Imagine Sherlock firing you

Sherlock kept running his hands frantically through his hair as he paced back and forth at 221b. He didn't feel right, inside, something was happening. He couldn't think, he couldn't figure it out, and it frustrated him. "No!", he yelled for the hundredth time, grabbing the nearest object closet to him, the cushion, and threw it against the wall. His mind couldn't focus on the case, and his heart hurt, constantly pounding in his chest as the thought of you crept into his head. The pain in his chest made him collapse to the floor again, hitting his head repeatedly against the floor. He needed to do something, anything, to get you out of his head, until an idea popped into his mind. Reaching into his pocket, he made a phone call, before texting you.
[Y/N. The Ritz. Please come. SH]. You read the text again, and jumped in the nearest taxi. You'd been out looking for clues to find out where Moriarty was hiding, but after reading the text off Sherlock, your mind raced, realising that he must have found him, and needed your help. Jumping out, you rushed inside the expensive restaurant looking for him, but the place was deserted, apart from a figure sat at the far table in the corner. "Hello Y/N. How nice of you to come join me at such short notice", they said, as you took in their features. A sharp nose, slightly balding head, a plumpish shape hidden behind an expensive tailored suit with a cane, sat drinking tea and eating cake. "Mycroft?", you said confused, edging closer towards him, still checking around to see anyone else, but the rest of the restaurant was deserted. "Please, take a seat. I don't have a lot of time and I have a government to run", he said, gesturing to the seat opposite which you sat down in. "Y/N, you have been working with my brother for some considerable time now, but I'm afraid to tell you that your contract has been terminated with immediate effect". You sat there gobsmacked; you couldn't believe what he was saying. "What? But why? Have I not been doing a good enough job? I don't understand", you spluttered in shock, but Mycroft silenced you with a wave of his hand. "Please, miss Y/N, I have no time for this. I merely pass on the message from my brother. These are his words, not mine", Mycroft stated clearly, drinking the last of his tea. "Then why are you telling me this and not Sherlock? It's him I work for, not you", you said, trying to keep your voice calm with the upset and anger growing inside you. "He is incapable of talking to you in person at the current time-". "I want to speak to him now!", you yelled jumping up from your chair. Mycroft sighed, and stretched over, and opened a small hidden doorway, revealing Sherlock behind it looking sheepish, as if he'd been a little boy caught in trouble. "Well? What's going on? Tell me!", you said to him, the lump growing in your throat. Sherlocks eyes wavered on yours, uncertain as his gaze dropped, his hands shaking. "I can't", he whispered. "You can't what? After all I helped you with? After all we've been through!?", you cried at him, shaking. "I can't loose you!", he whispered finally, as you saw a tear fall down his cheek. "I-I don't follow", you said back confused, looking between Sherlock and Mycroft. "What my brother is trying to say is that he cares about you, and to prevent anything from happening to you, he feels it best to have you not working with him", Mycroft answered whilst eating the cake. "Is this true?", you asked startled. "Yes. I love you Y/N, and I don't want anything to happen to you and for it to be my fault", Sherlock said sincerely . "Sherlock you big softy, I am never leaving your side", you said to him and kissed his cheek. "Erm Y/N?", he asked unsure. "Yes?". "When did Moriarty slip that note into your pocket?", Sherlock asked a little confused, as you felt his hand slip down, and pull out a little note from your back jean pocket. Both of you looked at the signed bit of paper in surprise, a grin of adventure growing. "Shall we?", you asked him, holding out your hand. "Let's", Sherlock said proudly, taking your hand and both running off on the trail.