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John entered the flat ten minutes after Sherlock, having purchased a sandwich downstairs. The detective had left him waiting in the queue and demanded he bring coffee. When John closed the door behind him, he found the other man just putting his phone in his pocket.

"Has something come up?" John asked, curiously eyeing the phone in the suit pocket.

"Ah, erm, no. Nothing new in the case." Sherlock sounded weird. But before John could enquire further, his flatmate tossed him some files.

"Now we know what sorts of things we have to look for in these. I expect your medically trained eye to be equally good at finding irregularities as mine. Try to find patterns" Sherlock smirked. John shook his head. I'm pretty sure that was supposed to be a compliment.

_.:0:._

Two o'clock. Molly was grabbing her keys and coat and left her flat. She didn't want to drive through the town centre on a Saturday so she decided to take a cab. When she had settled in the backseat, she felt her pockets vibrate. Pulling out her phone she saw a text message.

Are you still distressed?
- SH

A bit surprised with Sherlock's non-case use of texting, she spent some time composing an answer that wasn't showing how shaken she still felt. At the same time she didn't want to lie to him obviously. He would know anyway.

A bit, yes. But, I think I'll live… Thanks again for everything.
- Molly

She had to smile when she typed in the reference to his childish comments back when she had not examined his cut cheek that day he came to her lab. Then she remembered all of the conversation of the encounter and slightly frowned. Sherlock had deduced everything about her connection to David…

For a while, Molly held her phone, expecting an answer. But none came. Just when she wanted to put it away, it vibrated again.

Drink more tea! John informed me that I am noble.
- SH

She didn't really know what that meant and just hoped he hadn't told John that he'd carried her to bed. The pathologist was relieved when another incoming message resolved the problem of having to reply something to this.

What are you doing today?
- SH

What? Sherlock is chatty? Briefly, Molly wondered if she seemed so destroyed that the detective actually thought he needed to pull that many strings to cheer her up. Nonetheless, she answered (she would never not answer to one of Sherlock's messages).

Just driving to Bart's. Need to finish reports.
- Molly

Deliberately, she wasn't mentioning her plan to go and see Piers Miller's presentation and maybe even try to speak with him.

Stay away from Miller. Please.
- SH

Sometimes, his little know-it-all tricks could be rather annoying.

Don't worry.
- Molly

_.:0:._

Sherlock went back and forth, screening the new lists of names as well as studying whole medical files of the Leeds corpses. He had also manages to single out some files that contained obviously duplicated tumour screenings. He had also hectically made several piles. First, he had arranged them by towns, then by gender, age, even height. More and more information piled up in the room of his mind palace he had labelled 'corpses 2.3' (he had to number them, as there were several rooms dedicated to dead bodies).

John, on the other hand, was calm and read file after file, a concentrated look on his face. He took notes minutely.

Sherlock was currently arranging them by cause of death and was almost finished with this task, constantly replaying key facts about every corpse in his mind, when John turned on his chair and looked over at him.

"Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"I don't know if that means something, but I think I kind of found a pattern."

Immediately, the detective's head shot up and he eyed his friend. "Go on."

"Well, it's not all of them, by far not-"

"Just tell me, will you?" Sherlock frowned, he was impatient already.

"Okay, okay. At first I thought it was a coincidence but now I've found that several of the dead had been visiting an African country or a nation in the Far East between nine and thirteen months prior to their deaths. A considerable amount even went on regular trips to these regions."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. His eyes darted around and John tried to imagine the thoughts speeding through his friend's brain. "Hm. Statistically unlikely that this is a coincidence. Very good, John. Can you tell me the names of these people?"

The blonde man nodded curtly and turned his gaze to his notes. Slowly, he read the names out loud. When he was finished, he added, "these are only the ones from London, though. I haven't been through the other files yet." Sherlock had listened to the names and with each addition little pieces of a puzzle had fallen into place. He was smirking by now and looking towards his own pile of files. He had recognised most of the names John had presented to him and had sorted them by characteristics in his head until he had found the one category they were all falling in.

"Can I see their autopsy reports?" Sherlock asked.

John looked at his notes for a few seconds and frowned slightly. "For most of them-"

"There were none," Sherlock interrupted him, "because they were all accidental, i.e. unsuspicious deaths, right? No full autopsies were performed."

"How did you… Never mind. What now?"

"I remembered and I deduced, that's how I know, of course!" His hands flew to his chin and his eyes closed for a second and after opening them again, Sherlock absent-mindedly whispered, "Vaccination," looking around furiously, in search for something. John tilted his head in confusion. "Give me their full files, anyway," the detective ordered his flatmate.

While John was assembling the files he had just been through, Sherlock was quickly and determinedly picking several other files out of the chaos in front of him. Hastily he took John's files and laid them out on the table next to his freshly picked ones and scanned over them.

"Aha!" Sherlock smiled victoriously.

