Category Archives: Uncategorized

Fan Fiction (Sherlolly): The Key Ch 6

The Key

Rated M for sex –  As well as graphic description of drug use and who knows what else as the plot develops.

Disclaimer: In real life I don’t own BBC’s Sherlock. My fantasies are another story.

Author notes: continued from Ch5. Molly is in the lab analyzing mysterious samples sent to her, but she is thinking (in italics) about an incident after the Fall when Sherlock is living with her and has relapsed into drug use. The next few chapters will continue to be a flashback so they will also be in italics. I hope this doesn’t bother anyone too much, and rest assured we will be back to a normal font very soon.

APOLOGIES: Again this chapter is much later than I intended. It was supposed to be longer but I’m having trouble figuring out how to end it, so I thought I would just post what I had and figure the rest out later. It may feel a bit disjointed but I’ll take that risk. 


If Molly had to wait much longer she was sure her head would explode.

With a sudden jerk of his body Sherlock lifted himself off of her. She wanted to protest the loss of his weight but he simply  stripped her shorts off in one swift pull and kicked off his own bottoms. He slipped his hands between her knees and spread her thighs further apart, long fingers caressing the soft skin. In the haze of sensations Molly registered that Sherlock had a callus on the tip of each finger on his left hand.

“Must be from the strings of his violin,” she thought, as he continued to stroke her, tracing the femoral artery and tapping on sensitive points she didn’t even know had. Molly spread her legs wider.

She felt a hot red blush creep into her face when she realized she was writhing and pumping her hips involuntarily. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, trying to regain some control and stop herself from begging him to ease the ache deep in her belly.

“Open your eyes, Molly,” his voice was as velvety as the palm that now cupped her thigh, inching it’s way upward. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, sure her teeth would leave marks in her lower lip.

She felt the mattress shift as a weight landed near her head, his arm she assumed, and soon felt his lips pressing just below her ear.

“Look at me, Molly Hooper,” the deep reverberations from his voice travelling down her body making her tremble.

Sherlock’s lips worked their way up her jaw, inching towards her lower lip still snagged between her teeth. As he captured her upper lip between his own Molly released her lower lip without a conscious decision to do so. He sealed her mouth with his own, absorbing her moan before placing a soft kiss on each of her eyelids. His fingers curled in her hair once more tugging gently and the hand so close to her core gripped her thigh a little harder.

Molly opened her eyes, unfocused and bouncing around until they settled on his face. Once her delirious mind latched onto his pale blue irises, she saw the lines of strain soften from his brow as if he was relieved. Eyes locked they breathed the same air, her hands on his rib cage feeling the intercostal muscles expand and contract.

Moments or hours later, she wasn’t sure, she felt his hand slide the last few inches upward until his fingers carressed her softest skin. She felt her slick lips envelop his long fingers in their delicate folds, before cupping his entire hand over her sex.

Now that her eyes were open she was riveted to his face. She watched fascinated, as his eyes widened at the first touch of her, before sliding half closed as his mouth opened releasing his breath in a rush. She could feel the trembling in his shoulders as he explored her warm wet heat with his hand.

“Oh, Molly,” he whispered, tender and softer than she had ever heard him speak before.

On impulse she placed one hand on his face and he leaned his head into the caress. She placed her other hand over his cupped one and rolled her hips before guiding his fingers to her opening. She pressed his finger into her, her thumb caressing his sharp cheekbone as she did so.

She gasped as he slipped a second finger into her on his own and pressed the heel of his hand against her mons. She wasn’t sure if he trembled harder, or she was trembling with him. She caressed his face with both hands now, and continued to roll her hips, enjoying the way his fingers slipped in and out of her, however slight, and how the motion teased her clit under is protective hood.

The sensations were washing over her and building faster than ever before. Soon she was teetering on the edge, and with a twist of his wrist Sherlock had her tumbling into the abyss. The threw her head back, mouth opened with a soft gasp as the muscles of her sex gripping his fingers and releasing a gush of fluid.

As she slowly came back to herself, and she was able to focus on him again, he withdrew his hand slowly from her. Molly couldn’t help but whimper at the sudden emptiness. She watched mesmerized as Sherlock looked down to the wetness coating his fingers, before licking the tip of one experimentally. Then sucking the others clean with relish.

