Thank you very much for reading, for all the follows and faves and for the absolutely lovely reviews

(Sarah) I am so glad you enjoyed it.

(Nataly SkyPot) Thank you!

(Brynchilla) What a wonderful image! I'm so disappointed in myself for not doing something like that. I just can imagine Sherlock's face if that happened... and John's :)

CHAPTER 2

The next morning Mycroft sent a text specifying the time he would arrive at Baker Street. John wasn't even sure if the flat would be still standing by then. Sherlock seemed to be extremely frustrated. Apparently he still had no idea who the mysterious guest, or rather client (Mycroft did say it's a case, didn't he?) might be. The only thing the consulting detective was certain about was the fact that it was no ordinary lackey of his brother – that was repeated to John at least three times since the message arrived.

The doctor sighed and prayed for some sort of distraction, because really, what did Sherlock expect? To find the name of his brother's associate from the way Mycroft had been holding his umbrella or his occupation from Mycroft's intonation? (Knowing his friend, it might have been just that.)

Obviously someone was listening, because Sherlock just got a message. He quickly scanned the text.

"It's Lestrade. He wants us at Bart's. Didn't say anything else," he informed John.

"Are we going? We might miss Mycroft if it takes too long," asked the doctor. "Wait... isn't that weird? Why wouldn't he tell you any details?"

Sherlock was already getting on his coat. "We are going to find out, aren't we?" Then he was out of the door and John, grabbing his jacket, hurried after him.

One cab ride later they found themselves in the hospital; more specifically in the morgue.

Lestrade was waiting for them, as was Molly and Mike Stamford.

Stamford: slight narrowed eyes – mouth set in a thin line – does this when frustrated – glancing at Molly – has to do with work, not private life. Molly: nervous, not because of my presence – fidgeting – holding a pen – stained her fingers – was writing – most probably finishing paperwork on latest autopsy - Stamford's presence not usually required – she called him down – something unusual occurred – anxious – thinking she missed something. Lestrade: not his usual DI attire – was not at work when body found – not called in later to investigate either – not one of his murder cases then – why here? – known the dead: unlikely, not feeling sorrow – visiting Molly: improbable, reconciled with wife (again), not seeking relationship – curiosity about body?: possible (unless additional data require a change going with this hypothesis) – might know similar older occurrence – called me in – thinks it might lead to something – how found out if not in work? – Molly/call from colleague/other source (clarification needed – though Molly most likely) – Stamford unlikely, found out just now – Conclusion – it's not classified as a murder, but something is wrong with the cadaver. Lestrade most likely to provide answers for further analysis. "Well?" asked Sherlock, "what's wrong with the body? And what brought you down here, Lestrade, if it's not a case?"

Everyone looked at him.

"What do you mean, 'not a case'?" asked John. "Why else would Lestrade call us?"

"Actually, John," admitted the Inspector guiltily, "it's not. At least not yet, though I am hoping Sherlock will see something... well... anything, actually."

The detective frowned, and turned to Molly, "What was the cause of death?" She reddened and averted her eyes, obviously struggling with the answer. "Well?!" he demanded after giving her a few moments (he was being very generous in his opinion) to stammer some kind of reply.

"I-I don't know," she cried suddenly. In her frustration she balled her hands to fists. "I have no idea! How can I not know? I am a pathologist, I am supposed to know!"

Sherlock was surprised by her outburst, but even more so by what exactly her words meant. He knew her to be very competent and very thorough... that is why he worked with her.

"You mean," said John gently, trying to soothe the girl, "that the cause is ambiguous, and you need other opinion, don't you? Don't worry about it, Molly, that happens. It's nothing to be concerned about."

"That's not it!" snapped Molly. Then her eyes widened, "I am so sorry, John. I didn't mean to be so rude. But this is so... so... I don't know. Something like this is not supposed to happen!"

"What Molly meant to say," interjected Mike, "is that the man should be happily going about with his life right now and not lying on the slab in the morgue."

"I don't understand," admitted John.

"I can't find the cause of death," said Molly with grimace. "Because there is no cause of death. It's like he just decided to drop dead because he fancied it."

"That's not possible, Molly," said John. Sherlock's mind was racing, he stayed quiet but was absorbing everything that was said.

"Molly requested every test that is possible at this hospital to be made," Mike shrugged. "And we both checked the body... extremely carefully, trust me. There is nothing there. And the results that came back didn't show anything either."

"No untreated illness, sudden heart attack, stroke or something like that. He didn't take medication of any kind. There were no traces of drugs, or poison. He wasn't shot or stabbed or strangled, nor did he drown. There. Is. Nothing. At. All," clarified Molly unhappily.

"Can we see the body?" asked Sherlock, finally snapping into the action.

"Of course," said Mike and the whole procession moved to the slab where the mysterious cadaver was. "I will be needed upstairs soon, but I am very interested to hear what you think."

"You know, Sherlock," started Lestrade, "I am really hoping you will find something. You may even call us idiots and I wouldn't care."

"Why are you here, Detective Inspector?" asked Sherlock, carefully inspecting every minute detail on the body.

"Believe it or not," he answered, "this is something I am interested in... have been for a long time actually. This is not the first time a body like this showed up. It's not very often that it happens. I believe that the most cases like that were in late nineties... ninety-seven and eight were the worst, I believe. That was about the time this caught my attention. I haven't heard of one in ages though. Of course most of my colleagues think that I should just leave it... those bodies are never proved to be a murder and therefore have nothing to do with my division. But it's all suspicious, isn't it?"

"Only the nineties?" asked Sherlock glaring at the dead man as if he offended him.

Lestrade shook his head, "No, as I said there was a slew of bodies like this at that time, but that doesn't mean that they didn't show up before that or after. And in various places of the country no less, not just London – they are not connected as far as I know. The time is also not a factor... I remember reading an old newspaper clipping from some village... it was during the Second World War. A family of three died and the doctors were absolutely baffled. What is curious is that at first the gardener of the family was blamed, but it was never proven... he died in the nineties – as with the family, no cause was ever found. You must understand, yes, he was old and had various health problems, but according to the reports not a single one of them was the reason he was lying dead in that old abandoned house."

"Do you get something?" asked John of his companion, glancing curiously at the body. His interest was certainly peaked.

Sherlock ruffled his hair in frustration. "He was a heavy smoker, obviously cared about his appearance... was well-off... not married. Indulged in drinking occasionally." He bent down to sniff the man's mouth. "... was actually drinking right before he died, but not nearly enough to be drunk, not more than one glass of red wine. That's all useless," he growled, turned to Lestrade, and looked at him accusingly, "I would get more if I saw him where he was found. Why didn't you call me then?" He absolutely refused to verbalize the fact that, just like the others, he simply couldn't find out how he died.

The Inspector shrugged apologetically. "We don't have anything to do with this. It was Molly who called me – she knows I am interested, otherwise I wouldn't know."

"To be completely honest," added Molly, "I thought that Greg was exaggerating when he mentioned these occurrences, but promised him I would keep an eye out for something like that... never expected to actually have it here."

"Are there no medical papers about this?" asked John. "I can't believe no one would write about it."

"You know there are not," said Molly. "I would certainly read something like that. And I have no doubt it would catch your attention too."

John nodded... it was true. He sometimes browsed through the online papers and read some that were not even related to his area of expertise, but simply sounded interesting. This certainly was interesting.

"That's another thing," said Lestrade. "It's rare for this to get out, to newspapers I mean – the family I told you about was one of those. Also when I said it's not the Yard's problem I didn't mean there is no investigation. There is. Though kept very low-key... And it's always held by A-" suddenly the door of the morgue opened and someone strode in.