More Myrna :) So close to the end now! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this so far :)

Beta'd by the truly invaluable ShinySherlock :) all remaining mistakes/flaws are my own.

Morgan knew it was serious when Myrna stopped eating.

It had happened before; most recently in the immediate aftermath of the trial when she had tried to figure out Moriarty's next move, but that had been almost expected and Morgan had opportunistically given the chef, Monsieur Defoux, the week off. This time, there had been next to no warning; Sherlock was due to be arrested, and they had an infallible plan to break him out, keeping him away from James Moriarty, but at the last moment, just before he and his flatmate were put in the back of the police car, Sherlock took things into his own hands and the pair ran off into the night. Nobody knew where they were or what had become of them in the hours since. With no planning time, Morgan was left to care for the broken-minded employer as well as attempting to assuage the fears and concerns of the staff.

When this happened, the PA never really felt badly done to, even with the understanding that most other people would. Myrna had the misfortune to have both the knowledge and the ability to emotionally process the impact of the scenarios she foresaw, as well as coping with the fallout when her more risky (yet still brilliant) plans went wrong. Sometimes it was too much for one person to handle, no matter how amazing that person may be. And Myrna had been through a lot, to be fair; most people would have crumbled after the accident Myrna had survived, but she carried on through it, using it to her advantage as she protected her brothers and other people she cared about from a distance. Only looking, never touching. The assistant didn't imagine for a second that it was easy for her.

This particular evening, Myrna was sat on the window seat in the bay, her knees drawn up under her chin in the most unladylike fashion, the cup of tea Morgan had brought her that afternoon sitting untouched and stone cold, despite the fact that it was in her favourite cup. In fact she didn't appear to have moved a muscle all day. She wasn't wearing a veil either, despite the fact that the sun had dried out the delicate skin on her damaged face, which Morgan knew caused her acute pain.

"Monsieur Defoux expressed concern that you've gone off his cooking as you've eaten so little of it recently. And Amy commented that your bed didn't look as though you'd slept in it last night, or in fact any night this week. And Bailey and Addison are getting restless; you've barely left the house."

No response.

Morgan sighed and took the tub of salve out of the top drawer. She was supposed to apply it daily, but it appeared to have been forgotten about.

"Your forehead looks a bit sore." Morgan said pointedly, but still received no response. Not one to be put off, Morgan took one of Myrna's hands and gently applied a little of the blue gel to it. Myrna slowly turned her head to look at her assistant, a dazed look in her eyes. Morgan smiled slightly, but knew that they weren't there yet; though Myrna was paying attention now, the reaction was no more than a baby following a light around a room. Not that Morgan knew much about babies.

The assistant sat down on the window seat and gently dabbed the salve on to Myrna's damaged skin. Many people were shocked and horrified the first time they saw her face. She pretended that she wore the veil because she couldn't risk even the idea that he ought to be suspicious to enter her brothers' heads. But Morgan knew it was because it hurt her to see people recoil at her scars. Morgan had once fired a cleaner on the spot for staring at Myrna's un-gloved hands.

Morgan had been shocked the first time he saw her. He had literally been thrown in at the deep end, as she didn't wear a mask or veil during the interview, and had said years later that one of the reasons she had hired him was because of how well he handled himself around her. Morgan was no longer phased by his employer's looks. She was mesmerising to him. Where others saw damage, he saw a piece of artwork; he was forever seeing new patterns and meanings in the lines on her face. She didn't flinch away as he massaged the tight skin, though he knew he was probably hurting her.

"We'll find him, Myrna."

It felt oddly too familiar, being sat so close to her, offering her comforting words, calling her by her first name. In the beginning he had called her 'Miss Holmes', but she had requested he stop; she didn't want to risk anyone overhearing her answering to that name. He shouldn't be acting like her friend- he was just her employee after all. He thought that she was wonderful, but was very conscious of the professional distance he had to maintain. He'd go mad without it.

"And when we do, then what?" Myrna whispered in her husky voice. "I can't kill him."

It took Morgan half a second to work out what she was talking about. He had assumed that Myrna was worried about Sherlock, which she probably was, but apparently she was just as worried about James.

"He saved my life, Morgan. His presence is the reason I'm not dead. How can I kill him?"

