This short story is a birthday present for my fellow author johnsarmylady. She is a great author and friend - though we haven't even met in person. Again thanks go to my wonderful Beta Jack63kids for proofing. And for some reason unknown I still don't own any of the characters but still do as I please - at least in the stories I write. :-)

37 Seconds

He had probably watched it twenty times already but once again he pressed replay and the video started over. John Watson's face was close to the screen of his laptop. Somebody had filmed with his phone when Sherlock had rescued him from the Guy Fawkes fire. Sherlock hadn't hesitated at all. He had run right into the fire and begun to tear the burning branches and wooden pallet away. John could almost smell the smoke again and the petrol a man had poured onto the wood to start the fire. He could hear the crackling of the flames, the scream of a girl and then the desperate shouting of his name, coming from Mary and Sherlock. The video ended and John got up, making himself a cup of tea.

Standing in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil, John listened to the thumping of his own heart. His mind felt empty. Sherlock's return was still so very fresh and John felt like he was split into two entirely different entities. One was still hurt that his friend had let him suffer for two fucking years. John swallowed when he felt his eyes watering up. Yes, he definitely still hurt very very badly. He would rather think about the other half of himself. The part that rejoiced in Sherlock being back. The one that downright craved to hug Sherlock and never ever let go again.

The water boiled and John poured water over the tea. He raked a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. A small patch of hair behind his left ear was scorched. John rubbed the spot absent-mindedly. Besides that and a small cut at his hairline that had been bleeding, he was unharmed. It had been a very close call. John shook his head. He really didn't want to think about what would have happened if Sherlock had arrived a minute or two later.

Taking the teacup John walked back to sit again in front of his laptop, running the video again. He stopped the video shortly before it ended. Mary had slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes almost shut. Sherlock though had this peculiar look on his face that John could only translate as fear. Fear of loosing him. Him, his friend, John Watson.

John buried his face in the palms of his hands. He was utterly confused by his own feelings. The worst probably was the tiny voice that asked him if he had made the right decision by repeating his proposal to Mary once they had been home after the unexpected return of Sherlock. 'You are such a coward!' The voice kept telling him.

"Fuck!" John shouted.

The doorbell rang, startling him. Upon opening the door he found a tall woman with fair hair, cut in a bob standing there. Was that a bit of a chocolate stain on her upper lip?

"Doctor Watson, my daughter Steph found this", she held out an envelope, "by the fire. Somebody must have dropped it."

John took the envelope, slightly confused.

"It's not mine," he told her.

"Besides some other stuff there's a photo of you inside, so I thought maybe you can figure out who lost it." The woman turned around and walked away.

John went back inside and sat down with the envelope. It was made of brown paper, the flap slipped inside to prevent it's contents from falling out. He opened the envelope and looked at the few items.

A photo of him together with Sherlock, cut out of a newspaper. Both he and Sherlock looked at the photographer but their bodies were angled towards each other. John had tilted his head ever so slightly but he almost leaned against Sherlock's right shoulder. Sherlock in return wasn't holding his right hand close to his body. Instead the hand was frozen in the photo in a movement which, had it continued, could have resulted in taking hold of John's left hand. John swallowed before he took a large gulp of his tea.

Next was a photo of himself in his full army attire. The picture had been taken before the official shot for his service card. John's eyes were shining in this picture, he was laughing and his hair was sticking up at one side. He remembered the situation and how horrified he had been when this photo had been sent to him as the official one that had to go on his service card. The photographer had sent the right one too but had included a note, telling John the first shot had been too good to throw away. So he had kept it. How it had ended up in Sherlock's possession, John could only guess.

Another clipping from a newspaper. It was a mini article about John, when he had helped to solve a complicated case by throwing in his knowledge of gunshot wounds. The reporter had written a short but really nice article about him. John was surprised that Sherlock – in his mind there was no doubt that Sherlock had lost the envelope during John's rescue – had kept it. Sherlock hadn't even been mentioned. It was only an article about John Watson.

A folded piece of paper made him smile. It was a shopping list, John had once written. Sherlock had commented on every single item John had written down and had added a few things he needed himself. John then had made notes on the list plus a few doodles. More scribbling by both Sherlock and John had rendered the list almost illegible and it had never been used.

The last item in the envelope was a strip of paper usually used in a perfumery. John held it close to his nose and discovered a hint of the cologne he used only on rare occasions.

All the items in the envelope were more than two years old and he wondered if Sherlock had carried them around while he had been away. John was clever enough to know that people didn't keep this kind of memorabilia concerning people they considered their friends, but of loved ones.

Making up his mind, John watched the video he had found on YouTube one last time before he got up. He put all the items back into the envelope, put on his jacket and got a cab that took him to Baker Street.

Upon arrival John found himself face to face with an elder couple which soon turned out to be Sherlock's parents. Once Sherlock had removed them from the premises John went into the kitchen to make tea. While he waited for the water to boil he took the envelope and handed it to Sherlock. He had pondered whether to put it into his coat secretly but Sherlock might have already noticed that it was missing. Certainly he would have drawn the right conclusions how it had been returned.

"It is yours, isn't it?" John asked.

Sherlock took the envelope and ran his fingers almost gently over the paper. "I had it with me the day I jumped and almost every day and everywhere I went the past two years. Fortunately not in Serbia though." Sherlock said, answering John's unasked question.

John chewed on his lower lip while pondering what Sherlock had just told him.

"Do you love me Sherlock?" John asked softly.

"Yes." Sherlock's answer came right away, and although he didn't look at his friend, John knew he had spoken the truth. John stepped into Sherlock's personal space, cupped the pale face with both hands and kissed him softly.

"Then maybe it's time we sit down and talk about it."