A/N: And I'm back, with a nicer story. It isn't angst, but it's interesting, to say the least.

I've has this idea for a few months. My English teacher and I had a bit of a tiff when she claimed that you can't write a story in the second person, and I argued you can. I though of this- what if I told the same scene, but from three different character's points of view, and in the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd person?

So here you have it. This is more style than substance, I'm afraid, and I already know I'm rubbish at the 1st person, but this is my first time trying to write in the 2nd, and I found it... addicting.

Ramble to be posted at the bottom.

So here you have it. Enjoy, and Mrs. G, I hope this proves you wrong.

DISCLAIMER: You see those characters down there? Do you recognize them? If so, then I'm afraid they aren't mine. Sorry.

1st PERSON: DI LESTRADE

I sighed as I watched the two men work. The overcast weather certainly didn't improve my mood, and as I watched, it became clear that the two men had been arguing. Great. Another thing to add to my already crappy day.

I should have just decided to take a sick say when I woke up half an hour late this morning. But I struggled through traffic, being unable to find a single matching pair of socks, spilling coffee on my shirt and having two new cases hit my desk the second I arrived at work, only to arrive at a fresh crime scene, and find that the two men who I needed to be on top form had been arguing.

Yeah, fuck me.

I watch the two men as they stay a certain distance away from each other, how painfully polite they are to each other, how clipped and harsh their words are.

And suddenly I'm angry.

I had plenty of arguments with my wife before we divorced. These two will have their arguments. But they can't let it effect them professionally. I don't want to talk to them. But I will if I have to.

I take a deep breath, breathing in the damp air. I close my eyes for a minute, hoping maybe I'll open them again and find today was just a bad dream, and that I'm still in bed. I hear the sound of someone's ringtone (Take On Me, really? It's a classic, but still...) and find that my trick hasn't worked. I sigh and open my eyes again.

Those two are almost touching now, but one can feel the tension between them.

God, I'd kill for a cigarette.

I square my shoulders and walk to them. I don't want to have this talk with them, god knows. But I need to.

But no, one of them's said something, and now they're kissing (over a dead body) and damn it all to hell, now I'm going to have to go over there and remind them that they are at my crime scene, and in public, and to please keep the public displays of affection to a minimum, but no, now they've stopped.

They're staring into each other's eyes now, and it's all I can do not to puke. Or smile. I could still go over there and remind them they are in public, but I don't have the heart anymore. Instead I make a note to myself to pick up more nicotine patches later.

I turn around so they don't see me smile.

It starts to rain.

2nd PERSON: JOHN WATSON

You'd fought with him that morning. He'd left fingers in the jam, and damn it, as much as you loved him, fingers in the jam were not acceptable.

You both said things you regretted now. Just as things were coming to a head, he'd gotten a call, and had left you, standing alone in the middle of the flat, with barely enough time to grab your coat before running off after him.

Now you are out in the cold, overcast weather, and you wonder if he can feel the waves of tension and pent up frustration rolling off of you. Maybe he can, because he stays away from you, stays overly formal with you.

"Doctor Watson," he says, "what do you think of the puncture wounds to her neck?"

You scowl. Since when have you been "Doctor Watson"?

Two can play at that game. "Well, Mr. Holmes," you begin, kneeling next to the body, "I'd say they're some form of injection, meaning that should could have been drugged before she died. She didn't use drugs, so that is the best solution." You look at him expectantly.

He scowls, you note with pleasure. That means you were right.

And then he deduces everything about the girl, everything she's ever done, and you can't help it, damn it to hell. "Brilliant," you mutter against your will, "Fantastic, amazing."

You blush when you remember you're supposed to be angry at him but said that anyways. He looks smug for a moment before continuing his deductions.

You hear a ringtone go off somewhere. You wonder whose it is.

You look at the body, try to see what he sees, but your eyes wander involuntarily back to him. He really is beautiful, you think, when he's like this. In his element. Nevermind his element is dead bodies, at least he has one. You didn't have one before you met him.

Now? You are in your element when you're around him. And that's good enough for you.

Suddenly he's looking at you and you realize you were an idiot. Well, he was an idiot to start, but he's always an idiot. He realizes something at the same time you do, you think (you can never be sure with him) and he straightens up and stares at you.

You stare at him. He stares at you. This continues for a few seconds. It's rather tedious, you think, and just when you are about to turn away because maybe he didn't realize something he leans in.

The kiss is abrupt, but nice. He doesn't apologize, but you don't either. He pulls away, leaving you slightly out of breath and he stares into your eyes again. He doesn't say anything still, but you see the question of forgiveness in his eyes. Or you think you do. You're never sure.

And maybe it's the fact you're never sure that makes you smile, a smile that says all is forgiven and that maybe you're sorry too.

It starts to rain.

3rd PERSON: SHERLOCK HOLMES

Sherlock Holmes was not a patient man.

Some didn't even think he was a man at all. Those closest to him knew otherwise, of course, but sometimes he wondered himself.

