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


'Oh,' Dr Giles drew a sharp inward breath as her foot was lifted for inspection. 'I'm a damned fool, I'm just a - don't worry about cutting the stocking it's not new...'
Watson, who hadn't been, snipped the cloth gently away from her swollen extremity, in silence.
'I, oh dear, I did come to apologise, I'm, oh gosh, I'm so, so sorry.' She bit her lip. 'I, quite often you see I, oh!'
'Can you move your toes?' Dr Giles twitched her foot stiffly in reply. 'It's not broken at least.' 'I,' she continued, 'that is, you see, quite often one of the ladies from the hospital will come back with me and we sit up late talking, about medical matters and so on,' She winced as Watson wiped the slight grazes on her toes with surgical spirits. 'And I forgot, you see, I didn't even think, I am sorry. You must think I'm some sort of, oh that hurts...'
Watson cradled her heel in the palm of his hand and began to unfurl a bandage. 'I,' He did not lift his gaze from his work. 'I, didn't realise...' He placed his hand on her ankle to steady it as he began to wrap the bandage around her foot. 'That is, that your foot was in the door.'
'It shouldn't have been there.' Dr Giles watched as he worked, carefully binding her foot in the cool pale strip of linen with the quick easy movements of one used to such work. 'I shouldn't have been treating you like, like an enemy.' The cream cloth was wound tightly up her ankle in silence. 'Should I?'
'I don't think that I should care to be the enemy of Marian Giles for anything.'
'Oh, am I that fierce?'
'Amongst other reasons.' Watson pinned the end of the bandage firmly into place. 'There - can you walk?'
'I - oh yes, here we go.' Dr Giles allowed herself to be helped to her feet and took a few tentative steps. 'I'm afraid that boot won't be going back on today though. Would you mind, I can't quite pick it up.' She took the boot from his hand with a brief distracted smile. 'Oh, thank you Dr.'
'Please,' Watson filled two glasses and placed one in her hand, 'if you would call me John?'
'Thank you, John.' Dr Giles lowered herself back into the nearby armchair and let a small amount of the spirits pass between her lips. 'But you must promise to repay the compliment.' 'It would be my pleasure, Marian.'
'Miriam.' Corrected Dr Giles.
'Oh,' Watson blushed. 'I do beg your pardon.'
'It's a common mistake.' Dr Giles attempted a reassuring smile. 'Both names are derived from the biblical mrym I believe, meaning...'
' 'Longed for child' ...' Watson lowered his eyes. 'My, that is my late wife was named Mary.'
'Oh.' Dr Giles stared absently into her drink. 'I was always told 'bitter'...'


'ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore.' Drawled Albin, stroking Drusilla's hair fondly as Spike and Bathory bent, discussing the next nights spell, over a square of parchment.
'While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly,' He whispered into Drusilla's ear, 'There came a tapping,' he accompanied his recitation with three playful blows upon her crown, 'Tis some visitor,' He patted Drusilla's nose as she turned her face up to him in childlike amusement, 'tapping at my chamber door.' He breathed low and whimsically conspiratorial in the vampiress's ear, 'only this and nothing more.'


'Dr...I...John...' Dr Giles paused as she was assisted into the cab and turned back to face Watson. 'Do you trust me?'
'I...'
'Do you trust me?' Giles unfastened the clasp of her necklace and pressed it into the palm of Watson's hand. 'Wear this, please.' Watson stared at the crucifix. 'Please.'


'Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought it's ghost upon the floor.'
'Eagerly you wish the morrow.' Interrupted Drusilla giggling.
'Vainly I had sought to borrow, From,' He paused and grinned, ' Your dolls surcease of sorrow, sorrow for?'
'The lost Lenore!' Exclaimed Drusilla with childish laughter.
'For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named?'
'Lenore!' Drusilla giggled snatching her doll back from Albin's teasing grasp.
'Hmm.' Pouted Albin playfully. 'Nameless here for evermore.'
'What the...' Spike stared at his laughing companions and shook his head in disbelief. 'You're both as mad as a fucking hat-stand. Now - ' Spike took Drusilla's hands and lifted her to her feet 'Stop playing silly buggers and come and come get marked with Erzsébet's brand.'
'Patience, William dear, patience.' Albin nonchalantly eased himself to his feet. 'We shall come to receive Betty's mark, with joy on our faces and a song in our hearts.'
Drusilla pulled Spike's arm around her shoulders and leant back into his embrace. 'Like little birds in May...'

