The Ring Finger
part fiveIt had been a stupid idea, a thrown away comment over liquid indulgence, and yet despite all reason not to play to childish levels of retribution, John still found himself at the the jewelry counter at Argos buying a gold ring for forty pounds. Authenticity was key. It was nickel, surely, and plated thinly but it was shiny and simple and unremarkably obvious when worn on the ring finger of his own left hand. John quite liked the way it almost blended in against the fading tan of his skin so as to be more of an afterthought than the stark contrast of Sherlock's own paired flesh and metal. Subtly hadn't been part of the plan but so pleased was he with it he almost wished to take credit. All he really cared about was that it be traditional and fit perfectly bellow the bulge of his second knuckle.
Two could play at this game.
He walked out of the store wearing his not-a-wedding-ring wedding ring trying not to look too smug as he set off for home with the entirety of his plan already fulfilled in the one purchase. Despite the sales woman's assurance and his own tactile affirmation, he walked with his left hand fisted, fingers curled in to be doubly sure the ring would not find itself lost somewhere between the curb and the taxi. It was a strange accompaniment to his hand. Heavier than it looked. Awkward in the gaps between his fingers. Still, it was important to get this right if he was going to make a point. It certainly made for an interesting response to the belated question of marriage.
They hadn't spoken on it much since that night. A few angry words a week was really all John had in him if he planned to coexist in relative peace with the irritating man. They'd both defended their positions, apparently left it as a matter of simply agreeing to disagree, and the marriage itself remained uncompromised without John's direct dissension and demand for divorce. John didn't mind so much outside the principle of things the longer he had time to digest the idea. He was married to Sherlock Holmes. All the worries that had kept him up before, the concerns of being left behind due to a sudden instigation of romance, all of those were very much made void by the political institution that now resided in 221B. Sherlock wasn't going anywhere and to much the same degree neither was John. It was... comforting. John didn't delight often in security but his night of worry had made certain things which had never come to mind suddenly spring forward with alarm and a need to be addressed. If he didn't think of it as marriage, if he let himself just call it a 'partnership' and leave semantics to the courts, it really wasn't such a bad idea. It was just a word. It was just an institution. Sherlock's blatant disrespect had really been the only objection that did not fade to grudging acceptance with time. Telling Sherlock off was rarely an effective means to proving a point. However, if there was one thing one could always rely on Sherlock for, it was to observe.
Which was precisely why John's largest concern was hiding his smile when it took less than three minutes for Sherlock to notice the gold band, stand scowling with confusion, and finally give up on his own methods to get straight to the obvious point. "You're wearing a ring."
John looked up at his hand as he finished hanging up his coat, shrugging nonchalant as he brought it back down without pause. "So I am," he said, walking towards his chair to pick up the laptop seated on the tea table.
Sherlock followed him physically, shadowing him from his haunt in the kitchen doorway to stand in front of him in the den. "On your dominant hand," he continued, nose wrinkled. "Why wear it on your dominant hand?"
"I don't know. Fit better there?"
The detective rolled his eyes, not so bewildered as to let flippancy slide. "The circumference of your ring fingers is of negligible difference. Why are you even wearing a ring at all?"
"I don't know. Fancied it and bought it. No real reason." John sat back, opening his computer on his lap as it hummed back to life with beeps and rolling screens. It was damn hard not to smirk as he threw the words right back at his friend, the swell of indignation in his chest the only anchor heavy enough to ground him to his present point. He paused in motion as though he'd just had a thought, inclining his face towards Sherlock with a look of practiced virtue. "Oh, that reminds me, though. I've thought long and hard on it and I think, for now, we'll just stick to the marriage thing," he said, then rolled his attention back down to his laptop screen and carried on as though that were the end of it, enough said, now go and make us a cuppa.
Sherlock did not move. He stood there still, staring, and as much as John would have loved to have seen the look on his face, he felt much more inclined to carry on with the ruse of checking his e-mail and an utter adherence to passivity. He could see Sherlock's thumb toying with his own dark ring, rotating it around his finger in idle sweeps. Conscious of it, conscious of John's, mind stuck in the details. Two married men both wearing rings on their left hand--was it too real now? Did it make sense why little things like being married and wearing rings on the left hand mattered? It wasn't worth asking, he'd simply become indignant, but oh how the thought of those conflicting matters of sentiment made John's chest swell. Best forty quid he'd ever spent.
