A/N I really like it when they're frightened for each other, naturally. Hence this slightly nonsensical little case drabble. Also, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 200 REVIEWS! I never imagined that I'd come anywhere near this many. It really means a lot to me, guys.

Thanks to Suki-chan36 (thank you, I fixed that error!), Rayne-Malfoy10, MapleleafCameo, and johnsarmylady

Disclaimer I don't own Sherlock or any associated characters, events, etc.

LIV. Tower

"Make sure that the place is surrounded," Sherlock snarls into the phone held just under his chin, making sure to keep his eyes up and focused on his thin window of view into the office building. He's cramped tight in a coat closet, the door open just the slightest bit so that he can watch the scene in the room before him unfold. A meeting is taking place, and the man at the head of it has a gun concealed in his suit top, though the others, naturally, are unaware. Sherlock's task is to try and stop the secret psychopath before he takes down the whole room of important businessmen, as is his intention.

"It is." John's voice crackles faintly through the speakers, turned down to their lowest possible volume and additionally muffled by Sherlock's gloved fingers. "Are you in there?"

"Hiding," Sherlock confirms. "Are the police in place?"

"Right outside the door."

"Alright, I'm going to draw his attention long enough for them to get in."

"What are you going to do?" John asks anxiously.

Rather than answering, Sherlock shoves the phone into his pocket, straightening up and bursting out of the closet in a single swift motion. The gun-wielding man's pale eyes flash up to meet his, and he gets a brief glimpse of the breadth of their insanity before darting forward, throwing an arm out and knocking him to the ground just as he whips out his weapon. Cries of shock and confusion come from the others when he fires a single shot into the ceiling, his gun arm flailing. Sherlock grits his teeth and sprints for the partially open window, forcing it wider as another shot follows him. He grips the edge of the sill and swings his legs over it, dangling by his fingertips. Two more bullets fly over his head before the sounds of a struggle reach his ears, and he knows that the police must have finally arrived.

Trying to keep his breathing at an even rate, he dares to glance over his shoulder and immediately regrets it. It's at least ten stories down to the sidewalk—there's no way he'd survive such an impact. He clenches his fingers tighter, trying to ignore the fact that they're aching with insane strain, and that a weaker man than him would have let go long ago. His feet scramble uselessly against the cold metal side of the structure, and a bitter breeze tugs cruelly at him. He can hear cries of amazement and terror from the ground, but he forces himself to ignore them, to keep breathing.

Then there are suddenly warm hands on his wrists, hoisting him up, pulling him forward enough for him to get decent leverage and heave himself forward, toppling back inside rather ungracefully and exhaling in relief at the solid floor underneath him.

"Jesus, that was stupid," John chokes, not letting go of his hands but rather crouching down beside him. His face is pale and his eyes unblinking. "You could have died!"

"That man's an amazing shot. He would've got me for sure if I hadn't… avoided him."

"Just don't be such an idiot next time, okay? You scared the shit out of me, Sherlock."