Hiya guys! So this is my first ever story I've written with multiple chapters. I haven't the slightest idea as to how well I write when it comes to this sort of thing. I've gone for more of a fluffy Sherlolly with a dash of angst (I think) for my first chapter just to see how it goes. I would really appreciate your input (no pun intended), and I would love to hear your reviews. Any suggestions you have on like character development. plot, or anything like that I would love to hear! Thanks guys! Love you!

P.S. I think there might be one or two words misspelled. If so, I am terribly sorry. I'm still improving on my spelling skills at the moment. I thought writing a story would help.

Okay, go read and enjoy!

-Abby 3

Three years have passed, and he had finally decided to return to London. Three, long, lonely years had gone by bringing nothing but the yearning for the people he cared about. Taking down the network presented him with the challenge of protecting his friends who were once already threatened with death. It was something harder than he expected. He wasn't aloud to have any contact with them, until he returned to London. Sherlock's anticipation for the day where he would return home grew as each day came and passed.

Weeks before this day had come, he would occasionally return to London to check on Mrs. Hudson, John, and Lestrade for a quick moment. Sometimes it irked him how much he cared about them. He had become a changed man, after killing people who he knew had families that loved them dearly. Those were the moments that never left him, and haunted his dreams every night.

Mrs. Hudson looked as she was back to her normal life again, watching crap telly and baking. John appeared to have a new girlfriend who had moved in to 221b with him, and Lestrade had gotten back together with his wife and had soon divorced.

There was one person he had always had a certain fondness for. That person had always been there for Sherlock from the beginning. He had been a fool not to notice her loyalty for him all of those years. Sadly, he couldn't keep in contact with her either because it would compromise her safety and his. She had always been in Sherlock's life, but he had never taken any special notice in her. But ever since Sherlock knew that he would die, a certain spark was ignited, and he had a whole new perception on his dear pathologist. No more was she the shy and timid mouse that lived in the morgue, she was the one who counted. She was Molly Hooper.

Whenever he would check on her, he would take his time. He would watch her perform her nightly routines, get all snuggled into bed, and sit there in the soft light of her bedside lamp reading a book. All of those times where he had wished that he told her how beautiful she was in the morgue all of those times, or told her how much she meant to him every time he saw her face. Sherlock also stayed longer than he should have most nights. After watching her get all snuggled up, he would watch her just slowly drift off into a deep sleep. He would always think about her peaceful expression, but how worried she must be feeling about him risking his life every day for her and everyone else.

But one particular, very unexpected day, something was just not right. Was it the way she performed her nightly routine? No it couldn't be. Was it the way she held herself when she walked. No, not that. What could it be then? And then it happened. Just as she was snuggling herself into bed as she always did, Sherlock noticed she had to begin to uncontrollably sob.

From the rooftop across from her apartment, he began to reach out but quickly took his hand back. This was the kind of torchure Sherlock went through, watching the people who are near and dear to him become so utterly sad, and knowing he couldn't comfort any single one of them. Sherlock watched as her body uncontrollably shook with every heart wrenching sob. Slowly, and painfully, he watched as the only woman he would ever love, cry herself to sleep.

A million thoughts ran through his head. He thought, maybe it was him who was making her cry. And in that moment, Sherlock knew what he had to do. It would be all he would ever do for her, never make her cry again. If he ever did thought, it would be the one thing he would regret for the rest of his life.

Sherlock had realized how much of a fool he had been not to do this before the fall. He had realized that not taking a chance on Molly before it was too late was probably the worst mistake he had ever made. He had realized he had been a fool for not seeing what was really there, but for seeing the mask she had made for herself so that she would never get hurt.

"It was my fault," he mumbled softly, "not yours."

So, What do you think so far?