Sherlock sat beneath a tree, one knee bent upwards and one arm slung above it, his head tilted back against the trunk. He glanced up at you, who sat at the very top branch. He exhaled.

You know, it’s not safe up there. He called out, watching your skirt sway in the wind, catching a glimpse of your undergarments. He lifted an eyebrow slightly, his eyes drooping as he slowly turned away. But when you climbed down, giving him a better view, he grabbed the edge of your skirt, pulling you down.