A/N: So I've been down in the darkness with "Jaguar and Bijoux," the last few days, but I figured I'd lighten my own mood with the next installment of this. It's properly fluffy, I think. Thanks to all who have reviewed and commented. It is much appreciated! I'll do my best to update a lot this week, but I'm working on finishing a novel and I have a book coming out this week- so I may be drowning in promo. Anyway, we'll all do our best. Happy Monday!
Disclaimer: I own nothing except Gabriel, Scarlett, Izzy and Maxine the hairstylist.
Molly heard the racket from the street out front. As soon as she opened the door at 221, she was met by a very worried looking John and Gabriel. Izzy was, as usual, giggling mischievously from behind John. "Hi Auntie!" she said cheerfully.
Molly smiled and then winced as she heard a crash and a high-pitched, unintelligible shout. "What's going on up there?" she asked, looking to John.
"Did you tell Sherlock that he had to do something with Scarlett's hair?" John said.
"Yeah, a couple of days ago when he informed me that I wasn't allowed to have it cut," Molly replied.
"Oh no…" Gabriel sighed, hiding his face in his hands. He started to say more when Mrs. Hudson rushed down the stairs to the crowd that had formed in the foyer. She looked frazzled and her eyes were wide. Kind of like a deer staring down the barrel of a flame thrower.
"Oh, Molly dear…" Mrs. Hudson cried. "I'm so glad you're here. It's like a warzone up there."
"What happened?" She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from letting the victorious grin emerge. She hated that Scarlett was having to suffer so that she could prove a point to Sherlock. What was that about not making an omelet without breaking some eggs? Molly knew that he'd been avoiding washing her hair since their chat and that he'd been conning Mary or John into braiding it the last two mornings so that he could avoid the issue altogether. That only worked for so long and by this morning, Molly could tell that the ritual hair washing was going to have to take place.
John shrugged. "I have no idea. Mary dropped Izzy and me off while she ran some errands and when we got up there, Scarlett had locked herself in the loo."
Molly gasped. "How did she figure that out?"
Gabriel shrugged. "I think it was an accident, actually. Dad told her to come out, but she couldn't figure out how to unlock the door. So she screamed for a good forty-five minutes until he managed to pick the lock. Then she ran because he said it was time for a bath."
"Scarlett's in biiiiig trouble, Auntie," Isabel said, tugging on John's trouser leg until he picked her up.
"You stay out of it," John said.
Molly sighed and took Gabriel by the hand. "Come on. Let's go survey the damage."
Gabriel stared at Molly's hand. "Why do I have to go?"
"Because I do," Molly said.
They climbed the stairs slowly, suddenly alarmed at the silence that had descended. When they emerged into the flat, Molly could already see the debris left from the battle. A towel and a button up that was obviously Sherlock's lay in the floor at their feet like some weird welcome mat. They crept inside, Molly pushing Gabriel behind her protectively. What she was protecting him from, she wasn't sure. But it was too quiet. "Sherlock?" she called out, peeking around the corner and into the kitchen.
"I hear dripping," Gabriel said, tugging on Molly's arm. "Maybe they're in the bathroom." She followed him down the hall. The sound of the dripping got louder and Molly could also detect soft sniffles. When they reached the bathroom, she paused. "Go on," Gabriel whispered. "Open the door." He nudged her arm gently and she nodded.
"I'm going." With a tentative fingertip, she pushed open the bathroom door, expecting to see one or both of them lying dead on the tile floor. What she saw instead was more hilarious than she might have hoped for and immediately she dissolved into peals of laughter. Scarlett was in the tub looking like a drowned mouse with her hair completely lathered with shampoo. She was sniffling. Those big, ugly sniffles that made it impossible to speak. Sherlock was also in the tub, fully clothed from the waist down, yet fully submerged in the water. His long legs were wrapped around his child in some sort of death grip while he scrubbed at her hair.
"Get out!" he shouted over Scarlett's cries for her mummy.
