*HELLO! So this chapter and the next chapter go together, they're from the viewpoint of each character about their boyfriend. It's sappy and silly but I think I'll like it once I'm finished writing it. Enjoy

Person 1

"Honestly, son, you're not getting any younger. You ought to find someone settle down. Be happy, you deserve it."

He told her he was happy, but of course she won't be satisfied with my words until there's a ring on his finger. When he was fifteen she informed him that by thirty he's to have a wife and a son (had to be a son, of course) to carry on the family name, but he told her that about then was a good time to inform her that he likes men, and she said, "I know, dear, I just wanted to you say it. Now, Mrs. Wheeler down the street's got a nice son and we think he's one of your kind too…" The rest of the conversation is a blur because he did go out with Mrs. Wheeler's son and he was dreadfully boring.

Mycroft's mother told him to settle down and be happy six months ago. He kindly disagreed and left, but it's midnight on the morning of his 39th birthday and he's sitting on his couch with a glass of Scotch and nobody to share it with. Sometimes it hits him, that. It hits him that there's nobody here and nobody to share simple things like birthdays with. Sometimes he longs for someone, anyone.

Memories of past relationships hardly come to his mind. Mycroft's philosophy is that when it's done, it's done. It's helped him greatly; he adopted this philosophy when he was thirteen and Todd Berman kissed him behind the cafeteria, then four days later told him there was something wrong with him. Mycroft didn't know what was wrong with him, but he thought it better not to dwell.

His relationships have ended easily since then. When it's time to walk away, I walk away, he thinks. But nights like tonight are hard.

He goes to sleep alone and wakes up to his phone ringing seven hours later.

"Hello?"

"Mycroft?"

"Greg?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Mycroft sleepily rubs his eyes and checks his wrist watch. It reads 7 AM and he feels a sudden sense of panic. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine. It's just I…" Greg's voice trails off as if he's trying to find the words to say. He continues, "I'm just on my way to work and wanted to tell you Happy Birthday."

"You did?"

"Yeah. It's not much. I'm sure you've got plans later tonight, I just thought I'd—"

"I have no plans." Mycroft regrets the words as quickly as they spill out. A replay of a conversation his mother had with him when he was sixteen plays in his head. She had said, "When there's a boy, honey, you play hard to get. Drives them crazy." Mycroft didn't get it at the time and he didn't get it until that moment on the phone, approximately 33 years later.

"Oh, really?"

Mycroft decides to remain quiet. He doesn't know proper etiquette on agreeing or disagreeing. Mycroft silently asks himself why he is even thinking these things. This is Greg, for Christ's sakes. Greg. Mr. Lestrade. Detective Inspector. Sherlock's colleague. Nothing more. We kissed once. He is married. Let it go, Mycroft.

"Mycroft?"

Mycroft's thoughts trail away because Greg's voice is enough to stop production up there. If it's an assembly line, the person in the direct middle takes lunch when it hears Greg's voice.

"Sorry."

"It's alright. Like I was saying, though, I'd like to have dinner tonight."

"What? Why?"

"I…because…we're…you're…birthday."

Mycroft actually thinks Greg is going through a tunnel rather than tells himself Greg's nervous. Why would Greg be nervous?

"Alright."

"Great. See you around 7?"

"Perfect."

Around 7, Greg rings the doorbell to Mycroft's flat. Mycroft happily answers the door and sees Greg dressed in very nice clothes that looked new. He was impressed.

"I'm impressed," he says.

"Thank you. This is the tie you got me last Christmas."

"I hadn't noticed. Good choice."

They went to dinner at a nice restaurant because Greg knows that's Mycroft's thing, you know? Nice things. Mycroft wishes Greg wouldn't try so hard to impress him. Friends don't do that, and that's what they are: friends. Just friends.

Suddenly, as Mycroft sees the words, "Just friends" in his head, he feels a sudden pain in his chest. What am I doing? I don't want this. Anne's gone, she's been gone for months. He's my closest friend. And those kisses…they were…they weren't friend kisses. Not for two males. Enough is enough, Mycroft. This infatuation ends or progresses.