'Phw...Phw...Phw...' Ruby paused in her abortive efforts to whistle as she worked and twisted another strip of newspaper for the grate. 'Onward Christian Soldiers, Marching out the door,' She sang quietly, if inaccurately, to herself in the darkness of the pre-dawn living room, 'With them cross old Jesus,' Her song faltered as the fire failed to catch, repeatedly, 'Marching out the door - bugger!'
'Hardly the language of a lady, my dear.' Ruby started and dropped the remaining matches at Holmes' voice. She turned to see her new employer inclined against the main doorframe, lighting a cigarette. 'And you would be?'
'New under house maid, only temp'ry, Sir, Ruby,' Ruby stood staring fixedly at the floor. 'Sir.'
'Indeed? I'm glad hear it,' He drawled breathing smoke out through his nostrils, 'for you make a singularly inefficacious cat burglar.'
'I aten't never taken nowt.' Protested Ruby indignantly. 'I got references and everything.' She added for veracity.
'Oh my, references?' Holmes took a further drag on his cigarette. 'Kindly continue about your work, Ruby, I would not be blamed for any disruption of the housework.'
Ruby, who had heard stories, and for whom suspicion was not tempered by a sense of proportionate risk, returned warily to her task. Presently the fire began to burn in the grate and she turned to leave. Holmes remained in his previous position at the doorway.
'S'cuse me, sir.' She muttered.
'You are excused.' Holmes shifted to the side of the door and allowed her to push past. 'I shall be keeping an eye on you, Ruby.'


'Sir,' The young Watcher peered around the edge of his superior's door, 'Sir you have a visitor, it's...'
'Let her in,' Mycroft sighed. 'If nothing else, it's preferable to a scene. Mrs Giles,' He neglected to stand, 'I assume it would be too much to hope that this is a social call?'
'I want you to place a watch on your brother and his friend.' Dr Giles leant upon her cane. 'Now.'
'I was rather under the impression that I already had.' Mycroft cast fragments of a torn envelope casually into the nearby fireplace. 'Am I to assume that you are requesting to be replaced?'
'A proper watch,' continued Dr Giles, 'An Agramonian, or, a pair of Carreunites. At the least, Mirihimnae, at the very least.'
'You appear to think we have infinite resources at our disposal for you, Mrs Giles. Would you care to have me ship the Slayer herself in from Egypt? It would take a little longer but...'
'Sir, I'm not being unreasonable.'
Mycroft prodded the fire, pushing red-hot ash on top of the remaining unburnt fragments until they themselves ignited. 'You are injured.' He said, finally.
'Sir.'
'In the course of your duties?'
'As a child I was always told that it was impossible for a Watcher to do anything outside the course of their duties.' Replied Dr Giles grimly.
'Of course, I do not have your childhood training, Mrs Giles. It must be a great comfort to you.' Mycroft rose slowly from his armchair. 'I shall have to remember it for the future.'
'I became entangled with a door.' She adjusted her stance to relieve the pressure on her injured foot. 'Sir?'
'I will look into the matter.' Mycroft ushered her towards the door. 'I assure you, Mrs Giles. Notice has been taken.'


'Hu Lun, Hu Lun, please, stay in line! Well I don't care what the dog was doing we'll never get there if you don't.... TATIANA! Now is that ladylike behaviour? It doesn't matter if it wasn't deliberate it was still...Oh please don't pester Lucia so, Nabulungi... well if you truly dislike each other that much go to opposite ends of the line... Hesther! Parvati does not wish you to do that to her hair! No she doesn't! She has repeatedly told you to... Branwyn stop that now! Because I said so, Oh why can't you all try to behave a little more like Ramona... No she isn't Francesca! And I hardly think I'd call that ladylike language would you? Oh, Good evening, Mr Travers,' Miss Pryce smiled wanly from within the throng, 'Such high spirits, today's youth, I'm sure I don't remember being so - Oh please Soraya,' she wailed, 'you have been told!'


'Good evening ma'am.' Pearson assisted Dr Giles with her coats. 'Do I take it, from the early hour of your return, that Ma'am will be taking dinner at the usual time this evening?'
'No, Pearson, rather I shall take it at the same time as the rest of humanity.' Dr Giles paused in the face of Pearson's unbudging convention. 'Yes, Pearson, I shall be taking it at a more usual hour. I'd like to go to the nursery for an hour first and see Master Angus to bed, if cook doesn't mind?'
'I imagine she will view it as something in the way of a raindrop in the ocean, ma'am.' With this, Pearson departed to the kitchen leaving Dr Giles alone in the hall.
'Gosh,' she thought affectionately, 'And after only twenty years of service, impudent pup.'


'Mr Wyndham, Good evening,' Miss Pryce extended her hand, 'Mrs Travers, How delightful, I did not expect to see you in your present...' She blushed. 'That is...'
'I was told, Miss Pryce, in no uncertain words,' Travers grinned, 'That Poll would soon be big as a house and that if had, the sheer gall, that was how you put it wasn't it poppet? The sheer gall to come out and leave her at home with Emmy and the triplets, then I would only have myself to blame for the consequences... What?'
'Ooh,' Mrs Travers smacked her husband light-heartedly with her programme, 'Cad!' She turned to Miss Pryce and smiled. 'Don't listen to a word he says Miss Pryce, he's an inveterate liar, a torment to friends and family alike.'
'Oh.' Miss Pryce laughed uncertainly. 'Oh my, indeed, that must be most...Zillah! Please leave that poor man alone and give those back at once!'
Wyndham paled slightly as the young girls swarmed in the foyer. 'Gosh. How vigorous they are, Miss Pryce.' He cleared his throat. 'Shall we begin to take them in?'