A Ring for Ownership
SUMMARY
The ring that never saw the case of the demon dog.
STORY
It looked like a little golden eye, trapped between his browned thumb and forefinger.
He supposed it was. It had lasted for nearly a decade on his hand and seen just as much as he in that time. It had seen work, murder, love, hate, heated rows and a few separations. No children though.
Thank God. How much harder would children have made this?
A sigh heaved from Greg's chest, the escaping breath dispersing with the memories of so many years.
Over a decade of marriage, and it had all lead up to this. A messy break up and a ring suspended at a precipice on a footbridge over a river that sounded all too much like a cheerfully babbling brook on a day as golden as the sun could manage.
No pathetic fallacy for him today then. England was much better at that in regards to negative emotions, sky seemingly in perpetual greyscale as it was.
Greg lowered his gaze from where he'd been watching the play of honeyed morning light on water to the gleaming circle which had been transferred absentmindedly to his palm.
He remembered the day of his wedding, when his bride had slipped this ring onto his finger at the alter. How the priest had talked of their representation of infinite love and loyalty. He wondered if all cheated partners felt this way when it came to the end. If they too had started at the rings they'd exchanged with vows and felt the urge to laugh bitterly at the golden loop that represented the love between a married couple. That golden loop that was supposed to be a physical symbol of never-ending love.
Fidelity ties into that. Greg thought to himself. Fidelity and loyalty.
She had been neither to him.
Greg would never say he hadn't been tempted. He had always been honest on the matter, but he had never acted on that temptation.
He supposed he should be thankful. His wife was independently wealthy of him, and full of pride regarding the matter, so he still had a flat to go to, and enough money to keep him comfortable. Some men didn't even get to keep the things they earned throughout years of marriage. At least he still had that. And his job.
He would be going back to that after he got home from this holiday. Back to murder, thievery and the ever-arrogant Sherlock Holmes and his blogging Doctor. At least the doctor would be one man who could be counted on to help him wade through the insanity his best friend brought in his wake.
The gold held a surprising amount of weight in his hand. It had seemed physically lighter whilst it was on. His wife… Ex wife had said the same thing about dresses and winter coats. Although he couldn't help but wonder if it was partially in his own head. If he was just imagining the extra weight of the metal in his hand. A mental conjuring to match the emotional weight of over a decade seemingly wasted on a woman who couldn't even repay his loyalty with physical fidelity.
His hand hovered above the rushing, but surprisingly deep water, hesitant. He already knew it was the end, both physically and legally yet still his hand faltered to turn just ninety degrees and banish the last evidence of a broken bond. Let it be swept away by forces beyond his control.
A few days in the sun would cause the pale loop encircling his left ring finger to vanish, enough to remove it before he returned to deductive scrutiny, not that the ring's absence wouldn't be enough of a clue.
His hand turned a full one eighty degrees and gold plummeted, making contact with a loud 'Plunk' and a leap of water.
Greg sighed as the wedding ring disappeared from his sight forever. His head rose as his elbows leaned on the bridge's handrail.
Another sigh. A quirk of the lips. A bubble of laughter. Then a flood.
The Detective Inspector was breathless and nearly crying on the isolated bridge in the middle of nowhere, picturesque water flanked by lines of cypress trees. He couldn't stop laughing, the absurdity of what he'd just done hitting him all at once like a lorry load of bricks.
If he'd been any more dramatic he'd have brought a radio with swelling music to climax his moment. Another wave of laughter assaulted him and he suddenly understood just why the crazy, deductive detective back in London was so despairing of emotions. They make a right fool of a man.
Several minutes later and Greg had calmed himself to giggles, half crouched over the handrail on the bridge, stomach aching from the gales of hilarity and using his sleeves to absorb the salty liquid his mirth had brought as a companion.
He straightened, breath stuttering in his efforts to avoid another display of what may or may not have been evidence of him travelling a little bit further round the bend, took in the sunrise-lit scenery once more and turned to walk back the way he'd come from.
Away from the river and away from the ring.
And that was how he planned for it to stay.
When Greg stepped out of the airport at Heathrow and saw the grey skies his eyes rolled. Pathetic fallacy in reverse once again. Perhaps one day it would manage to align itself appropriately to the mood, but no holding of the breath would occur on that matter.
Then a familiar black car cruised its way into his path, Greg could not help but let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.
"Just because I don't have a wife to go home to anymore doesn't mean you can enlist me the second I enter the country, Mycroft Holmes." he muttered as he dragged his bag towards the car anyway. It did not particularly matter what he said at this point. Nine times out of ten the older Holmes brother got his way, and Greg had already defied him when he had enlisted Sherlock's help in a case the elder had specifically asked the younger man to be kept from. Although in all fairness that had been closer to the fault of Sherlock than that of the Detective Inspector.
Notes:
Just a small piece exploring what Lestrade may or may not have done with his wedding ring before it made its not-appearance in Hound.
This happened because I got to thinking about jewellery in one of my classes because I was wearing a short sleeved shirt, a bracelet and a watch, which when put together made my hands look like they were manacled. This got me thinking about jewellery as gifts, heirlooms, representation of emotional bonds (wedding rings for instance) and other things. Then before I knew it there were a dozen mini-ideas in my paper's margin for jewellery related oneshots. A couple of months down the line, this happens.
So sorry if it's cheesy (Lestrade certainly seemed to think so). I played with literary devices a great deal in this.
Wish BBC Sherlock belonged to me, but unfortunately it does not. Such is life.
Review if convenient.
If inconvenient, review anyway.
(Sorry, couldn't resist)