A/N: rlly short cute chapter :')

"When are you going to let me trim it?"

"Is it really that long?"

"Just a trim."

"Your hair is becoming fairly long as well." John attempted to bounce one of his spiraling forehead curls as they strolled down the snowy street, brightly lit by the moon. Everything was dead quiet - Sherlock and John were the only people awake in the entire world, it seemed. "Maybe I should have a go at it."

Sherlock scoffed derisively and stopped walking to look John pointedly in the face. "There is no way in hell that I will allow you to have a 'go' at my hair."

"And why not?"

"My hair is important to me," and the tone in which he said it - deadly serious, looking John directly in the eyes with a completely straight face, both starkly genuine and laughably sincere - John snort-laughed, his breath a puff of frosty air. Sherlock pursed his chapped lips and resumed his walk. His steps crunched softly in the fresh snow.

"Christ," John said in a voice riddled with laughter. "You kill me, Sherlock."

"I am a ridiculous man," Sherlock admitted, mostly to himself.

"You are a brilliant man."

Sherlock glanced at John, and his lips split into a feral grin, teeth and skin made silver by the moonlight. (John smiled back; maybe Sherlock loved him, too.)