Note: Hello dears. It's been over a week and I'm sooo sorry. I just couldn't find the time to write. I have a lot of work at the moment and am not sure how quickly I'll be able to upload the next few chapters. I will write whenever I have a bit of spare time, though! The mystery is almost complete and I hope to be able to finish it soon. For now: 1. Thanks for your endearing reviews! 2. Enjoy this chapter!

Molly stood, still in shock, and her thoughts were racing. Phil moved closer to her and set the cups of coffee down. He looked concerned.

"What? How…?" he trailed off.

She had recognised the pale features only barely. The man on the table had obviously been beaten quite badly. However, he had not been bludgeoned to death, the bullet hole in his head was a fairly straightforward hint to the cause of death. His lifeless limbs showed almost no defence wounds, instead his wrists were marked where they had most probably been bound together with some sort of strong rope.

Molly couldn't quite believe it. Sherlock had told her about the dead man in Leeds, warned her not to talk to Piers Miller. He'd said the doctor was a dangerous man. But, somehow, she hadn't felt any concern or even fear. Not until now.

Now, she stared at the dead men on the table in front of her and reality hit her. Sherlock was not here and that fact made her shiver. He needed to come and… somehow make it right! Whilst taking out her phone to call the detective, she remembered the other pathologist who was still staring at her with questioning eyes.

Phil walked over and offered her his arm. Then, he led her to a chair. "Sit down and relax a bit," he told Molly. She nodded absentmindedly.

"Better? Now, who is this and how do you know him?" Phil had moved to her side and placed a hand to rest on her shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

With a shaking voice, Molly said, "He is called Max Knight. I… I went to med school with him."

_.:0:._

Sherlock spent only a few seconds regretting his decision to concentrate on the cancer bodies in the prior case scenarios he'd played out in his mind. Being sure that Piers Miller and his colleagues were behind it all, it had made sense that the people who had died from cancer held the explanation. But, there had been something he'd missed. Of course, they were important, but the crucial information was to be found in the other files. The files of the people who died in accidents and from other illnesses. He scanned the papers quickly, mumbling.

John tried to remain patient. So far, he hadn't completely understood what Sherlock was playing at. But, he knew there was no use in trying to get anything out of his flatmate before the process in his head was completed. So, he just sat opposite the man and watched him work. It was still fascinating to watch Sherlock work, every time.

After a while, Sherlock calmed down a bit, but still focused his attention on the files in front of him. However, John deemed it save to speak now.

"So, you sad vaccination. Am I right in assuming that you meant the people who flew to Africa and Asia had to be vaccinated against some virus?"

"Hepatitis A as it turns out," Sherlock answered without looking up, still reading the medical files.

"Err, okay. But, what does that have to do with Piers Miller and his cancer research?"

"Well, they all turned up to the ambulant clinic hours at St. Bart's and look who treated them!" Sherlock raised his head now, looking at John, a sparkling expression in his eyes, as he turned one of the files for his friend to read it. John leaned in closer and scanned the text before him. Dr Garrett.

"Oh."

"Yes. And more curiously, after the first vaccination most of them have somewhat faulty medical reports. I'm sure that, once we have the additional information from the Ministry of Health, we can match the irregularities with the ones from the cancer patients who were part of the official study. Also, all of the travellers started having different symptoms, mostly fatigue. Most people don't really take something like that seriously. Especially if they've been told by a doctor that a side effect of their vaccination was exactly this. That's why none of the other doctors they went to see suspected anything either."

"Wait, are you saying that Garrett infected them with something?"

"He injected cancer cells, to be more specific. Here, read through the other symptoms. And then look at their scans. These were taken when they came in for their second vaccination and complained about abdominal pain, nausea and the like."

"The scans look absolutely fine," John remarked as he had looked through some of them.

"Exactly. Too fine. Especially when one takes into account that this lady should have an artificial hip joint," he waved one of the scans, "on the other side! See, in the report it says 'replaced hip joint, left' – in the scans it's the right hip that's artificial! Also, the scan of that 17-year-old girl is obviously actually from a 32-year-old woman who has given birth twice. The list goes on. Really sloppy cheating. I should have looked into them so much earlier!" Sherlock ran his hands through his hair angrily.

"Christ!" John stared at the reports, then he looked up at Sherlock.

