Short

The day they were meant to catch the dishonorable David "The Prat" Brone -John was still allowed to make internal jokes- John had a shift at the clinic. Sherlock texted her non-stop, but this time it was an attempt to hurry her along, nothing as innocent as making sure she had not been kidnapped.

John finished her entire shift, thank you very much, and slumped into the flat, hoping this would be an easy case. All she really wanted to do was eat some food and pass out on top of the history of Arnold Haywire's bank statements from the past 14 years. The man had an absolutely unhealthy obsession with ordering clean underwear.

Martin had also texted. Let me know when you get home safe xoxo

The main room was empty, as was the kitchen, so John slumped over to the bathroom where she could hear the running of water. She opened the door and froze, jumping back in alarm and apologizing. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't know Sherlock had-" She froze, halfway to closing the door on who she assumed to be a client, but caught the man smirking in a very familiar way. "Sherlock?"

"I look good then?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to her body, though John knew it was more of a statement.

Despite Sherlock's self-identified lack of breasts, tall frame, and constant wearing of suits, she always looked very feminine. Clothes always hugged her perfectly, her makeup accentuating her sharp eyes and rounded lips, and her hair, while usually a perfect mess, always framed her killer cheekbones and jawline. Even dressed and looking like a man, she still somehow managed to keep that.

The clothes on her now were baggy and worn. Jeans that were carefully one size bigger than necessary sat over a dark pair of trainers. A bit of boxer peeked over the edge of her black belt, hiding under a dark The The band t-shirt. Her arms were covered by a thick leather jacket that hung not unattractively, stopping short of hands with unpainted fingernails. Makeup had played a part in her face. Her brows were bushier, her eyes rounder, and her lips were nude, fading into the shadows across her jaw. It was clear she had no beard but the effect made it seem as if she had a tiny bit of stubble ready to come in at any moment. Her hair was now atop her head, still perfectly messy, but sticking up in every direction and no longer than the top of her ears.

"How did you get your hair like that?" John marvelled, realizing she was staring. "Did you cut it?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock looked back in the mirror to fix a wayward strand, her voice somehow not quite matching her new masculine appearance. "It was easy."

John looked around at the mess of bobby pins and the empty bottle of hairspray tipped over on the floor. Sure, easy. "Well you look great. Except for the lack of adam's apple."

"Scarf," she replied simply and shifted her gaze to John in the mirror. "I can pass for a shaved effeminate man with an obsession for a band Borne loves and a passion for painting as soon as I splash color on my hands. You are more difficult."

"Why?" John asked, the smile not leaving her face. "I'm just changing my shirt."

"John," Sherlock started, as if it literally pained her to need to explain herself. "The point of this is to catch him kissing a man. One of us-"

"No," John shifted back to the door, already seeing where this was going. "Not one of us. You. You are kissing, I am taking the picture."

"Our odds are greatly increased if-"

"You said my tits were too big already!" John argued, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can't dress like a man!"

"I said it would be more difficult to make you an attractive man. Duct tape, baggy clothes, and facial hair. Low lighting will help."

No way. There was absolutely no way John was going to dress up as a man. Which was exactly why she was sitting on a stool, dressed in jeans too big and a sweater too bulky, as Sherlock glued tiny cut up hairs to her very itchy face.

"How did you learn to do this?"

"The internet is around for a reason, John. Drag kings make plenty of videos."

John pulled at the collar of her sweater. "Why do I have to wear this? It's hot outside."

"It's cool at night, it hides the fact that you don't have chest hair, and the duct tape doesn't show. I thought your military outfit-"

"Uniform."

"-would work best, but I'm afraid it fits you too well."

John shifted, her arms pressing uncomfortably against her tits. It was unnatural for them to rest in her armpits. "Then why do I have to have a goatee?"

"Because your face is too round and feminine to pass without facial hair and I only have so much rabbit fur. Are there any other questions?" Sherlock snapped.

John fidgeted again and said, "Yes, actually. What about our voices? We sound like girls."