When he was done, he looked her over. Eyes sweeping over her, toe to head, lingering on the wet patch between her legs. Everywhere his eyes touched her she felt a tingle, as if it were his hand and not his gaze that lingered on her. He had the same intensity as when he was examining a particularly interesting specimen and Molly wondered if he was saving this moment somewhere in his mind palace. 

When he was done studying her, he knelt between her knees and positioned the tip of his hard length at her entrance. His eyes closed as he shuddered, and Molly could feel her pelvic muscles softening further, begging him to sink in deep.

“Yes, oh yes, Sherlock,” she urged him on.

He still had enough control left to tease her, running the tip of him up her cleft, parting the warm wet folds, pressing firmly against the bundle of nerves at the top before slipping downwards and stopping just as he reached the hollow that would guide him into her slick passage. He kept repeating this motion until her thighs were trembling, and she was hooking her legs around his lean hips, desperate for more. More pressure, more of him, just…more.

After what seemed like an eternity he slipped the head of his cock down a final time, settling it at her hot tight opening. Molly relished the rush of air that escaped him. He lifted her leg and placed it over his shoulder, fingers kneading her thigh as he began to press inside of her, oh so slowly.

The feeling of him penetrating her was so overwhelming, washing over her in stronger and stronger waves that she felt she might drown in the sensation.  She grabbed the strong thick forearm by her face, trying to anchor herself in the present moment and pressed her face into the skin underneath, waiting for him to slide all the way in.

A few moments later she was still waiting.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, an eager smile on her lips, expecting him to still be teasing her and so hot and ready she would beg him if she had to. The smile cracked as she took in his strained expression. His lips were twisted and his eyes were narrowed and angry as he stared at his own arm – the arm she had been moaning into a few seconds earlier. Confused and scared, she turned her head back to his forearm, arching her head back a little to bring the pale limb into focus.

The skin she had be nuzzling, the skin that should have been smooth and soft was rough and pock marked. In her ecstasy she hadn’t noticed.

Molly reached for his face, wanting to gently bring his attention back to her and away from whatever dark thoughts plagued him as he looked at his own ruined arm.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, look at me,” he flinched at her touch as if she’d slapped him.


Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and to those who like this fiction enough to follow it 🙂


Fan Fiction (Sherlolly): The Key Ch 5

The Key

Rated M for sex – yay, it’s finally happening!  As well as graphic description of drug use and who knows what else as the plot develops.

Disclaimer: Don’t own BBC’s Sherlock, but if I did you better believe there wouldn’t be this 2 year hiatus BS.

Author notes: continued from Ch4. Molly is in the lab analyzing mysterious samples sent to her, but she is thinking (in italics) about an incident after the Fall when Sherlock is living with her and has relapsed into drug use. The next few chapters will continue to be a flashback so they will also be in italics. I hope this doesn’t bother anyone too much, and rest assured we will be back to a normal font very soon.

APOLOGIES: So sorry, chickens! This is almost a month overdue. I’ve had a very busy month coupled with an injury to my hand that didn’t help the writing process. I hope this chapter makes up for it. Also, I was quite intimidated by writing an explicit scene. There are so many wonderful writers in the community that handle the sex so well, I can only hope that I’ll be as good one day.

Somewhere in her mind a voice cautioned her to say no and go into her own room. It was ridiculous to continue to sleep with him, when he no longer needed her to presence to chase away the night terrors and her body to guard him against the chills. The other voice, the angel or devil, she wasn’t sure yet, wanted her to enjoy his warmth and his embrace for as long as she could. Forget the consequences, this may be the last time she would be able to be physically close to the only man she’s ever really wanted. 

He would be leaving London soon, catapulting himself into danger and to start something that they couldn’t possibly finish would be devastating – to her. This stoic man had allowed himself to form so few emotional attachments and those he had formed had cost him his career and even his ‘life’. Even if he wanted to, it would be unfair to expect Sherlock to add her to the list of those he cared for. Molly knew where they stood: it would only be her heart on the line. 

“I have to brush my teeth,” she said.

“All ready brushed mine,” and with that he went into the bedroom, removing his shirt as he walked. Her eyes widened at site of his smooth unblemished back, swallowing hard at the way the pyjama bottoms hung off his backside. 

