A/N: Once again thank you for your encouragement and support. You are the best.

Thanks to ML for his help.

In Vino Veritas

"We are products of our past, but we don't have to be prisoners of it."
― Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life: What on Earth Am I Here for?

Sherlock paced in Tom's sitting room. He was back at the crime scene, because no matter how he turned it around in his head it just didn't make sense. He was missing something. The pieces of the puzzle would just not fit. He had been in the flat for about an hour and had looked through every drawer and under every piece of furniture, but so far had found nothing new.

With a frustrated growl he sat down in the armchair and opened the file Mycroft had provided him with. Of course his dear brother hadn't given it to him freely; no he had wanted something in return, of course. And his brother had been even more cruel than usual. The deal was that in exchange for the file, Sherlock would have to take their parents to see Miss Saigon next time they were in town. Reluctantly Sherlock had agreed, hoping that an important case would present itself when it was time to fulfil his part of the deal.

It had been pretty easy to find out who AG was. A bit of research in Molly's past and soon Sherlock had found out that the mysterious initials stood for Abby Grange, Molly's college flatmate and presumably friend. However, finding more about Miss Grange turned out to be difficult.

All information about her from 2002 onwards was classified. So he didn't have another choice but to make a deal with the devil (his brother) to get the files. And they proved to be highly interesting indeed.

Miss Abby Grange had accused a well-known and highly influential professor at Cambridge of rape. The defence had fought very dirty and although the evidence was quite clear, the professor was found not guilty. Without a doubt the verdict was a result of the professor's influence and not of justice. And then something peculiar happened; shortly after the trial the professor had died of a heart attack. That in itself was nothing out of the ordinary, especially given that his drinking habits seemed to be well known. But it nagged at Sherlock, his instincts told him that something was wrong with the case, just like with his current one.

An incoming text pulled him from his thoughts.

I AM AT BAKER STREET. WHERE ARE YOU? – JW

Sherlock had asked his best friend to meet him at Baker Street, as he needed the expertise of a doctor.

He texted back:

MRS HUSDON SHALL MAKE TEA. I WILL BE THERE IN 15 MINUTES. – SH

Just as Sherlock was about to get up, something on the armchair caught his eye. He pulled out his magnifying glass and took a closer look. There was blood on the covering. Fortunately Sherlock was always prepared to take samples. So he took it, put it into an evidence bag and left to meet his former flatmate at 221B.

Half an hour later Doctor John Watson was looking through the report on Professor Eustace Brackenstall, not seeming particularly interested in the case.

"Sherlock, I really don't know what you want me to find. The photos of his room show a wine bottle and a glass. He was a known alcoholic, the autopsy clearly shows that was a heart attack, and furthermore he didn't seem like a nice person in general, so I don't know why you are looking in the first place, let alone what for."

Sherlock, who had been pacing across the sitting room impatiently turned around to face his best friend and said, "I am sorry to make you the victim of what may seem a mere whim, but on my life, John, I simply can't leave the case in this condition. Every instinct that I possess cries out against it. It's wrong – it's all wrong – I'll swear that it's wrong."

John sighed, "So you think that he has been murdered?"

Sherlock contemplated that for a second, before he replied, "Maybe. I think they missed something back then. Just have another look at the autopsy report, will you."

John rolled his eyes, for he thought it was quite pointless. None-the-less, he read it through once more, and took a closer look at the hospital reports from the time of Professor Brackenstall's heart attack.

Sherlock was just about to tell him to leave it be, when the eyes of the former army doctor widened and he stated, "I think I have found something, Sherlock."

Sherlock went over to where his friend was sitting while John pulled out the piece of paper that showed the ECG and explained, "When Brackenstall was brought into A-&-E they did an ECG. As you can see there are peaked T-waves and small P-waves."

Sherlock stared at the waves John was talking about, but didn't understand their meaning. Though he was very clever, even he lacked the medical expertise of a doctor, and that was why he had John Watson.

"And what does that mean?" he asked impatiently.

"The ECG looks similar to one of a heart attack, but is still different and tells me that professor Brackenstall didn't die of a heart attack but of hyperkalaemia. Like I said, the ECG waves look very similar to a heart attack and that is why it's often overlooked by doctors. It's caused by an overdose of potassium chloride. However, he didn't suffer from hypokalaemia, so why was there such a high dose of potassium chloride in his body?"

Sherlock snatched the file from John's lap and looked at the photos taken of the room in which Eustace Brackenstall had died. His face lit up and he got the excited glint in his eyes that told John that it would not be long before another murderer would be put behind bars, thanks to Sherlock Holmes.

With fascination in his voice Sherlock said, "This case rises from the common place to the exceedingly remarkable."

And before John had a chance to ask for an explanation or even open his mouth to reply, Sherlock Holmes had left 221B, his billowing coat following him out the door.