Hi friends! I am back with the next chapter. Loads and loads of thanks to all of you who have read my work and let me know your opinions. This chapter is Sherlock centric. He is finally coming in terms with his feelings. Hope you like this chapter as well!

CHAPTER 2

Sherlock was leaning his back against the helicopter seat, looking at the sky. He had not said a word after Eurus was sent back to Sherrinford, secure this time, as Mycroft would like to state it.

The whole dealings of the incidents had shaken Sherlock to the core. He no longer knew how to feel or what to feel. All he could process was a rush of all consuming guilt, sorrow and loss. Victor- he could not stop thinking about him. He was carrying the remains of his bones with him. The least he could do for him was to give him a proper funeral. Why was he dead? Sherlock asked himself. "Because of me. I was so engrossed with my own happiness that I didn't think about my sister, that she also needed someone to play with. She needed ME to play with. She needed me."

Sherlock closed his eyes and exhaled a long, tired breath. All his sister had wanted was his love and affection and she had been so desperate for it that she had chosen such a crooked way! What was he going to do now? Leaving her alone was out of the question. She had been alone throughout her whole life up to this point and she was not going back to that monstrous loneliness. Not in his watch. He would be with her. No matter what, he was not going to leave his sister anymore.

"You should really stop thinking now, you know. You've been through a lot." His eyes snapped open at Mycroft's words. Mycroft had fallen asleep the moment they had taken their seats in the helicopter. The ice man was finally melting. All it had taken was six hours of confinement in their sister's old cell, with a dead body lying on the floor and the wall smeared with blood and insides of human brain.

Sherlock looked at his brother. Fatigue and shock were written all over his face. He wondered for the first time how it would be like to be Mycroft all the time. It must be hell of a job to be at the service of the government and your own stupid little brother, who thought himself above all "silly sentiments" but actually was an emotional wreck underneath! Had Sherlock ever thanked his brother for being there?

"How are you feeling? You were quite shaken when we got you out." He said to his elder brother.

"I am fine." Mycroft smiled a little.

"You are not a good liar Mycroft." Sherlock countered him a bit sternly "Just say how the hell you are actually feeling for once."

Mycroft sighed. "I am not sure, Sherlock.", he looked at his younger brother, "But I will be okay."

"Yes you will."

Sherlock closed his eyes again. His head was throbbing in pain, but he had more pressing matters in his hands than to fancy some rest so that it would go away. He had a lot to process.

"He is right, you know." John's voice made Sherlock look at his best friend. "You really need to stop thinking and have some rest.", John said, concern clearly evident in his voice.

Sherlock sighed. "Are you okay now?" , he asked. John had been through hell throughout the whole ordeal. Sherlock took a mental note to make sure the doctor didn't go through PTSD again. That was the least he could do for the soldier, who had kept him sane while he had been being sliced into pieces by his lost, so lost sister.

"No I am not okay yet.", John replied truthfully, "But I will be once I get to see Rosie.", he smiled.

"Yes you will." , Sherlock also smiled at the thought of his goddaughter.

"And you will also be okay Sherlock." , John said reassuringly.

Now that was something Sherlock was no longer sure about. He sighed and closed his eyes again. Probably Mycroft and John were right. He should stop thinking for the time being. He would be able to think more clearly without the sickening headache.

Sherlock tried to resign his mind from all thoughts. But, he couldn't. One very particular feeling didn't let him not think about anything at all. He had never imagined that of all people, he, Sherlock Holmes, the self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath would experience this ever. Even then, he thought, it had not meant to be this way! This wasn't hoe he had wanted to have this realization, even if he had never wanted to have this feeling at all.

He could not erase out the coffin from his head. The thought that it could have been Molly's coffin made him flinch internally. Molly Hooper, his pathologist, the one who could see through his bullshits anytime. The image of her pain stricken face just after the phone call had ended was still as clear as day in his mind. She had pleaded repeatedly to stop, leave her alone- and what had Sherlock done? He had broken her, crushed her once again. He really had no idea why she loved him out of all people, when all he had given her was pain, sorrow and stress!

He was feeling a fresh new wave of guilt again for what Molly had had to go thorough because of him, because she loved him. But he felt something even more than guilt. GRATITUDE. Sherlock was really grateful that his dearest and kind pathologist still loved him. Because this time, he knew for sure, it was not like that horrible Christmas. This time it was all different, because this time, the love wasn't one sided anymore.

Sherlock had not anticipated that Molly would make him say it first. When she had, he had felt like he had been punched in the guts. Emotions had never been his area, as he had liked to make himself believe. So when the table had been turned to him, he had felt clueless. Only thirty seconds had been left, so he had had no other alternative way to make it work. He had had to say it. As he had started to say those words, realizations had been hitting him hard. With the passing of every precious second, he had started to realize why those pair of brown doe eyes had distracted him every now and then, why, how Molly does her hair, had been something he had never missed to notice and wanted to delete, why, out of all people, he had chosen Molly Hooper when he had had to fake his own death, why the knowledge of Molly being engaged (taken away, according to him) had caused him a solid three days of sleepless nights and twinge of unknown pain in his chest. He had understood very well what exactly he had wanted to mean by "the one person who mattered the most".

He had been so busy in making deductions about what all those realizations had been meaning that he barely managed to say it coherently for the first time. "I…. I... love you." And just after had had said it, he had known that it was nothing but the absolute truth of his soul. Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, loved Molly Hooper. The second time he had said it, he had meant each syllable of it from the core of his heart. He had said it because he had wanted to speak his heart out to Molly, and so he had said it.

"I love you."

Sherlock opened his eyes again and looked out. "Do something while you still have a chance." – He remembered John's words from not-so-long-ago. He was indeed going to do something this time. He would make a move. Hiding and denying his feelings had done very little good to him so far. So this time he would open up. He would let Molly know that he wanted to walk together with her from now on. They would walk together. No matter how difficult it was for him to be a family person, he would try his best, and with the help of Molly, he would succeed in it.

A.N.: So, the second chapter is done! Sherlock has finally understood how much his pathologist means to him. Will he succeed to make Molly know how he feels? Will she believe him? Let us see what happens in the next chapter.

Please do feel free to rectify my flaws. Let me know if you liked this chapter. Have fun! J