Stumbling over the rug she locked herself in the bathroom, gripping both hands on the sink and forcing herself to take deep breaths. When her heart had calmed as much as she thought it could, given who was waiting between her sheets, she brushed her teeth thoroughly and as an afterthought brushed her hair, threw on some more deodorant and headed back to the bedroom. She glanced at the living room and her cat now asleep on the couch. Toby could sleep where he was, she decided. 

She waited by the door, hesitating, unsure if she should undress in front of him and trying not to stare at his naked chest as he sat up on his side of the bed, waiting for her. He watched her shift her weight from one foot to the other for a moment, then he turned down the covers on her side and cocked an eyebrow. She could see that he still had his stripped bottoms on. 

Of course he was wearing his pyjama bottoms, he was just in the habit of sharing the bed with her by now. He wasn’t aware of her decision to sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. As far as he was concerned this was simply their usual routine. 

Silly Molly, she chided herself.  

She scurried to the bed and practically dove under the covers, still clad in her tank top and shorts, pausing only to remove her jumper. She lay down on her back, too shy to look at him. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her, probably trying to deduce why she was so nervous all of a sudden. 

She felt the bed shift under her and heard the lamp click off. The sheets and blankets shifted over her skin as he settled down making her shiver slightly and she heard him sigh as he finally got comfortable. 

It amazed her how he could be so close to her physically and yet she felt like he was miles away. Usually an episode of chills or hallucinations from the detox had been her excuse to reach out and wrap herself around him, but those becoming infrequent and she doubted he’d have another episode tonight. 

If he did though, she would embrace him like she always did and comfort him. Wrapping as much of herself as she could around him, and hold him close until necessity took him from her. 

Did she still need his illness as an excuse to touch him? After all they’d slept in each others arms for weeks now. Would he allow it? Would he reach out for her as well? Or would he draw away from her? Here she was, stiff as a board, not looking at him; it was hardly an invitation to move closeness. Gathering up her courage she turned to him, his name almost on her lips, as her hand reached out to touch his shoulder. 

His indelicate snore and closed eyes froze her. Sherlock was fast asleep. She watched his serene expression for a moment before she rolled back to her side of the bed. 

Clearly she had let her imagination run away with her. Again. 


Molly had been having the most delightful dream. She was nude and lying on her back in a field of green grass with a clear blue sky and bright hot sun above her.  Butterflies fluttered around her body and occasionally one would land on her, it’s wings brushing softly against her skin. 

And better still she felt the heavy weight of a man moving like a wave on top her. She couldn’t see him but the delicious surge and ebb had her gasping and spreading her legs. She felt a wonderful pressure at the entrance to her sex and she could even feel the muscles of her slick passage contracting, ready to grip him from within. She knew instinctively this invisible man was Sherlock. Her dream self said, “I must be asleep”, and sadly the realization that she was dreaming woke her as she grasped desperately at the fading wisps of her phantom lover.  

Groaning she opened her eyes, reluctant to leave the naughty dream and found sunlight streaming in through the windows. She was unusually hot and there was a delicious pulsing between her legs. Oh God! Was she so turned on by her dream that she was grinding against Sherlock in her sleep? No, her hips were still, though her thighs were open and – Oh God! – her legs were wrapped tightly around the man in her bed. 

It was Sherlock  moving against her. Pressing softly one moment, then more firmly the next. Was he asleep still?

All coherent thought left her mind as he buried his face into her neck. He moved his lips across her fevered skin and pressed himself against her in a slow, firm thrust. A moan broke free from her mouth as he shimmied from side to side, parting the lips of her sex underneath the shorts and pressing his hard length against the most exquisitely sensitive spot. 

His head snapped up from her neck, ice blue eyes studying her intently until she felt like a specimen under his microscope. She was beginning to retreat a little, when his hand slipped from her lower back to her buttocks, pressing her closer and rubbing tight circles against her core as he studied every flicker pleasure that washed over her face.   

Molly was flooded anew with sensation and she closed her eyes against his penetrating gaze, moaning louder as she  rubbed instinctively against him, her body seeking more sweet friction. When she opened her eyes again, she caught the hint of amusement in the upturned corner of his mouth. 

