A/N: I'm not english speaking so forgive any remaining mistake.

Summary : Fives times Sherlock and John almost kissed and one time they did. Twist! Do it from other people's perspective - Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Molly, whoever.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock nor any of the characters.

1- Anderson.

It was rainy in London that day and Gregory had called him in on his day off. Apparently a thirty year-old guy beaten to death in a dark alley was more important than the day off he had planned to spend with Sally while his wife was away again.

This was ridiculous. Was he the only forensic on the force?

Feeling understandingly grumpy, he set out for the crime scene. He cursed against the bloody rain while finally getting out of the cab with Sally and they both went to see Lestrade.

"So, where's the body?" Anderson asked sounding particularly on edge. He heard someone snorting and overheard something like "Surely the only man working with the police who actually couldn't find a body if it was laid on the floor right in front of him."

Anderson heard another man laughed at that and shot a suspicious – if not deadly yet – look at Lestrade.

"Don't tell m..."

"I'm sorry Anderson but they happened to pass by when we got there and since you weren't here yet, I said they could take a look."

Sally stroked his arm, looking at him as if she was trying to convince him he was the only forensic for her, but that didn't quite calm him down.

Lestrade rolled his eyes, obviously tired of this silly war between the two of them. "They only need a couple more minutes."

Anderson wanted nothing more than to give the D.I. a piece of his mind but he had already turned his back to him to end the discussion.

"Fine." He said, articulating every syllable through greeted teeth. He waited about thirty seconds before deciding the two minutes were over and starting walking towards the body.

Sherlock was crouched near the body, head ducked to one side and whispering nonsense. Of course, Watson was all ears and was listening to him as if his own life depended on it. It made Anderson sick.

He crossed his arms and watched Sherlock got back to his feet and smiling down fondly at John, a little spark in his eyes that clearly meant he had just figured out something quite exciting about the dead body beneath them.

John looked up at him with such puppy-eyes Anderson could have almost think they looked nice together. Almost.

He took a few seconds to sigh and rub his eyes as if the mere sight of this actually hurt and damaged them. By the time he opened them up again, Sherlock and John had leaned even more closer in each other's personal space and they were staring at each other with such intensity that Anderson almost believed they were about to kiss.

He cleared his throat to make his presence known and shot them both a frozen and challenging look.

"Time's up freak. Why don't you let the professional take over now?"

"And they'll be here soon, you think?" Sherlock said sarcastically before walking away, John right behind him. For a reason Anderson didn't understand, the masochistic army doctor seemed a bit lost in his thoughts.

Anderson shrugged, put his gloves on and went to work.

2- Molly.

Molly warmed up two cups of coffee in the microwave, one for her and the other one for Sherlock, wondering if she had remembered to feed the cats this morning before leaving. She never forgot, of course, but she constantly worried about it nevertheless.

She started humming the song she heard on the radio as she got to work, something about moves and the singer of the Rolling Stones.

She let the microwave run and went to the ladies room to refresh her lipstick a bit. She saw John on her way and said hi to him. He smiled back and entered the lab where Sherlock was working on mud samples.

She came back to the small kitchen on their floor and got the mugs out of the microwaves. She put two sugars in Sherlock's and tried to remember if he had asked for any milk. She hesitated for about two minutes, getting the milk out the fridge and putting it back in three or four times.

She finally remembered Sherlock never asked for milk and put it back one last time, closing the fridge before leaving. She saw a colleague in her way to the lab.

"Hey Molly," she greeted her with a nice smile. "We haven't seen Jim in a while. Everything ok between you two?"

Molly's smile twitched a bit as she confessed, "Yeah, turned out to be a criminal mastermind who tried to murder both Sherlock and John. So it's over." She shrugged before resuming her walk, leaving her colleague flabbergasted.

When she entered the lab, the sight that welcomed her wasn't the one she had expected. Sherlock had John almost pinned to one of the tables and they were probably close enough to feel each other breath's.

Molly didn't move and didn't make a sound. The sound of the door closing behind her was the only thing that betrayed her presence. The two of them looked at her, Sherlock as calm and controlled as always and John blushing like a love-sick teenage girl who had just talked to the subject of her fantasies.

"Oh, coffee, thank you Molly." Sherlock finally said, if not oblivious to the tension in the room, at least making a great job ignoring it.

"Er, yeah. Uh... No problem." Molly muttered before taking off, leaving the two cups on the nearest table. Before the door closed completely behind her she overheard John saying in a slightly reproachful tone,

"I wish you'd stop asking her to make you coffee. Just do it yourself, you're a big boy."

3- The skull.

Being a skull sure felt lonely, especially when your only friend in the world had given up on you. Sherlock had just stopped talking to him the day that army doctor had moved in. The skull had had a hard time adjusting to this new rhythm of life.

Sherlock and he had been friends for a few years now and it hurt to have to witness how much it didn't mean anything to the consulting detective after all.

