Author's Note: I had way too much fun with this! I just love a good moustache joke. It seems most of the moustache and Series 3 Trailer madness has been contained within Tumblr but I thought I'd help bridge the gap a little. Enjoy! :)

Mission: Moustache

It was a fact that Sherlock did not like John's moustache. As soon as he laid eyes upon it he had wanted it gone. It was a visual reminder of how much had changed in his absence – if the moustache was gone, he could at least pretend nothing had happened.

Both John and Sherlock slipped into old routines with surprising ease. But the moustache was still there. On the first morning back in 221B John sat down at the table with a bowl of cornflakes. Sherlock had a rapidly cooling slice of toast in front of him but the moustache was distracting him. It was as if it moved independently of John's lips. Sherlock must have been staring because John looked up from his bowl at him. "What is it?" he asked, frowning.

Sherlock couldn't tear his gaze away from the moustache. "Nothing," he said unconvincingly. He took one bite out of his toast and retreated to the sofa. He hid his face behind a newspaper and began to come up with a plan.

He knew that broaching the subject face to face would be unlikely to work so he elected for subtle manipulation.

On the second day in 221B John woke up to find a disposable razor sitting beside his alarm clock. He rolled his eyes and threw it in the bin before heading downstairs. The razor kept reappearing for the next two days.

It was clear for Sherlock to see that subtle manipulation wasn't working. He just settled on manipulation.

"Why is there a razor taped to my forehead?" John asked the next morning. He looked quite angry. Sherlock glanced up at him innocently. In his firm army voice he said, "Sherlock."

"Maybe you should use it to... shave it off?" Sherlock suggested, using his finger to indicate his own upper lip which was clean-shaven, thank you very much.

"No," John said simply. "I like the moustache, Mary likes the moustache—" Sherlock scoffed. "Shut up." And he tore the razor off his forehead and threw it into the nearest bin very forcefully.

Over the next three days he had to throw away several more razors and go to the shop to buy tape.

Pure manipulation didn't seem to be working either. So one night Sherlock crept slowly and silently into John's room with a razor in his hand. John's breathing was even and he looked like he was fast asleep. The razor was within an inch of the dratted moustache before John opened his eyes to glare at Sherlock in the semi-darkness. "Get out."

"If you'd just consider—" Sherlock began in vain.

John pointed at the door angrily. "Out!"

The next morning John woke up, stretched, and rubbed his hands over his face like he always did every morning. Only this time his moustache felt sticky. "Oh, for... Sherlock!"

Sherlock poked his head through John's bedroom door in an instant with a razor in his hand. "Yes, John?"

"Chewing gum? Really?"

Sherlock pretended he knew nothing of this. "Oh dear," he said, and frowned in sympathy. "You'll have to shave it off now."

Unfortunately John was able to remove the gum. It did take him a very long time but he managed it. And he looked stupidly smug when he emerged from the bathroom with a slightly thinner moustache, but a moustache none the less.

Sherlock smiled a crinkly smile. "Well done, John."

There was no choice for it – John would have to be drugged.