Molly started into the bath, but Gabriel got between her and the doorframe and started pushing her backward. "He's got it, Mum… let's just wait out here."
"But…" He closed the door behind them and led Molly into the lounge where John, Izzy and Mrs. Hudson were waiting. All three sitting like pigeons on a power line across the couch.
"Well?" John asked.
"I think he's got it under control," Gabriel replied.
OoOoOo
Sherlock and Molly sat in the tiny lobby outside the hair salon early the next morning. Scarlett sat in her mother's lap, still reluctant to let her father even touch her after their exploits the day before. When he cooed and tickled her ears, she glared at him, obviously remembering that he had betrayed her. He, who was supposed to be her ally in the battle of bathtime. He had insisted on washing her hair and she would not soon forget his treachery. Even now when he tried to grasp her fingers, she turned away and buried her face in Molly's neck.
"She's never going to forgive me, Molly," Sherlock whined.
"Well you were pretty frightening."
"I was desperate!"
"It's okay. You don't have to tell me I was right."
He could only grumble in reply. Molly gave a coy, yet boastful grin.
"Scarlett?" A small woman wearing a black apron and a purple Mohawk called from behind the counter. Molly looked up, recognizing the woman immediately as the one who always cut Gabriel's hair.
"Hello, Maxine!" Molly got to her feet and crossed to the hair stylist. "It's nice to see you again."
"Hi Molly! How is Gabriel?"
"He's just wonderful. Though he will be needing a haircut soon, so you'll be seeing him." Ever since Gabriel's first haircut, he'd been totally in love with Maxine. She always managed to hold his attention so he didn't squirm and she was always willing to do whatever he wanted with his hair. He was so impressed that even Molly had started coming in.
"Excellent! And when am I going to get you in here for that sassy pixie cut we were talking about?"
Molly giggled. "We'll see. But for now, I'd like you to meet my darling Scarlett."
Max squealed and immediately swept the toddler into her arms. "Oh my goodness! I finally get to meet you!"
Scarlett giggled. "Hi," she said, putting one chubby hand up in a half-wave.
"Hello, darling. I can't believe you're so big. You know the last time I saw you, you were still in your mum's tummy!" She looked back at Molly and gasped. "You aren't going to cut this little one's hair are you?"
"Yes," Molly and Sherlock replied in unison. "Oh… Max, this is Sherlock," Molly began.
"Oh of course! I know you. My boyfriend is a huge fan of your website. I'm afraid he's one step up from a stalker!" She held a hand out to Sherlock and he took it with as much grace as he could muster.
"My son Gabriel speaks highly of you," he said.
"Gabriel's an absolute dream," Max said. "And I'm sure that this little sugarfoot is just the same." She squeezed Scarlett again. "I could just eat you up."
"No eat," Scarlett replied with a worried look to Molly.
Max laughed. "So you're going to cut these gorgeous red ringlets, then?"
Molly nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid that it's so thick and unruly that she screams whenever we try to wash or brush it."
"Hmm," Max hummed. "Like Gabriel, she must have your hair," she said to Sherlock.
"Sadly, there was no escaping it."
"And Max…" Molly leaned in conspiratorially. "He's very upset about his little girl's first haircut." Sherlock groaned.
"Well of course he is!" she exclaimed. "But I promise, she'll be so adorable when it's all done."
"I have the utmost faith," Molly giggled.
Maxine carried Scarlett over to her chair and set her down, with the other two following close behind. "Oooh… big," Scarlett sighed, patting the arms of the leather chair.
"Oh I know," Max said. "And you know what else? It can go up and down." She demonstrated, pumping the chair up and down as Scarlett giggled. "Now, first things first. Let's put on your beautiful princess robe!" Scarlett sighed in amazement as Max pulled out a bright pink smock with a sparkling crown bedazzled on the front. With a dramatic swirl of the smock, she fastened it around Scarlett's throat. She pulled out a bottle of water and let Scarlett spray it a few times before using it to wet the little girl's hair. Then she made the cardinal mistake. She pulled out the brush and began pulling Scarlett's hair back in a ponytail.
