We quickly find our way into Lestrade's office at Scotland Yard. He's looking through a filing cabinet as we walk in.
"You only like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones?" He asks without looking up.
"Obviously," Sherlock replies monotonously.
"You're gonna love this. That explosion?"
"It was a gas leak, yeah?" I chime in, but Lestrade shakes his head. "It wasn't?"
"Made to look like one. Explosives."
"What?" Sherlock asks, surprised.
"Hardly anything left of the place. Except a strong box. A very strong box, and inside it was this." He hands an envelope over to Sherlock, and I notice the petite handwriting scrawled across the front.
"You haven't opened it?"
"It's addressed to you, isn't it? We x-rayed it, not booby trapped."
"How reassuring," I mumble, as Sherlock begins to inspect the mysterious envelope. I watch as he turns it over in his hands, taking in every minute detail.
"Nice stationery. Bohemian, from the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?"
"None," Lestrade answers.
"She used a fountain pen. Parker Duofold, Iridium nib," Sherlock continues.
"She?" Lestrade repeats.
"Obviously," Sherlock and I reply at the same time. He takes a moment to rip open the envelope, and pulls out a familiar phone.
"Hold on, that's- that's the phone," I start, surprised to see it in Sherlock's hand.
"What, from A Study in Pink?"
"Well it isn't, of course it can't be, but it's supposed to look like-" Sherlock suddenly looks up and to Lestrade. "A Study in Pink- you read Jane's blog?"
"Course I do, we all do. Do you really not know the Earth goes round the Sun?" Lestrade jokes, earning a laugh from somewhere in the office. Sherlock glares down at me for a moment before moving on.
"It's not the same phone, but someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone. Suggests your blog has a wider readership than you thought, Jane." He takes a moment to turn on the phone, which dings with a new message. He puts it on speaker for us to listen, and five beeps play in the silence.
"That's it? That's all there is?" I ask quietly, fearing the worst.
"No, that's not it," Sherlock responds, turning the screen to show me a picture of an empty, dark flat. Looks like a basement somewhere.
"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade asks angrily. Both Sherlock and I take a brief moment to think about the situation and come to the same grim conclusion.
"Oh my God, it's a warning," I state, my body going cold. Lestrade looks between the two of us as if asking for an explanation.
"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that," Sherlock begins. "Five pips! They're warning us that it's going to happen again." He looks at the photo again and I can almost see the lightbulb light in his brain. "I've seen this place before!" He starts for the door, leaving me and Lestrade to follow shortly after him.
The cab we piled into a few minutes before pulls up to 221 Baker Street, and the three of us exit with Sherlock in the lead. Instead of going inside and up to our flat, he goes down to 221C and inspects the door for recent traffic. He turns to us.
"Call Mrs. Hudson, this flat is the one we're looking for." I go up to her flat and ask her to unlock the door for us, and she says she'll be right down. I go back to the door and wait for her to make her grand entrance. A few minutes later, she comes down the stairs with her ring of keys.
"He had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about the flat?" She asks as she rifles through the keys. "I can't get anyone interested in it. The damp I expect. It's the curse of basements. I had a place once, when I was first married, black mold all up the walls, it was like a weight on your chest-"
"Mrs. Hudson," I interrupt gently. "We love hearing your stories, but we're in a bit of a rush today."
"This door's been opened. Recently," Sherlock tells her, bringing us back to the case at hand.
"No. Can't have been, this is the only key," she objects. Sherlock takes it from her and unlocks the door, pushing it open. He enters the empty room cautiously, scanning every inch of the place. Inside the somewhat dingy room sits a pair of old trainers.
"Shoes?" I ask the air, confused.
"Now, I've had Mr. Merryman round to look at the damage-" Mrs. Hudson begins, but Sherlock closes the door in her face.
"Sherlock!" I scold quietly, reopening the door a touch. "We'll let you know when we're done Mrs. Hudson, and I'll make sure to return your key." She nods in response, turning to go back to her flat. I close the door again and turn to see Sherlock down on the floor inspecting the trainers. Without warning, a phone starts to ring. Sherlock pulls the pink one out of his jacket and answers.
"Hello?" He asks cautiously.
"...Hello... Sexy," a woman's shaky voice comes through the speaker.
"Who is this?"
"I've sent you... a little puzzle... just to say... hi."
"Who's talking? Are you crying?"
"I'm not crying...I'm typing. And this stupid bitch... is reading it out." Immediately, I feel a pit in my stomach as a I realize what's at stake.
"The curtain rises," Sherlock whispers, and I turn to look at him.
"What?" I ask him, eyes narrowing. He shakes his head as a way to tell me we'll talk about it later.
"Twelve hours to solve my puzzle, Sherlock... Or I'm going to be so naughty." She begins to sob, and the call disconnects with a click. We stand and look at each other in the silence.