Inspired by

topic/80903/99298563/1/Established-relationship-johnlock-prompt

'Sherlock, what is that?'

Sherlock didn't acknowledge Lestrade's carefully asked question in favour of the body lying on the floor. Face down, woman, early thirties, secretary judging by her hands which are carefully manicured and smooth to the touch, a large knife wound in the back being the obvious cause of death. Judging by the size of the trauma and the amount of blood surrounding the victim, the knife must have hit at least one of the lungs and some of the bigger arteries. The woman's mouth is caked with blood, not surprising considering she would have coughed a lot of blood due to the injury to her lungs. She was murdered quickly but painfully, Sherlock can conclude, by someone who wanted to see her suffer. Someone who had calmly pierced the skin and muscles with the knife – big, long, roughly the size of a large kitchen knife, where is it? – and just as calmly pulled it out again and walked away. The woman would have suffocated, the lung filling up with blood, making it impossible for her to breath, to call for help – mobile still clutched in her right hand, not enough time to dial a number before the blood loss and lack of oxygen began to take its toll.

The entire case was obvious enough and normally Sherlock would never have agreed to leave the house for this petty case of domestic murder – obvious – but John was away, stuck at the surgery because of the recent flu epidemic and he had been ready to start shooting at walls again to entertain himself. Lestrade had been pleasantly surprised when the consulting detective asked for the address when he called (Anderson and Donovan unsurprisingly less so, but Sherlock couldn't be bothered) and he had given Sherlock free reign on this one.

'Check her phone for colleague's and her boss. Don't bother looking in the alleyway for the murder weapon, killer has taken it home and disposed of it there I imagine. She's had a relationship with someone in the office, but recently broke it off for another colleague . There is your motive.'

Sherlock rose and adjusted his scarf, readying himself to turn away and go back home, when Lestrade repeated his question, eyes locked on Sherlock's left hand, more specifically, the ring finger on his left hand. Ah, someone did notice then.

'It is a ring, detective inspector,' Sherlock noted uninterested. From the corner of his eye, he could see Donovan shifting her attention from her phone towards him and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'I can see that, Sherlock.' Lestrade's voice sounded a little apprehensive and Sherlock turned towards him. The DI seemed to be struggling with his words, his mouth opening and closing several times, his eyes never leaving the simple gold ring on Sherlock's finger. Sherlock waited impatiently, shifting from one foot to the other.

'For God's sake, inspector, do hurry up. There is a murderer on the loose remember.'

'Is that a wedding ring?' Sally Donovan's disbelieving voice broke Lestrade's stunned stupor and while he looked up to Sherlock's face for any form of confirmation, Sherlock let out a loud annoyed sigh. It was a miracle there were still cases being solved without his help.

'Congratulation, Donovan,' he sneered. He knew this would happen. Why did he even agree to wearing the damned thing? 'Now if you would use your observation skills on this case, perhaps we could still catch the man who did this before Christmas.'

'You're married? You?'

She asks the question in a tone that reminds Sherlock of all the times he was called names in school, all the times others cast him out, pitied him for being too different. It reminds him of all the people, like Donovan, who still can't believe that he has people in his life that he calls friends (never out loud, but he feels it all the same), people that stick by him and who don't see him as just a freak, a sociopath, an addict, and he is about to insult Donovan down to a puddle on the ground when a strong warm voice interrupts him.

'Well, technically it's a civil partnership, but in the end it's all the same really.'

John – wonderful, strong, reliable – stands in the door opening, his back straight, arms locked behind him – his captain Watson and, damn him, he can feel a shiver run down his spine just thinking about it – head tilted challenging towards Donovan who seems to have to lost control of her jaw. Her eyes and the eyes of everyone else in the room who has heard the conversation dart to John's left hand, his ring finger and they all see the same simple golden band around it. It had been John's idea, of course, because they were husbands – husband, my husband! – and with being a husband comes wearing rings was Johns logic.

Sherlock still can't believe John's here, defended him and shut everybody up with just one sentence, when the smaller man walk up to him, kisses him, a small close mouthed peck on the lips, one Sherlock has seen a thousand times involving others as a greeting, an endearment but could never have hoped would involve him, but here he is, and crouches down by the body. Sherlock slaps himself mentally because for a moment, just one small blissful moment, he had forgotten and his mind had been just screaming JohnJohnJohn.

Lestrade, who has been blissfully silent during it all, starts barking orders to Donovan to clear her from the room and to set everything in motion again. John, who is looking awfully smug, declares asphyxiation as cause of death and Lestrade eyes them both with a mock hurtful look.

'So…why wasn't I invited?'