"No no no, Mummy!" Scarlett cried, immediately trying to squirm from the chair.
"Scarlett," Molly said, kneeling beside the chair and attempting to hold the child in place. "It's all right, sweetie. She's not going to hurt you." Despite Molly's soft words of comfort, Scarlett kept right on screaming until people walking in front of the shop began to stop and stare. "Scarlett… you must stop this…" Molly said as Max threw up her hands, looking helpless.
"I can't make you pretty if you aren't still and quiet," Max tried. She shrugged and looked at Molly and Sherlock. "Do you think she's afraid I'm going to cut her or something?"
"No, she's just tenderheaded," Sherlock sighed, unconsciously running his fingers through his own hair. He remembered the anxiety completely. "Scarlett!" he snapped. The harsh tone of his voice immediately made her stop. "Sit still and no more fussing. No one's strangling you. Yet." Though she sniffled and whimpered, she finally sat still and allowed Max to tie her hair into a low ponytail.
Max smiled and took a deep breath. The child's initial reaction had obviously shaken her a bit and now she was reluctant to upset her again. "Okay, now that's done. So how short do you want it? Keep in mind that when I cut it, the curls will scrunch up a bit."
Molly didn't let Sherlock utter even a syllable. "To her chin. Just a cute bob maybe. What do you think?"
Max nodded. "Definitely. And I can thin it a little if you like."
"Wait, wait, wait," Sherlock interrupted. "See, you two don't think I know what any of this means. No, I was the recipient of terrible haircuts for my entire childhood. She'll look like she has a curly helmet on!"
Max and Molly giggled. "No she won't. I promise," Max said. "Isn't Gabe's hair always perfect?"
"And Sherlock," Molly started. "It will grow back." He still looked unhappy, but said no more and busied himself on his phone.
Max went into her drawer and pulled out a pair of tiny, pointed scissors. When Scarlett saw them, she began squirming again. "No cut! No cut, Mummy!" This time she actually slid from the chair and bolted across the room to cower behind one of the standing hairdryers. Sherlock didn't even look up as he strolled over to her. She didn't run, but continued sniffling even as she took his hand.
"Silly girl, it doesn't hurt," he said, lifting her onto his hip.
"Uh huh," she replied, rubbing her eyes on Sherlock's shoulder.
"No it doesn't," he said.
"Sherlock, why don't you let Max cut your hair," Molly said. "Just to see that it doesn't hurt."
"Why don't you?" he said, his voice almost a shriek.
She ignored his question. "You need a trim anyway. Come on, then. Show your little girl it doesn't hurt."
Scarlett seemed to find this notion endlessly hilarious. "Cut Daddy's hair!"
Sherlock shot Molly a murderous glare, but she only smiled innocently, lighting in the chair beside Max's. "I agree. Cut Daddy's hair."
OoOoOo
It was going to be a very long night for Greg Lestrade. The wife and child of a prominent elected official were missing, but believed to be alive. For the time being anyway. A ransom note found at the home alluded that they had twenty- four hours. It was exactly the sort of tricky situation that he needed Sherlock for. Despite Sally Donovan's insistence that they'd be fine without him, Lestrade had been trying to reach his most favorite consultant for the last hour. "I swear to God, Sherlock, if you don't call me back in the next five minutes, I'm sending someone to arrest you!" he shouted into his phone.
Then, a ray of hope. He could see John Watson negotiating around the crime scene tape. "John! Thank God!" he called. He sprinted over to where the doctor stood, expecting to see Sherlock emerge from the shadows. Greg squinted. There was someone with John, but he couldn't make the person out. Perhaps just another officer. Of course, when he got closer, he could see. "Jesus, Sherlock. Your hair." His hair indeed. It was cut close on the sides and in back. Controlled curls fell over his brow, highlighting the shape of his eyes. Suddenly Greg realized that he had never really known that Sherlock had ears.
"Shut up," he growled. "It wasn't my idea."