Mycroft can't say anything right at that moment in fear of rejection in a restaurant. Greg looks content so their conversation continues. It's fun. Easy. So not tedious.

Mycroft knows fully well that everyone is capable of being dull. As a matter of fact, everyone is dull. But Greg is not everyone. Greg is the great anomaly.

Greg walks Mycroft back to his flat. Greg's making words that Mycroft's not listening to, because Mycroft is forming his own words that he wants to say now. Right now. In the middle of the sidewalk. Not quite to Mycroft's flat because if Greg rejects, then at least Mycroft's last memory of him in that flat will be fond.

"Greg, listen." Mycroft catches Greg's wrist and pulls him back. Greg doesn't retract his arm, Mycroft finds that a good sign. He lets go of Greg for good measure. "I want to be with you."

"Because I took you to dinner?"

"No! I mean, yes, in a way. It's that you care, I think, and I care about you. I always have. I know Anne just left and I'm not trying to take advantage, I promise. You're tall, and handsome, and you smell like Zest soap, coffee, and faintly of after shave. I've never noticed anything as mundane as the scent of another person, but you Greg…you're my favorite scent. All of this is really stupid and childish, but when I'm with you I feel like I'm eighteen again. Which is ridiculous, I'm an old man. You could go have any young lady you want, I know that. It's just…you're Greg. And you're so…" Mycroft pauses because now Greg is laughing. "What is it, why are you laughing?"

"You just told me I'm your favorite scent."

"Yes, and?"

Greg's still laughing and looks around the street. "Nothing. Come on, let's find dessert." Greg takes Mycroft's hand and leads him down the street.

Mycroft contently smiles and follows Greg. He didn't think confessing feelings would be difficult no matter how spontaneous they seemed. What was shockingly spontaneous was when Greg kissed him goodnight three times then left. Mycroft stood in his doorway baffled for five minutes, then went inside. He slept in the same shirt that night.

It smelled like Greg

Person 2

The thing about Sherlock Holmes is that he's so wildly unpredictable. I honestly don't think he even knows what his next move is in anything other than case work. Even John didn't anticipate this. Not that he'd have wanted to, John likes spontaneity.

So when Sherlock said, "Will you marry me?" John went, "Wait, what?"

Because Sherlock is Sherlock and John is John and neither is the other and neither knows what the other is thinking at all times.

Mostly.

So when Sherlock said, "Will you marry me?" he saw the words in a clear cloud in his mind. It mimicked evaporating cigarette smoke, which usually means that the thought's not there to linger long. It's an idea, it's a should I do this or this?, it's a fading thought that gets tossed into the recycle bin.

That is, of course, unless he says them and then they're stuck in the world forever.

Sherlock finishes the word, "me" and blinks at his plate. It's empty, which is unfortunate because he knew exactly how much was on the plate and exactly how much is going to make a second appearance on that plate if his nerves don't settle now. "Run" and "Quick" flash in cloud form in his head, but he lets them fade and stays sitting a still as possible.

"Wait, what?"

"I don't—"

"Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"Did I?"

"I think you did."

Sherlock continues staring at his plate. John hasn't said "No" which in Sherlock's mind is a good sign right about now. But John also hasn't said "Yes" which in Sherlock's mind is a horrendous sign right about now.

"Sherlock—"

"Don't."

"I was just going to—"

"You're going to kindly reject and I don't want to hear it."

Now Sherlock's mind is flashing "Run" and "Quick", so he does run. Quickly.

He wanders London for a good four hours. He knows John won't go after him, John's just as confused right now. But Sherlock momentarily pushes John out of his head and tries to think of ways to fix this (ok, he is thinking about John, but only transitively). He walks and walks.

Sherlock wasn't even aware he could have feelings for anyone until he met John. He'd lived his adult life happy and alone. There'd been a few here and there. He lived with a girlfriend for a while before she broke up with him because he didn't want to be intimate. It's just always been an issue for him.

Sherlock wasn't even aware he wanted to get married until today, until Molly rushed into Bart's this morning squealing, "I'm getting married, I'm getting married!" And Sherlock thought, That's not fair. You've only been dating this man eight months. John and I have been together for years. And suddenly he was eating dinner with John and blurting out the words, "Will you marry me?"

