Spoilers for Empty Hearse, read at your own risk.
"That's what people do, don't they, leave a note?" Jim snickered as he sat beside Sherlock on the roof. Sherlock moved the phone away to shush him as he continued his "note" to John.
"Goodbye, John," he said as he let go of the rope, allowing the dummy to fall to the pavement below. John's cry could be heard from the rooftop, but neither of them cared; they had each other now. Jim and Sherlock smiled at each other, laughing with true happiness. Slowly, the smile fell off of Jim's face as his eyes fell to the perfect lips in front of him, the lips that he's dreamed of kissing ever since that day at the pool. Sherlock looked confused at first, his eyebrows scrunched in way that made the usually serious detective look utterly adorable. Soon he understood, and his smile faded as well as he gazed at the face that had occupied his busy mind for so long. Sherlock leaned in closer and Jim tilted his head up to meet him as their lips finally met.
The kiss was soft at first, nervous, shy. A simple massage of lips. Jim reached one hand up to cup Sherlock's face, the other to card through those glorious curls. He pulled back slightly to stare into those blue eyes, where galaxies danced around in intricate patterns. Jim had always been fascinated by those eyes. Sherlock, cold and calculating, looked like he could be a marble statue with his pale skin and sharp cheekbones. But his eyes were different, they were swimming and swirling and so full of life. Sherlock reached up to carefully stroke Jim's face as he stared back into Jim's eyes.
Jim suddenly moved so that he was straddling Sherlock's lap, causing Sherlock to gasp in surprise. Jim pulled Sherlock in and slammed their lips together. He didn't want to be boring, after all. He deepened the kiss, seductively licking along Sherlock's bottom lip. Sherlock let out a little moan as he opened his mouth for the other man. Sherlock raked his hands up and down over Jim's back. Jim broke off so that he could kiss down that strong neck, then biting down, almost hard enough to draw blood causing Sherlock to moan loudly. Jim kissed there again before swiftly moving on to a new spot on Sherlock's neck, biting down once more.
"I think it's time we solved our final problem," he said in a husky voice. " How many times do you think we can fuck on this rooftop before-"
"Okay, that's more than enough!" shouted Anderson.
"Everyone else was allowed to read out their Reichenbach theory, why can't I?"
"As President of the Sherlock Holmes club, I can decide who reads what. Now that was hardly a theory, that was basically just porn! Poorly written porn at that. You didn't even talk about how John took Sherlock's pulse, or how Sherlock jumped feet first, not head first, which is obviously how a dummy would have fallen. Plus, Moriarty shot himself! In the head! There was a body, he obviously died, there's no way around that."
"That's not fair, your theories are just as ridiculous, Anderson!"
"No they're not, mine use logic, in true Sherlock Holmes fashion, to deduce the possibilities. Besides, Sherlock would never kiss Moriarty! He obviously loves Molly."
An outcry erupted as angry fangirls started shouting throughout the small room where the club meetings were held. Incoherent cries of 'JOHNLOCK' and 'OTP' were shouted, echoing noisily in the closed in space. The entire club transformed into a jumbled amalgamation of several arguments all going on at once.
"Johnlock is clearly the BEST pairing! Sherlock doesn't have friends, just one, and that once friend is Jawn. They are boyfriends!"
"No, haven't you heard? John's got a girlfriend named Mary, he clearly doesn't love Sherlock. MOLLY loves Sherlock the most, and Sherlock loves her, after all, she's always counted."
"Sherlock and Lestrade forever, OTP!"
"No, it's Lestrade and Mycroft!"
"Have they even met?"
"Well, I still say Mormor…"
"SHERIARTY!"
"SHERLOLLY!"
"JOHNLOCK!"
As the arguing raged on, Anderson leaned forward in his chair, putting his face in his hands, sighing deeply. All he'd wanted was to make a club dedicated to how Sherlock was alive. He couldn't handle the guilt of knowing that he'd been partially responsible for Sherlock's suicide. No, he didn't commit suicide. He's ALIVE I know he is, he has to be. Anderson sighed again, trying to block those thoughts from his mind and the noise from the chaotic shipping wars ablaze around him. Just ignore them. They're all wrong anyway, it's totally Sherlolly.