Written for Random-Nexus who requested askfic and got this. (Inspired by something that popped up in one of our chats. ^_^) Originally posted to AO3 4/22/12 (and Tumblr)
The ring was a simple brass band, no embellishments, fairly thin metal; not shoddy, but not particularly high quality, either. He assumed there was something more to it with the formality in which John has given it to him; looked up with questioning eyes and waited, rather than say anything possibly damaging to the 'moment'. Sentiment, he was sure, though he wasn't entirely certain if that thought is attached to the ring or the reserve on his part.
"I know you don't need gestures or ceremonies or anything, but... I wanted to give you something-" John's hand raised absently to rub the back of his neck in a furtively embarrassed gesture; definitely sentiment then. "-I mean, I guess you always had it, really. In a way, I gave this to you a long time ago; it's always been yours, but..." He seemed to realize he was rambling and stopped with a halfhearted, "yeah."
Sherlock considered this - the delivery, the import John had attached to it, and contemplated the metal resting in his hand, again. Obviously specially made, but not a particularly high grade of metal - why would someone-
Something in the way John said it finally clicked and he looked up; much sharper question on his face this time. John seemed to understand without words - and this, this was one of the reasons they worked so well together, one of the proofs of their enduring partnership - nodded, and said, "Yeah... its, from that first night. The casing. Don't know why I kept it, really – not very smart, but..." John sighed very softly, refocused. "It's not pretty, I know, but that's not something I thought you'd care about in the end." He shrugged almost apologetically, and as the realization hit, Sherlock very nearly wanted to shake him for the attempt to disparage it, to diminish it.
John was right – he didn't need gestures or the trappings of a 'normal' relationship – but this… this meant something. Their relationship had never been normal, and this was something he could understand, a tangible evidence of a value held; the very first show of devotion and their first case in one.
Sherlock let his hand close over the metal again, feeling the weight of it; heavier now that he understood its origin, its meaning. There were things he could say at a time like this; things he probably should say, but he was – for once – at a loss. John would understand. He always did.
Instead, Sherlock met his eyes with a certain solemnity.
"I believe there are expectations in situations like this?" he asked, holding his hand out to offer back the ring. John blinked up. "It's not really-", stopped, then smiled. "Yeah", he said instead; accepted the small piece of metal as if it weighed nothing and everything at once – slid it onto Sherlock's ring finger.
It fit them perfectly.