Sherlock thought about a time when he was six or seven years old and his mother was running late for her sister's wedding. She stopped rushing about and kneeled next to him to fix his tie. "One day, sweetie, you'll find a nice girl and you'll want to marry her." She wiped a curl away from his eyes and tidied his jacket, "Don't. Marriage is messy and ruins everything."

Sherlock knew fully well that his mother was just bitter because his father left not two years ago and they never got married, so at the time Sherlock said ok but then told himself he could get married one day, to whoever he wanted. When he was eight he wanted to marry their nanny, Elizabeth, and when he was eleven he wanted to marry his math tutor, Jeff (Mycroft had laughed at that but Sherlock got angry because Jeff would come over to visit Mycroft).

Mummy's right, Sherlock thinks, marriage ruins everything. I like the way it is now. I have John. John has me.

Sherlock walks along the street and a young couple approaches him.

"Excuse me," he stops them, "Are you two married?"

"Married? No, no!" they both exclaim.

He needs more evidence, though. He spots another couple coming his way and asks them the same.

"Yes, we are! Four years next month! Best thing that's ever happened!" they say.

Sherlock wants to find the first couple and ask them why they aren't married, but it's too late now. He decides to face what's going to happen at home and goes back. While walking, he asks himself if he wants to marry John. He's not sure. What he has is enough. Divorce is sticky. It's all too much for him.

When he gets home John's in bed. It's just after midnight and he knows John had a long day. He gets into bed next to John and tries not to wake John. Unfortunately, a butterfly could land on John's bed and John would wake.

"Sh'lock?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Figured as much."

"Go back to sleep."

"No. I'm up and we need to talk."

Sherlock swallows hard. John places a hand over his stomach and Sherlock eases at his touch. Not much, but it helps.

"Do you want to get married?" John asks.

"I…I don't know."

"Why did you ask?"

"Because I felt it. I felt so much love right at that moment. I usually do, John, but just then it was…it was intense."

"I understand. I get those impulses. Doesn't mean I go around proposing to people."

Sherlock chuckles, "It was a bit silly, wasn't it?"

"A bit, yeah."

"So, you don't want to?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. I love you more than anything, I promise I do. It's just…I've already got one under my belt. I don't want to hurt you—"

"You're not hurting me. I've got you. You're perfect and everything I want. You've got me, and I hope I'm what you want. We're happy. Right?"

"Of course."

"Then I'm content with not getting married. It's not like I'd ever planned to."

"What about Jeff?"

"How do you know about Jeff?"

"Mycroft told me about six years ago."

Sherlock huffs and mentally notes to get payback.

"C'mere." John lifts his arm to let Sherlock slide in. "Love you."

"I love you, too," Sherlock says, but he can tell John's already asleep. Sherlock kisses his cheek. John stirs and opens his eyes for a second, smiles, then goes back to sleep. Sherlock smiles and snuggles further into John's arms.

Marriage? Overrated., Sherlock thinks.

Person 3

"I'm cold."

"Stop complaining."

"But I'm cold."

"You're the one that made me get up at 4 AM to get this guy. Now, shut your fucking mouth and let me work."

Jim roles his eyes. He stares at Sebastian crouched into position with his gun under his arm and his eye looking down the scope.

Why is that the sexiest image I have of him? This, just this, Jim thinks.

"You're hot when you're stroppy, my dear." Jim says, smirking in Sebastian's direction.

"What did I say?"

"Sorry."

How can he do that? So easily get me to say 'sorry'. I've never said sorry before, it's not what I do. But for him I'd apologize for anything I've ever done wrong. He should be a preacher, or something. I'd confess my damn sins.

"Is it time yet?" Jim asks.

"Oh my God, Jim, seriously. I'm grouchy, I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm tired. Shut up or I'm leaving."

Jim laughs. There it is. He's been around a couple years now and he can still make me laugh. He's funny when he's angry. He's my favorite form of entertainment.