Sherlock hummed, the note dropping into a lower register, her voice tinged with an American accent. "Not a problem for me, sugar."

Alright, Sherlock sounded like a man. A very girly man, but a man. And that accent was absolutely ridiculous, it made John need to giggle.

"What?" Sherlock asked, snapping back to her usual voice. "Not good?"

"You sound like John Wayne!" John laughed.

"Who?"

John laughed harder. When she could finally catch her breath she asked, "What about me? I can't change my voice much."

"Don't talk as much."

"But if I'm supposed to seduce this man, shouldn't I talk to him?"

"How do you normally seduce men?"

John paused and cocked her head to the side. "Usually tits come into play."

"Please resist whipping them out," Sherlock deadpanned. "Here," she turned and handed her a stuffed tube sock.

"What's this?"

"Put it in your pants."

"What?!" John shoved the symbolic penis back at her. "No way! I am not stuffing a tube sock down my pants!"

"You must," Sherlock argued, pushing it back. "It changes your gait and you can thrust it out while flirting."

"Sherlock," John whined. "I'm not cut out for this."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you are. You used to flirt all the time before you dated Malcolm."

"Martin. And that was flirting as a girl. I don't know how to flirt as a guy, especially with another guy."

"It's all the same," Sherlock huffed, moved behind John, and stopped her from looking in the mirror. "If you'd like, we could make a game out of it."

John's eyes flashed upwards, half expecting to see the choker in Sherlock's hands. "I don't think the lace would go with this outfit, Sherlock."

"Not what I meant," she replied wryly. "Though, now that you mention it, you do need something to distract from your neck and that would make this tedious night more interesting."

"Sherlock-"

"Just because we are leaving 221 does not mean we are going to a sex club. Everything I have you do will be perfectly acceptable according to common pub social norms. You have no need to worry."

That seemed like an understatement. John always had need to worry. "What do I get?"

"As your reward?" Sherlock asked, John nodded. "Something you want, I promise. As far as your punishment, I'm afraid I'll have to be a bit more creative." She contemplated for all of two seconds before saying, "Since playing the part you dress is the objective, I believe it should fit the crime. Every time you disappoint me tonight, I will choose an outfit for you to wear for a full day."

"That's-" John almost asked if that was it. The devious look in Sherlock's eyes suggested her idea of an outfit was not necessarily going to be something John found acceptable. "Alright."

"Good." Sherlock promptly grabbed a brush and started combing out John's hair. "Would you prefer a man-bun or a wig?"

A man-bun would go with the goatee getup but John cringed. Not her cup of tea. "Wig."

Sherlock nodded once and spun towards a small box balancing on the toilet, speaking over her shoulder, making sure John did not turn to look at herself. "I believe we shall stick with blonde. It matches your eyebrows and rabbit fur."

"Well it has to match the rabbit fur." John smiled when Sherlock did not laugh. Sometimes the jokes just flew right by her.

The wig was dirty blonde and straight, parted on the side and short enough to land somewhere around the middle of her ears. Sherlock went back behind John and used the mass of scattered pins to pin her natural hair on top of her head. John fiddled with the wig in her hands, threading out all the snarls.

"I've wondered about cutting my hair short," John said conversationally, unable to watch Sherlock work with her head down. "Really short. I love my hair but it does get in the way. I always seem to be chasing someone."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sherlock huffed. "If you want to, do it."

"It's a big change and I might not like it."

"That's what wigs are for, are they not?"

John looked over at the box of wigs and back to her hands. "Well, there are certain stereotypes that go with a cut like that."

"Like what?"

John huffed. "Like you're a rebel or… you know."

Sherlock's nose crinkled up. "A rebel?"

"That's not the- I mean. I don't want to appear as something I'm not."

"A girl who wants her hair short?"

"No."

"John," Sherlock sighed the sigh of the ever-patient. "Use your words."

"Gay."

Sherlock tilted her head to the side, processing this new information. "Harry has long hair."

