hello everyone! this fic is near to its final chapters.. I would just want to thank those who appreciated this and I hope to still have your support 'til the end! :) never hesitate to message me or reach out through here or via my tumblr under the same url. :) ~throughtheparadox

Fear. There was something about this emotion that Sherlock found intriguing. It was something self-induced, abstract and yet very telling. If one was to think about it, fear is something purely conceptualised by the mind. It was the association the brain makes between certain sensations and objects or situations that makes it exist.

And yet, fear is powerful enough to paralyse and destroy someone in all aspects possible.

Irene still lay on the hospital bed, at least 48 hours after the incident in Baker Street. Sherlock listened impatiently to the beeping of the heart rate monitor, the note he found feeling heavy in his coat pocket.

'DID YOU LIKE WHAT I DID TO YOUR PRECIOUS IRENE? TOO BAD. I MISSED HER HEART. OR DID I?'

Sherlock gritted his teeth in anger. This was different. He couldn't recognise the handwriting.

At first, his thoughts immediately directed to James Moriarty-but the handstrokes and the pen pressure was different on this one. He tried to mentally match the curves and points of the letters to the note Moriarty had slipped him back when he was pretending to be 'Jim from the IT'.

He was certain of its difference, but he wouldn't let the idea go. If not James, then who?

Of course he knew that Irene had a lot of enemies, but back in Karachi, he had helped her fix her 'death' and new identity (with a bit of Mycroft's help-but he wouldn't want to admit that out loud). Lucia Bennett suddenly existed and Mycroft made sure he reminded Sherlock of this favour with every chance he's got.

Sherlock almost resented Mycroft when he initially refused to hear about what happened to Irene, but after pinning him to the wall with his arm about to be broken (thankfully, John didn't came into the room), Mycroft agreed to 'help'.

The detective went back to the chair next to the bed, his hand automatically reaching for Irene's.

Without makeup, Sherlock could see the freckles on her face. He stared at them, memorising every detail, every plane, every spectacle. Her breathing seemed to be steadier than the previous day and Sherlock felt a slight air of relief.

Mary and John brought him a duffel bag with his clothes, knowing that even the British Army could not make him leave Irene's side. He smiled at the thought, considering how understanding everyone was of the situation. They all seemed surprised, though, Sherlock had noticed.

When Lestrade visited him the previous night, the detective inspector kept on muttering 'You and her...? Erm... I just... Wow...' which made him immensely annoyed. But deep inside him, he knew that Lestrade would help. (Was it Gavin or Gordon?) has always helped him.

Molly also passed by earlier the day, assuring him that if he ever needed anything, she would help.

"She's very lovely, Sherlock. I remember that conversation we had one time when you were gone.. And... Irene is very special." Molly told him [A/N: Part Three of this fic ^^].

Sherlock looked up at the pathologist, knowing how he had dismissed her all this time. At that moment he resented himself. "Molly... I know that I have been rude and-"

He stopped midsentence when he saw Molly laugh softly. "Oh Sherlock! If... Oh dear. I know. You don't have to apologise. I... I found someone. Not a psychopath-or a high functioning sociopath," Sherlock smiled at this, "He's a good man... Not that you're not good and erm.. You will always be special to me, Sherlock. But I am happy now. I truly am."

Sherlock gave Molly a kiss on the cheek and a very awkward hug. Again, as he said in John's wedding, he can be rude, mean and insensitive... To have these people come to his support was something he couldn't comprehend and yet he was grateful.

Snapping him out of his reverie was Irene's soft whimper. He saw her fidget slightly, her eyes fluttering open.

"Sherlock?" she mused, her voice soft and cracking.

The detective stood from his seat and leaned to her closer. "How are you feeling?"

Irene gave him a weak smile. "Well... I'm fine considering the fact that I'm in a hospital bed with these needles attached to my arteries and these bandages wrapped around my head and body."

Sherlock smiled back. "Are you hungry?"

"Asking me to dinner, Mr. Holmes?" Irene quipped.

Unable to help himself, Sherlock kissed her softly. "Ever the charmer, Ms. Adler."

Irene tried to sit up but she started to writhed in pain at the effort. Sherlock helped her set her back on the bed once more.

"Just rest." he told her.

He took out his phone and texted John, telling him that Irene was already awake. John replied immediately, telling him that he and Mary would rush off to the hospital right away.

When he told Irene this, she smiled widely. "And I thought John hated me." she joked, holding his hand.

"He had reasons why he acted why he acted. He told me." Sherlock replied.

"Jealousy, most likely." Irene said, laughing softly and regretted it. Pain shot up her ribs at the action.

He told her of the things that had happened when she was asleep, ranting mostly about how Lestrade seemed so surprised.

"Even Anderson came... I can see he fancied you even while you were in that state. The fumbling fingers and beads of sweat on his forehead can tell as much." he hissed and Irene tried not to laugh once more.

"Anderson?" Irene asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just some non-believer turned obsessed fan." he replied. Irene wanted to ask him what he meant but his expression told her not to.

Almost 2 hours had passed and still no sign of John and Mary. Irene's brows furrowed, "Sherlock, dear, why don't you call them? I... I have a bad feeling about this."

Irene's worry made Sherlock wonder. He did as he was told, only to reach the last ring. No answer. Texting his friend, Sherlock felt Irene's hand trembling on his.

A few moments later, his phone beeped. A text from John, finally.

As he read the message open, Sherlock almost grew cold in shock and Irene's eyes grew wide in horror.

'HAD A LITTLE ACCIDENT ARRANGED FOR MR. AND MRS. WATSON. DON'T WORRY, I'LL TAKE CARE OF THEM PERSONALLY. WHO'S NEXT, SHERLOCK? CARE TO GUESS?'