_.:0:._

Molly arrived at the hospital and looked around the big hall. She slowly strode over to the reception desk and asked a young nurse for a conference programme leaflet. When she handed it over, Molly thanked her and scanned it with curious eyes. Piers Miller's presentation would not be for more than two hours. She decided to check the lab for anything interesting and was disappointed when she didn't find a living soul in there.

It was only three o'clock and she didn't want to go home before the presentation so Molly decided to pay her morgue a visit. She hoped that there might be some researchers who'd come for the conference. Maybe she could get talking to peers or even Miller himself. And, if nothing else would come up to distract her, she might even fill out some reports after all. They were piling up lately.

When she arrived, she found Phil standing in front of one of the dissecting tables. He was just putting on some rubber gloves.

"Oh, hi Molls," he called over, "wasn't expecting you down here today. Did I misread the plan again and it's actually your shift, not mine? Oh, I hate it when that happens. I should go on one of those time management courses, these extra shifts are really taking the last bit of coherent thought out of me. " He looked confused.

"No, no. You're quite right. I don't officially work today. Just came in for the conference. Wanted to listen to some lectures and presentations. But I got here early and didn't have anything to do upstairs." Molly understood fully well that the working hours in St. Bart's could drive you mad.

"Ah good. You had me questioning myself." Obviously relieved, he went on, "Although, to be honest, I'm surprised you came in today." He smirked and she had a feeling that she knew where this was going. She looked to the floor. "I expected you would stay at home and let yourself be served by that waiter some more." The badly concealed innuendo was making her cheeks redden and she remembered Sherlock's brush against her neck as he had pressed her against the wall in the dark corridor. Pull yourself together, woman. It's better everyone thinks you went off with the waiter than knowing what really happened.

A fake smile plastered Molly's face when she replied, "Well, he wasn't one to keep for a long time. Got bored quite fast and sent him home."

"Doctor Molly Hooper! You reveal sides of your personality I hadn't dared to dream of," Phil said jokingly. She could almost see his mind working; he was already considering whom to tell the news of Molly Hooper being a crazy man-eater. He really was a gossip.

Trying to divert from the topic, she spoke again. "I'll just settle with my reports. I see you have a new body there, don't want to disturb you."

"Oh, it's no problem, really. No one's waiting for this one, it's an unidentified body that's been found discarded in a rubbish container. I'd love to chat a bit more. Should I get some coffee?" Without really waiting for an answer, Phil was on his way to the door. Molly sighed when he had left the morgue. Great, now I need to come up with a convincing story of how Sherlock – no, the waiter! – came back to my place and bedded me. Which is more or less what he did... Her mind went places it shouldn't have gone. Realising her inappropriate fantasies, she coughed and stood up from her chair. She needed distraction. And she needed to come up with some gossip to tell Phil when he would come back.

Molly started pacing around the cold morgue and pulled her cardigan closer to her body. Friendly talk with gossiping colleagues wasn't her strong side. Looking at her watch, she saw that it was still quite a bit of time until the evening presentations would start. Nervously, she tried to busy her fingers and her hands instinctively moved to her throat, where the necklace with the microscope pendant had been, to fiddle with it. She remembered that, and why, it wasn't there anymore. A new level of discomfort darkened her mood.

It really was so typical. For years on ends, her life was boring but at least it wasn't like she had to deal with constant humiliation and complete heartbreak every few months. That had obviously changed since Sherlock. Was he worth all of that? Still sauntering through her morgue, she found herself wondering if her life would be better without him in it. She was surprised that this was actually the first time she had ever asked herself this question. She was even more surprised by the immediate answer her mind (or was it her stomach?) supplied: No.

Right at this moment, even though she was feeling unworthy, unloved and entirely unimportant (and she was fully aware that Sherlock wasn't likely to cure her of any of those feelings) she didn't want her life to be any different. Sherlock was indeed worth all of that. Seeing his beautiful mind work and solve crimes was all Molly needed to keep going. She was happy to have a part in all his doings, as tiny as it may be. She would never be more than a friend to him. She would probably never really stop loving him but even that seemed all right. She was happy to be just a friend (and have him acknowledge this fact on good days); not many people could call themselves friends of the world's only consulting detective.

She had gotten distracted. It all made her realise that her little problems were nothing compared to those of other people's. She had never had a dead relative stolen, she had never had a bomb attached to her body, she had never had a criminal syndicate hunt her down. So stop complaining because some guy didn't really like you! She wouldn't let Sherlock down with this. She would help him to get Piers Miller and hold him responsible for whatever disgraceful thing he did with the corpses.

Finally, Molly had stopped pacing and found herself standing in front of the dissecting table. She glanced at the body and… Oh my god, that's-

At that moment, Phil reappeared with two cups of coffee in his hands and looked startled at Molly's shocked expression. She had grabbed the edge of a desk to keep herself from falling down.

"Molly, is everything all right?"

Molly swallowed hard. "Your body isn't unidentified anymore. I know who that is."