“This is a bit different from our usual morning routine isn’t, Molly?”

She didn’t get a chance to reply and he picked up the pace, grinding into her, both hands gripping her bottom now. She wanted nothing more that to slip her shorts off, press the length of him into her and ride him. She could feel a hot wet heat curl in her belly and spread downwards. Much more of this and she will have soaked through her shorts as well as his pyjama bottoms.  

Wanting to feel more of him she skimmed her palms along the smooth skin of his back, latching onto his powerful shoulders as she clutched him to her. Sherlock rested his full weight on her for a moment, causing another moan to escape her, before he moved a hand to her shoulder. He kept her pressed to the mattress as he pulled away, creating a space between them again. She felt a pang at the loss but was quickly distracted by his hand trailing down her torso. Little shivers broke out over the bits of exposed skin he encountered on the way down before gripping her bottom again and continuing his heavy thrusting. 

She moaned again, low and long into his ear, but couldn’t help but be annoyed by another of his self-satisfied smirks. She was writhing under him and though he was clearly enjoying himself, his composure was still intact. She could handle a smug and reserved Sherlock in every aspect of her life but not in her bed. 

Right, time to take care of that. She hooked one slim leg around his knee, trapping him, before using the opposite leg to lever herself off the mattress, rolling the both of them over. She was straddling his hips now and pressed her hands against his chest, straightening up and looking down at his surprised face with a smirk of her own. 

He palmed her thighs as he tried to move his hips against her core again but she rose slightly, not allowing him any friction, before lowering her bottom back down, squirming just a bit as if she were getting comfortable. He groaned, reached up to her neck and pulled her down for a kiss – he’d never kissed her on the lips before. She felt his hips tense for another thrust as he pulled her down and she shucked his hand off, lifting her hips up again as punishment for trying to distract her. She smiled, enjoying this moment of dominance over the great detective. 

“Molly,” he said, low and with a hint of warning. 

“Not used to being denied, Mr. Holmes?” she couldn’t help but taunt him. For the first time she felt powerful and compelling in his presence. 

“No. I’m not…Miss Hooper,” he said, amused by the formality before narrowing his eyes, “And I won’t answer for the consequences.”

Molly giggled in response and settled her weight back down on him. She captured his wrists in her small hands, and pressed them over his head before dropping her face and inch from his. 

“Say the magic word, Sherlock. I want to hear you ask me for it.”

Lids low, blue gaze fixated on her lips, she watched as his pupils grew larger and she felt as though she could fall into their depths and be lost forever. She shook her head a little, resisting the impulse to kiss him before gripping his wrists tighter. When he met her eyes she arched her brow, waiting. 

“Please, Molly.”

 Molly closed the distance and kissed him swiftly, almost chastely before straightening and releasing his wrists. Sherlock moaned, frustrated by the fleeting contact of her lips.  

Molly arched her back, crossing her arms over her stomach and pulled her tank top over her head. She had worn no bra to bed, and her small breasts thrust out as she tossed the top to the floor. Her long hair swung around her shoulder with the movement, partially obscured one creamy mound.. 

She looked down to see Sherlock’s smirk was completely gone now.  He was biting his lower lip, eye’s glued to her chest, her nipples rosy and peaked. She pushed her hair back over her shoulder exposing the breast that had been hidden from view and felt a rush as satisfaction when his eyes widened even more. He released his bottom lip and he shivered as he ran his tongue over the indentations. God, she wanted to do that. 

Sherlock’s exceptional focus was now entirely on her, and she bloomed under it. She revelled in his gaze as it swept over her face, neck and torso, lips and eyes. Always back to her lips, as he licked his as if wondering what she tasted like.

She leaned forward slightly, an invitation and felt his hands moving slowly up her thighs, over the shorts, over the soft skin of her stomach, fingers curling around her waist hesitating there. She wrapped cupped her hands around his and gave him the slightest pressure upwards, encouraging him to continue. His palms slid over her ribcage, her own hands still lightly gripping his larger ones. And just as his thumbs began to brush the underside of her breasts, she moved her grip to his wrists and using the weight of her upper body to force them over his head yet again. 

