[CONTAINS SMUT!] ❗️18+❗️
~~~
Being the youngest Holmes was always quite the journey, especially when you didn't want to show off your talents, maybe even lack of such. Compared to your brothers you were always the 'dumb' one. The teachers saw it, yo...
Moriarty stepped through the buzzing streets of designer boutiques and high end brands. None of these would do. None of these were good enough for you.
He looked through Tiffany & Co., Pandora, all the way to Cartier.
Nothing.
Moving along the cobblestone path of fake vintage aesthetics, he suddenly saw a warmly lit store. You always talked about fantasy novels where an odd store, standing out from the rest yet unnoticeable from passerby's would appear to aid the hero on their journey.
Jim looked from side to side. A quaint store, the most ancient one in the street, yet no one batted an eye. He lurched forward in a careful and heedful walk, as if one wrong move would cause utter doom, one he would not enjoy.
"Hello?" A rusty bell rung above head, his leather shoes stepping over a matted 'Persian' rug—the design was stamped on over cheap wool.
Each crevice was scattered in antiques, from animal skulls to Victorian lamps. He felt as though he was in the 1800s, gas lamp illuminating the musky interior. It smelt of rust and rotting wood, though not repulsive, just adding to the age.
"Hello?" He called out again, wishing for a reply, his annoyance building up from the quiet.
"Evening," a man walked out, wrinkled eyes gleaming bright and dentures almost slipping out. His greying hair contrasted greatly with his patching caramel skin. Lapels of his odd suit sewn back together too many times to bother deducing and his hands rough as leather. "How may I help you, sir?"
Moriarty watched as the man lent against the counter with an arched back, 20 years of back pain excruciatingly obvious. "I was wondering if you had any rings,"
"Engagement? Haven't had any requests like that since... Oh, I can't even remember!" The man's deep voice was rasped and Moriarty cringed lightly at the sound.
"Just a promise ring, simple, sleek, money is not a problem,"
"Hm, come on then," he walked to one hidden part of the store, Jim's shoes bumping into strewn about taxidermy animal heads perched on oak wood.
Before them both was a shelf full of rings, prices marked accordingly. He looked over each one, scanning and contemplating his choice. Still, nothing was good enough.
"Picky, I see," Jim rolled his eyes at the man's comment. "You must really love her,"
"Well, if any man was to give their partner a promise ring, wouldn't they give it more thought?"
"Not since the 80s, no,"
"Well, the 1980s was an age of drugs and disco, hardly surprising, everything has gone down hill since then,"
"Mhm... 1980s... yes, of course, 19," the old man pondered, Jim shrugging his odd emphasis on the '19' off. "I have just the thing, not expensive, but very thoughtful,"
"Then why did you show me the expensive ones first? Thought you could Con me?"
"Thought you cared less about meaning," he snapped back bemusedly. A small oak box was taken out with dipping velvet holding a fair few rings.
None were incredibly valuable gemstones, yet all much more beautiful than the diamonds and rubies.
The man held up a small black Onyx ring with a silver band wrapping tightly around it. Taking it off him, Moriarty let his face fall a little in awe.
Just like you, it was simple, beautiful and alluring. Every reason he fell in love with you.
"I'll take it,"
"Perfect choice," the ring was cased in glass hexagon box, wrapped tightly with brown paper and tied with a long bit of twine. "Have a nice day,"
Jim tilted his head at the man as he held his wallet. "How much?"
"On the house, you're truly in love, no amount of money could ever cover how much this ring will be of value to her," A twinge of thankful surprise filled Jim's heart as he scanned the room again. "Anything else?"
"Yes... A gift for her brother," he walked forward to a certain item.
~~~
"There you are!" You skip to Moriarty with his coat still wrapped around. "What did you get?"
"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you," he poked your nose as the others smile sweetly. "Stop staring or I'll slit your throats," Jim growls to the rest who pale and spin away.
"Here you go," trying to hand back his coat, he stops you.
"I have plenty, besides, you look adorable,"
"You can't just give me your closet, I have at least three of your coats and 5 of your dress shirts," you scold lightly.
"Then you'd be my devil queen in Westwood," he laughs as the others hold back smiles, facing away.
~~~
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