Hello! This is my first attempt at a five plus one, so I really hope it isn't too terrible. And of course, reviews are amazing and very much appreciated! :)

Sherlock and all of its characters belong to BBC.

1. Sarah

"If we survive this ordeal, when it's over, we are THROUGH!" Sarah shouted as the man grabbing her from behind pulled out a gun and pressed it against her temple.

"Shut up, bitch," the gunman said, pushing the cold metal even harder to her skull. "Now, I'm going to ask you one more time, Mr. Watson, where is Sherlock keeping the case?"

John made a helpless noise, his gun lying at his feet in an effort to appease the maniac. Sherlock should have been here by now. He had been at Sarah's when his flatmate had sent him a text telling him to meet him at this exact location, and his girlfriend insisted on tagging along, even though Sherlock had warned him that it could be dangerous.

And as soon as they'd arrived at the desolate warehouse and the cabbie had driven away with a curious look on his face, Sarah had been grabbed from behind by the man now holding a gun to her head. He'd forced John to back up several yards and set the gun he had kept concealed inside his jacket on the dusty ground in front of him.

What the hell is this bloody case he keeps going on about? John thought desperately, trying to remember if his neurotic companion had brought one home recently. "I don't know what you're talking about, just let her go. She has absolutely nothing to do with this!"

"No, I know you do," The man growled, his grip on Sarah or the gun not loosening even in the slightest. "Holmes trusts no one but you, and of course she's part of this, if putting her in peril can get you to—"

BAM!

The murderer that Sherlock had been investigating fell the the ground, pulling the trigger as he dropped, managing to graze Sarah with a bullet in the process.

The tall, dark-haired figure that John had gotten so familiar with stepped out of the shadows, his light skin contrasting with his long, black coat, even in the darkness of the warehouse. He nodded, slipping his own gun back into the inside of his coat. "John."

"You could have killed her!" John glared in Sherlock's direction as he knelt down beside the crying woman in front of him.

"But I didn't! Honestly, John, it's in the past now. No need to be so apprehensive," the consulting detective shrugged, pulling out his mobile. "Lestrade will be here momentarily. I wonder how they can possibly feel comfortable being that indolent."

In the midst of trying to comfort Sarah, John suddenly realized something that managed to piss him off even more than he had been before. "We were bait. You used us as bait YOU EGOCENTRIC BASTARD."

"Oh, well, it does sound a bit narcissistic when you put it like that, but I suppose that's what I did, yes. I assumed you were with Sarah judging by the sudden amount of grooming you did before you left the flat, and that was twice the distraction. Too precious an opportunity to pass up. Worked out quite well, don't you think? Didn't even have to lug that enormous case of cocaine to the scene, quite a handy situation, really," Sherlock went on indifferently.

"You are literally the most thoughtless person I have ever met," John seethed as he heard the sirens approaching, still trying to staunch the wound on his girlfriend's shoulder. If she even was his girlfriend anymore.

And that was cleared up quite well once the EMTs had attended to her.

"I wasn't kidding, John. We're through. I've had enough brushes with death for a lifetime, being with you," she sighed, not even looking at him. "And I don't want the next time, and you know as well as I do that there will be a next time, to be a bit more than just a brush."

John sighed heavily, gently touching her hand. "I understand. And I apologize for how much trouble I've put you through."

Sarah laughed. "Eh, well, it was exciting. But just a bit too exciting."

He smiled a bit, then turned to leave. He spotted Sherlock, and wasted no time making sure the detective knew every world in the "colorful insult" section of his vocabulary.

2. The One With The Nose

"Going out with That Nose Girl again?" Sherlock questioned absently as he plucked at the strings on his violin.

John had begun to think of the phrase being a proper noun at this point. He'd only been dating Elaine for a few days, but Sherlock still seemed to refuse to refer to her by name. Always a comment about her nose. She did have quite a nose, but she was still pretty. Big green eyes and pretty blonde hair. John had given up correcting Sherlock's offensive way of referring to the woman, so he just sighed and told his flatmate that yes, he was going out with her. "Think you can manage to not bother me for an hour?"

