A breeze from the late fall wind creeps through the cracked window and tickles the edges of the papers that rest upon the desk of Dr. Watson. It's been a year since Sherlock's death and the seasons have forgotten about him. Watson sulks in his raggedy brick red arm chair alongside his writing desk as the fire in the fireplace slowly dies in front of him. Newspapers stacked in the corner age and wilt away from the heat of the fire. The side of Watson's face is illuminated by his laptop which gleams with a blank white page and one measly blinking black line. No more blogs, no more fame, no more Sherlock Holmes. The pavement outside his window is damp and cold among empty crimeless streets. One could say that the misguided criminals of London city are grieving as much as Watson himself. He shuts his computer and gazes upon the ripped piece of wallpaper pinned to the back of his door with the infamous yellow spray painted smiling face. Mrs. Hudson had sent it to Watson in a parcel making sure he had a piece of his beloved Baker Street, in which he could never return to. Suddenly, his mobile rings but he is not even startled by its invasive sound. He shifts his eyes in its direction hoping it would stop on its own but it just continues to furiously ring.
Hours before, a young woman in her mid-twenties sits among naïve students in a crowded cyber café. Her fingertips unconsciously tap the keyboard in a rhythmic pattern. She pulls out her mobile phone and gently places it on the table next to her laptop. The young woman shuts her laptop closed, stands up and walks away with her computer tucked underneath her arm. The student that was sitting beside her suddenly notices that she left her phone and calls out, "Hey!" The young woman pretends not to hear him as she continues to walk through the café and out onto the London streets. He decides to follow her but by the time he reaches the entrance, she's gone.
Meanwhile, it's a normal business day at the Lloyd Banking Group of London city. A bank teller happily types at her keyboard as she assists a customer. The indistinctive conversations are drawn to a low whisper that echo throughout the halls of the bank lobby. Suddenly, the screen on the bank's computer freezes and becomes dark. As in a domino effect, one by one each computer becomes incompetent and then, the alarm within the bank sounds off. The police at the bank's entrance coach the people in the lobby to the street outside. The bank tellers pound at the keys of their office phones trying to call the police and the head of management.
The shiny shoes of Detective Inspector Lestrade thump against the eggshell decorated floor as he runs through the halls of the police headquarters. He pulls Sargent Sally Donovan away from the water cooler and says, "Lloyd Banking has been hacked—we're following the initial signal now!" She quickly grabs her coat off of her desk chair and willing follows the inspector to the car outside. At the bank, as the police are busy calming the customers in the street; the young woman slips inside the bank with her laptop still tucked under her arm. The bank alarm still rings loudly along with its blinking lights and the bank tellers are still running around frantically to bring things to order. She approaches the desk of the young bank teller who bravely tries to stay at her post.
A group of police cars with their sirens and flashing lights drive erratically down the streets of London towards the signal. Sargent Donovan sits in the passenger seat while tracing her finger along the line on the computer screen mounted to the dashboard, "There was heightened activity around noon from the cyber café just blocks down—same time as the crime." The officers arrive at the cyber café with all guns drawn as they bust into the café and towards the student still holding the woman's phone. He drops it as he raises his hands innocently. The inspector picks up the phone from the ground and reads the blinking message on the screen, "Gotcha," the phone suddenly goes black and the signal dies. At the bank, the young bank teller nervously says, "I'm sorry miss but we're having some trouble with our system." The woman says, "I know—I'm the one who hacked your system." "You what?" said the bank teller. The woman says, "Tell the police—I'm looking for Doctor John Watson."
Moments later, Watson's mobile rings but he is not even startled by its invasive sound. He shifts his eyes in its direction hoping it would stop on its own but it just continues to furiously ring. He finally answers and on the other line is Detective Inspector Lestrade, "John could you come down to the station—it's urgent." "Lestrade—I can't—I'm busy," John said as he sighs, rubbing his face. "You're not busy John—I know of it. Besides, the offender we have here in custody asked for you personally." Watson closes his mobile shut as pauses with a puzzling demeanor on his face.
Dr. Watson walks into the interrogation room with a young pretentious woman sitting in front of him with her hands cuffed and folded on top of the cold silver table. "John this is Adrian Hunter, she is the one who hacked into Lloyd Banking today," said Detective Inspector Lestrade. She says excitingly, "Doctor Watson, I have been waiting for you." "What do you want from me?" She says, "Got a light?" "No, I don't," he said as he sits down across from her. She scoffs, "You have enough tobacco underneath your finger nails to bury London," she shakes her head and makes a childish clicking sound, "Tsk tsk, such a bad boy you are." Watson pauses before taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Adrian places her folded hands in her lap as she slowly leans over the table as Watson gently places a cigarette between her rosy lips. He lights her cigarette, "How did you know?" She leans back in her seat as she takes a long drag of her cigarette, "Do I remind you of someone?" "No—not at all," Lestrade steps inside, "John it's time to go." As John is leaving she abruptly says, "Do you know of Baker Street?" John quickly turns around, his breathing suddenly rapid, "What did you say?" She slowly says, "2-2-1-B—Baker Street." The inspector demands, "What do you know about Baker Street?" Adrian says, "He's alive." John shouts, "Who? Who is alive? Tell me!" She flicks the ashes of her cigarette onto the floor as she says, "Sherlock Holmes."