With Series 2 around the corner, I thought I'd do something Sherlocky to tide me over the final 2 weeks =)

If this goes down well I'll add another chapter with the second half of the scene and then maybe a third depending on how Mr Moffat ties up his little cliffhanger. You know, the one that's been killing us all for well over a year now... Only 2 weeks to go now though!

Disclamer: I don't own any of these characters or the situation they find themselves in any more than I own the Eiffel Tower. Apart from maybe Myrna, I'm pretty sure I invented her.

Enough of my rambling, Enjoy :) Brit x

"Kill you? Um, no. Don't be obvious. I mean, I'm gonna kill you anyway, someday. I don't want to rush it though. I'm saving it up for something special. No no no no no, if you don't stop prying... I'll burn you."

Sherlock's heart jumped. It happened whenever someone mentioned fire. His mind flashed back to that day, the flames, and his own screams that she was inside. Nobody had listened to him, not until it was discovered that Myrna had never arrived at school. … He forced his face to remain impassive. Allowing his enemy to see him react would give away his weakness.

"I will burn... the heart out of you."

He knew. Moriarty already knew. It wasn't exactly private information; any idiot with internet access could find information on the death of Myrna Holmes and the explosion that killed her. It was the shock factor that her 8 year old brother was to blame that made it headline news. Even though he protested over and over again that he hadn't meant to hurt anyone, he had told his sister not to get in the car, and that he had simply been conducting an experiment on fuel combustion, his apparent lack of emotion had caused the media to brand him 'heartless'.

"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one" he responded.

But it was too late. Images of Myrna now filled his brain, clouding his mind and his judgement.

He sat at the window eagerly watching the car on the front driveway, stopwatch in his hand. If his calculations were correct then the car would blow up in exactly 2 minutes.

"There they are! I've been looking for those!" Myrna had entered the room without his noticing, he had been gazing so intently at the car. She picked up the car keys and smiled at Sherlock's shocked face. "There are a few things missing from my bag, they must have fallen out in the car yesterday."

She smiled at him. It was a beautiful smile, but then everything about his 17 year old sister was beautiful. She was his favourite person in the world; he would do anything for her. He had to stop her going in the car, just stall her for 1 and a half minutes. He ran over to her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Myrna! Don't go in the car! I know where your things are, Mycroft has them!"

"No, I already checked Mike's room." Myrna smiled at him again and praised his hands from her, giving him a quick kiss on his forehead. "I have to go now or I'll be late. Catch you later!"

"No, you won't!" he cried, but it was too late, she had already walked out of the front door. He ran back to the window and watched with horror as his beloved sister unlocked the car and climbed into the back. The stopwatch continued its countdown.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1.

BOOM.

Sherlock screamed.

Moriarty smirked. "Oh, but we both know that's not quite true."

He was right, Sherlock knew. He had a heart; he just refused to use it. He had shut it down the day Myrna died, but it was still there. And recently he had started to think it was waking up again. Ever since he had met John. John faintly reminded Sherlock of Myrna. It was little things, like the way that even when he was angry he would smile so you had to look at his expressive eyes to try and tell what was going through his head. And the bravery, the way he was willing to put his life on the line for Sherlock, or indeed, for anyone. The sense of adventure, the thirst for knowledge, the thought that went into every decision. Little things, just little things, which built up and made Sherlock think that maybe he didn't have to hide from the world any more.

How did Moriarty know?

"Well, I'd better be off" Moriarty said, looking around at John, who still had a bomb strapped to him under the green coat. "So nice to have had a proper chat."

Sherlock couldn't let him leave. He knew a little too much about Myrna for comfort, especially as it happened almost thirty years ago. In fact, it was after midnight so it was thirty years exactly, to the day. Sherlock re-aimed the gun.

"What if I were to shoot you now, right now?"

"Well then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face." Moriarty pulled a face that was evidently meant to be surprise, before smiling and licking his lips again. "Because I'd be surprised, Sherlock, really I would. And just a teensy bit… disappointed."

So Moriarty knew that Sherlock wouldn't shoot him. He had to know how Jim knew as much as he did about Myrna, and how she fit in to the crimes Jim had made his life's work. Myrna had always tried to enforce strict moral guidelines on her brothers, so there was no way that anybody who felt strongly enough about her would have turned criminal to avenge her; she wouldn't have approved. The game was still on.

"And of course" Moriarty continued, "you wouldn't be able to cherish it for very long. Ciao. Sherlock Holmes."

Moriarty turned to leave and Sherlock kept the gun trained on him.

"Catch. You. Later." He said, echoing his sister's last words to show the madman he had understood the veiled references.

"No you won't!" Moriarty called back in a high voice, clearly supposed to mimic how Sherlock would have sounded at the age of eight.

Sherlock allowed himself a sigh of relief, if only to increase the oxygen getting to his brain. This wasn't over. This was far from over. In fact, as Sherlock hurried over to John to unstrap the bomb, he had a horrible sinking feeling that this might only be the beginning.