Thin, nimble fingers caressed the simple silver band on Sherlock's left hand, fingering every warp and divot in the silverwork.
"Not very fancy," a smooth, taunting voice spoke, his words echoing around the small prison room like stones in a canyon, "Tiger's was better, but that doesn't matter anymore."
Moriarty stood, brushing his crisp Italian suit free of dust and grime, gesturing to the guard holding a handgun to Sherlock's head. The guard holstered his weapon and shoved Sherlock forward, the former detective's knees scraping against the rough concrete floor. Moriarty frowned and tutted, "Now, now, Jean. Be gentle with our guest. He's going to be with us for a long time, after all."
The criminal mastermind ran a hand through Sherlock's long, tangled curls, gripping them tightly and pulling his head closer.
"Just remember, Sherlock Holmes. You may have dismantled my empire, but I. Still. Won."
It was Friday, the day Sebastian and John had decided on for their date, and John couldn't figure out what to wear. He fluctuated between not caring at all and wondering if maybe he should care. If he really wanted to do this, to get past Sherlock, shouldn't he put a little effort into it?
He sighed and scanned the meager contents of his wardrobe for the tenth time. His hand moved towards a suit, but then retracted. Just as he laid out a beige jumper and some jeans, there was a knock on the door.
"It's open!" He shouted out and Mrs. Hudson entered, bearing a silver tray with tea stacked on top of it.
"Oh, dear! I'm sorry to interrupt, John. Might I ask where you are going?" She inquired, placing a hand on her heart.
"On a date…" John said absently, not thinking about the impact his words might have on the landlady.
Mrs. Hudson's face broke out into a huge smile, "Oh, John! You're not serious?"
John turned to her, his hands on his hips, "Yes, I'm quite serious. Now, if you don't mind, I have to change."
Mrs. Hudson's grin went wider and she peered into his half-full closet, pulling out a different pair of jeans, "Here, wear these. THey make you arse look better."
John sputtered in shock, "Mrs. Hudson!" and she shrugged before leaving the flat so he could get dressed.
After pulling the wool jumper over his head, John exited the line of flats out onto the street. He hailed a cab and gave the driver directions to the only pub in London that would still serve him. He spent the ride staring out the fingerprint-stained window pondering whether or not he was doing the right thing. Was this turning his back on Sherlock? Out of worry and habit, he fingered the silver ring hung on a long chain around his neck, letting the pads of his fingers polish the surface. It was his engagement ring, the one Sherlock had given him after they caught their hundredth killer.
Before he knew it, although it had in reality taken an hour, the cab arrived at the pub. He pressed a fifty into the driver's hand and shut the car door.
Sebastian didn't seem to be there yet, so John sat on the front stoop waiting for him. It wasn't long before he caught sight of Seb's long legs clad in black dress trousers. His eyes traveled up and widened as he saw the full suit Sebastian was decked out in. John stood to meet him, a smile on his face. When Sebastian was about two feet away, the sniper began to blush.
"I'm overdressed, aren't I?"
John laughed, "No, no. Not at all. Well, maybe a little."
Sebastian ducked his head in embarrassment, "J- My boyfriend that I lost. He was very particular about what I wore."
John grimaced, "Sounds a bit possessive."
Sebastian chuckled, "Oh he was."
They entered the pub and Sebastian ordered them both a shot of whiskey to get started. John downed it in one gulp.
"I'm guessing we're not going to go slow, are we?" Sebastian asked, taking a sip of his glass.
John slid his glass back for the bartender to refill and answered, "Not at all."
By one o'clock in the morning, they were so pissed that the bartender cut them off. John protested loudly and moved towards the man aggressively, but Sebastian pulled him back.
"It's not worth it. Let's just go home," he whispered into John's ear, pulling him close to his chest.
John nodded drunkenly and stumbled out after the blond man. Sebastian was marginally more sober, so he was the one to hail a cab and tell the driver where to go.
"Where we goin'?" John slurred, throwing his arms around Sebastian's waist.
"To my flat," the sniper replied, "we can hang out there for a bit 'till you sober up a bit."
John nodded and leaned his head against Sebastian. He began kissing the other man's neck, his rough hands traveling lower and lower. Sebastian batted them away, "Not now. Wait until we get home."
John nearly fell asleep as on the ride to Sebastian's flat, barely managing to maneuver his way out of the cab. Sebastian practically had to carry the shorter man inside he was so drunk.
Sebastian plopped John down on his unmade bed, not bothering to remove his clothes. John immediately sat up and began kissing Sebastian frantically. However, Seb pushed him back down.
"Not tonight. Not while you're so drunk you might regret it later." He explained.
John shook his head, "Won't regret it, please… Seb…"
Sebastian placed his hands on John's shoulders and faced him sternly, "No. We can sleep together, but no sex. Alright?"
Apparently he got through to the former army doctor, for John nodded solemnly, "Alright."
Sebastian took of his suit and climbed under the covers next to John, wrapping his muscular arms around the doctor, "Goodnight."
"Night."