"My guess would be that the cells injected in them were taken from a pancreatic tumour. That's the form of cancer that can go undetected for the longest amount of time. But they would need to be genetically altered to really concentrate on that area of the body. Otherwise they would have spread and grown in any random organ. They actually mutated cells further and made them attack one specific area in the human body. That's remarkable."

"Please Sherlock, show some decency and don't declare them heroes! Do you realise what it means if you are right with this?"

"I am right!"

"Shut up. They are injecting cancer cells into healthy people!" John's face portrayed a look of utter horror and disgust.

"Not only that, they also killed them when the test drugs they administered in the following 'vaccination' treatments didn't work. And since in most cases there was no post mortem, the cancer wasn't discovered. And even if it was, it was probably thought to be coincidental. If different pathologists performed the autopsies they wouldn't have found the pattern."

John looked very grim and unbelieving in so much cruelty and even Sherlock's face darkened at the thought. Then, the detective quickly grabbed the reports again, his words had made him realise or remember something. John recognised the look in his friend's eyes.

"Oh, but they had to be sure, didn't they?... They aren't urgent, especially the official cancer ones, they can be scheduled at any…"

"What are you talking about now?"

Sherlock rummaged for several moments, ignoring John's enquiry, and finally read a few lines in some of the files. Then, he stilled completely and closed his eyes.

"The plan. I walked past it just yesterday." Silence. Then, "I must go to Bart's. Now!"

_.:0:._

Molly still couldn't quite grasp it. Slowly, her breath started to go back to normal. Phil hadn't spoken again yet. He was probably giving her some time to adjust and get her composure back. OK, analyse and proceed. She started rationalising and mapped her next moves. There weren't that many, she found. Firstly, and most importantly, she had to tell Sherlock about this. But, Phil was still in the room; she couldn't let him hear the call.

She started to turn in her chair and mumbled, "Erm, I think I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back in no time and then-"

"I'm sorry Molly," she heard Phil say. She didn't really understand what he meant, but suddenly his hand grasping her shoulder tightened the grip.

"What do you… ouch! Would you mind letting go of my shoulder?"

When he didn't loosen his grip or elaborate, Molly's hand shot up to push his away. But, before she reached him, he let go and caught her wrist. Angrily, her head shot up and she glared at him. "What the…?" She stilled when she saw his face. His eyes glimmered menacingly and Molly's mouth formed a surprised 'o'.

"I'm afraid you cannot go to the bathroom now. I really am sorry, Molls. I never thought you might know him. I wouldn't have let you come in if I had."

"What are you talking about? You're scaring me. Let go of me, please." Molly's concentrated on keeping her voice calm as a realisation dawned on her.

"Oh Molly, Molly, Molly. You know what I am talking about, don't you. Just now, you not only remembered him, right? There was something else in your expression. An understanding, a fear. You know who did this, and why."

"No, no really… I… I don't." Molly desperately tried to wiggle her wrist out of his strong grip but had no chance; he was too strong. Her assurance sounded weak. She didn't really know why she had said this. It wasn't very likely that Phil would just let go of her now and apologise for the misunderstanding. Instead, he ignored her words. Suddenly, she felt something cold against her throat and winced.

"Please do not move. The scalpels are rather sharp and I don't want to make a mess. Not here…" Phil warned her. Molly's eyes widened as her colleague's stare became less frightening and turned to being remorseful. "I really like you Molly, I do. But, you know, no one can know about this. About why Max Knight died. It's too important. Please stand up now." She felt the scalpel on her throat press a bit harder to her skin and began to shiver. Very carefully, she stood up. She was still looking at Phil, afraid to turn her head in any other direction.

"Did you kill him?" she managed to ask when he gently pushed her to the middle of the room.

"No," Phil simply said when they stopped. Molly felt the trench in the floor that led to the drainage where leftover blood from autopsies was discharged. Tears had begun to sting in her eyes when she had recognised where he had been leading her. A little hope was flashing up when Phil said he hadn't killed Max. Maybe he wasn't going to be able to go through with his plan. Perhaps, she could try to talk to him, call upon his compassion, or even his fear of punishment.

"No," Phil resumed, "Max was done by someone else. I am usually the one dealing with the accidental deaths." When he had said it and Molly understood the connotations, she felt her whole body tense. He wouldn't have a problem killing her. He'd done it before.

"Kneel." Suddenly, his voice was very cold again.

