What. is. Shaame? I certainly wouldn't know (apparently).
Here you go. My lovely attempt at blocking out the Reichenfeels. (beware, there is more insanity to come after this. Be expecting something along the lines of Ke$ha)
Also, I had every intention of making the beginning even remotely serious. But then the first sentence ended up there and all hope was lost.
Not Brit-picked (does it matter in this AU? 'Cause I honestly don't know if it does...)
It's also un-beta-ed, so prepare for a few mistakes...
Also, not afraid to admit I'm not one of the brilliant fans who can easily throw out fancy words and explain scientific things and make it look like nothing...
Summary: "If you can make it up to the window, I will allow you to stay here for tonight." John rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had already began to drizzle, meaning the vines climbing the tower were going to be slippery. Oh well, John Hamish Watson loved a challenge. Tangled/Rapunzel/What-the-bloody-hell-is-this-shit? AU
One day, in magical kingdom of tall, dark and handsomes/beautifuls, a gorgeous, cat-eyed, pale queen gave birth to a high-cheek boned, wiry God of a king's son. This son was named Sherlock Holmes, and all the people in the kingdom absolutely adored the precious baby. They loved him so much that they all came together and captured a witch that lived nearby to serve the baby for all his life, granting every wish the tiny mouth muttered.
The witch's name was Mycroft, and little did the people know that he was the most dangerous of all the magic folk in the land, unwittingly placing their precious prince in peril. Mycroft was in such a rage over being made prisoner to such pitiful non-magic folk that two months, three days, and twelve minutes after his capture he began to plan a way to get back at the king and queen, and he had the perfect idea in mind.
Sherlock was special, and not just because of his astounding beauty and unreasonably high level of cute, but because his hair contained all the answers to your questions (and could also keep you young forever. Minor detail.). Mycroft had already attempted to only take one piece of hair, but found that once the hair was cut, it lost all it's magical quality and faded to a dark brown-bordering-on-black color. Mycroft, realizing he would be found out about, used a quick spell to turn it back to its original strawberry blonde, not willing to be caught and burned alive just because he gave the kid a haircut.
After discovering that he would need the hair in contact with its source, Mycroft knew what he had to do. He has always been good with kidnapping people.
So, two months, three days, and twenty-four minutes later, Mycroft was riding away on a stolen horse with a stolen baby to a tower hidden deep in the forests, and covered in wards to keep it, and its occupants, hidden.
Dawn was just breaking as Mycroft reached the tall cylinder with only one window high up, a mere three feet wide and six and one half feet tall, and one door (that he would later destroy to keep his newly acquired charge inside). Having nothing better to do with it, Mycroft transformed the horse into a tiny hedgehog and carried it up with them up to the only room at the top, containing that lonely window. He settled the baby into a crib and stared down at it. For the next six years he'd be forced to practically live there due to Sherlock being so young, but once Sherlock insists he is old enough to stay by himself at the age of twelve Mycroft happily leaves the young genius (for he truly had become one, what with all the tests and questions). Mycroft only pays him visits when he needs a little freshening to the wrinkles appearing or when he is in need of knowledge, and to feed the boy and his hedgehog of course.
Twat
"Let's go. Move faster, you fat-" John was interrupted in insulting his poor horse as said poor horse suddenly stopped and bucked him off. Groaning, John got up and glared daggers at the four-legged demon.
"Look, Harry, I'm sorry for calling you "fat", but you really are putting on the pounds." He struggled to remount the stubborn mare as he heard royal guards getting closer. "Now, unless you want to be the King's next meal, I suggest we move onward at a faster pace."
The galloped, ran, and even did a bit of hiding until they were sure they were safe enough to slow to a trot (and for Harry to remove her rider once again, so that he was walking alongside her). John was picking through his spoils when a sudden shadow covered him, and, looking up, he saw the tallest tower he's ever seen with the weirdest blonde thing sticking out the window.
"Hello? Anyone up there?" He called out. It took a moment, but the pale yellow thing shot inside the open window, and was quickly replaced by a man(?)'s face.