Jim leaves his post behind Sebastian and crouches next to him, peering out the window, his face right next to Sebastian's. "What are you looking at?" he whispers.

"I will punch you."

"I just want to see."

"Fine. But shut up. And don't move. Don't even breath."

Jim's breathing stills but once he inhales he catches Sebastian's scent and can't stop himself from taking a loud, deep breath. He closes his eyes. How does he do that? He smells like anger in the form of spice. He smells like comfort in the form of my shampoo. He smells like happiness in the form of the glazed donut I bought him to make up for this. Jim opens his eyes and looks at Sebastian's face. He smiles and opens his mouth to talk, but Sebastian's face snaps to his and Sebastian speaks first.

"Save it, please. Don't talk. Don't make any noise. I'm trying really hard to be really patient and you are not helping. So please, go sit over there."

Jim's stuck in the trance that is Sebastian's eyes. Jim's never been a sentimental 'Let me look into your eyes,' man, but when it comes to Sebastian he could drown in those baby blues. All of my happiest memories can be connected to this man's eyes. When I was six and my mother took me to the park and got me a balloon. That balloon was this color, the color of this man's bloody eyes. When I was ten and my parents took me to the beach, the sky, the beach, the atmosphere around me were here, at this image I'm staring at. It's like I've been swimming in his eyes forever and I haven't even known.

Sebastian leans over and swiftly kisses Jim's lips. "Please?" His eyes flash into pleading for a minute and Jim can't say no. He steps back to lean against the wall behind them again.

In minutes a gunshot is heard all over and someone screams from below them. "Done?" Jim asks as Sebastian stands and begins dismantling his weapon.

"Bull's eye."

Jim smiles. Sebastian always says that after he makes a kill and Jim always smiles. I love when he does that. Such a simple task as killing someone can brighten up my day, and he does it so perfectly. Now he smells like gunpowder and his deodorant is giving off that scent because of his increase of body heat. Marvelous. His eyes are like the sea after a storm, content and calm. Perfect, just perfect. I love this. I love him.

Jim pauses at his own thoughts. He makes a face of discomfort and shakes his head.

"You ok?" Sebastian asks, still packing his gun away.

I love him. Shit, I actually love him.

Before Jim can think of anything else, Sebastian is standing chest to chest to him and looking concerned into his eyes. "I love you," Jim says.

Sebastian looks stunned and for a second Jim wants to embrace him, but he knows Sebastian needs to work this one out for himself. "Ok," Sebastian says after a minute. "Breakfast?" Sebastian asks, stepping past Jim and into the dark corridor.

OK? BREAKFAST? Did that just…that just happened didn't it? I just got blown off. I don't get blown off. I am James Moriarty. Seb? Seb! He walks quickly to catch up with Sebastian. Sebastian steps out into the cold and looks over at Jim. He smiles and continues walking. This isn't over, Jim thinks, following Sebastian into the busy London morning.

*OK please, please, please tell me what you think of this one. I'm not sure I like it very much. It's pretty fluffy and I'm just not sure. Just let me know, ok? Thank you. Next chapter should be up by Thursday.

*Also, I've recently updated my iTunes library and while listening I've found songs that remind me of each couple. I don't know why or how, it's hard to explain, it's just something, ok? So here's the songs for this chapter. It'd be Mycroft sort of to Greg, Sherlock to John (even though…) and Jim to Sebastian (this one really makes no sense):

-Coppertone by Hellogoodbye "What could I ever do? What could I say? To cover up my concerns? To keep them at bay? Oh, then she said, "You spend too much time in your head." What could I ever do?" I always feel like Mycroft would be skeptical about everything so he would, sort of, 'Spend too much time in your head…'

-The Girl by City and Colour "I wish I could do better by you, 'cause that's what you deserve. You sacrifice so much of your life, In order for this to work." Because in my headcanon John sacrificed a lot by letting his wife go so he could be with Sherlock again.

-Na Na Na …. by My Chemical Romance "Love, gimme love, gimme love
I don't need it, but I'll take what I want from your heart…" It just kind of fit to me.

*Long A/N. SOOOOO SORRY! Remember, let me know what you think pleeeeeease