I know it's been indecently long since I updated – I'm sorry but writer's block is a stubborn guest and until a week ago I was scared even to open the document. I know I promised an ending in just two more chapters but that doesn't seem possible.

Thanks to all the reviews, follows and favorites – if not for them, I'd never have opened that document. Thanks to MizJoely for being an awesome beta :)

All rights to BBC, Moffat and Gattis. I hope you enjoy the story. Please R&R :)


Molly was leaving Bart's when she got the text from Sherlock. "Come to 221B as quickly as possible – need to discuss the Insomnia case" it said. Insomnia case, huh? That sounds like a normal name. Looks like John hasn't gotten hold of the case yet. Anyway how did he know I just got out of the hospital? Stupid question – he probably has my schedule painted in garish red on a wall in his bloody memory palace, she thought as she stood waiting for a cab.

Once she got to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock didn't waste time being the ideal host. The moment she sat down on the sofa usually occupied by John, he started pacing in front of the fireplace, hands behind his back, talking rapidly.

"I can't personally pay the doctor a visit because he'd recognize me from the papers. If he has anything to hide, he'll become very careful and that won't help us. Here's the plan. You go visit him at his office, say you're a fan of his work, wanted to meet him for a long while, you know give him the whole works," he said, waving his left hand in the air. He continued speaking: "After you've sufficiently buttered him up, ask him for a tour of the facility. Once he's out I'll break into his office and see what I can find out. Agreed?" he asked her, eyes locked on her face.

While he was talking, Molly was sitting in the sofa, with a straight back, still clutching her bag and files, looking at Sherlock with rapt attention on her face. After he finished talking, it occurred to her that she probably looked like an eager student to him and so she relaxed her shoulders, placed her bag and files on the arm of the sofa, and leaned back to make herself more comfortable.

Sherlock noticed all these changes with a small amused smirk on his face. Before he could say anything, however, Molly started talking. "Yes, meet him, flatter him and get him out of the office – clear. How long should I keep him out of the office?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Twenty minutes should be sufficient. I'll text you if I need longer, so don't put your phone on silent. Now, the reason I really called you here is to hear the case from you, in your own words."

Molly opened her mouth to interrupt, but before she could say anything he rushed on: "Yes, yes, I know you sent me an e-mail but hearing it usually helps. Gives you the opportunity to be thorough about your case and gives me the chance to ask you follow-up questions. So…begin," he said, sitting down on his usual seat and assuming his customary praying mantis pose.

Molly took a moment to get her bearings, then did as he asked. "The mother, Abigail March, was a textbook case and had all the symptoms of fatal familial insomnia. She was divorced a long time ago, so the man she was living with when she died was not her daughter Dawn's father. Abigail was rich. She had her own consulting firm and made a lot of money. She died within one and a half years of getting the first symptoms."

She paused, and when Sherlock didn't say anything, continued. "The daughter died of the same disease. At first I didn't find it suspicious because it's a genetic disease, but when I started reading the details, a lot of things weren't making sense. The daughter is a teenager but familial insomnia does not develop at that age. Also, the report says that she died after being shifted to the hospital – "

"Why should that be suspicious? Maybe her situation was getting worse and she needed continuous medical attention," Sherlock droned, without even opening his eyes.

"There's nothing a hospital can do to stop familial insomnia, the best that can be done is easing the symptoms and that just buys time – eventually the patient dies. A person with her expiry date very much visible to her, would be more comfortable in her own home, don't you think?"

"That's just subjective Molly, doesn't prove anything – "

"The reason cited in the report for shifting her to the hospital," Molly replied in a tone that she was struggling to keep even, "was what you said, that she was getting worse, but the specifics weren't mentioned. A medical report should be exhaustive. The symptoms should be clearly mentioned and reasons should be given for every action the doctor takes. In the case of familial insomnia, there are endless ways the patient can get worse – insanity due to insomnia, organ failure due to physical stress, respiratory problems – a particular reason was never mentioned in the report."

Though he still didn't open his eyes, a small frown appeared on his face. His experience told him that a vague medical report would seem suspicious. Looking at Sherlock's face, Molly grew more confident. She continued speaking.

"She was moved to the hospital approximately two months after her symptoms appeared. Though familial insomnia acts at varying speeds in different patients, two months is still early for any fatal symptoms to appear. And the strangest thing is, she degenerated rapidly once she was shifted to the hospital. In these cases, techniques like meditation and psychological counseling usually help to at least lengthen the patient's life, but it doesn't look like they were used, because she died within four months of entering the hospital. There was no one to request an autopsy, so one was never performed. So…that's it. The report leaves too many questions unanswered," she finished, looking at Sherlock with a hopeful expression.

Sherlock maintained his mantis pose but slowly opened his eyes and looked at Molly with a small smile on his face. "Give me the real reason, Molly."

"I gave all of them, didn't I? There's nothing else," she said in a slightly defensive voice, pressing back in to the sofa and crossing her arms.

"Really Molly? You're going to lie to me?" he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Molly looked at him with mounting hesitation but finally caved in and started speaking in a low, reluctant tone, shifting her gaze to the floor.

"She was alone Sherlock, her mother was gone, her dad far away. The only two persons, who took care of her – her stepfather and the doctor – weren't related to her. It's just that, it seems too convenient for her stepfather, Mark Davis – both of them died leaving him the sole beneficiary of approximately two million pounds. Everything worked out too well for him to be considered an act of Providence. I got suspicious and now I can't stop thinking about it. I have to know the truth…" she finished speaking and looked up expecting to find a sneer on his face. Instead, she was a little taken aback to find him staring at her thoughtfully. He didn't look like he was going to talk any time soon so she said hesitantly, "So…am I wrong in being suspicious?"

Her question snapped him out of his reverie and he suddenly sat back, with his back straight as he started speaking in his usual clipped tones, "No, no…you're not. Foul play cannot be ruled out. If it is a murder then the explanation seems simple enough but I can't come to any conclusions without tying up some loose ends. Yes, there's some leg work to be done."

He stood up, walked to the window and while staring outside, continued to speak to Molly. "The plan still stands. You get him out of his office and clear the way for me. I thought investigating the office would be sufficient, but looks like there's more to be done. That's it for now Molly, I'll contact you when I have anything more to share."

That sounded like a dismissal to Molly so she stood up and picked up all her stuff. When her hand was on the door knob, Sherlock, still at the window, turned partially around to look at her and remind her with a rather rakish smile on his face, "Ah, Molly, you do remember the terms of our agreement, don't you? Let's not burden poor Terry anymore."

Molly didn't even turn around but threw him a sullen, "Right" and all but stomped out of the flat.

Sherlock chuckled at the rage apparent in her gait and stood looking down at her as she waited on the pavement outside for a cab. There was a curious expression on his face. Those who didn't know him would've called it an appreciative gaze. Had he been there, John would've promptly told them, "No…he's probably just thinking about a triple homicide" and usually he would be right. But this time the thoughts that accompanied that look were much more…normal. Your sparring needs a lot more training Molly…You thirst for truth, do you my dear? Dear?! Where the deuce did that come from?!