He didn't intend to wear it for very long--just long enough to make sure Sherlock had at the very least concluded the relevance and validity of John's point-of-view. A few weeks maybe. It was vital that he wear it as often as Sherlock did but it was a small price to pay to teach a childish man a lesson. Lestrade noticed on their soonest case after but was a good enough straight-man to keep his reaction down to a wink. Sherlock maintained a terrible mood throughout. Apparently it was only acceptable when he was the one making all the decisions and playing into ambiguity. Tough. John had absolutely no intention of taking his ring off so long as Sherlock wore his own. Not for those few weeks at any rate.
Funny how a few weeks can fly by without notice. They say it takes about three to form a new habit and not to fall too far from the average, John found the weight and presence of the ring to be easier accepted than denied after twenty-one days--or thereabouts. There was never a moment when it seemed to him to be the day to leave the ring behind. He just didn't take it off. He liked it. It was his own money he'd be wasting if he took it off so in the end the ring just stayed there even as it garnered no more notice from either Sherlock nor himself. What was far more noticeable were the soliciting letters in the mail addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Holmes" that made John's skin crawl. The magazines for "Mrs. Watson" helped balance that out a little. It was even starting to become almost funny save for the way it further confused Mrs. Hudson who now had her own pair of "married ones" whom insisted on two rooms. Outside Mrs. Hudson and Greg Lestrade, it was a secret only the mass-mailers shared. No one else knew because no one else needed to know. Mycroft was simply a given and needn't be acknowledged in the least.
"Are you Mr. Holmes today or am I?" John asked as he sorted through the mail.
Sherlock didn't even bother looking up from his laptop screen. "Depends on the contents," he said, fingers busy typing other words entirely and at a pace John could admire but never achieve.
"Bill, bill, donation plea, and a check."
"Yours."
John nodded, slicing through and sorting it all out--the bills for later and the check for deposit. The joint checking account was an absolute dream when it came to being Sherlock Holmes's assistant. No more final notices because Sherlock forgot to pay his bills when caught up in the excitement of cases. No more having to bug the man for his share when a client handed off a hefty sum. It had always gone first into one account but now it was their account. John had the rights to everything in their finances and even though it had never been a large enough complaint in the past to ever be worth noting, the ease he now enjoyed in the their simplified arrangement made anything else a downright hassle.
It had been a good month, really. Same as any other before it. They'd been busy with cases and the rest of the minor details that made up the other hours of their lives. Being married hadn't really been a factor. It was much more like being trusted completely by ones' best friend in every detail and facet of life. And it just worked for them. Completely. John didn't even mind that Sherlock wore a ring as though it were a real marriage. John did too. John's own reasons had been stupid before the habit grew and so it was very easy indeed to forgive Sherlock whatever excuse he still clung to. It wasn't as though the detective was in love with John. And even if he was, after a month of him knowing and many months before when he did not, Sherlock hadn't wanted or asked for anything other than the rights and privileges that served them both.
John's text alert caused the phone to buzz from its spot on the coffee table. He picked it up, reading the message caught on the screen. "Huh... Bill's going to be in London tonight."
Sherlock looked up at the mantle where the skull sat silently before his posture ticked with understanding and he returned once more to his typing. "Mr. Murray hasn't been in the picture for quite some time," he remarked.
"Yeah, well, he's still on tour these days." John smiled slightly as he texted back, thumbs just as unsure as his fingers were when it came to finding the desired letters. "Looks like I've got plans. Any interest in tagging along?"
"None."
Unsurprising. John smiled a little deeper, sending away his quick response with a small surge of anticipation. It'd been ages since he'd gotten to have a proper chat with his old soldier friend. Comrades in arms always had stories to retell and memories to laugh over. It sounded like a brilliant way to spend the evening. He couldn't think of much better. "You want me to pick you anything up while I'm out, then? Food? Just.. stuff?"
Sherlock shook his head. He still hadn't bothered to change out of his pajamas despite the fact that it was well past noon. His blue dressing-gown hung heavy off his shoulders. "I'm expecting a call from Lestrade with some form of interest today. Keep your phone handy. I might need to summon you."
John smirked as he stood, putting the check in his wallet as he walked around to Sherlock's side. "Nothing short of an eight," he instructed, tussling the already messy curls as he settled on his own plans for the day.