"What do you want?" John was taken aback that someone was actually up there, since there was no obvious way up into the brick building. And the fact that it was clearly a man with long locks of blonde hair, which clashed terribly with the rich baritone by the way.
"Uh, nothing. Just a traveller looking for a place to rest for the night." He called out, hoping he actually could stay there. A storm was rolling in and who knew how far off the next town or village was that wouldn't recognize his face and chase him away with sharp objects and fire. The man was silent for a moment before nodding.
"If you can make it up to the window, I will allow you to stay here for tonight." John pinched the bridge of his nose. It had already begun to drizzle, meaning the vines climbing the tower were going to be slippery. Oh well, John Hamish Watson loved a challenge.
It took him an estimated twenty minutes before he reached the window and crawled through, barely catching himself from falling face first onto a... hedgehog. Okay. He looked up and saw the man (and the hair. All the hair.) holding a knife in front of his face.
"Precautions." the man said, offering no smile, just a heated glare. John sat back and stuck his hands up in surrender.
"No need to worry about me attacking you." A lightening strike followed closely by a deep rumbling of thunder. "I'm just grateful you offered me shelter."
"I did not offer it to you. I merely provided it upon your request." He pulled the knife back, walked over to the fireplace and stabbed it into the mantle. "My name is Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Informant. Unfortunately, this repulsive hair color and length are part of the job description. Once we escape I require that you to cut it all off for me. Also, to purchase some food for John." John stared at him, confused as to why this Sherlock character wanted to make sure he bought food for himself.
"Don't be daft, obviously John is my hedgehog, but based off your reaction, you are also John." Sherlock let the little creature scuttle up his arm and nestle into his hair, gracefully placed on his shoulder. John snorted at the sight, and was rewarded with a sniff and a chin lifting the tiniest bit higher.
"Yes. John Watson, nice to meet you." John stuck out his hand in greeting. Sherlock merely stared.
"Hmm, for a criminal you are well-mannered." Sherlock wandered over to a large wardrobe, careful not to step on his hair. "If we are to actually escape, we'll have to do it now. I don't think my abductor would take too kindly to you being here in the morning." He shoved things meticulously in a sack (is that even possible?), and set it to the side before pulling a long dark jacket around his thin frame, expertly tying it off with a blue scarf around his neck to which John (the hedgehog, mind you) buried himself in for safety. Gently moving John (the human) to the side, he draped his hair over a hook just outside the window and waited for John to figure it out. Which he didn't.
Sighing in exasperation, Sherlock turned to his visitor.
"Really, John. Can't you figure out anything? Take hold of my hair and descend the wall until you have safely landed on the ground." John had a confused look on his face (one he did not know would essentially become his default setting around this strange man).
"You want me to slip down... using your hair?"
"That's what I said, John. It doesn't hurt, if that's what your worried about." Sherlock waited, and becoming nettled once again, he threatened "John, if you don't climb down my hair right now I will throw you out the window, and don't think I can't. I've spent all my life in this tower, and have found a few rather violent ways to pass the time."
John scurried out the window pretty fucking fast after that.
Next was Sherlock's turn and, after taking a deep breath, he jumped and let himself glide down, surprised that John was there to help steady him when he landed.
"There, now that we're successfully outside in a thunderstorm, where do you propose we go?" John said, attempting to coax Harriet out from under a giant rock where she was quite content.
"I haven't the slightest idea. I'm the one who's been locked in a tower his whole life, remember?" Sherlock went over and sat beside John's chestnut colored companion. John and Sherlock met eyes and burst into a fit of giggles over that.
"So, I'm your knight in shining armor, then, eh?" John chuckled, finally getting the damned horse out into the rain.
"I wouldn't say shining." Sherlock teased, smirking nonetheless as he mounted Harry, John behind him, pressed firmly into his back as he took up the reins.
"Uh, what are we going to do about that hair?" They both looked back at the locks still laying on the ground in heaps.
"We could always wind it around us." Sherlock said, aflutter at the prospect of finally getting the chance to cut it all off.
John wasn't exactly pleased about the idea, but figured it would have to do until they arrived at Mrs. Hudson's, a few miles to the west from here.
