Sherlock stood on the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital, a cold gust of wind sweeping through his curly black hair. His eyes were fixed on the ground below. You, John and a few of Mycroft’s unnoticed men watched him. Sherlock would fake his suicide to protect his beloved friends. And now, it was finally time to put that plan in motion. A plan that had been in the works for months.

He didn't hesitate as he stepped up to the edge of the roof, his phone fell to the ground with a clatter. The wind whistled in his ears, a reminder of the dangers below. He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the sharp air. He spread his arms out and leaned his weight forward. With a gust of wind, he was falling.

There was a heart-stopping moment of stillness as Sherlock fell, falling, falling... Until a sudden jerk stopped his violent descent. His chest harness had caught, now pulling him back up. Your breath caught in your throat as the force of the harness slammed him into the window pane caused Sherlock to be propelled inside the hospital. Glass shattered all around, leaving a mess of tiny shards. You closed your eyes, expecting the worst.

Sherlock landed firmly on his feet and quickly unhooked the harness from his back. He then walked towards you, seemingly with a purpose. He flipped his famous Belstaff wool coat up, the collar popping up and gave his black curls a messy ruffle. You were surprised when he suddenly cupped your cheeks, kissing you deeply for several precious moments. The kiss made your pulse race, and it felt like time stood still.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock released you without a word and silently left the room, the doors swinging shut behind him as he gave you one last look. You felt a mix of emotions, from elation to fluttering in your chest, wondering if you would ever get another kiss from Sherlock again.