When Mycroft arrived, it was with Lestrade in tow. Sherlock was seated in his chair, lost in contemplation – John and company had retired home several hours earlier.

"Your minion is ensconced with Molly in John's old room," Sherlock said to Mycroft by way of greeting, "I believe they're lacquering their nails if the giggling and fumes emanating from the room are any indicator." He gestured for Lestrade to pull up a chair when Mycroft sat in John's old chair.

"Yes," Mycroft agreed, "She likes your pathologist."

A hint of a smile curved Sherlock's mouth before he flicked his eyes over at Lestrade, "This is delightfully domestic, brother dear but shouldn't DI Lestrade be with the Watsons?"

Lestrade sighed heavily, handing Sherlock a clear plastic bag full of materials. "I'll be going there shortly, I promised Anderson," Sherlock glanced up at him at the mention of the forensic expert, "that I'd bring that to start you."

Sherlock reached over, pulling a small card table over in front of him and dumped the contents onto its surface. His deft fingers scattered the items, examining them and discarding them randomly. His brow furrowed as he picked up the memory stick, "Odd that hired muscle would have a USB drive." He stood, walked over to the table which was littered with papers and pulled out a laptop.

As he started the laptop, Mycroft asked, "Is that wise?"

Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh, his voice droll as he explained, "I keep this one for dangerous tasks – it lacks a network card, no modem – all outside access has been removed."

Mycroft shifted in his seat, leaning forward to watch his younger sibling, "And if the purpose is to transmit data?"

Sherlock sighed again, "Dull. If its purpose is to transmit data, we'll see some semblance of an error message." As the laptop flashed to life, he sat down and slipped the memory stick into a USB port. After a moment, a small black window appeared on the screen and a script ran almost too fast for Sherlock to read and a small error window appeared before the screen blanked and the laptop rebooted. Sherlock watched with rapt attention as the laptop ran through its system BIOS and tried to start the computer, he was hardly surprised when the screen stayed black, cursor blinking at him mockingly. "Now isn't that interesting," he observed.

"It wiped the drive," Mycroft stated, puzzled, "what could be so important that they would break into the morgue, attempt to abscond with the pathologist and then delete the hard-drive of some unspecified computer."

Sherlock blinked, staring at the computer for a moment before rushing to his feet and pacing at rapid speed up the stair to John's old room. She sat on the bed, cotton stuffed between toes, laughing at something Anthea had said. She paused when she noticed him, her smile fading when she saw the expression on his face, "What is it, Sherlock?"

"The computer in your office," he asked, "How many people have access to it?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, lost in thought, "Myself, Mike Stamford, the other four pathologists that regularly work out of the morgue." She paused, her eyes snapping open, "Technically four orderlies and then cleaning staff." She blinked, "This isn't about me. This was all about the computer."

He nodded slightly, inclining his head to the right, "Possibly, but doubtful, you're part of this as well. If I'm right, there was something on the computer that they desperately wanted to destroy or control." He leaned against the door jamb, his eyes distant as he thought through several different possibilities. This could prove to be totally unrelated to the Moriarty video, opportunism at its finest, he thought before discarding it, no, the timing was far to precise. The video aired at the exact time the plane taxied down the tarmac, the assault on Molly occurred at the same time. What could be on the computer that was so critical, he mused.

"Autopsy reports," Molly said, when he focused on her and stared blankly, she explained, "You asked what was on the computer that was critical, autopsy reports. One set in paper, one in the hospital database and one in the morgue computer for backup."

"Mycroft," he called out, as he strode away, "we need to get someone to collect the computer at the morgue. England's safety could depend on it."

This brings the story on fanfiction up to date with what's currenty posted on Ao3. I tend to post chapters there for a few days before updating here. As always, thanks go to HeayPuckett who beta reads for me.