"Sherlock!" John yelled, watching the moppy-haired detective disappear around the top of the stairs. "Get back here!"

"No!" he yelled back, his voice echoing through the building. With a disgruntled sigh, John began to climb the staircase, scissors gleaming menacingly in his hands.

At first appearance, the shared apartment seemed empty, but John was not fooled. With a growl, he stalked farther inside.

"Sherlock…" John trailed off, menace evident in his ton. Arriving at the closed bedroom door, he slowly knocked. When there was no response, he turned the handle and nudged the door open with his foot.

Sherlock was slumped on the bed, his back an open target. He made no sign of noticing John's entry.

"Sherlock, would you please just—"

"I'm on a case, John! There's no time!"

"Sherlock…"

"No!" He snapped.

"You're acting like a child."

"You're acting like a child." Sherlock responded stiffly.

Giving up on the diplomatic tactic, John leapt forward, scissors bared in front of him. Sherlock dove out of the way, but just a little too late; John wrapped his fingers around the neck of Sherlock's shirt, popping off two of the buttons as they toppled to the floor in an ungraceful heap. The scissors danced out of John's hands and landed across the room with a dramatic clang. There was a pause before the grown man went scuttling after the weapon. After a moment of struggle, Sherlock held the scissors victoriously in the air, only to be tackled back to the ground. John grasped both wrists in his hands and slammed them above Sherlock's head. Hardly a second afterwards placed both knees on either side of the detective. With a grunt, John yanked the scissors out of his hand.

"I am going to give you a haircut, and you are going to sit there and take like an adult!"

"You'll have to kill me first!" Sherlock spat viciously.

"Oh, stop being so dramatic. We both know you need it." John said, bringing notice to Sherlock's overgrown mane, which nearly covered his eyes.

Before Sherlock could respond, the door swung open.

"I heard fighting, so I brought bandages up. You know what happened last—" Mrs. Hudson looked up to see the two men in a rather compromising position. To both of their surprise she giggled.

"It's about time you to got to it. I'll just leave these here." She said amiably before exiting the small bedroom.

"We're not—oh never mind." John looked back down at Sherlock, only to se the detective with a strange look on his face. Before John could say a word, Sherlock leaned up and kissed him. After a few uncomfortable (not bad, necessarily; just uncomfortable) seconds, Sherlock pulled away. Reeling from the shock, John slackened his grip and sat up. Without a moment of hesitation, Sherlock slid out from underneath him and darted out the door.

"I… what?" John asked the empty room.

The next day, Sherlock's hair had been trimmed to it's normal moppy length.