A/N: This was inspired by the March 1st prompt - "Write about hair." It was also inspired by one of my little headcanons about Sherlock's hair. It's set during Sherlock's time as a dead man. Rated T, stand-alone.
Molly woke up to noises coming from the bathroom. She glanced at the clock. Just after midnight. I wonder what I have to stitch up this time. Getting out of bed, she pulled on her bathrobe then knocked lightly on the open door.
Sherlock stood at the sink, wearing just the bottom half of the pajama set she kept for him when he needed a bolt hole. He was vigorously drying his hair with a towel.
Molly gazed at the play of muscles under his skin then mentally shook herself. "Good evening, Sherlock." The tiredness in her voice hid the mild annoyance. "No blood so that means you don't need stitches?"
"Correct," Sherlock said as he removed the towel, revealing a head full of disheveled ginger curls.
She raised an eyebrow. "New dye job?"
"Actually … I was just removing the old one." There was a hint of pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he met her eyes in the mirror. "I'm about to start working on the part of Moriarty's web that's in London and I'm a little too recognizable with black hair."
She stared at his reflection. "Um, what?"
He smiled a bit. "Come now, Molly. You're telling me you haven't realized it until now – why the hair on my head didn't match the hair anywhere else?"
It was her turn to blush, her eyes straying to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. "I … um … haven't seen all of you, so I wouldn't know."
He turned to her, grinning. "Would you like to?"