Neanderthal
The ride there was itchy at best. John was surprised by how quickly the fair hairs soaked in the rain water and made it feel like they were swimming, no doubt weighing down Harry more than they already were, and when Mrs. Hudson's little cottage came into view, John could have cried for joy, but he didn't. He merely sighed happily and roused Sherlock from his nap only to have John come scuttling out and bite his finger. He glared at the creature as he shoved off all the hair and leapt from the horse, catching Sherlock as he fell off gracelessly .
"Thank you, John. I hope you catching me won't become a habit." Sherlock had that damnable smirk back on his face and John just sighed, led them up to the house and knocked.
Mrs. Hudson had seen a lot of people in her day as an inn keeper (when she was still an inn keeper anyway), so a sopping wet John and companion/hedgehog really was nothing. It was the companion's hair that surprised her.
"John, dear, look at you. You're soaking wet! It isn't decent. Come in, come in. Your friend, too." She politely stepped aside to allow them room to fit and pull all the hair in. "My, look at all this hair." She held it in her hands, gently stroking it and reveling in it's softness. A soft tingling feeling came into her fingers and hands that brought a smile to her lips.
"Tell me, why is your hair so long. It isn't decent for men, or anyone really, to have such long hair."
"Would you like to see a magic trick, Mrs. Hudson?" He asked her, a charming quality surrounding Sherlock John didn't know existed.
"Oh, I don't believe in magic, dear."
"Then let me make you into a believer." At this, Sherlock placed his hands over Mrs. Hudson's and he began to sing softly. At first, nothing happened, but then a soft orange glow covered first the lady's hands, then slowly crept up the rest of her body until she was completely enveloped in it.
When he was finished, he released a much younger looking Mrs. Hudson's hands, and spun her to face a mirror in the hallway. She thought it was the most amazing thing ever. John couldn't stop laughing at how ridiculous the whole thing had been.
"John, stop laughing." Sherlock reprimanded. John just kept giggling. Sherlock wasn't sure why, but whenever the shorter man began to so much as chortle, Sherlock's face began to spasm as it fought him for a smile, and a laugh.
"John, it isn't funny." He tried, but couldn't seem to add much sincerity while his voice was warped with giggles.
"Yes, Sherlock. It really is. No need to get stroppy. Now, let's get you a haircut before we all drown in your ginger locks."
Mrs. Hudson gives John her best scissors to use, knowing he'll need them. As John prepares to cut that first bit, he discovers a small bit of the hair buried deep in that is darker than the rest. Much darker. A brown, almost black, color. John snips off a piece beside it and watches in amazement as the newly cut piece changes color to match the original dark piece.
"Uh, Sherlock, did you know that-"
"My hair changes color when I cut it. Yes, I know. Dull. Continue removing this wretched mane." John nodded and did as he was told.
It took almost and hour and a half to cut all the hair off then cut it into an appropriate style so that Sherlock didn't look like a slob, and when John was finished, he dare say he did a damn good job. Now, with his hair a dark color in striking contrast to his pale skin, curling around his ears, and falling on to his forehead, Sherlock Holmes was a very attractive man.
As Mrs. Hudson had pointed out.
Not John.
No.
"There, now you look a proper gentleman." She giggled, still toying with her renewed youth (and freshly restored C-cups). Occasionally coming out of her room in a nice dress that Sherlock would deduce from when it came, amazing the nice lady.
John mutters a kind word after every deduction and basically turns into a fan boy when Sherlock turns his deduction skills on him.
"How do you do that?" John asks him later when all is silent, Mrs. Hudson tucked away in her bed, the two of them sharing the guest room, but not the bed. Lucky for them (as John had decided) there was a spare mattress in the closet that he laid on the floor. He heard some shuffling, the creak of the bed then his own mattress dipping as Sherlock settled in next to him.
"Uh, can I help you?" He smiled when he felt Sherlock curl into his side like a kitten.
