"…Sherlock? Why is the bathroom sink dyed blue?"

Sherlock sighed and pulled at the ends of his hair, frustrated beyond belief. The directions on the package had made it sound so easy.

"Hey! Sherlock! C'mon, open up!"

Sherlock heard John pounding his fist on the door and grimaced. John definitely couldn't see him like this. Far too embarrassing.

"Sherlock, so help me, I will break this door down in three…two…."

Sherlock threw his jacket over his head and wrenched open the door. "What?" he snarled, turning just enough that John couldn't see the damage underneath his makeshift head covering.

John looked at him strangely. "Why do you have that on your…never mind, forget it." He broke off awkwardly, and then quickly continued. "What I actually want to know is why the sink in the loo's been dyed blue."

Sherlock coughed uncomfortably. "Experiment. Couldn't be avoided."

John faked a laugh. "An experiment. Oh, I see." He then glared straight at him. "Sherlock. Please tell me it isn't permanent."

"It isn't permanent."

John let out a breath he had been holding. "Thank God."

"…Except that it is."

John's eyes flew wide open. "Sherlock!"

"What? You told me to tell you it wasn't permanent!"

John grumbled under his breath. "Why the hell would you dye the sink blue?"

"I told you, John; it was an experiment that…didn't quite work out."

John stood stock still for a moment, processing things. Suddenly, his eyes went wide. "You…you tried to dye your hair, didn't you?"

"Do not laugh or I will put livers in your bed," he said in a menacing voice, and pulled the jacket off his head.

John stood, frozen with shock. He tried desperately to control himself, but in the end he couldn't help it. He darted towards the linen closet and stuck his head in, shoving his head into a thick blanket to muffle his loud peals of laughter.

Finally, having worked through his delight at the situation, he emerged to see Sherlock glaring daggers at him. "Having fun, are we?" Sherlock asked acidly.

"Very." John said, still gasping for breath. "Is it really permanent?"

"I don't know!" Sherlock said, frustrated. "It was for an experiment! It looked…easier than it was." He stuck out his lip in a frustrated pout.

"Well, just calm down and get me the box, and we'll see what we can do, okay?"

Sherlock nodded, thoroughly cowed, and headed to the bathroom. John followed, observing his hair better in the light from the hallway. It was supposed to be blue, but Sherlock obviously had no previous experience with dye. It looked like he hadn't bleached it beforehand, so when he had dyed it over his brown locks it had turned them a murky swamp green.

"You should be glad I found you before Lestrade." John muttered as Sherlock rooted through the garbage. "He would have taken pictures and used them for the next Yard calendar."

Sherlock ignored him, throwing an old razor and several thin slivers of soap across the room.

Finally, the detective stood up again, brandishing a thin black box with a picture of a grinning blue-haired man on the front, showing gleaming white teeth. "This is it," he said, handing it to John.

"Of course he's smiling…he didn't accidentally dye his hair green." John said jokingly. Sherlock gave him a stern glare. John coughed and began to read the information on the back of the box. "…It's okay, Sherlock, it isn't permanent. It'll wash it if you shampoo it. Vigorously."

Sherlock snorted. "Boring!" He rolled his eyebrows. "I don't have time for that, either!"

John raised his eyebrows. "Would you rather walk around with green hair?"

"No."

"Well, then…"

"Ow! You got soap in my eyes!"

John sighed. "Sherlock. My hands aren't even near your face."

"Where are they then? Because they're either on my face or on my…"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence. This is awkward enough."

Sherlock snorted. "Really, John. I was going to say my scalp."

John rolled his eyes. "Just shut up and let me wash your hair. Or did you change your mind?"

Sherlock sunk deeper into the water, pouting.

John finished soaping up the detective's messy curls and pushed his head down into the water. "Hold still while I rinse out the shampoo, or you really will have soap in your eyes."

Sherlock closed his eyes as John's fingers worked over his scalp. He rinsed out the soap carefully, turning his hair back to its regular dark brown shade.

"Okay, you're done." John said. "Congratulations; you no longer look like you fell in a vat of pea soup."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He pulled himself upright and began to stand. John turned away, giving him some privacy, and handed him a fluffy towel.

Sherlock yanked it out of John's hand and wrapped it around himself. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "I'm decent, you can turn around now."

John turned back towards him…and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Sherlock was gorgeous.

He had always figured that Sherlock would be beautiful shirtless; all that pale skin and lean muscle. But he never thought he would feel like this about it.

Sherlock looked at him, unreadable. "John. You can close your mouth now."

John shut his mouth with a snap. "…sorry," he said lamely, very aware that it was a bit not good to be ogling your male flatmate's bare chest.

"No…it's…it's okay." Sherlock said. He looked a bit…lost. John wasn't used to that; Sherlock always knew what he was doing and saying.

"Well…I guess I should just, um…go…" John said, gesturing carelessly towards the door.

"Yes…NO!" Sherlock said, then stopped and looked very confused.

"…What was that?" John asked carefully.

"Uh…" Sherlock looked around wildly.

John stepped forward, trying not to show how nervous he was. "…Would you like me to stay?"

Sherlock looked down at the shorter man. His eyes seemed to glow, a beautiful iridescent bluish-green. "Yes. I think that would be…acceptable."

John leaned in closer than ever, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Afterwards, they lay together in Sherlock's bed, tangled up in each other's arms. Sherlock rested his cheek against John's forehead. "John?"

"What, Sherlock?"

"I…I feel very…happy…towards you."

"I love you too, you daft git."

Comfortable silence filled the room.

"You're still scrubbing the sink, though."