Sherlock's narrowed eyes flicked over to the doctor. "Yes, of course. Have a good time."

John gave him a puzzled look. It was...strange. Sherlock never wished him a good time. He usually just stared out the window playing his instrument forlornly, or lain on the couch, hands steepled under his chin, staring at the ceiling not saying a word, or had his nose buried in a case or his eyes glued to the screen of his laptop, completely oblivious to his departure.

"Uhm. Alright then," the doctor nodded awkwardly. "Thanks."

John left the flat still feeling a bit disconcerted, but that was soon fixed by the lovely evening he had with Elaine.

However, bringing her back to the shared flat for tea was the first mistake he made.

The second mistake was having to piss and leaving Sherlock in the same room with his new girlfriend long enough for him to make a full deduction.

Her hand connected with the world's only consulting detective's face in a record of 13 seconds.

Moments later, she stormed out of the flat without a goodbye, called him later, and, needless to say, promptly dumped him.

3. The One With The Speckles

"John, if you answer that phone," Renee enunciated each syllable slowly, her jaw clenched. "It is over."

John bit his bottom lip, glancing over at the vibrating mobile on the small table beside the bed. One hand was on Renee's naked waist, the other frozen above the device by her warning. He looked at Renee's rigid, freckled expression and sighed, eyes flicking between the name that was lighting the screen and his girlfriend's scowl.

Sherlock. What if he's hurt? What if he's in trouble? Why would he call? He hates calling. He always texts. What's wrong?

With a sharp intake of breath, he snatched up his phone and gathered up his clothes, putting them on haphazardly as he answered the call.

"This. Better. Be. Important." he hissed each word, not turning back to look at the stunned woman he had left in his wake as he shut the door quietly behind , still trying to get his loafers on.

"Obviously, John. You know I prefer to text," Sherlock replied, and John could easily visualize the "My God, people are stupid" look that he knew the detective was wearing. "I need you to stop by the store and pick up some milk. I simply cannot complete this investigation without it."

John angrily pushed the End Call button and made his way to the nearest shop to pick up a gallon of the dairy product.

When he stepped into the flat, Sherlock was busying himself in the kitchen with some putrid experiment. John coughed and pinched his nose as he shoved the milk at his flatmate. "I hope it's worth it. Renee dumped me over your call, you dick."

"Renee?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head slightly, his blue eyes slightly perplexed. Then, a wave of realization passed over his face. "Ahhh, that was the one with the speckles, wasn't it? You can do better. She was completely daft anyway. I mean, modeling? What kind of inane career choice is that anyway?"

The livid doctor couldn't help making an agitated noise. He was using every ounce of his willpower in an attempt to avoid throttling the man across from him.

4. Jeanette

"John, you do understand that we're here to talk, right?"

John didn't hear her. He was focused on his mobile.

"Ahem. John!"

The doctor jumped, looking at the woman sitting across from him, as if noticing she was there for the first time. "Oh, er. Yes, what were you saying?"

"Oh, nothing. I just figured since this was supposed to be an apology dinner for the way you and your flatmate behaved the other day you could at least stop texting him for thirty seconds," Jeanette seethed.

"Oh, uh, yes. Right. Of course," John fumbled his mobile back into his pocket, his face suddenly flushing. "I'm sorry. Entirely inappropriate right now."

"You think?" the woman glared, taking a small sip from her drink. "But I guess I'm just 'the boring school teacher' after all, aren't I?"

"Oh, no, no, of course not," John reassured absently. His pocket just vibrated. Maybe he could just...

"Okay. Forget it. Check your precious mobile and text your boyfriend. Maybe I'll just go home and spend time with my dog—oh wait! I don't have one! Not that you would know."

Jeanette stood, glaring down at the speechless man across from her, drink in hand. "Goodbye, John!"

She poured the contents of the cup onto his head, then waltz out of the restaurant, leaving a shocked and sopping John behind midst the applause of the people seated at the tables nearby.