Morgan knew the outline of how Myrna had sustained her injuries, but nobody had ever really told him the details. He knew enough to understand the reference she was making though; James had been stood at the end of the driveway with his father at the time of the explosion. Had he not been there then Myrna would have been inside the car when it blew up. It was a miracle she had survived as it was, there was no way she would have lived had that been the case.

He was saved from answering the question by the ringing of his work phone. Myrna's phone, technically; it was the number she gave out as her own. He glanced at the time and wondered who on earth would be calling him at this hour. It was an unknown number. Myrna had gone back to staring out of the window, so he answered the phone.

"Hello."

"He-hello? It's Molly. Hooper. You said to phone if I thought Sherlock was in danger. Well… he is. He needs your help."

Morgan stood in shock for a moment. Myrna noticed the change in his body language and turned to him, a questioning look on her face.

"Hold please." He told Molly.

"Morgan?" Myrna asked, more alert than she had been in hours.

"Molly Hooper. The woman who works in the lab your brother visits."

Myrna's eyes opened wide. She climbed to her feet and hobbled across to her desk, sitting in the carved wooden chair that sat behind it. Morgan sat the phone in front of her and put Molly on speaker phone.

"Miss Hooper," Morgan said, "you say Sherlock is in danger. What sort of danger?"

"He's… he's going to die." Molly's voice shook but there was no other way of interpreting her words.

"Where is he now? Is he with you?" Myrna asked.

"Yes, we're at my lab-" There was a man's voice in the distance as Sherlock spoke. Myrna visibly flinched and leaned in closer, straining to hear what he was saying. Morgan realised with a start that this must be the closest Myrna had been to her brother since they were children.

There was a rustling on the line and then it was Molly's voice that was background noise.

"Hello? Who are you? How do you know about me?" Sherlock had taken the phone and his voice filled the room. Myrna stared at the phone as if it might bite her and sat back in her chair, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Never mind that, Mr Holmes." Morgan said quickly, pretending not to notice how close to the melting point his employer was. "Miss Hooper said you are in danger. If we work together we can capture James Moriarty with minimal fallout."

"That won't be possible. I can't be saved, it's too late. Just… just save John. Moriarty targeted him before, he may still be a target even after I'm gone. After what happened to her he won't let me go."

"Nonsense, Mr Holmes" Myrna barked. Her voice was steady but her eyes were filling with tears. "Between us I'm sure we can work out his plan, and if we can do that then we can combat it." She made it sound so simple. Morgan knew that it would be no such thing.

"Why do you want to help me?" Sherlock asked.

"James Moriarty is a criminal Mr Holmes. Do you think you are the only person he has wronged?" She lied so smoothly. The assistant tried not to be concerned. "Now tell me what you know" she demanded.

"This is a personal vendetta. I wronged him. Do you still want to assist me?"

"Don't try my patience, Mr Holmes, I'm waiting."

"He has orchestrated my fall. It will be both metaphorical and literal. He has delivered a story to the world defaming me and labelling me a criminal and a liar and next he plans to kill me so that I die in disgrace. He has used references to a fall several times, planting what he thinks to be a subconscious thought in my head. He wants me to meet him somewhere high and presumably will push me off the edge. Falling is just like flying. Or so I am told."

Myrna looked a little startled. Morgan didn't understand why. Clearly these words meant more to her than they did to him. "A more permanent destination" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else, and certainly not loud enough for Sherlock to hear. She thought for a minute and then smiled a small smile, her eyes brightening ever so slightly. "Mr Holmes, do you know the story of Icarus?"

"Flew too close to the sun?"

"We're going to make you Daedalus."

There was another moment of silence. Morgan didn't quite understand. He vaguely knew the story of Icarus but wasn't sure who Daedalus was. The dad maybe? Sherlock appeared to understand though.

"Molly could sort out the wings…"

"I thought she might. I'll text you the details."

"John-"

"Text me his number. We'll keep him away."

"He won't believe it unless he sees it."

Myrna frowned, a hint of pain in her eyes. "You don't want him to know?"

"I want him safe. He'll be safer if he doesn't know."

Myrna took a deep breath. "He may never forgive you."

"I don't care. He'll be alive."

Myrna nodded, though she was clearly unhappy with the proposed setup. "Very well. We'll arrange it."

She ended the call and sat back in her chair. The phone beeped but she didn't check it. When she looked up again, her face was unreadable. She picked up her cane from beneath her desk and climbed to her feet.

"Come along, Morgan. Let's go and repeat history."

-TBC-