Sherlock turned and found a man standing in the doorway, looking nervous. He resembled Charles so closely that they had to be brothers.

"And how can you help me?"

The man shifted and paled when he glanced at his brother. "I'm, um, Peter. Peter Jr. I work at New Scotland Yard."

Sherlock found his patience rapidly wearing thin. "You have exactly ten seconds to tell me something. Ten."

"I-I helped-"

"Nine."

"-find a drug-"

"Eight."

"-to m-make it-"

"Seven."

"-look l-like he was dead."

Sherlock stopped in his countdown. A spark of hope ignited in his chest. "Look like?"

"Y-yes. Hydrochlorothiazide. It slows the heart rate and breath to the point where it seems like the vic-the person seems dead."

The detective took a step forward and grasped the man's lapels. "Are. You. Certain?"

Frantically, the man nodded. "Y-yes. And I can give you the antidote. If you help us."

Sherlock debated for a second. He could find the cure himself, but this would be faster. Releasing the man, he said, "Fine. What do you have?"

Closing the file, Sherlock admitted to himself that the family didn't need his help-they had enough evidence here to clear Mickey ten times over. "I'm going to take these to Detective Inspector Lestrade. He will finish the investigation. Now, tell me how to-"

"No," Peter Jr. said. "We'll give you the antidote once the DI has the file, and not before."

The consulting detective grit his teeth and clenched a fist. He desperately wanted to hurt this man, but there was a chance for John. "Very well," he growled. "I assume you're coming with me." The man nodded, and led Sherlock out to a garage. They climbed into a car. Silence reigned for the majority of the ride; unfortunately, Peter decided that talking was better.

"So, you're a PI, right?"

"No."

"Then what are you?"

Sherlock looked out the window, pointedly ignoring the other man. Right now, all he could think about was John. He could be alive! His blogger, his flatmate, his John could be alive.

Eventually, they reached New Scotland Yard. The duo went inside together, straight to Lestrade's office.

"Sherlock! What are you-"

"No time to talk, Detective," Sherlock interrupted. He dropped the file on Lestrade's desk. "This is for the case you showed me earlier. I'll talk to you later."

He spun around and ignored Lestrade's calls to return. Peter Jr. drove him to St. Bart's and parked at the curb. "Thank you," he said. "You have no idea how much this means to my family. We-"

"The antidote," Sherlock cut him off. The other nodded, and handed him a vial of clear liquid.

"Just inject this in his chest and wait. It should work fairly quickly-"

The car door slammed shut before he could finish. Sherlock was already through the hospital doors.