Hi everyone. I'd like to say in advance that I haven't seen all the episodes of Sherlock (though I've seen most of them and the series 4 ending), so I apologise for any inaccuracies that may crop up in this story. I'm not sure about the ages of the characters, but this is set sometime after series 4, so they're all slightly older. I also apologise if Sherlock or Lestrade are out of character (though it was written when I was sleep deprived and is intended as humorous). If I've made any mistakes, feel free to point them out and I'll try to correct them when I have time.
I don't own Sherlock.
He hated shopping. The bright lights seemed to make his eyes ache, and the sounds of the shoppers idle chatting as they searched for their food was exhausting to the point where he didn't even have the will to make deductions just to pass the time. He had been thankful when John had moved in and taken over the shopping duties (though John didn't seem too pleased about it).
But John couldn't know about this. He'd never live it down if he found out. No one could know about this. He tightened his grip on the basket, walking down the aisle as casually as possible, ignoring the occasional curious glance that was thrown his way. He had thrown on a hat as a kind of feeble attempt at disguising himself. It was not the hideous deerstalker, thank goodness, but some kind of military-style hat he had found in John's room.
He stopped when he found the item he was looking for. He crouched down slightly, picking up the box of hair dye with his free hand. A smiling man with medium brown hair was pictured on the box. Sherlock glowered at him, as if the man had committed some kind of unforgivable sin by being happy, and read the back of the box. Too light, he decided. He needed something darker.
His alarm at discovering his first grey hairs, not long ago, had only increased when he had discovered more. He had simply pulled the first ones out, in a fit of annoyance, only they had returned. He had managed to cover them up with creative brushing techniques, though he was now tired of this, as he had a feeling it wouldn't work for much longer. It wasn't their appearance that alarmed him, exactly – he had to admit, plenty of men could pull off grey hair quite well – but what they represented. Getting older. The thought had sent an unknown kind of panic through him, one that he had not felt before, which he had tried to squash down into the pit of his stomach. A horrible, dull process, he had sighed to himself, as he had stared in the mirror, cursing the inevitable human process that was ageing. Soon it would be the lack of energy. Not being able to keep up with chasing criminals on a case. Memory problems. He could even have trouble making deductions. And what was he, if he couldn't do that? he had lamented unhappily. So he had decided, if he couldn't stop this irritating problem, the best he could do was to cover it up.
There was an annoying lack of hair dyes in the store. He sighed in annoyance, wondering what to do. The thought of having to go to another store was tedious. Luckily, he managed to find a box with the right colour– a dark brown, identical to his own.
He was pleased with himself. John wouldn't be back until tomorrow, and though he had never dyed his hair before, simple knowledge told him that it wouldn't take long.
He found he was smiling, and forced himself to stop. This was all working out perfectly, he thought to himself, as he made his way over to the self-checkouts. In his good mood, he'd even bought some food for John, for when he returned tomorrow (he had been staying at his parent's house for a visit).
Queuing behind a silver-haired man, he was so lost in thought that he swung the basket absentmindedly, hitting the man in the back of the leg. He snapped out of it when he had realised what he'd done. He didn't bother to apologise. Dull. Irritated, the man turned around to glare at him – and then broke out into a surprised smile.
'Sherlock!' Lestrade grinned at the detective. 'Fancy seeing you here. I thought you always made John do all the shopping for you.'
Sherlock stared at Lestrade in concealed horror, re-adjusting his grip on the basket. 'Yes, well...he's visiting his parents,' he managed to splutter out, cringing at the sound of his voice, 'and I was out of...um...tea.'
Lestrade gave him a strange look, but then moved forwards as a man went to use a checkout. Sherlock hoped there was a checkout free for Lestrade to use, so he would stop talking to him, leave him alone, but unfortunately for him, the shopper in front of Lestrade had taken only one that was free. Idiot! Sherlock seethed.
'What's with the hat?' he heard Lestrade joke. 'No deerstalker today?'
'No,' he replied flatly, hoping to end the conversation. Lestrade didn't seem to notice the flat tone in his voice. Or if he did, he ignored it, continuing to talk whilst Sherlock tried to ignore him.
'I suppose the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't want to be seen doing his shopping in Morrisons.' Lestrade glanced down at the items in Sherlock basket briefly, looked away, and then looked back in surprise.
Don't let him see the hair dye. Please don't let him see the hair dye. He had been reduced to mentally begging now. Sherlock grimaced. How he pitied himself. Look away again.
'What's that, then?' Lestrade beckoned to the boxes in his basket.
Oh no.
'Nothing,' he said quickly, moving the basket behind his back.
Lestrade looked delighted. 'Was that...hair dye?' he asked, staring at Sherlock with curiosity.
'No,' Sherlock lied, trying to keep his face expressionless despite the slight panic that was beginning to set in.
Lestrade looked behind Sherlock and into his basket again. And people say I'm the rude one, Sherlock thought crossly. Why couldn't Lestrade leave him alone?
'It is hair dye!' Lestrade sounded like he'd just won the lottery.
'It's for...an experiment.' He had never wanted to crawl into a hole so much in his entire life.
Lestrade reached into the basket, took out the box, and read the words printed on it out loud. 'Just For Men. Permanent hair dye, dark brown.' At the next sentence, his smirk had transformed into a full-blown grin. 'Targets the grey for a natural look!' Lestrade returned his gaze to Sherlock, who was glaring at him, mentally calling him every rude word he knew in his head. 'You're going grey?'
'No.' He knew Lestrade knew he was lying. He was sure he could hear the woman behind him laughing softly. Sherlock glanced at her, making a few quick deductions. He could've easily made her run crying from the supermarket in ten seconds flat by telling her that her husband (married 10 years) was having an affair with her sister, but he chose to focus his attention on Lestrade instead. 'It's a natural human process, anyway. Pigment cells in the hair start to die with age. Less melanin equals a lighter colour, hence the grey.' He could see the humour in Lestrade's eyes and hated it. 'But that doesn't mean I'm going grey. Like I said, it's for an experiment.'
'An experiment,' Lestrade smirked, clearly not believing a word he said.
'Yes...' Sherlock hissed. 'And even if I was going grey...which I'm not...you're not really in a position to make fun of me for that, are you?' He gestured to Lestrade's hair, plastering a condescending look on his face. 'Look at your hair.'
'Yeah, but I'm not the one trying to cover it up with hair dye,' Lestrade pointed out, with an evil grin. Sherlock was annoyed by his lack of a comeback.
Two aisles suddenly become free to use. Unfortunately for Sherlock, they were side-by-side, meaning he had to stand near Lestrade whilst he scanned his items.
The world was against him.
He ignored Lestrade as best as he could, scanning his items as calmly as possible. Lestrade finished before him, and slapped his shoulder as he walked past. 'Don't worry about it, Sherlock,' he smiled at the embarrassed consulting detective, with a mixture of teasing and genuine reassurance. 'It happens to all of us eventually. Best thing to do is to just accept it. No point wasting your money on hair dye for the rest of your life.'
'Thank you,' Sherlock scowled. 'Now please go away.'
He didn't even have to look at Lestrade's face as he walked away to know that he was still grinning.