They were the kind of things that John would stop to admire trough glass passing by on his way to the grocery. Things he never thought of purchasing with the small army pension he was afforded.
In the end, John thought, they were just fashionable props. Big names that were smoke and mirrors. A lie that captured hearts of those who dared to trust it…John wanted someone to appreciate him for who he actually was, not for appearances nor money, which according to the soldier, a lack of both had kept him extremely humble in his lifetime.
John pursed his lips together and furrowed his brow, continuing to ponder the watch. He may have been humble, but this was the third time he had consciously caught himself in front of the window. He took in the attention to detail of the watch, and those shoes…that coat…He loved these kinds of things for their particular brand of dark magic, just as he loved the spell London had cast over him from the very first moment he set foot into the city; life humming with brilliant detail, and glamorous lustre.
Then there was Sherlock who, If London, for all its vices, and triumphs acknowledged a mascot, The brilliant mind would be a perfect manifestation. A smile tipped the corner of his mouth as he thought of his flatmate. A personality that was the half-starved cat finding it’s living from the garbage and filth of the city streets, but a lifestyle that was conducted with the graceful appearance of some posh gem. Dark curls and sharp cheekbones carved to represent cultural superiority, but with smooth surfaces that, when caught in a particular light, glowed spectacularly from within….
John nodded in agreement to his own comparison. Luxury items fit Sherlock far too well, especially as John watched him treat those items as London itself would….Loved to pieces, would be a fitting expression. John on the other hand was unfit for such fashion statements, and the way he would worship one, should he ever acquire such a thing, would also be unfit, He would care for it as he cared for Sherlock, and his hands were already far too full with the the madman sharing his living space.
Did things like shoes, watches and coats actually impress a date? John continued to the grocery wondering about such a trivial topic. Life in London, would go on. And John would move with it.
It wouldn’t be until his birthday, July 8th, that he would think of those luxury items again. John had suspected that Sherlock knew far too much about his personal life. Now, he had proof.
Wrapped in a small package, simple fittings which attempted to conceal the monetary value of what lay inside of them. John gaped at Sherlock as he opened wrapping.
"Oh…My God."
"They suit you, I’m not taking them back." Before John could protest, Sherlock’s preemptive strike fell into the silence of the room.
"Sherlock, you could have paid for-"
"My finances are directed where I see fit. A birthday gift for a close friend who desperately needs to re-evaluate wearing jumpers for a date, is definitely fit."
John carefully ran his fingers over the coat, which he had never even dreamt of the chance to touch prior.
"Do you really think I can wear these..I’m not exactly-"
Sherlock rolled his eyes towards his flatmate and interrupted.
"Don’t be ridiculous, they fit you perfectly: Everything that is London, apart the unnecessary grandiose presentation of it’s own ego." Sherlock leaned forward in the chair and smiled at John with a wink.
"Undoubtedly you will impress your dates, so please refrain from returning these items to spite my indulgence in exquisite taste."
John was unsure if Sherlock was stroking his own ego or John’s. But Sherlock had just given him a piece of The city he so cherished, and with it, a fragment of the person he most cherished within it. John smiled and tried the items on.
"I really don’t know what to say, Thank you, Sherlock"
…
"I’m a Fake."
Sherlock represented the best and the worst of London, and If London was nothing but smoke and mirrors, The Great Detective would not disappoint. So, It was a surreal, elegant facade that paraded through Johns life, leaving him standing with awe in the chaos of it’s wake.
"You told me once…that you weren’t a hero…Umm… There were times I didn’t even think you were human, but let me tell you this. You were the best man, the most human… human being that I’ve ever known and no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, so… there."
John might have seen Sherlock’s smoke and mirrors, but he also liked to believe he saw through them as well. He often imagined that he saw Sherlock in a way nobody else could, and that because of this, it was possible that even Sherlock Holmes could love another human being.
But Sherlock loved things like London loved things.
And although he dressed his best for the occasion.
The funeral broke John to pieces.
Original post about the expensive items. (x)