He groaned at her renewed denial and control of him, eyes moving from her chest to her face unsure of where to settle. She tightened her grip on his wrists and was rewarded with a swift intake of breath. She locked eyes with him and leaned down to him. A few inches from his mouth she froze. 

“Molly,” his warning was breathy and desperate now. 

“I changed my mind, Sherlock. I want you to beg me,” she smiled mischievously and deliberately pressed her pelvis into his ridged length. 

Molly couldn’t help but feel a bit smug as his eyes fluttered, the pressure of her sex against his eliciting a moan from the usually stoic man. Molly revelled in her control over him, and felt no small satisfaction at his discomfort and longing. Molly relished how the tables had suddenly turned. 

Molly gave him a few more slow rolls of her hips, enjoying the friction even with her shorts still on. She was getting hotter and wetter and was sure that when they finally moved away from each other, Sherlock would have a large wet patch where she was working him now. Well that sounded fine to her. 

She started to lose herself in the rhythm closing her eyes, feeling the anticipation coiling in her belly. She felt him twitch his wrists as if asking to be released. He had so much strength, he could easily over power her and part of her was surprised he let her take control. Maybe he even respected it. 

Focused on her increasing pleasure, she released his hands, dropping hers to either side of his head, her breasts poised just above his lips. She continued to ride him, dropping her head to watch them, fascinated almost as much as he was by the way they swayed and almost brushed his face. His eyes were locked on her left nipple, and she watched crane his neck upwards to try and capture it, while his hands cupped her bottom with urgency, demanding she ride him harder.

Molly started to feel overwhelmed by the sensations and the years of rejection started to seep into her thoughts like rain through a leaky roof. Wanting some distance, she began to straighten, pulling herself upright but she felt his arms lock around her like a vice, not allowing her an inch to move. She froze, feeling tension radiating through the arms that held her.

Nervous now she searched his face for some clue as to his state of mind and saw something that she had only glimpsed once, in the moment he had told her he needed her to help defeat Moriarty. He was open, vulnerable, the walls of logic, condescension, arrogance that he hid behind were gone. 

“Please Molly, I’m…I’m begging you.”

They both were still, looking into each other’s eyes, breath mingling, sexual tension demanding to be satiated rolling off them in waves. Sherlock was holding himself in check, hesitating, waiting for her permission. 

Waiting. Always waiting. She had waited for him for 4 years and this might be their only chance to be together before he immersed himself in the dangerous mission ahead of him. 

She took a deep breath and nodded. He acknowledged her permission with a subtle nod of his own, brows furrowing over his eyes and in a movement so fast she wasn’t sure how he accomplished it, she was on her back again, his full body length pressed against her. 

She felt a thrill as creep up her spine when searched his gaze and saw the flash of something dangerous. He fisted his hand in her hair, drawing her head back and exposing her throat. 

She had awoken the animal in Sherlock Holmes.

“You’re going to pay for teasing me, Molly Hooper,” drawing a tongue around her ear before biting her lobe firmly enough to make her squeak. 

Unlike his hand in her hair, his lips were gentle and caressing as he made his way along the underside of her jaw to her ear.  When his lips finally reached hers they landed as soft as butterfly wings. He tightened his grip on her hair, as his pressed another feather light kiss to the corner of her mouth. The contrasting sensations washed over her and Molly let out a delicious moan.

Sherlock lingered against her mouth, watching her, velvet lips working her, trying to coax hers apart. When she opened for him, he slipped his tongue into her, slowly, inexorably, penetrating her with low groan. 

Thank you to all my lovely reviewers and to those who like this fiction enough to follow it 🙂

Fan Fiction (Sherlolly): The Key Chapter 3

The Key

Rated M for sex (yeah baby!), graphic description of drug use and who knows what else as the plot develops.

Disclaimer: I still don’t own BBC’s Sherlock, but I’m working on it.

Author note: continued from Ch2. Molly is in the lab analyzing mysterious samples sent to her, but she is thinking (in italics) about an incident after the Fall when Sherlock is living with her and has relapsed into drug use. The next few chapters will continue to be a flashback so they will also be in italics. I hope this doesn’t bother anyone too much, and rest assured we will be back to a normal font very soon.

