#asexualsherlock

            “Please, John, as if your hand shaking and nervous posture wasn’t enough of a dead giveaway, you were gone for exactly ten minutes more than your average for this task, as well as the fact that I can hear the plastic sack inside the paper one that you’re holding in your hand.” Sherlock is pointing as he speaks, highlighting the various anomalies for emphasis, though his body still stays turned towards the laptop on the table in front of him. “You purchased something else besides groceries, so, what is it?” John just stares at him for a moment, sighs, then turns and walks into the adjoining kitchen without another word. “John?” Sherlock stands, following him. “What are you hiding, John?”

            “It’s nothing to be concerned about, Sherlock. I just bought a gift for someone.” Sherlock’s narrowed eyes show that he obviously isn’t buying it.

            “A gift?” His tone is calculating as always, his eyes darting around John and the paper sack that’s now sitting on the table, still carefully guarded by the man.

            “Yes, a gift, Sherlock. Is that a problem?”

            “Not at all, considering the season; however, your nervous attitude tells me that there’s something special about this gift; something you don’t want me to see. Hence, why you made such a futile attempt to hide it.” It’s obvious to John at this point that Sherlock isn’t going to let it go—not that he really expected him to—and it doesn’t help his already rising level of annoyance. Who gets in trouble for buying gifts before Christmas?

            “Maybe I don’t want you to see it because it’s a gift for you. Isn’t that a logical conclusion?”

            “Perhaps, however if last year is anything to go by, you are not one to plan ahead and buy gifts early, much less for someone who is not at the top of your shopping list. Therefore I find it highly unusual that you would buy a Christmas gift for me on only the third of December, and hence why I did not voice that obvious conclusion first.” John just stares at him again, clearly having had enough.

            “Well, you’ll just have to stop finding it unusual, because this gift is for you, and you’re not seeing it before Christmas day. Ponder that for a bit.” John turns towards the fridge, beginning to carefully unpack the groceries, keeping an eye on Sherlock in case he tries to steal the plastic sack. Much to his surprise, he simply casts a last look at it and returns to his laptop, though John knows he’s not done with this conversation.

———

            “Sherlock, what are you doing?”

            “Investigating.”

            “Shaking a gift box to try and figure out what’s inside is not investigating. Now put that down.” John had wrapped the gift in sky blue paper with a chocolate brown ribbon and had left it under the tree, which he had known was probably a bad idea but did anyway just to try and drive Sherlock mad.

            Judging by the man’s current position, kneeling next to the brightly decorated tree, holding the mid-sized box to his ear, it was working. After glaring at John, he sets the box down where he had found it and returns to his armchair, pressing his hands together beneath his chin.

            “Who cares about Christmas anyway? It’s a stupid holiday that people celebrate just as an excuse to drink and try and impress those who have their affections. Why else would they celebrate such a deeply religious holiday? It’s not like anyone cares what the original meaning was.” Sherlock is on the edge of rambling, flipping the edge of his blue robe about in annoyance.

            “You’re just bitter because you want to see what the gift is but you have to wait.” John knows the reason Sherlock doesn’t just open the gift while he’s gone; he’s no good at wrapping a gift, having had absolutely no practice, so if he opens it, he won’t be able to shut it again. And though Sherlock generally doesn’t care about people’s feelings, he wants to prove that he can control himself, and that was precisely the reason John thought it might be fun to leave the gift under the tree instead of in his room upstairs.

            “Oh, spare me your inferior reasoning. I’m just horribly bored.”

            “Yes, well, I’m sure you’ll get a new case soon, and then you can stop whining.” Sherlock just glares at him and wraps his robe tighter around himself again, the gesture speaking to his crazed boredom.

———

            “Ah, please come in, Lestrade! You’re a bit late, and I don’t think Sherlock can take much more.” Lestrade blinks at John’s comment, looking past him at the tall man on the other side of the room, dressed in his nicest suit, pacing back and forth in front of the Christmas tree.

            “What’s gotten into him?” Lestrade asks as he steps inside.

            “I bought him a gift and he can’t figure out what it is.” Lestrade looks impressed.

            “Well, I guess we’d better not keep him waiting much longer then, hmm?” He says with a laugh. The small assembly of Molly Hooper, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John all take their seats, while Sherlock continues to pace.

            “Alright, Sherlock, do you want to pass out the gifts?” Sherlock pauses in his pacing.

            “Why would I want to do that?”

            “Because I won’t let you open your gift until you do it.” John smiles triumphantly while Sherlock glares at him. After a moment or two, Sherlock bends and picks up two boxes and begins passing them out. After finally giving away all the gifts and receiving a few from the newly arrived company, Sherlock grabs the box that had been sitting under the tree the whole month taunting him.

