healing blister along his middle finger testified to his earlier experiments with a small phial of holy water and a garlic bulb, pungent, but otherwise it seemed ineffectual, lay smouldering in the fire.
Carefully he picked up his handkerchief and wrapping it around the emblem removed it from his skin. A circle of scorched and reddened skin spread out from around the central crosshairs left by the crucifix.
'Fascinating.' Holmes muttered to himself, stretching and prodding at the wound as he walked to the bathroom. 'Absolutely...' He stared up at the tiny, shaded window above the washing basin. 'Fascinating...' Hypnotised by curiosity, he took his unharmed right hand and slid it, carefully beneath the blinds...


'Dr Giles? If you have a moment, I'm afraid you're needed at the...' Sister Peters paused momentarily at the sight of Dr Watson, before turning back to her superior. 'It's Millie Porter again, I'm afraid. Rather urgent.'
'Oh dear.' Dr Giles stood briskly and shook Watson by the hand. 'I shall have to bid you goodbye, Dr. I'm sure Peters here will fetch you a cup of tea whilst she discusses our volunteer programme, Peters?'
'So, Dr.' Peters took out a form and began to fill out details. 'May I ask in which field of medicine it is that you specialise?'