5. Anthea

John and Anthea never really dated. Actually, in fact, they never really even talked. Every time Mycroft would decide it was time to kidnap the doctor, he would try to talk to her, but it was more like trying to chat up a brick wall. A very attractive brick wall that he very much hoped would talk back.

And finally, she did.

"So, uh, how about this rain?" John was once again feebly attempting to start a conversation as he was being driven back to 221B after yet another routine kidnapping by his flatmate's brother.

"Look, Dr. Watson," Anthea sighed, looking up from her mobile, a highly unamused look on her face. "I'm, quite frankly, not interested."

He felt blood rush to his face. "Oh, uh, yes. Right. Of course. Just, er, talking about the weather, that's all."

She smiled at the suddenly flustered veteran, the vehicle now stopped in front of the flat. "Goodbye!"

And with that, John made his way into the flat strangely feeling exactly as if he had been dumped yet again.

+1. Sherlock

"Oh, John. This is getting to be a bit ridiculous," Sherlock drawled, lazily turning the pages of a huge book outlining some arduous scientific theory. "The fact that it hasn't become so glaringly obvious to even your admittedly menial intellect manages to astound even my superior one."

John yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes with one hand as he held his cup of tea in the other. "What are you going on about this time?"

"You're in love with me. Obviously."

The doctor froze, almost choking to death on the sip of tea he was in the middle of. "Come again?"

"Oh, John, you know I hate repeating myself. It's dreadfully dull. You clearly heard what I said, judging by the sudden coughing fit, no need for me to be redundant," his deep voice droned, still flipping the pages of his book.

"Yes—no—I mean..." John's eyes were wide, his face suddenly hot. Why the hell was he even blushing? "What would, uh...What would give you that idea?"

"Well, take a look at your relationships with women, for one. You can't keep one. Why's that? Oh, perhaps it has a bit to do with my complete social ignorance, disregard for others' feelings and my offensive behavior, but clearly, it has to do with you as well. Let's not forget the fact that you will do basically anything I ask of you, even if it involves something intimate, such as handing me my phone from my own pocket. And even that, you've grown quite accustomed to. In fact, I've found that your heart rate speeds up and your pupils dilate when I request something of that nature. Why? Is it because you're nervous? Excited? Hopeful? Perhaps all three?"

Sherlock was gazing intently at him now, his piercing blue eyes seeming to read John's every thought. He felt exposed, like his mind was completely written out across his face for the detective to poke through at his leisure.

But...there was also something else there, a stronger feeling underneath the embarrassment and frustration and indignation and denial and doubt. Something that surprised him. Relief?

"I—" John's voice failed him. He felt like he couldn't move a muscle. His body had just completely shut down except for his racing thoughts.

"Well? Am I right?" Sherlock stood, slowly striding over to where John was locked in place. He still couldn't respond. "Oh, well. No need to reiterate the obvious. Of course I am. Because I do believe that I'm in love with you, too."

Sherlock's lips suddenly covered John's and the doctor could finally move again. He reacted to the hungry kiss with every ounce of the unrealized romantic tension he'd felt towards the detective since the day he'd seen him peering through a microscope in his lab, the day that they had become flatmates and their adventure began. John tangled his fingers in Sherlock's thick, dark locks and he felt his flatmate shudder with pleasure, pulling him in even tighter.

They finally had to stop, both of them completely breathless.

John couldn't help but laugh at the desperate, disoriented look on Sherlock's face, something he could have never imagined he would see etched in the detective's features. Soon, Sherlock's delicious baritone giggles joined in.

When they'd finally gotten through the sudden fit, John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"Helping me realize," John replied, hesitantly.

"Anything for my blogger," the detective smiled, nuzzling into the doctor's hair. "And, you'll never have to be rejected again, for as long as you'll have me."

John pulled back, smiling right back at him. "That's a promising prospect."

They kissed again, and Sherlock was right. John never experienced another breakup ever again.