Once at Bart’s, Molly was her usual efficient self. She ran the tests quickly – no diseases, plenty of heroin – and arranged two weeks vacation. She hadn’t taken any time off after Sherlock’s ‘suicide’ and her supervisor assumed it was the grief finally catching up with her. She caught a glimpse of her haggard reflection in the window and could see why he hadn’t argued with her last minute request. Her eye’s had deep dark circles from weeks of sleepless nights and she looked drawn, pale and deflated.

She quickly gathered supplies to restock her medical kit: bandaids, alcohol swabs, gauze and new syringes for a second round of blood tests. However, she still needed one very important thing and it was going to be much harder to get her hands on.

She found herself loitering by the door to the dispensary, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she cast furtive glances around her. She was sure that every passerby could smell the guilt on her and knew what she was up to. Gathering her courage she was about to open the door when a sardonic drawl stopped her.

“That won’t be necessary.”

She yelped and jumped away from the very tall man who had appeared behind her. Clutching her shoulder bag to her chest, feeling her heart hammering beneath, she took in his usual three piece suit, the umbrella hooked over one arm and thick legal sized envelope tucked under the other. The only thing out of place was the plain paper bag in his hand. Did Mycroft Holmes bring a packed a lunch to the office?

“I am continually surprised at the lengths you will go to to aid my brother, Miss Hooper.”

“Molly,” she corrected automatically, wondering if he would still be thanking her if he knew the actual state his brother was in. The brother he had entrusted to her care and who was currently sweating several weeks worth of drugs out his system.

“Yes…” he pursed his lips, giving her the impression she would never be on first name terms with the elder Holmes. “However in this case, theft of a controlled substance would likely result in your termination, if discovered. And as there are camera’s monitoring the dispensary from several angles, you would most assuredly be found out.”

Molly blinked up at him, she had forgotten about the cameras in her haste to get out of Bart’s and back to her flat as quickly as possible. Mycroft Holmes looked her over, shrewd eyes missing nothing as he continued.

“And when my brother returns from his exile, he will be extremely put out if his friendly pathologist was no longer able to assist him on his cases,” he said, emphasizing ‘friendly’ and ‘cases’ like they were dirty words.

Molly, still panicked at the thought of being caught stealing from her workplace, remained silent.

“It is regrettable. Had I known earlier, we might have avoided the necessity of this,” he said thrusting the paper bag at her.

She took it and peaked inside, sighing with relief: there was enough methadone to get Sherlock through his withdrawal. She peeked up at Mycroft, wanting to thank him but reconsidered when she saw his grim expression.

“You should have told me when he failed to return to your flat.”

“He said he was working on dismantling Moriarty’s network. I didn’t know how long he was going to…” her excuse died on her lips as he continued to stare her down in stony silence.

“You know that I can’t keep him on a leash,” she tried again, resentful now. “Honestly, even you and the British government can’t keep tabs on him.”

Mycroft continued to glare at her and Molly, though she was nervous and strung out, refused to back down. She straightened her shoulders and met his glare with one of her own. After a few moments, he relented with a sigh.

“What else do you need, Miss Hooper? The next few days will be rough for the both of you, and he’s been known to bolt while in detox.” He took a step back, cocking his head to the side, looking helpful now rather than intimidating and said, “I could send an agent or two—”

“No!” she glanced around before she continued in a much lower voice, “You know how he is: corner him and he’ll lash out. Sherlock has to want— really want— to stay clean on his own. Not because you bullied him into it.”

“Yes that’s true. It would appear you know him … well,” a flicker of surprise passing over his face. He looked her up and down and seemed to make a decision.

“You can give him this when he’s ready, he’ll need the distraction,” handing her the thick envelope.

“What is it?”

“Information I’ve withheld from my brother. More specifically it is information on Moriarty’s network.”

“Withheld?” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes, I withheld it. Destroying a master criminal’s empire is an exceedingly dangerous proposition and I was hesitant to send him into such danger on his own. Give it to him when you think he’s ready.”

The thought of Sherlock unhinged, unprotected and alone hunting dangerous criminals was terrifying. But the alternative was Sherlock, in London, tormented by guilt and pumping expensive white heroin into his veins. She nodded and tucked the envelope into her bag.

“Don’t worry about him, Myc…I mean, Mr. Holmes. I’ll take care of him.”

