The explosion boomed only a few streets away from where Sherlock was strolling down the Christmas fair in Regent Street.

He was walking alone, not paying any particular attention to the families doing Christmas shopping or the couples enjoying mulled wine and other hot drinks at the market stalls and tents, he in fact was a bit moody because earlier that day, John had left the flat in anger over a little argument the two had had. It was a trifle, really, merely an unimportant disagreement and Sherlock was determined to let his friend know that he was sorry he had insisted upon his own opinion so much and not even listened to John's point of view. Now, he was looking for a little Christmas present he could get John, as the holiday was approaching quickly, and Christmas Eve was set to be celebrated in Baker Street with all their friends.

Upon hearing the deafening sound, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and immediately started running through a driveway eastward, where smoke could be seen rising above the rooftops. What had caused this explosion? Was it another gas leak? There had been several these last weeks. But then again, gas explosions didn't usually cast such huge clouds of dark smoke. As Sherlock arrived at the scene, he heard an ambulance in the distance that, judging by the sound, was approaching, and he quickly saw why: The entire side of a house was blown open, there were fragments of stone and wooden splinters all around and the Christmas fair tent that had apparently been standing in front of the house had flown down the street a good thirty feet, spilling roasted chestnuts all over the street. Sherlock followed that trail to the other side of the street where a crowd of people had gathered around something.

"Anybody injured? Any fatalities?"

He shouted while searching his way through the Christmas shoppers, and, upon arriving in the middle of the little circle, froze on the spot. The crowd was gathered around a man lying on the ground, the blood from his forearms staining the clear snow. There were splinters stuck in his clothing and possibly even in his skin at his lower arms and chest, clearly he had tried to shield himself from the explosion by raising his arms up to his head, but it obviously hadn't done any good, as he was not breathing and a quick touch to his wrist told Sherlock that his heart was not beating, either. Sherlock fell to his knees in the snow next to the man, his hands automatically doing the familiar heart massage while tears of panic started forming in his eyes and his own heart was racing wildly.

The man on the ground was John.

Sherlock was still pumping his friend's heart and blowing air into his lungs, desperate to get his pulse back to life, when the ambulance arrived.

"Sir, please step back and let us do our work! Quit the first aid, you have done quite enough, but that's not what he needs right now. Step aside, please."

The doctors calmly tried to convince Sherlock to give them some room, but he refused to even take his eyes off John to answer, and he fought like a wild animal when a few doctors tried to pull him from his friend's side by force. He was not going to leave his friend now, and he was not going to allow that the last words he had ever said to John were those of a dispute, he simply wouldn't!

All of a sudden, Sherlock felt a sharp pain in his arm and the world slipped from his view.

"Quickly, get that splinter out of his chest!"

A doctor said while opening John Watson's jacket and discovering that the only thing keeping that man's heart from working and his lungs from breathing was a particularly long and sharp piece of fragmented stone that was blocking his airways and possibly his bloodstream as well. It was not a difficult cut, but they had to perform it right on the spot in the middle of a busy Christmas fair, as they could not risk the man being unconscious for much longer, so they quickly cleared the place of the crowd and built a barrier that would keep nosy spectators out.

No twenty minutes later, the wound in the chest and the smaller ones in the arms were stitched and a nurse injected a medication with a tincture of adrenaline in John's arm that would wake him up immediately.

"Sir, are you alright? You are probably feeling a bit weary right now, due to the blood loss, but you should better get off the ground now or you will most certainly catch a bad cold"

A doctor explained while helping him up.

"Yes, thank you, doctor- "

John answered and then, looking around, he asked:

"- Where's Sherlock? Isn't he here? I- I could've sworn I heard his voice!"

"Sher- who?"

"Doctor O'Bryan, I believe he means the madman in the coat!"

A nurse intervened. John turned into her direction, almost stumbling over his own feet due to his poor circulation.

"Yes! Yes, I think that would be him! Is he still here?"

"Well he certainly was, he quite possibly saved your life by doing first aid until we arrived. But we had to put him down for a bit, good lord, the man was hyperventilating!"

John grabbed the doctor's arm,

"Where is he now?"

"We had him carried him over there, to that market stall, as I said, we had to give him quite a strong sedative, but he should be alright, now."

"Thank you very much, allow me to thank all of you properly, later, but if you'll excuse me, I'll be looking for my friend, now."

Sherlock was sitting behind the stall, his legs curled up and his arms tightly wrapped around them. That's how John found him, sitting there, face buried in his knees and rocking back and forth.

"Sherl- Sherlock!"

Sherlock gave up the bundle position as John sank down in front of him, kneeling between his still crooked legs.

"John."

A feeling beyond relief or any word known came over Sherlock as he wrapped his shaky arms around his friend and laid his face on his shoulder. Slowly, John returned the embrace and buried one of his hands in Sherlock's soft curls. He pressed his friend's face into his jacket and felt his breathing becoming continually steadier and calmer and sensed Sherlock's heartbeat soothingly against his own.

"John- … John"

"Shh, it's alright now, Sherlock!"

John tried to comfort his friend.

"You were- "

"I'm okay, you're okay, we're okay… Calm down!"

After a few seconds, Sherlock slowly pulled back, eyes fixed on the small space of pavement left between them. He had never before known such fear, never. The immense and overwhelming dread of losing John, losing his only friend, his life, had caught him completely off guard and Sherlock wasn't usually thrown into anxiety easily.

All of a sudden, he felt John's fingers under his chin, gently raising his head to meet his friend's gaze. Sherlock took a deep breath.

"Is that what it felt like when I- "

He could see John's eyes widening almost unnoticeably, but there was no imminent reply. His friend's facial expression nonetheless wasn't hard to read and at the realisation, Sherlock buried his face in John's shoulder once more and, feeling soft fingers running through his hair soothingly and hearing John's reassuring voice, he let quiet tears soak the army jacket.

Sherlock could have stayed that way for an eternity, but after a few minutes he placed his hands in John's neck and looked him straight in the eyes.

"I'm so sorry, John. At that time, I didn't know what I was doing to you, I had no idea… what it felt like for you! I am so terribly sorry, and I hope you can forgive me…"

"Sherlock- "

John interrupted,

"It's ok now, really. All this was years ago, I didn't know you were still uncomfortable with it, and of course I forgive you! You did what had to be done and yes, sure you could have let me know you were still alive, but let's not discuss that any further, you know where that leads. All that matters is that right now you are here with me, we're both safe and nothing is going to tear us apart. I promise."

Sherlock cracked a little smile and, leaning closer to John, whispered:

"I love you, John Watson"

With that, their lips met and the two lost themselves in a sweet and soft kiss. John carefully played with Sherlock's curls whilst his friend gently traced John's jawline with his fingertips. The slow and shy kiss lasted only for a few moments before John broke it by pulling back slightly and disentangling his fingers from Sherlock's soft hair.

"I love you too, Sherlock, and I never thought that I would say that, but it's true, I love you and I couldn't be happier that you are with me always!"

Without giving his friend – or, shall we say, boyfriend – an opportunity to think of an answer, John pressed his lips to Sherlock's once more, and this time their kiss was deeper, more passionate, and giving off a feeling of pure and unblemished love.

Minutes later, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson directed themselves home to Baker Street merrily, their arms around each other's waist.

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