MAJOR spoilers for the new season. You have been warned.

I am personally SO happy with the beginning to the new season. I cannot believe I'm saying this, but it was worth the wait. I watched it twice, best 3 hours ever. Anyway, I am planning on doing LOTS of art from this, starting here!

Enjoy =D

P.S. If there are mistakes, forgive me. I'm very tired now and it is 3:22 AM precisely.

Sherlock Holmes had a heart. A strong, athletically trained (from all that running, climbing, and jumping of course) moderately healthy considering the abuse it had had to take, heart. After all, he was still young.

Sherlock Holmes' heart beat at fifty beats per minute when at rest, and upwards to near two hundred when he was running really hard. These were the facts. He'd never had a murmur or a skipped beat in his life- Sherlock's heart was as practical to his uses and as mechanical as the rest of him.

Or so he thought.

The first one to notice that Sherlock Holmes possessed a much more tender heart than anyone else ever thought was Mrs. Hudson. Sure, Mycroft in his own way had noticed a kind of vulnerable and soft spot near his brother's impenetrable center, but he possessed the same rational that Sherlock did and paid little attention. Mrs. Hudson on the other hand saw something in this callous young detective, the way his silvery eyes sparked with excitement when he would talk of his work, however morbid. A spark only comes from a flame, she knew. And Sherlock's flame burned brighter than many she'd met. She was reminded of this as Sherlock faced her and her attackers in the very flat he'd lived in for the past several months.

He'd told her to stop crying (after all, it wouldn't stop the flight of the bullet aimed for her brain), in the way an annoyed parent might tell a child to stop crying. But his voice was that of the parent who tells his child to stop crying because he doesn't like to see her hurt or scared. Even though Sherlock is far under Mrs. Hudson in years, there is an unmistakable aura of protectiveness and worry radiating off of his body, and as he approaches her and his fingers ghost over her hands, she feels how very warm and human and gentle the normally calculating digits are.

He is infinitely more gentle as he crouches down in front of her, his clear eyes rife with concern, his fingers touching her cheek as though she might break. The same hands that violently took down her attacker and had apprehended a hundred more now cupped her cheek with a tenderness people said a man with no heart could not possess.

The second person to notice that Sherlock had a heart was John Watson. His flat mate's stony disregard for human emotion and human needs had angered him to the point of confrontation in the past, (There are lives at stake Sherlock, actual human lives. Just so I know, do you care about that at all?) but there was no mistaking the concern (and was that panic?) that preyed on his flat mate when he first emerged with a bomb strapped to his chest and a madman whispering in his ear, threatening to stop him, stop his heart. John sensed from Sherlock that had Moriarty stopped his physical heart, the action would have stopped Sherlock's very real heart in the process, probably for good.

Months later and all of John's annoyance at Sherlock's unfeeling attitude towards his various clients melted away when he saw the vulnerability Sherlock displayed not when a gun was pointed at his own chest, but at John's neck. He still cared. And after that John was always careful to explain Sherlock as, well, Sherlock. Not heartless. Never that. Because John had witnessed Sherlock's heart and it was very real. It was just enclosed in layers and layers of reason and logic, and the fact that it still burned brightly under all of that proved its strength. Sherlock only chose to show his heart to a select few.

Molly Hooper was the third person to see Sherlock's heart. She'd always hoped he had one, under all his obliviousness and attractive frame, but she didn't actually see it until he'd torn her heart in two finitely. (You always say the meanest things..) His always calculating gaze had started to melt, something that Molly had never before witnessed. She didn't realize that Sherlock had another side, even though she desperately wanted him to. (I'm sorry. Forgive me.) Was he feeling? (Merry Christmas Molly.) Sherlock leaned forward and touched her on his own for the first time, his lips gently kissing her cheek. She knew then that it was hopeless, she would never have Sherlock in the way she really wanted, but this was enough. She'd seen his heart in that apology, in that melting of his icy eyes and intellect, and in that kiss. She didn't feel like a schoolgirl with a crush anymore. She'd seen something few others had, and that was privilege enough.

Sherlock Holmes found out he had a heart when he felt it race in the worry that John would say behind his back what he'd always feared he thought. Standing behind his wall of crates and beams, Sherlock fingered his phone, waiting for the inevitable text from either John or the woman he was talking to. At first, Sherlock was merely interested to find out where John had gone. (It was painfully obvious that it wasn't Mycroft, think, John!) The smell of Irene made his pulse jump in excitement as a stab of adrenaline reacted to feelings he wasn't used to. He was angry and excited and hurt all in the same moment that he hadn't known that she was still alive. (He should have known, but she fooled him again, isn't that marvelous! He'd grieved that such a mind was lost before he could prove his match with it…a mind like that deserved to live.)

The next emotion he'd felt was fear. John was talking about his habits, about his sad music, his talking to the television but no one else. (I'd say he was heartbroken except-) Sherlock felt his stomach drop sickeningly. John thought the same as everyone else. (except he's got no heart) But, that's not what John said. Sherlock rewound the conversation, momentarily distracted by his own need to know. (except he does that stuff anyway.) That's it? Sherlock felt himself sag with relief. John had no idea he was here, why would he temper his words to keep Sherlock in the dark? The solution was the only probable answer, that John never did have Sherlock in the dark in the first place.

The deduction caused Sherlock to let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding captive, and as he focused his attention back on John and Irene, he couldn't help but bring his hand up to flatten his palm over the center of his chest. His heart was pumping stronger than before, and not because of physical exertion, but because of emotion. This confused Sherlock at first- he understood the mechanics of adrenaline, emotional stimuli, and chemical reactions in the brain, but this was a different experience, divorced from the clinical and logical approach. Sherlock was experiencing his heart for the first time, the very core that drove him but hid itself from most others. Even from him.

Until now.