The Ring Finger
part nineThe shopping center was absolutely, dreadfully, irritatingly busy with people bustling through the open walkways and lobbies, swinging heavy bags into passerby's knees without any concern and loudly shouting into their mobiles the same conversations ad infinitum on Christmas lists and time till departure and just how busy everything was. John hated shopping and hated shopping even more when stores and shopping centers were seasonally packed. But it was hard to mind stuffed lifts and harried shoppers when he was in the company of Sherlock Holmes.
The man's misery was like a vacuum for all of John's own displeasures. If John was mildly inconvenienced, Sherlock was ready to take hostages. It was funny. It put things in perspective. John liked being the collected, responsible adult now and then, especially when events so often made him the dunce in Sherlock's shadow. Public places made Sherlock into the bumbling child in ways their work never did. Pride was really the only thing that set him apart from the screaming children being dragged along the floor by their grip against a parent's trouser leg. Sherlock wasn't going to get dirty for the sake of a tantrum. Instead he huffed and rolled his eyes and complained about everything from the smells to the heat of too many bodies poured onto the sales floors. It was wonderful fun.
John held on to either end of Sherlock's scarf, now slung over his own neck, as they kept in tight along the first floor walkway. Sherlock's complaints about being too warm had had an easy fix in just stripping him of the extra layer and carrying it for him. Seeing that complaints would be dealt with with appropriate action had made the detective a little quieter on that front, choosing only to bemoan things John could not control or assist with such as the awful waves of over perfumed masses seeping away from makeup counters and other ill-behaved children. The food court would give them a pallet cleansing, though. And a quick bite wouldn't hurt either. They'd already been to the phone kiosk and gotten something far too high tech for Mrs. Hudson for the holiday and had a look around some of the stores boasting huge sales and gigantic lines. There were a couple shirts John liked. Sherlock had looked positively affronted when a sales clerk asked if she could help him with anything, as if he could ever be mistaken as the sort of person who bought bargain button-downs off a table. John knew it was slightly sadistic, but he loved shopping with Sherlock. He was equal parts completely predictable and humorously surprising. He was also very good at pointing out things that would go well together, mindful of John's own style as he gestured to vests and jumpers with small asides as to which materials best camouflaged the likely attempt to smuggle a gun. He made it fun even as he grew exasperated. Still, despite the vast availability of cabs in the area, Sherlock stayed.
As they walked along the balcony, Sherlock pressed in close to John's side. It would have been easier for him to just fall behind or walk ahead when a thick group of people pressed towards them in the opposite direction, but he was too stubborn to move and too Sherlock to make his presence less inconvenient for strangers. John didn't mind. So he ended up having to time his steps right to make sure their legs didn't tangle mid-step; it didn't matter. Sherlock was there. He'd rather that than a clear path through the masses any day.
"Can't we be done now?" Sherlock asked, dragging his heels slightly as he walked with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat, the bag for Mrs. Hudson's gift slung over his wrist.
John shrugged, seeing the lights of the food court not that far ahead. They could probably leave an find something nicer to dine on but they rarely went to the shopping center together and it was sort of part of the experience in the end. "You said you wanted to look into that gadget store," John reminded him, though he'd need a map to remind him exactly where it was they'd seen the place. He hadn't had a need to visit the center since last Christmas. He rather expected to follow that trend through the new year.
"I can look at things on the internet and get it delivered for far less hassle than dealing with this nonsense."
"Yeah, and Mrs. Hudson can make calls without Bluetooth, WiFi, and a 326 ppi display," John said, lowering his hairline to mimic raised brows though Sherlock wasn't looking at him well enough to see. "Nothing wrong with stepping outside your comfort zone and doing things a different way."
Sherlock bumped him with his elbow in a way that was far too strategic to be accidental. "You were paying attention," he said with a slightly surprised if not proud lilt.
John colored slightly, chin down. "PPI could mean Phone Power... Internet for all I know. I was listening, I wasn't paying attention. I just know it's going to be a nightmare explaining how to use the damn thing to her--your job, by the way."
The detective shrugged, seeming slightly less annoyed for the time being all the same. John smirked with a roll of his eyes and dragged him through a queue for chips and fountain drinks. Sherlock chose them a table with some minor details of isolation in as much as it wasn't surrounded on all sides by chairs, tables and other patrons. They piled their chips on a center parchment to give them both elbow room on their side of the small table. It didn't merit concern over what functionality looked like to passerbys. John drizzled over the malt vinegar and Sherlock picked equally from John's side of the mountain and from his own. So what if it looked like a date or that they were together. What anyone else thought really didn't matter.
John washed down a tangy bite with the sweet rush of soda, almost regretting the choice for the way the flavors spiked against his tongue. "Just let me know if you need me to conveniently get separated from you while we're out," John said around his straw, pinching the open tube with his teeth.
Sherlock's nose wrinkled in utter distaste. "Why would I want to be left alone with this... this?" he asked, gesturing towards the crowds and likely everything that didn't have a physical form as well such as the smells and overall warmth.
"Buying my present on the internet then, are you?"
Sherlock continued to look somewhat confused. John let his chip fall back to the parchment, trying not to scowl. "You saying you weren't planning on getting me anything?"
"John, you have access to my bank account and credit cards. If you want something, get it." He went back to munching on a chip, no longer looking at John but instead at their shared food in as much as it represented their shared assets.
