"Sherlock!" John screamed, his voice echoing across the street gushing into Sherlock's mind and into his head. Bouncing around his head getting louder and louder filling Sherlock's mind with John's words calling out to him.
Sherlock leant forward feeling the wind flowing through his black curls. His coat billowed out behind him, his scarf tugging at his neck threatening to come loose and fall beside him.
When Sherlock fell he thought he'd see his life flash before his eyes, like people said. He expected to watch every memory flood his mind and flicker through piece by piece. Every case, every piece of evidence and every deduction. Sherlock expected to see his childhood. His parents, being bullied in school, first case, Mycroft leaving for university, Sherlock leaving for university, drugs, meeting Lestrade, first official case.
But as he fell St. Bart's slithered into his mind. Mike Stamford. Phone. John. Afghanistan or Iraq? Flat mate. Riding crop. 221b Baker Street. Pink. Bankers. Games. The Woman. H.O.U.N.D... The Fall.
His brilliant mind exploded with thoughts and emotions that had previously been buried left undisturbed since he was a child. Emotions that he thought he would never understand, never feel. Hope. Friendship. Love...
It was then Sherlock realized, moments before he hit the pavement; that his life had started when he met John Hamish Watson.