"Do we have a cause of death?"

"Heart attack," Molly murmured, her brows furrowed as she pressed her finger against Grace's neck. Lestrade walked around to the other side of the table, sitting down on a metal stool.

"Heart attack. You sure?" He said, his face puzzled.

"Yes," Molly said quietly, meeting Sherlock's gaze from the other side of Grace's corpse. She bit her lip, nodding towards Lestrade.

"She's only twenty five. A bit young for that, I'd say," Lestrade said, sighing as walked over to the body's side. "It's a shame."

"I need to think," Sherlock muttered, running his fingers through his hair. He looked up, gazing at Lestrade expectantly.

"What?"

"Please."

"Please what?"

"I said please."

"Sherlock, I'm not leaving. If you need space, there's a perfectly good hallway outside the door over…"

"WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, INSPECTOR!" Sherlock shouted, pointing towards the door. Lestrade glared for a moment, then turned to leave. They watched as he slammed the door shut behind him.

"Problem solved," Sherlock said, turning to Molly. "What is it?"

"She's not dead," Molly whispered, rummaging around in the cabinet behind her.

"Sodium Triphosphate," Sherlock murmured. "The EMT's couldn't detect her heartbeat."

"Or her breathing. But she needs a counteractant soon, or she won't make it," Molly said, grabbing a vile from the cabinet and shaking it. "I didn't want Lestrade here because…well, I'm pretty sure it was…"

"…self-administered," Sherlock paused, gazing at Grace's face. "She wanted the EMT's to think she was dead."

"But why?"

"Well, she obviously counted on someone she knew finding her. Before it became fatal," he paused, watching as Molly poured the mixure into a syringe. "She wanted to disappear."

"I thought…I thought she was safe?" Molly said, sliding the needle into her forearm.

"Safe is relative," Sherlock said quietly. "You're never safe."

They waited a moment, watching as Grace's eyelids eventually fluttered open, her breath returning as she glanced between the two of them.

"Afternoon," Sherlock said as Grace rubbed her eyes.

"Mr. Holmes? What…where am I?"

"The morgue."

"Oh." She paused, propping herself up on her elbows as she took in her surroundings.

"Who's after you, Grace?" Sherlock asked, looking at Grace.

"Where's Riley?"

"Riley?"

"Agent Oliver Riley," she said, eyes widening. "Didn't you know?"

"About what?"

"The ministry…" she paused, glancing nervously at Molly.

"Molly can keep a secret," Sherlock said, looking at Molly. "Continue."

"Some of Anokhin's connections from Russia located me. They came to my apartment the other night and tried to…well, the ministry had an agent posted on watch, so everything turned out okay. But they decided that it wasn't safe for me here anymore," she paused, glancing at the floor. "They were going to send me to the U.S…make it look like I had died of a heart attack. They told me Agent Riley was supposed to show up after the EMT's declared me dead, then take me back to headquarters."

"Who informed you of this, Miss Novikov?"

"Two agents from the ministry showed up at my flat and talked me it last night. They gave me the drug, too. Told me how to use it and when to take it."

"Did they give you identification?"

"Yes, of course."

"Wait a moment," Molly said, scanning a print-out lying on the lab table. "The sodium triphosphate in her system isn't formulated quite like the traditional medical compound," she paused, glancing at Sherlock. "Somebody made this in their own lab."

"What do you mean?" Grace asked, looking from Sherlock to Molly with wide eyes.

"It means that this," Sherlock said, sliding the catalyst solution from the lab table's steel surface. "Was Anokhin's doing. Or at least his bratva's." He paused, turning to Grace. "Chances are they're looking for you now, and it won't take them long to find you here."

"So, what do we…"

"Keys?" Sherlock said, turning to Molly.

"What?"

"Keys. To the car."

"What car?"

"Your car."

"I…I don't have it. It's in the shop for repairs," Molly said quickly. Sherlock muttered to himself, grabbing his phone from the counter.

"We can't take a cab. Too risky," he said, holding the phone to his ear after he'd dialed. "John, I need Sarah's car." He paused, rolling his eyes. "Yes…yes, I'm aware…why would she mind? You said…John, this is important…no…yes, I checked…yes…why would I ask Lestrade?" Sherlock said angrily, glancing at the door. "He's…yes, I know, but I can't have him screwing everything up and getting someone killed…alright, fine then!" Sherlock yelled into the phone, hanging up and stuffing it back into his coat.

"Sherlock, I've been waiting out here for ten minutes," Lestrade said as he reentered the room. His face grew pale as his eyes met Grace's. "Sherlock, why is…"

"I don't have time to waste explaining the situation, so don't ask questions," Sherlock said, reaching for his scarf hanging from a hook in the wall. "Get Mycroft on the phone and tell him I need him here immediately. Tell him to meet me at the hospital's back entrance."

"What, you think I have your brother on speed-dial? Why don't you call…"

"Are you think I have that creature's phone number? Please, inspector. It pains me enough to have to ask him for help." He turned to Molly and Grace. "I'll meet you in the back. Use the stairs, not the elevator."

"Where are you going," Molly asked as she helped Grace up from her seat.

"I'll meet you there," Sherlock said quickly, glancing back at Molly. "Just…just be careful."