Tears started flowing freely from Molly's eyes as she obeyed and lowered herself slowly. She wished they would stop as a desperate and crazy thought crossed her mind. I don't want to go as a coward. I don't want them – Sherlock – to see my face like that. She wondered if they would even find her body. "Why did you do it?" she asked, in an attempt to keep him talking. She had never imagined that such scenes played out like that in reality. The victim buys time and simultaneously the baddie tells them the entire vicious plan. A bitter smile crossed her features and she was relieved that Phil couldn't see her face as he was standing behind her now. The scalpel still rested on her throat.

"Why? Do you know how many people we could save with doctor Miller's new drug? This will be a revolutionary step in medical research. And I will be a part of it!"

Molly swallowed. "But how did you do it? So many deaths… And why did you need the bodies? Where are they?"

"Urgh, stop it! I'm not an idiot. Don't try to postpone this. I'm afraid that you'll have to die without knowing any details." His voice was a mere whisper by now. He kneeled down behind her, leaning in close, as his head rested on her shoulder. "It's a pity. Did you know I always wanted to ask you out but never had the courage? I was too scared you'd say no, what with your stupid infatuation with that Holmes guy. Also, I think you would've been a great addition to our research team. But, well, it was not to be…" Molly swallowed again and closed her eyes.

A sudden and loud sound made her open them again. Through her tears she could see the doors on the opposite wall fling open and immediately recognised the tall frame of the incoming man.

"If I were you, Philipp, I wouldn't move an inch. Because if you do I will kill you. Slowly." Sherlock's voice was coarse but he enunciated each word meticulously.

"Don't come closer. I warn you. I'll do it." Phil's other arm moved around her, he was now holding Molly in front of him like a shield. Sherlock stopped in his movement. Molly still couldn't see his face clearly. A few tense moments passed in silence.

Then, Sherlock spoke again. "Good, I'm staying here. But, don't you think it's a little cruel to kill doctor Hooper without telling her what you did and how you did it? Ah, don't bother, I'll quickly supply her with an overview, shall I?" He spoke quickly now, turning his face towards her for the first time since he had entered the morgue. Molly's tears had stilled enough for her to catch the concerned look on his face when his eyes met hers momentarily. She wondered how long he had been waiting outside these doors; he had at least been listening to a part of their conversation. Then, he resumed, "You and doctor Garrett injected pathologically mutated cells via vaccinations and thus infected healthy people with cancer to gain a higher number of cases for your illegal study testing a new and risky drug. Doctor Miller did the same in York and Leeds, as well as your colleagues in Cambridge. When the drug didn't work you had to get rid of any proof, so you killed them. The cancer patients in the study conveniently died on their own. You worked extra hours and scheduled the autopsies of certain patients so that no other pathologist could have a look at the bodies." Sherlock stopped speaking and eyed Phil.

When the detective made an attempt to step closer, Phil's grip became tighter and the scalpel pressed against the side of her throat again. Molly noticed that it broke skin and felt a small amount of blood tickle down her neck. Sherlock stopped immediately, his eyes fixed on her throat, and his jaw clenched.

"Phil, how do you think this will end?" Sherlock's voice was almost soft. "You cannot silently kill Molly anymore and let her body vanish or stash it with the others you've taken. By the way, nice touch - the stealing of the corpses. But there's only so much scientific knowledge you can gather from a dead organism. Trust me, I've tried… Anyway, the moment your scalpel cuts her carotid I will be at your side." He paused for a second and when he spoke again, his voice was deeper and infinitely more threatening. "And you will be very lucky if I only break your neck then. If you let go of her you will not only live but maybe you can cut a nice deal with the prosecution."

Molly felt Phil shift behind her. "Stand up," he whispered. Slowly and under the attentive eyes of Sherlock, both of them got off the floor. Still using her as a shield, the other pathologist dragged her further away from the dark haired detective.

"There is another thing I could do. I could just keep her for a bit." Molly understood as she recognised that Phil was slowly moving towards the back doors of the morgue. They led to a rarely used corridor. She knew that it was connected to the small basement garage of St. Bart's. He wanted to take her with him as a hostage.

Endnote: I am not a medical expert but I have researched the vaccination/cancer thing briefly. The symptoms fit but I'm fairly sure that the 'modified-super-cancer'-bit is not actually reality (yet?) - I apologise. Just go with it for the sake of the story. It's fiction...