He barely took the time to clear the dust that covered him anymore and he was lucky when Mrs. Hudson finally offered him a distraction by talking to herself when cleaning up the boys' mess.

Maybe the worst part was that he had to witness the growing affection of his former friend to the newcomer. That John Watson. Pff. What kind of a name was that anyway? Why not John Smith or John Doe while he was at it.

He heard the door open and wished he could cover his eyes. He could recognize John and Sherlock's footsteps in the stairs by now and knew he would have to sit here and watch them pine for each other like teenagers.

They were in the living room now, laughing, breathless and Sherlock was smiling at John like he was the only person in the whole wild world. The skull felt bitter that he never got any look like that from his former friend.

He wasn't jealous, it simply didn't feel fair.

Oh great, and now they were staring at each other with that look in their eyes and the skull could almost feel the room spin and time slow down just by watching them. Both their smiles turned into something else as they didn't break eye-contact.

The skull saw Sherlock leaning in closer ever so slowly and John letting him. At the very last moment realization seemed to hit Sherlock and he went for a quick embrace before thanking John, pulling out and making a strategic escape to the kitchen.

And even the skull had to admit, the look on John's face as he watched Sherlock leave would have made his heart ache just a bit if he still had one.

4- Lestrade.

Lestrade was known to be quite a patient man. He bore Anderson, Sally and an impressive number of often incompetent policemen in his team and he never in his career lost his nerves enough to shout at them as much as they sometimes deserved.

He had to be forgiving with his team because they had to work together and sometimes it was better to let them know in a nice way they had messed up rather than shouting at them until they started crying and calling for their mother. Which was a shame.

But really, Sherlock and John were once again testing his limits. He wasn't under any obligation to be patient with them and yet, they seemed to be the ones benefiting of the largest amount of what Lestrade had of patience at his disposal.

Lestrade had nothing against them coming to the Scotland Yard's offices as long as they were actually helping with a case. But he never told them it was ok for them to barge in here, obviously quite furious at each other and ending up borrowing his office to yell at each other some more.

Right now, he wasn't even remotely interested in knowing what they were fighting about, but he had remained close to his office, waiting for the authorization to get back in. All he knew was that they were still investigating on the same case as last week, the one of the guy beaten to death and found in the dark alley.

"Why did you do that, John? We almost had him!" Sherlock nearly shouted.

"You were gonna get yourself killed. For Christ's sake Sherlock you weren't going to have anyone and you wouldn't have solved any crime from the grave."

"Who says I wouldn't have made it?"

"I do." John snapped back and even through the walls Lestrade could hear his voice trembling. He couldn't tell if it was from anger or fear.

"I know you think you're invincible Sherlock but you're not bloody bullet-proof!"

"Stop worrying about me John." Sherlock said, his voice already softer than before. Lestrade had always had some trouble deciphering the enigma that was Sherlock Holmes but now, he was sure the consulting detective didn't really want John to stop.

"No, I won't." John said in an almost tender voice and Gregory could almost hear the smile on his face. "You need someone to take care of you. You wouldn't last a day without me."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'll have you know I managed quite alright without you all those years."

"I don't know who I have to thank for this." They were both laughing softly by now and Lestrade thought they might finally stop beating around the bush and just make out already. It was about damn time.

He heard Anderson call his name from across the room and turned around to listen to him. By the time Anderson had finished, Sally had already knocked on the door and entered his office, obviously interrupting a compromising situation if the look on her face was any indication to go by.

A few seconds later a crimson John got out of his office, quickly followed by Sherlock who himself looked a bit more flushed than usual.

Sally shot Lestrade a puzzled look and Gregory rolled his eyes. "You couldn't have waited thirty more seconds, now, could you?"

He shook his head and finally regained possession of his office.

5- Mrs Hudson.

Mrs. Hudson walked up the stairs to the boys' apartment, holding her hips and an exaggerated look of pain on her face. She sighed at the sight of the mess that was the flat.

"Boys, boys, boys," she whispered to herself as she took another look around the flat, tidying up a bit as she did. She couldn't help herself; she liked Sherlock and John and wanted them to be comfy here.

She sighed once more and threw out the food Sherlock left here to mould. She put the dishes in the sink and threw out as well a few experiments that she hadn't heard Sherlock rambling too much about.

She heard the door and opened her mouth to tell the boys she was up here so they shouldn't take all of their clothes off just yet.

She had meant it as a joke of course, but the words died in her throat when she heard Sherlock thanking John in a voice softer than she had ever heard him. Was she actually about to interrupt something?

She wasn't sure but she wasn't about to take the risk. She had been secretly planning this since the first time Sherlock brought John home, pretending that they were just going to be roommates. Mrs Hudson may not look like a proper genius but she wasn't blind just yet and she knew there was something between them even before they knew it themselves.