That wasn't the problem, though. The current problem was his patience. Or rather, his lack of it. He hadn't wanted to wait for another jar of jam. He needed to store the fingers in something. He figured the jam would be okay, (even though he knew it wasn't) and if it wasn't (it wasn't) then he could buy John a new jar of jam (he couldn't and wouldn't). That had been his explanation.

John saw right through it, much to Sherlock's dismay. Maybe he had been teaching the doctor too many of his tricks.

Which was why he was now out with the man he loved, in the cold, overcast weather (which he didn't mind- this was his favorite type of weather, in fact) and they were refusing to speak.

Well, they were speaking. But Sherlock didn't know if it counted as speaking. Words came from their mouths, sure. Audible noises were heard and replied to. But they weren't speaking like they normally did. It was a robotic, overly-polite sort of manner with which they were speaking to one another.

And it was bothering the hell out of Sherlock. And distracting him. And, well, just generally annoying him.

He'd said he was sorry. Hadn't he? Maybe he hadn't.

He tries to convey his annoyance through his words. "Doctor Watson," he says, "what do you think of the puncture wounds to her neck?" He already knows the answer, of course.

When John responds in a similarly cold manner, and gets it right, he can't stop the scowl that spreads across his features.

And then John's praising him, doing what no one else has ever done before, and he realizes that he was an idiot. He should've apologized. He should've waited, damn his lack of patience, because John accepts him for who he is, and admires him, and that is something no one else has done ever before.

Sherlock looks up at John. He hears a ringtone go off, and he tries to say sorry with his eyes, what he can't say out loud. John looks at him, and Sherlock knows John isn't getting it.

So he does what seems to be the appropriate thing and kisses him.

John gets it. John forgives him. They gaze at each other, and Sherlock suddenly feels okay again.

It starts to rain.

Rainy's Ramble: For those of you new to my work, hi. My name is Rainy. I like to ramble at the end of my stories. If you aren't interested, then you are under no means obligated to read this, but still please leave a review. It would make my day warmer and sunshine-ier. (That is a word. I made it up. It is in this ramble. Therefore, it is a word.) However, from what I am told, these are pretty funny and enjoyable, so it's your loss.

Ah, hello again, readers! For those of you who are reading this because of Love Everlasting, my 30 Day OTP Challenge, I'd just like to apologize for the long wait. And the fact I haven't filled any of your gorgeous prompts. I tried, but this story and the one I posted previously would not leave my mind, and I was rendered utterly incapable of writing anything else until these stories were written. So, sorry about that. To new readers- welcome! Thanks for checking this out.

I'd like to say something. I have been sick since New Year's Eve, and as such, this was written single-draft, on my phone, over the course of several days. Considering this is basically me just telling the same scene over again three different ways, if there are any inconsistencies, typos, or errors, I apologize. Also, I'm American, and if there are any Americanisms, I apologize.

Now that that's out of the way...

OH MY GOD YOU GUYS SEASON THREE. *flails arms rapidly* I promise I won't post any spoilers (because I'm not THAT mean), but if you want to talk to me about it, message me. I have plenty to say. All I'm going to say for now is- HOLY SHIT IT IS AMAZING.

I curse a lot, if you can't tell.

So. I'm sick. I feel brain dead. I can barely breathe, and I've been bed-ridden for the past two days. Still, I was an idiot today and thought, well, why don't I start on my fifty-six APUSH terms due on Monday? It'll be something to do.

I got only seventeen done, and now I feel worse than before. But I need to do them, and just... bleh. History. You horrible, amazing thing, you.

However, my mother did buy me some grape juice, and she's leaving tomorrow, which means I'll be in charge of watching my brothers, which shouldn't be too hard. I've already located her pink snuggie and am prepared to steal it. So tomorrow, my agenda consists of finishing my APUSH homework, and starting work on a prompt or two. And then posting them.

Speaking of prompts...

I got another one today. Heidi (I've mentioned her previously) has read a parent!lock I started a long time ago, but wrote down on paper and never finished. Well, she loves it, so today she reblogged something on tumblr and mentioned me in the tag, which went something like this: "RRAAAAAIIIINNNNNYYYYY YOU NEED TO DO THIS YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULD" (I, of course, substituted, Rainy for my real name). I responded with, "HOLY SHIT HEIDI FINE I'LL DO THE FUCKING PROMPT."... so tomorrow I'm going to try and write a one shot with that, and see how it goes.

Oh, and my stepbrother? The one with the potato cult? Yeah, he got a shirt for Christmas that says "Got Potato?". I feel like shooting something over this gift.

Who's up for starting a world-wide Anti-Potato League to stop his madness?

Hope to hear from you all soon.

PLEASE REVIEW. PLEASE. I AM BEGGING. I love them more than you can ever imagine.

Goodnight, or good morning,

Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams

*dances about to Come On Eileen* *flails and trips over sheets*

P.S. It has been suggested to me that I should turn this into a series. So I suppose I shall. Look for a new chapter soon. ;)