            Without warning or pause, he violently rips it open, pieces of blue wrapping paper flying everywhere. When he gets down to the plain white clothing box, he stops for only a brief moment to examine it, before he finally slips his thumb under the taped lid and pulls it open.

            Inside is a simple scarf, in a deep blue. It’s the same color as the one he normally wears, but it has subtle horizontal stripes in the pattern.

            “It’s very nice, John.” Sherlock doesn’t sound ungrateful, but something in his tone is a bit off. John only smiles secretively. Sherlock touches the scarf, immediately realizing what was off about the weight of the box and why John was smiling so strangely. He unfolds the top part of the scarf, revealing a tiny black velvet box. A ring box. He looks quizzically over at John, who is still smiling serenely. Everyone else in the room is staring at the box, questioning if it meant what they thought it might mean.

            Sherlock gently lifts the lid, in contrast to his earlier display, revealing a thin black band with beveled edges sticking out of the white pillow affixed to the bottom of the box. On the front of the plain ring were Sherlock’s initials, standing out in silver in a beautiful old style of calligraphy, with two carved bands wrapping around the length of the ring on either side. He just stares at it for a moment more, before his fingers gently pull it out of the box, and he brings it up closer to his face to examine it.

            Everyone else is glancing back and forth between Sherlock and John, trying to understand what’s going on or trying to get some explanation out of either of them. Finally, after allowing Sherlock to examine the ring for a moment, John speaks up.

            “You said when we met that you were unattached; ‘married to your work’ you called it. Well, the ring is a symbol of that commitment.” Sherlock looks up at him, obviously unsure of what to say.

            “Did you have it custom made?” It’s an obvious question—how else would it have his initials on it?—but John nods anyway, knowing Sherlock is having a rare moment of uncertainty.

            “It’s beautiful, John.” Sherlock actually sounds in awe, though John knows it’s probably mostly the meaning behind it that he’s touched by.

            “You wear it here.” John says, pointing to the middle finger of his right hand. Sherlock looks down, seeming to examine his hand for a moment before he slides the ring onto the indicated finger, flexing his hand and examining the ring once more. Finally the strangeness of it all becomes too much for everyone else in the room, and Molly finally speaks up.

            “Where did that idea come from?” She sounds almost offended, and John feels bad for a moment, knowing the woman is more than a bit stricken with Sherlock.

            “I met someone while I was out a few weeks ago, and she told me an interesting story about a ring that she wore. It inspired me to get one for Sherlock.”

            “Just what did she tell you?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

            “Maybe I’ll explain it some other time.” Sherlock looks over at John, his face obviously indicating that he’ll figure out the rest even if John refuses to explain it to him, and John just smiles back, knowing it’s true and waiting to see what he’ll say in return. Everyone else seems somewhat oblivious to the exchange.

            “Why not now?” It’s Molly again. John simply shrugs.

            “It’s Christmas! I don’t feel like telling stories right now. Let’s just open the rest of the presents, shall we?” At the suggestion, everyone seems to revert back to their normal attitudes, though there was still an air of confusion—wonder?—in the room.

———-

            The most surprising thing to John was not that Sherlock had accepted the ring in the first place, but that he continued to wear it every day, even after John told him the story about the asexual woman he had met. In fact, Sherlock seemed to take a certain pride in wearing it, though no one but he and John knew the actual meaning.

John guessed that he was happy to display his unavailability, even if no one understood the message—he probably enjoyed it more because of the mystery—and he seemed to gratefully accept the new definition of himself that John had proposed by giving him the ring and telling him the story about it.

Sherlock had even developed a new habit—when he got bored, in addition to his usual antics, he would sit and spin the ring around his finger unconsciously, the fiddling seeming to help some of the excess energy from sitting around to dissipate. The funniest thing about the display was that he always took the time to right the ring afterwards so that his initials sat at the top, though he never seemed aware of having moved it in the first place.

            John had been careful not to tell anyone else the “official” meaning of the ring, simply because Sherlock had asked him not to. He hadn’t planned on telling them, as he wasn’t relishing the thought of trying to explain it, and he didn’t want to hurt Molly either. So, only the two of them knew the full meaning, and everyone else just knew the surface meaning.             Mycroft had become interested in the ring as well, as having abducted John for about the fifth time, he asked him about it, almost as an afterthought that had been bothering him. John had told him only the surface meaning as well, though he could tell Mycroft wasn’t satisfied with the response.