She curled her lips as if trying to remain as silent as possible, which was a stupid reflex because she definitely wasn't about to speak up and risk ruining the moment she'd been waiting for almost as much as the boys themselves.

She hid in the kitchen, considering getting on the floor to hide behind the table before realizing it wouldn't be necessary. If everything went well they could just go straight to the bedroom. The one she had assumed they would share right after John had moved in.

She muffled a laugh and hid as much as she could when she heard the footsteps of Sherlock and John in the stairs. They weren't at it. Yet.

Soon, she thought to herself as she watched them getting their coat off and leaving them on the sofa. They were both a little out of breath and their cheeks were a bit flushed, they obviously had been running all around London again.

They should keep energy for other interesting activities. She couldn't help herself; she started moving towards the opening between the kitchen and the living room to get a better view. Sherlock was reaching his hand to cup John's face and Mrs. Hudson took a step closer and that was when everything went wrong.

She knocked a plate with her elbow and the sound, obviously, was enough to let Sherlock and John know they weren't as alone as they thought they were in their flat.

Mrs. Hudson cursed and got down to her knees to pick up the mess.

"I'd better clean this up before Sherlock and John get back." She said, thinking at this point she could at least save herself the embarrassment of telling the boys she had been spying on them.

John got in the kitchen and helped her out with the broken plate. "We're here Mrs. Hudson, thank you." He said before taking the pieces from her hands and throwing them out himself, his smile half-forced.

"I'll just leave you two alone, then." She tried to get away from the flat as fast as she could but Sherlock was already sitting in his armchair, deeply lost in thought and she knew the moment had passed.

6- Mycroft.

Mycroft was sitting in the back of his car, next to Anthea who was furiously texting the head of the Security Department of the… Well, you don't really need to know about that now, do you?

Mycroft's phone went off and it took him a while to take it out of his pocket and answer it. By the time he finally did the caller nearly rendered him deaf with his shouting.

"Considering the number of time you tried to blackmail me into calling you more often I had at least hoped you would bloody pick up your phone when I finally decided to call you."

"Charming Sherlock," Mycroft said in a calm tone. "As usual. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Mycroft liked to tease his younger brother but he knew something was up. It was the first time he had actually called him instead of giving his number away to random people on the street.

"I need you to do me a favor." Something really terrible must have had happened because even in his wildest dreams, Mycroft would never have imagined Sherlock actually able of saying this to him.

"Of course, tell me what you need."

Mycroft heard Sherlock sighing a bit in relief and gestured at Anthea that he was going to need her full attention soon.

Half an hour later the two Holmes' brothers were in an almost empty dark warehouse. John felt a bit puzzled, and he had reasons to be.

One minute he was being interrogated on Sherlock and the next his kidnappers were being chased around the warehouse by men arrived from literally nowhere. He looked around and finally noticed Sherlock and Mycroft walking towards them. Well, Mycroft walking and Sherlock almost running.

Sherlock took John in his arms, sighing with relief and John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, closing his eyes.

"John, I'm so sorry."

"Sherlock, you need to stop apologizing. It wasn't the first time I got kidnapped because of you and I suspect it won't be the last."

"I don't know what I would have done if they had hurt you."

Mycroft watched them and smiled fondly at the two of them. They were still hugging and Mycroft could see the tension finally leaving Sherlock's body. He had been a real ball of nerves for the last half hour and he had been even more on edge than usual, which hadn't been quite as fun as it used to be when they were children. Especially because Mycroft couldn't take advantage of it.

"You would have forced me to have them killed." Mycroft interrupted, raising both eyebrows and faking disapproval. He would have done it himself whether Sherlock had asked him or not. He wasn't blind, he could see how good John had been to Sherlock, how they needed each other, and he cared about his brother. He wanted him to be happy and it was crystal clear that John was the one to make him truly happy.

He didn't want to see Sherlock lose that.

John pulled away, just enough that he could actually look Sherlock in the eyes, his hands still grabbing softly Sherlock's arms.

"Wait, you called your brother for help because you thought I was in danger?"

Mycroft smiled but looked down to hide it. He had oddly started to feel like an intruder and he took a little step back, listening in silence and looking up from time to time to watch what was going on.

"I knew you were. And I didn't want to take any chance with your life, John. Is that such a surpri…"

He never got the chance to finish that sentence because John had cupped Sherlock's face with his hands and had pulled him down for a kiss. Their lips brushed and for a moment Mycroft felt almost ashamed to watch, as if he was interrupting a really intimate moment.

He watched long enough to see Sherlock, finally realizing what was happening, put one arm around John's waist and the other one a little higher on his back to pull him even closer. Both their lips parted and Mycroft turned his head away as the kiss deepened into something more than simply chaste.

He turned around and started walking towards the car, then stopped and took his phone out. He turned again and took a quick picture of Sherlock and John, a smirk on his face.

"This will please Mummy I'm sure." He whispered as he put his phone back in his pocket trousers and finally allowed the two of them some privacy.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :D