A/N: So. Hungrysherlock-wink suggested I turn this into a series. My friend Dino suggested them to be at a store of coffee shop of some sort when a shooting happens. Plot bunnies exploded across my mind.

As always, this is single draft, and I am a stupid American, so any mistakes are entirely mine.

Ramble to be posted at bottom.

Enjoy.

1st PERSON: DI LESTRADE

I sighed and checked my watch again. Those two were late. Again.

I'd told them to meet me here twenty minutes ago. I arrived ten minutes after I said for them to show up, and they were still late. So I waited. I ordered a coffee. And I waited.

These two really did test my patience sometimes. Most of the time, actually, but that was beside the point.

I never could understand why they were always arrived precisely on time to crime scenes, but the moment I needed to talk to them about something up they did their very best to show up as late as physically possible.

Actually, I did understand, but that was beside the point.

I took a sip of my coffee as I waited for them to arrive. I looked around the place, wondering if any of these people hid any interesting secrets. Sherlock would he able to tell in an instant. I was forced to guess.

That was when the two walked in.

"Took you long enough!" I huffed, gesturing them over. Sherlock walked over with his usual air of superiority, while John seemed slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry it took so long, Greg, we just-"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, cutting them off. "Listen, we need to talk-"

And then gunfire erupted.

People started to scream, taking cover underneath chairs and tables, behind counters and other prices of furniture. I ducked down immediately, noticing John pulling Sherlock down as well.

Just as I'm about to call for back-up, a shot is fired, and I see the gunman fall down, dead.

"Mycroft," I hear Sherlock growl, and suddenly I understand. Sherlock's overprotective brother has stepped in and once again, saved the day.

I groan as I realize how much paperwork this is going to mean.

Across London, a man with an umbrella whistles contentedly to himself.

2nd PERSON: JOHN WATSON

Goddammit, you were late again.

It wasn't as if you tried to be late. You tried to push your obnoxious and slow flatmate and boyfriend out the door on time. You tried to make sure you weren't kicked out of every cab you sat in. You tried to respect Greg's requested meet-up time, even when you both knew there was no chance in hell of you making it there on time.

So you're a tad upset with you sometimes inconsiderate git of a boyfriend when you arrive.

You try to make excuses, but Greg brushes them aside. You understand his frustration, but hope he realizes that you aren't the reason you and he are always late.

You sigh, and look around. Just because you want to show up to these meetings on time out of respect doesn't mean you enjoy them. They are nearly always Lestrade lecturing Sherlock on running off on cases without him, or begging you and him to help with paper work. Which isn't your job, as Sherlock constantly reminds him, to which he replies, "Well, it bloody should be!" and too have to okay peacemaker before one of them says something they might regret.

Just as you are settling into your seat, you hear gunshots go off.

"Sherlock," is your immediate, first thought, and you duck underneath the table, and grab him by his shirt and drag him down too. You reach for where your gun should be- dammit, why did you leave it at home?- and finding nothing, pull Sherlock's head into your chest and breathe.

You hear another gunshot.

Looking out, you see the shooter on the floor, dead, blood leaking from his body. You sigh with relief, because you know who shot the man, and you know Sherlock knows as well because he hisses "Mycroft," under his breath, and suddenly you laugh and then you kiss him. Because both of you are alive, and you think that's a cause for celebration.

Lestrade's still in too much shock to notice the events happening literally right underneath him. You'll find that funny layer, after you're over your adrenaline rush and done kissing the man you love.

Across London, a man with an umbrella whistles contentedly to himself.

3rd PERSON: SHERLOCK HOLMES

Lestrade called for Sherlock to meet him. How boring.

Sherlock doesn't mind when the meeting has something to do with a case, or even better, is at a crime scene. Sometimes, if he's excited enough, Sherlock and John will beat Lestrade to the crime scene.

But Sherlock knows this is not going to be one of those meetings. So can John really fault him for trying to make them as late as possible, to prolong their suffering?

Apparently he can.

Or, at least, that's what Sherlock draws from his boyfriend's irritated expression and demeanor throughout the (many) cab rides to the coffee shop.

When he finally arrives, he notices Lestrade's irritated expression. He looks around the coffee shop, and finds no one of interest.

He settles down into his seat and begins to drone out Lestrade and John.

Then the gunshots go off.

Sherlock honestly freezes for a moment. Every instinct is screaming to duck, to get down, but his mind is busy wondering who he had missed in his earlier examination of the fellow customers, and then decides he didn't- the shooter must have just walked in. Because Sherlock knows he would have been able to tell if one of the customers had been carrying a gun.

He feels John pull him down, sees John reach for his gun, and finding nothing there, bury his head into his chest. Suddenly Sherlock has a wool jumper in his face. He inhales deeply, enjoying the scent.

Another gunshot goes off.

Sherlock looks up to see the gunman dead, and he knows who is responsible in an instant. "Mycroft," he growls, because even though Sherlock is aware that one of his brother's employees most likely just saved their lives, he can't help but be annoyed by the interference.

And then John's laughing, and then he places his lips on his and suddenly Sherlock is okay with Mycroft interfering with this. Because he and John are alive and okay, and he smiles as the doctor's lips press against his. Maybe he'll thank Mycroft later.

He changes his mind almost instantaneously. They did have a feud to keep up, after all. Appearances and such.

Across London, a man with an umbrella whistles contentedly to himself.

Rainy's Ramble: *sing-songs* So, guess who's an emotional wreck? *breaks down sobbing*

And it's not even Sunday yet. As of this writing, I have not seen His Last Vow.

So, what brought me to this lowly, sobbing state?

Third Star.

Let me put it this way: There are many things I find sad. There are a few things that will make me tear up. Occasionally, I'll find something that makes me cry.

And THEN there are the things that cause me to have full-blown sobbing meltdowns, with me howling loudly enough into my pillow one would think I was being horrifically murdered. Which, emotionally, I am.

The movie Third Star is one of those things.

I shall not divulge the plot for those who have not seen it, but it is one of the most horrifically tragic, poignant, beautiful, funny and amazing things I have ever had the pleasure of seeing.

It caused me to wander around the house all day, alternating between running for my bedroom sobbing because I was suddenly reminded of it in some way, shape, or form, or speaking in a monotone, flat voice to whoever tried to speak to me. My mom though it was hilarious. (Not the movie, my reaction.) I slammed my head on the table and tried to drown out my emotional pain with music that was far louder than strictly healthy or necessary.

So, in short, I am currently a ball of tears and sadness.

In other news, I'm now mostly not sick! Yay! I mean, I still am sick, but now instead of "let me lay in bed all day and die" sick I am "eh, I suppose I can leave my room and not pass out" sick. Three days worth of bedrest, lots of grape juice and stealing my mom's pink snuggie will work wonders, apparently. So yay. Also, I am now almost done with my history homework. I feel rather accomplished.

If any of you have a suggestion for a scene I could do with this, please do not hesitate to let me know through a review or PM. I need ideas.

Tomorrow morning I am going to re-watch Third Star. Why? Because I'm a glutton for punishment, that's why.

Please review. Please. *does sad, teary puppy eyes*

Love, RainyDays-and-DayDreams

*spends the next three hours sobbing*