Disclaimer: Still don't.. but perhaps in my mind.

Genres: Romance, drama

Rating: T

Pairing: Sherlock/John. Obviously.

Summary: Sherlock's celebrating his 21st birthday and Mycroft takes no pity in inviting whoever he wishes. When an uninvited guest shows up he gets caught up and doesn't know what to do.

Warnings: Somewhat AU. May have mistakes in it? My first story.

A/N: Yay! Thank you to those people who have alerted/reviewed/read my story! I can't express my happiness at the fact that people actually read this. Okay, I'll shut up now. But thanks. a lot. Um. Constructive criticism anyone? Or any review should be fine. and… *nervous twitch* sorry for taking so long to update. I have been busy lately, but that shouldn't be an excuse..? ENJOY :DD

John hesitated before greeting his old flatmate. "Mike,"

While Mike's brain was catching up to his sight, there were small smiles tugging at both of their lips before they burst into warm laughter. They clapped each other on the back and Mike invited John back into his flat.

He had almost forgotten about his tea but John and tea practically belonged together, so he made him a cup.

"So what are you doing now, Mike?" asked John.

"Ah, you know. Just the usual. Helping out at Bart's, that kind of thing."

Bringing back the tea mugs into the room, they sat and chatted about nothing in particular through most of the night. Mike still had so many questions, so many things he wanted to know about his old mate and the things he had done. He could still clearly remember the day John had first mentioned joining the army. His father and nearly all his mates had gone and it was obvious John was getting bored of the tedious hours to be endured when in St. Barts.

On the day before his departure when he had sobered up and for the first time realising the extent of his decision, said: "I hope I won't have to see it. The pain – death. Mike, I promise you that every good man's life will be spared."

"It must have been so hard. Seeing all those people, seeing… everything."

Immediately his eyes shot up - there was a shift in the way John looked; a change in the intensity of the deep blue gaze. His breathing was becoming shallower as he wet his lips.

"I don't know, Mike. I just don't know." whispered John. His voice was dropped to a whisper and although his face remained calm, his eyes were restless. His arms shook and his mouth moved but no words came out. His eyes were jerky and looked at places Mike knew there was nothing to see. When he stared at a particular spot for more than a few seconds, Mike turned around and saw nothing but a blank white wall. He was looking somewhere further into the distance.

Panicking, Mike reached across and shook John's shoulders. "John! John, come back!"

Mike watched as John took in his surroundings, seeing the battlefields of Afghanistan instead of sitting in his apartment talking to his friend. He turned around, grabbed the television remote from his coffee table and pressed 'on'. In a few moments, John had fallen asleep listening to the orchestra.

It only took one word and John would be back in his life again, living back in the good old days of university life. The late nights, the studying – ugh, and it was all coming back to him in one massive hit.

Getting up from the chair, Mike shuffled into the next room and picked up the mail from the floor. What he found was typical: bills. However, as he flicked through the envelopes, he found something interesting.

The envelope shone a beautiful gold and the words 'Mike Stamford' were printed in a neat scrawl on the front. Flipping to the back, he found no seal but knew who it was from – there was only one person he knew who was rich enough and who could be bothered enough to send one of these to most unoccupied mailboxes in London.

Smiling, he tossed the bills back onto the floor and took the envelope back into the living room. He picked up John's mug, placed down the envelope and went to refill his mug.