“Yes. You will. Good luck, Miss Hooper,” and with a final nod he made his way down the corridor, his stroll more suited to the park rather than a hospital.

“I’ll need it,” she whispered to herself.

Even knowing Mycroft as little as she did, she knew a thinly veiled threat when she heard one.

Author note: Sorry for the delay in putting up this next instalment. Chapter 3 turned out to be a too long so I’ve split it into 2, this is the mini chapter and the second (longer) part will be published in a next week.

“No-Poo” deconstructed: the journey from toxic suds to happy hippie hair

I’ve been shampoo-less for over almost 2 years and only now have I finally got the hang of it. Sorry to disappoint you unwashed-hippie-wannabe’s but the journey from SDS laden shampoo to natural yet beautiful hair is not straightforward. Hopefully you’ll be able to learn from my experiments, my mistakes and YOUR journey will be shorter and far less icky.

The point of going no-poo is to allow our hair to revert back to a natural state. Honestly, our grandmothers washed their hair once a week…maybe, and they certainly didn’t use a $40 mango-honey-agave-rainforest-water salon quality shampoo to do it. And from the pictures I’ve seen their hair looked great – thick, full, naturally wavy. I’ve never understood why we pay money for products that strip out all our natural oils and they pay more money for synthetic oils to be put back in, i.e. shampoo and conditioner, face wash and moisturizer, body wash and lotion (and believe me I’ll address all of these in future posts.) The other reason, besides getting back to healthier natural state, is that shampoo’s are chocked full of chemicals that are toxic for us and for the environment. I won’t go on about them here but you’re Google savvy people, take a look online for what you’ve been bathing your scalp with.

Part of the problem out in the interwebs is that there are a lot of no-poo “methods” but not a lot of description about individual hair types, styling methods used, nor a lot of pictures to gauge the effectiveness. The goal of this post is to go through the methods I’ve tried, tell you what I’m doing now and how it’s working for me and … gasp … post a picture of my dirty unwashed hippie hair!


Firstly, my hair – thin, baby fine, bleached ends and dyed with a high lift colour at the roots. So in a nutshell I have 1. Damaged ends that need moisture and 2. Roots that get oily  and 3. Baby Fine hair that weighs down easily. My goal when I started no-poo was to eventually be able to wash my hair once a week or less and not look greasy or smell – as my Pinterest Category says, I like to be an “Undercover Hippie”.

Methods I’ve tried:

1. Baking Soda and Apple Cider Vinegar or Lemon Juice (BSV) – the nitty gritty of this is that the baking soda is the shampoo, applied as a diluted liquid to wet hair, or mixed with water and applied as a paste to wet hair, or brushed into dry hair and rinsed out. The vinegar or lemon juice is diluted with water and hair is rinsed with it, sometimes left in the hair and sometimes followed by a water rinse.

Results – call me the Scare Crow, Dorothy, cause that’s what I looked like. Straw-hair. Seriously, don’t get a match too close to my head. So yes, this strips out EVERYTHING.

Verdict – if you use WO (see below) and find that a few times a year you get a build up that just can’t be washed out with water, use a very very small amount of baking soda water, followed by the vinegar rinse to remove build up. But as a weekly or even monthly cleansing option, I think it’s far too harsh and defeats the purpose of leaving the healthy oils where they should be.

2. Conditioner Only (CO)- deal is you find a conditioner with no silicones (good luck) and use more than the usual amount to wash your hair.

Results – oily mess. Once I found a silicone free conditioner, not easy, I found it left my hair too greasy. Also, we are still using a lot of chemicals in this method.

Verdict – people with long, thick and curly hair seem to love CO, but for me, I may as well douse my head in baby oil and masquerade as a seal. No thank you.

3. Water Only (WO) – now don’t think you can just stand under the shower nozzle like a zombie than go about your day my friend, no no. You need to work it! Scrub that scalp with your finger tips, massage every last bit of your head firmly then do it again, and again. Don’t even think of doing this in the bath, you need the constant stream of water flowing through your hair. Scrub, scrub, scrub, then scrub some more. Some people change the water temp from warm to cool during this process – I didn’t find it made a difference, but who knows?

