A/N

Hi everyone! This little oneshot takes place before the events in "The coffee cup and the suitcase", if you are reading that series.

I hope you enjoy the story!

Feral

It's...It's not too bad.

Is it?

Molly tentatively touched her hair yet again, staring at herself in the reflection of a car window.

Why could she never really get the look she was hoping for at the hairdresser's?

She wanted to lighten her hair, just a bit, nothing too risky, and they turned her platinum. Two days later, she went to the pool and became a weird shade of green. She should have learned that time, but nope.

This time, she wanted a cut.

Not a trim.

A cut. A new look. Something trendy, vibrant, sexy.

It looked nice walking out of the salon, but this morning she just couldn't stle it the right way.

Now she just stared dejectedly at the choppy, asymmetrical cut that looked ever so good in the pictures...

1cm a month...That's not too long to grow it back, right?

Oh, well. Molly nodded, picking herself up. At least she had a lot of hats.

This time she decided to sport a nice red crochet cap her mum made, wih a little poppy flower on one side.

"Morning, Molly." Tom called out. "Look, I let Sh..."

"Hey, Tom." She answered back, hurrying off to the morgue. Nobody there would see or say anything about her hair!

With a sigh she closed the open door behind her and rested her forehead against the cool metal.

"Hello, Molly." She froze. "Tom let us in, we really needed to use the lab. Sherlock and I shouldn't be long..."

The pathologist fixed a smile on her face and turned around.

John waved at her politely. Sherlock was looking through a microscope.

"Oh, hi John. Hello, Sherlock. Sure, it's fine." The fixed smile felt as natural as those cheesy grins you have to keep when taking a picture and you can't tell if the photographer has finished yet. "I'll just...I'll just get to work. Let me know if you need anything." She nodded.

Molly moved to the coathanger and took off her scarf and jacket.

She couldn't keep the hat on all day, could she? No, she'd look silly. Right? Right.

Molly pulled off the nice red hat and placed that on the hanger, then walked with determined nonchalance to a chair and started working.

"You look...different..." John mused.

"She cut her hair."

Molly closed her eyes.

"Oh yes, you're right! Let's have a look." John said cheerfully. Molly looked back at him.
"You look nice!" He said with a smile.

"She hates it."

"Sherlock." The friend replied, a slight warning in his tone.

"No, I...I ike it! It's what I asked for."

"It is unseasonably warm for a hat that covers so much of your head, you took 2 seconds longer than usual to remove your headware and place it on the hanger, and you've been squeezing your fingers to stop yourself from fidgeting or touching your hair. "Sherlock stated matter-of-factly, still looking through his microscope.

"You hate it." He added with finality.

"I...I'm just getting used to it." Molly replied. She hesitated. "Does it...Does it look bad?"

"It makes your nose stand out more."

"..."

Molly looked at the beakers, the ceiling, her fingers, anything but him.

"Right, well...I...I've got to go ask Tom something. Please excuse me." Molly scarpered off.

"Sherlock!" John hit his friend on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "That was rude! You could have tried to say something nice!"

"What are you talking about, John? I did!" Sherlock glared indignantly at the doctor.

"It makes your nose stand out more? That's NICE?"

"Well, yes!" The consulting detective turned back to the microscope. "She has an aesthetically pleasing nose. I believe some would define it as 'cute'."

John wearily sat down on a chair and rubbed his forehead. "Couldn't you just say something like that? What you did say to her, Sherlock...It's not good."

"I really don't see why, John. It's only the truth. Now leave me alone I need to focus on this."

The doctor eyed his friend appraisingly.

"You know, Sherlock, for a genius you really are an idiot."

"Pass me that sample, John."

Molly looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. She turned her head side to side.

You're a full-grown woman, Molly. She told herself. Not everyone is going to like your haircut, it's not a big deal if he hates it. It isn't.

Just think about girls who don't have any hair at all. You're lucky you get to have bad hair days.

Molly suddenly felt very childish and self-centered. It was time to get back to work and just remember there are more important things in life.

She pulled back her shoulders and raised her head slightly before marching almost confidently into the lab.

It was empty.

Typical.

Hours later, the sun had already begun to set as Molly finished her work for the day. Tiredly she put on her coat and scarf. She hesitated with the hat, then shoved it in her pocket. To hell with him.

The last rays of the disappearing sun cast long shadows on the hospital floor as she walked her way to the exit.

A cool wind welcomed her as she stepped outside. The street lamps were turned on, bathing everything in a lazy, otherworldly glow.

She began to walk home when she spotted a familiar figure leaning against a lamp post.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here? I'm on my way home..."

She put the red hat on.

"Don't worry." He stood straighter, moving away from the iron post. "I don't need anything."

"Oh. Good." Molly shuffled her feet awkwardly. "How did the case go?"

"Too easy." He shrugged. "Here." Sherlock tossed something at her. Molly, ever the accomplished athlete, managed to not drop it by catching it in a weird hug/clasp motion against her chest. What...She slowly moved to look at the object. It was a notebook, her notebook.

"I borrowed it today. I needed it to compare notes but you'd gone. John pointed out I should return it."

"Oh. Ok. Thanks." She said as he stepped towards her. Why couldn't it wait? It once took him a month to return a borrowed scalpel!

"Wash your hair."

"Sorry?" She blinked.

"Wash your hair."

"I...I did this morning! Does it look dirty?" Molly nervously reached for a lock that peeked out from the hat. Sherlock caught her fingers with his.

Using his free hand, he pulled off her hat. "You did wash it, but you also tried to style it using wax and hairspray. That's why you don't like it. He looked at her hair and face quietly. "Your hairdresser did a good job. She cut your hair following its natural wave, so it falls into shape automatically. By trying to style it with products you ruin the effect."

"Oh...Ok." Molly Stammered. "I'll try that."

He let go of her fingers, which dropped to her sides as he began to walk away.

"You spend so much time trying to change what you have and who you are. It's really rather silly, Molly."
"Hey! That's not nice." Molly began to answer indignantly. "There's nothing wrong with trying to better oneself, or trying something different." She added, flushed.

Sherlock halted. "True." He conceded.

So. Let's try something different, then.

He half turned and she saw the outline of his profile under the street lights.

"You have a very pretty nose, Molly."

Then he walked away, leaving the pathologist quietly gripping her little notebook.

"Wow, Molly!" Tom called as he saw her the next morning. "What did you do to your hair? It looks great!"

She smiled.