John hadn't thought of that and it showed in the quiet pause that set his body stone-solid. He supposed it made sense on a practical level. He'd never actually considered himself free to take advantage of the joint status of their finances outside the usual necessities like food and utilities which they both made use of anyway. He joked about taking the money and running but it was nothing more than a joke. He was legally allowed to help himself in far lass drastic measures but he kept tabs on how much should be his or else moved it to his personal account to be safe. It hadn't occurred to him that Sherlock intended for him to treat his money as their money. As his. It was generous, really. Much more than he had need to be. Still, the only thing he could think to say was "Huh," as his muscles loosened and let his head incline, tongue licking his salty lips.
Sherlock scowled. "What?"
"No, just... never thought of it like that." John shrugged his shoulders, pulling away one of the soaked chips on Sherlock's side of the mound. "You're right. You've given me plenty. Who needs presents anyway," he said, effecting a slightly over-dramatic sigh as he bit off one end of his potato wedge. "I mean, it's only Christmas."
The master manipulator knew damn well what he was doing. It didn't seem to matter, though. Sherlock's scowl fell into a frown as he all but glared at him then at the table.
John couldn't help but smile. "You're going to get me something now, aren't you."
"Probably," the detective said, which for all intents and purposes may as well have been a 'yes'. He was sulking now.
John propped his chin up on his palm, elbow next to his drink. "Probably appreciate a hint as to what I might want."
"It would help."
"You're a consulting detective," he said, giving him a playful wink. "I'm sure you'll figure something out."
The more fun John had, the more annoyed Sherlock looked. It was a fantastic game, really. Sherlock bitterly slurped on his soda while maintaining irritated eye contact, his eyes a sharp silver in the daylight pouring in from the windows above. It was all for show and they both knew it. Sherlock was more embarrassed at the thought of buying John a gift than he was annoyed that he was being made to. He was being told to be thoughtful and that generally fell outside his comfort zone when it might mean demonstrating he was actually much more astute and emotional than he liked to let on. Tough tits; it was Christmas. If John had had to visit no less than four jewelers to get just the right ring, Sherlock could spend a few minutes online figuring something out for him. It was only fair and it was only once a year. John smiled triumphantly and picked at another chip, managing to eat it just as smugly.
"What did you get me?" Sherlock asked at length, perhaps trying to get a clue as to what was expected of him. Or perhaps just to make sure he too was getting something. Of course he was.
"You'll just have to see," John instructed, knowing perfectly well that neither waiting nor not knowing were things Sherlock dealt with well. "And no looking at bank or card statements until January. That's cheating."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, deflating against his own raised palm. "Well I imagine I should get you something of comparable value. Knowing the monetary investment would give me a range of expectation."
John nodded, trying not to feel self conscious as he rolled his memory back to the shop and the total on the paper that had initially made his stomach flop. "Between three and five hundred pounds, then," he said, keeping his face neutral as he stuffed it with more food. It was a perfectly normal total to spend on ones' best friend. Especially when there was no girlfriend to spend that sort of money on.
Not that he was fooling Sherlock any. The detective perked up, his mind rolling through his mind palace itinerary of items and costs he might have cataloged. "On a single item?" he clarified, playing with his straw. "Did you get me a gun?"
John nearly choked. "You could talk a little quieter if you're going to say things like that. And no, I didn't get you a gun. A; I'd have to maintenance it because you can't be bothered and B; I consider being in possession of the weapon job security." He looked around them just to give himself some assurance no one had overheard and was set to inform security that two men were discussing armaments. He supposed a gun was much more fitting in with Sherlock's needs within his profession but John hadn't a clue where one would go to get such a thing in the first place. Sherlock was the one who seemed to be able to come into a supply of ammunition every time they needed some. Like he'd said before, if Sherlock wanted it, he could help himself. It was much more in his realm of acquisition than John's.
A gun seemed to be Sherlock's only and best guess, though, as he sat and thought, formulating suspicions over a few more chips before sitting back and waiting for John to either finish the rest or toss them away. His straw made squeaky noises against the plastic lid and echoed loudly with his final slurps. All this from a man in an impeccable suit and a coat that cost more than most of the clerks earned in a week.
John wiped his hands off on a napkin as he decided himself to have finished as well. "So gadget shop and.... home?"
"Unless there were any stores you had a particular interest in going into," he replied, not in the least bit subtle in his request for some kind of hint as to what he should buy. The problem was that John honestly didn't know what he wanted. He was far more interested to see what Sherlock thought and in what direction he would go: practical or sentimental. He was pretty sure he knew but even then he was curious as to what needs the other man would hone in on. He just hoped he wouldn't get a load of socks and a drawer organizer. But he wouldn't tell him that. He wanted to see. No matter what it was, it was bound to make him smile.
Standing and getting in a short stretch, John threw away the last of the chips and the empty fountain drink as well, scanning for some sign of a map to direct them back to the store they wanted. He was rather sure they'd heard the Christmas tune that was playing through the speakers at least three times already and the candle shops and kiosks smelled heavily of cinnamon. It was monotonous and crowded and John's feet were nearly aching even after a short reprieve. But it might have still been one of the best afternoons he'd spent all week. He grabbed the ends of Sherlock's scarf again as he walked, elbows tucked, through the throngs. And even though he didn't look, he knew exactly where Sherlock stood as he felt his body press close to his as they made room for others and weaved their path, side by side, down the balcony halls.