Results – pretty good. Hair still had natural oils in it, but not excessive. Holds a style like there is product in it. Note that blowdrying my hair after a WO wash is a bit of a crap shoot as it may still have too much oil in it. Best to let it dry naturally or use a cool setting on the hair dryer.

Verdict – good for maintenance between more aggressive cleansing methods at the very least. I did this for months at a time doing WO about 2 times a week and it worked quite well, but I still had more than a few “hat days”. I did need to do a BSV wash about twice a year to remove build up, but it worked well enough.

4. Egg Yolk and Coconut Cream – I found this little gem in one of the paleo forums I visit.  Mix the two together in a blender or by hand. I make a large batch, freeze it into ice cubes then store in baggies and use as needed. I also use conventional eggs on my hair, and not the grass fed organic ones I eat (that’s right, paleo elitist right over here). Oh and lukewarm water is mandatory, not hot, or you’ll have egg on your face! Actually scrambled egg on your hair, but you know what I mean.

Results – This by far gave me the best result and the closest feeling to freshly shampooed hair. My hair was feather light and fluffy, smooth and conditioned, not weighed down by excess oils. It also blow dried and styled like a dream. Key is to experiment until you find the right ratio of yolk to coconut cream (not coconut milk, but coconut cream, look in the asian section of your supermarket.) You may find that the coconut cream is too heavy and you just want to use the yolk by itself which is perfectly fine.

Verdict- booyah!!! We have a winner!!!

Changes I noticed while going no-poo:

Without shampoo I no longer need styling products as my hair will hold it’s style without. It also feels thicker and healthier, and my colour lasts longer. It’s quicker to dry and I don’t notice a smell –  I’ve asked a few good friends to sniff my head after 5 days without any water touching it and they confirm that there is nothing stinky going on up there. My shower is much less cluttered: I have one bottle of soap (for guests only because since I’ve gone paleo I actually don’t stink anymore), one razor (I’m not the bushy kind of a hippie) and one bottle of conditioner that is slowly being used  and will never be replaced. All in all it’s a clutter and chemical free zone now.

The proof - I may have roots but at least they're not greasy! Taken 3 days after the egg yolk wash

The proof – I may have roots but at least they’re not greasy! Taken 3 days after the egg yolk wash

My Routine WO, Egg, Coconut, Lemon Juice COMBO!

Once a week or once every two weeks I will full on “wash” my hair. I start with an egg yolk plus 1 tsp coconut cream massaged into my roots and scalp very well, then distributed down the length of my hair. I will then use either some left over conditioner or teaspoon or two of coconut cream on the dry ends of my hair.  I’ll wait a minute then rinse with lukewarm water, then do second rinse with the juice of half a lemon mixed with a few cups of water. Immediately after the lemon juice I’ll do a final quick rinse with water. Blow dry, style, and if needed I’ll rub a couple of drops of jojoba oil in my hands and apply to any really damaged ends.

In between my egg washes I will WO wash once a week or as needed.

Every night I brush my hair with a boar bristle brush which helps to distribute the oils from the scalp down the shaft of the hair.

Occasionally I rub a drop of lavender essential oil in my palms and brush them through my hair. Warning – you may get a lot of male attention if you do this – the boys love lavender 🙂

My Suggestions for a Transition Plan

1.Invest in a boar bristle brush and use every night. Clean with mild soap every week.

2. Stretch out your regular shampooing days to at least 3 days in between washes. If you need to, sprinkle a little cornstarch or arrowroot powder on your hairline and part to disguise any oiliness going on there. Wear your hair up and/or wear hats if you have to.

3. Once you’ve successfully transitioned to step 2, on your wash days try any of the methods above until you find the one you like, with the exception of WO.

4. Once you’ve got step 3 under your belt, start replacing the odd wash day with a WO wash.

And there you are, my suggestions for going NO-POO without going crazy or possibly alienating your co-workers or significant others. This is the first blog post for the Undercover Hippie, huzzah!

Addendum March 14, 2013: I have found that using egg yolk only on the roots, and coconut cream only on the ends lets me extend my time between washing to about 2 weeks with 1 or 2 WO washes in between.

Also, for the thick dark haired individuals Shabbytat has some great advice on Henna masks, and also goes into more detail on boar bristle brushes. Take a look!