"It's not all gay women, Sherlock. It's the butch ones."

"And Harry is not butch?"

"Well, she kinda is, but that's not the point." John sighed. Why did she insist on trying to have 'girl talks' with Sherlock? It was a habit she could never seem to break.

"My hair is short," Sherlock said.

"Yeah, but it's pretty."

Sherlock's hands froze and a pin clinked against the ground tiles. It took another beat for her to hum out, "Thank you?"

John smiled shortly and went back to tugging at the wig. "And I don't think it would be well-received."

Sherlock smacked her lips together. "Would this have anything to do with Mur-"

"Martin."

"-Murphy's archaic views?"

The last time she brought it up to Martin was after a weekend stroll around the park. London had been its constant rainy self and she had broken her only hair tie. The strands were sticking and everything was frizzing and it had been a complete nuisance. Which lead John to wish she had just cut it already as she had contemplated so many times before, not the least of which in the hot desert sun pulling bullets out of the wounded.

"Let me," Sherlock said, never adding 'guess' because she truly never was. "He said long hair suited you better, he liked it the way it was, especially the fringe, and with a nickname like John it was best to leave it as is. The rumours of your relationship with me were at a peak and he no doubt cited this gay stereotype that I have never heard of. He joked about breaking it off with you and you have not brought it up since."

"Right, as always," John sighed, tempted to touch her hair, but Sherlock had already put the mesh cap on. "I thought of dying it black just to spite."

Sherlock hummed and set the wig in place, pinning it down tight. "I think you would look like John no matter what you decided to do."

"Thanks." Coming from Sherlock, that was as good as it got.

The silence that followed was comfortable and tender, as if they were both unsure of how to proceed with this new, near-sentimental territory.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock was the first to break the silence. "I always preferred my hair long."

"Really?" John squinted, trying to see past the man makeup and picture locks spiralling down Sherlock's back. "Then why do you cut it?"

"Two reasons." Sherlock stepped back to finish up John's look. "Much as I use my makeup as a tool, so I do with my hair. While I do not look masculine, I appear less feminine. I keep my ability to flirt with nothing more than a twist of a lock, but remind everyone I am as powerful as any man. In the world dominated by the slower sex, I am an outcast. I am smarter than any man and it intimidates them."

"Along with your personality," John added.

"Indeed. I use my appearance and my words to ensure they know I am their equal. I am not alone in this. Moriarty does the same."

"She goes a bit farther, I'd say," John hissed.

"She chose a male name for a reason. Almost all are ignorant to the fact that she is indeed a she."

Sherlock could be such a feminist for someone who steered clear of politics. Of course, if John were to bring that up, she would claim no such association and simply say she was lecturing John on how to use presentation when working a case. It would always lead back to deductive reasoning and enhancing John's skills.

John smiled softly to herself and asked, "And the second reason?"

Sherlock deadpanned, "I burnt my hair using the bunsen burner."

John exploded with laughter, doubling over and nearly bursting her duct tape. Sherlock could not help joining in her giggles, until they were both red in the face and tearing up.

Finally, when they had both calmed, Sherlock made the big reveal, spinning John to the mirror.

"I look like a man," John said, poking at her face and making sure not to mess anything up. "You gave me a different bone structure and everything."

Sherlock hummed.

"I'm not a pretty man," John said, shaking her head. "I look a bit like Shaggy from Scooby Doo." She poked at the itchy rabbit hair, sticking to her chin with spirit gum. "I would not date me."

"Confidence is key," Sherlock said. "We have five minutes before we need to leave. Work on your voice."

AN: I know (almost) the entire scene with Sherlock/John talking about hair while she's putting on her wig could have been cut and this could have merged with last chapter but I am just fascinated by the role hair plays in feminism. This convo would happen, maybe not at this time, but the girls were telling me to leave it in so... it has its purpose for later on.

This is all to say, send me pictures of your awesome hair! I am always looking for inspiration :D