I'm trying with this one guys, - I'm beginning to wonder whether it's a bit of a lost cause!

Enjoy – please review :)

It was two months into the chemotherapy, and John was balancing college work along with staying by Sherlock when he went in to get the injections. He was travelling to and from Cardiff and London at least twice a week, and it was beginning to take its toll.

Sherlock only became aware of this thought when he received a text from his ever-present big brother.

John won't be able to handle this for much longer. He's taking notes for you, travelling at least 16 hours a week, and he feels inclined to ''hold your hand'' as you go through chemotherapy. Something needs to be done –MH

'Obviously nothing too drastic, or you would have cancelled your dental appointment' Sherlock thought to himself. However he came to realise that he hadn't thought of the effects his condition would have on John. He planned the evening when he next arrived from college very carefully.

As he watched him walk through the doors and into the hospital ward where Sherlock was waiting, already getting rigged up, he lost all previous inhibitions when John, although tired, smiled, his eyes glowing with warmth.

They sat in silence as the drip was connected, and Sherlock took a deep breath and decided to break the awkwardness and talk. 'You can't keep doing this, John' he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 'You've lost a stone over the past 3 weeks, and you can't juggle college in Cardiff and being with me each time I get chemo. You need to look after yourself, as well'.

John's eyes widened at the considerate though, but wildly shook his head.

'I won't leave you here alone. Any option but that'

'I thought you might say that, which is why Myc is pulling some strings and getting you into Abbey College.' John's eyes widened again. He barely managed to scrape access to Cardiff College – Abbey College had all the privileges and meant he could spend more time with Sherlock. 'Are you sure?' he asked, feeling guilty that he was abusing Mycroft's power in the government. Sherlock rolled his eyes at this and didn't bother replying.

'I owe you one, then mate' John continued, grinning.

'You don't owe me anything, John' Sherlock replied, smiling back.

'Well maybe a kiss' he added as a quick afterthought.

John stood up and heaved a fake long suffering sigh, leaning over the bed and placing a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock moaned and pouted, silently requesting more. John chuckled at the response and brushed their lips together. He reached round and cupped Sherlock's head, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

John pulled away when he felt something in his hand he wished he hadn't. A mass of black, curly hair had remained in his palm when Sherlock had leant away.

A startlingly white bald patch now showed through Sherlock's remaining hair.

It brought them both crashing down to reality.

Sherlock sighed, a sick kind of humour almost gleaming in his eyes. 'I thought I had escaped that side effect'.

John gulped away his tears and pulled out the electric razor that Mycroft had given him for precisely this moment. 'Shall we?' he asked, seeing the pain from the chemotherapy ripping through Sherlock's body.

Sherlock looked up, and grimaced. 'No time like the present, I suppose'.

Tufts of hair drifted to the ground as John carefully shaved through. The tears he had previously held back were now spilling over. Silently. Silently enough for Sherlock to pretend he hadn't noticed.

It felt like a cloak was being removed – a deep, open wound being revealed for everyone to see. Hair is something that shouldn't be taken for granted, Sherlock though as John finished up. – It's almost like a shield. A cover to give protection and hide the problems that lay underneath, and now he felt naked, exposed.

A solitary tear fell from Sherlock's eye, and he blinked, overwhelmed by his own emotion.

It did not go unnoticed.

John leant in and kissed away the tear with a swipe of his lips. No words needed. None available that were even nearly suitable.

John crouched down, and put his head on his partner's knees. 'Sorry' john mumbled, muffled because he was attempting to talk through Sherlock's trouser fabric. 'Do me' he whispered, and Sherlock looked incredible startled until he realised what John meant.

'No' he shook his head. 'I'm not shaving your hair, you'll look like an egg' he tried to joke.

'Do it' John insisted, turning around, allowing access to his hair.

'No' Sherlock replied, almost pleadingly.

'Were doing this together, Sherlock' John stood up, and before Sherlock could argue, shaved a straight line through his hair. 'Now finish up' john demanded, sighing at the result so far of his new look.

'I love you' Sherlock blurted out, not having meant anything more so than that in his whole life.

John grinned at his outburst, and shoved the razor into his hand.

'I love you too, apparently. Now get rid of my bloody hair.'