No. 1: In which Sherlock is blonde
John leaned in the doorway, trapping Sherlock in the bathroom. He held up the box of dye.
"You mind explaining this?" he demanded. Sherlock sighed heavily and walked forebodingly over to john. He entwined their hands tightly and Sherlock pressed their foreheads together, smashing his nose against John's. He whispered his darkest secret: "John. I'm a natural blonde."
He didn't know how he had expected John to react, really, but he felt laughing may have been an inappropriate response.
"You? A blonde? Really? Sherlock Holmes, the blonde genius!" He managed between bouts of giggles.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, John. I'm blonde and this is exactly why I dye my hair. No one takes you seriously when you're blonde." Now it was John's turn to feel insulted.
"You're saying no one takes me seriously?"
"Well, you're different. You're a soldier. You have an air of intimidation about you. I come off as an aristocrat who has never worked a day in his life. No one takes the tall, gorgeous blonde in tightly tailored suits seriously when he talks about science. They laugh and tell me I'm cute, John! Cute! Like I'm some shallow teenage girl!" He had a lot more to say on the subject, but the look on John's face stopped him.
"I am not cute." John protested in his deepest, most intimidating soldier voice.
Sherlock smirked and cupped John's cheek with his hand.
"Yes, you are."
"Am not," pouted John.
"Are too," Sherlock purred. He pulled John in for a kiss. John hastily dropped the box in favor of a handful of Sherlock's hair. He decided he liked Sherlock's hair very much no matter what colour it was.