"I've never slept next to another body before. I wanted to test if it assists sleeping habits, or ruins them. I'll have to analyze and sort the data in the morning." He murmurs, gently shouldering John as he tries to be closer still. "And to answer your question, I will merely say I had a lot of free time to do a bit experimenting and studying. I now know thirteen languages. Nearly fluent in them all." They lay in silence for a few moments, John almost falling asleep when he heard Sherlock clear his throat beside him.
"This is actually rather... nice. I thought that I wouldn't enjoy having such close contact with another body due to the already warm weather then adding the extra body heat, and perhaps even throwing in the emotion most people feel when they are discomfited, but I am actually enjoying myself." John chuckled and reached up to run a hand through the freshly cut locks.
"Most people usually do."
"I'm not most people, John." Was the sad response.
It was then that Sherlock remembered John the Hedgehog and the fact that he was buried in the hair when they threw it out, leading to the both of them outside in the freezing rain hunting down a tiny little sandy blonde, shivering, hopelessly lost critter who ended up cuddling in between the two men.
Mrs. Hudson gets the wrong idea the next morning.
"You know," Mrs. Hudson starts the next morning at breakfast, "I've never been to the capital. What's it like, Sherlock?" Both men look up at her quizzically.
"Beg your pardon?" John begins, confused.
"I've never been to the capital." Sherlock says at the same time.
"Oh, I just had thought with your complexion, height and a few other physical traits that you had. Most everyone in the capital has similar traits to yours. Almost like a whole new race up there, it is." She murmurs to herself as she collects the dirty plates. "When are you two heading out?"
"Right after Sherlock and I help tidy up and clean ourselves." John replies, pushing in the chairs, and handing the tablecloth to Sherlock to shake out on the veranda.
"Oh, you don't have to help me clean, dearies." She smiled, swatting John on the arm. "Thanks anyway. You two just go get cleaned up. I'm sure you have an adventure awaiting you." Sherlock seemed to perk up at the word adventure. It was going to be his first, after all, and he had only ever read about them in Story books Mycroft brought to him.
"You heard the lady, John. We have an adventure awaiting us!" He exclaimed before taking off down the hall to bathe. Mrs. Hudson chuckled.
"He sure likes to move, doesn't he?" She smiled fondly, like the two boys were her own energized sons.
"Yeah, well, he's been rather sheltered his whole life." John commented absently before heading out to saddle up, and take care of Harry. Fifteen minutes later Sherlock emerged from the bathing room, refreshed and with a manic look on his face. John raised an eyebrow, but Sherlock merely ignored him.
"Mrs. Hudson, this is wonderful."
"What is, dear?"
"This completely normal amount of hair! John." He turned, snatching the book John had been reading out of his hands. "Quickly, help me find John. We must leave at once." He then left the small kitchen to the guest room to gather what little he had brought with him, leaving John to look for his tiny hedgehog counterpart.
Soon after, they found themselves once again atop Harriet, this time dry and saying their goodbyes to the lovely inn keeper. Harry was pleased with the lack of hair, and the tiny creature sitting on her head in between her ears making the cutest noises ever.
Sherlock and John fill the next couple of hours with not only talk about John's adventures, and Sherlock's experiments (which are rather frighteningly really. Sometimes Mycroft had brought him legitimate dead bodies), but also with a comfortable silence where Sherlock takes advantage of the close proximity and leans back into John who kind of just lets it happen because, come on, the guy has been void of human contact since who knows when? They go for two days without coming into contact with anyone, which is odd in John's opinion, and comforting in Sherlock's.
On the morning of the third day, shortly after awakening, Sherlock asks a question. One John had been contemplating since Mrs. Hudson's.
"John, you don't suppose I'm from the capital, do you?" John looks at his friend, looks at all his physical features and does a mental checklist.
"Yeah. In fact, for all I know you could easily be royalty." John smiled. "All the people of the capital have a tendency of being tall, dark-haired and fair skinned. Especially royalty. The one thing that definitely brings out the male royal family are their insanely high cheekbones. Like yours." John, without thinking about what he was doing, reached out and brushed a finger against Sherlock's own well defined face.
Later, John would deny the minor erection he may or may not have gotten when Sherlock's irises were swallowed whole by his dilating pupils as he went back to cooking their breakfast over the fire.