Everything to Loose

4 Hours Earlier...

  John Watson sat at the small table in between the two narrow windows of the dimly lit flat. He typed away at his laptop, constructing a new blog post.

"Why must you insist of apologizing to you online 'friends'?" Sherlock asked form his chair. He had been staring at the front door for a better portion of the day, blankly strumming at the string of his violin.  

"Now how could you have possibly known that," John asked, furrowing his brow and preparing himself for Sherlock's typical "know-it-all" response. "Was it the pace with which I type? Or perhaps my breathing pattern mimics that of someone in the middle of an apology?"

"You mumble when you type, not particularly audibly, but then again I have keen ears," Sherlock replied. "You've said 'apologies' at least three times in the last fifteen minutes."

John closed his eyes and sighed exhausted. "Well, your fan base is a bit disappointed in the lack of crime over the last few weeks. Much like you are come to think of it."

Sherlock stopped strumming the violin and set it down before placing his fingertips by his mouth, his gaze never leaving the door.

"Are you waiting for someone or..." John asked.  

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.  

"Well, you've been staring at the door for a better part of the day, you nearly jumped when it opened an hour ago but deflated when it was just Mrs. Hudson."

Sherlock glanced over at John, and then back at the door. "Don't know what you mean," Sherlock replied.  

"Yeah you do," John said going back to his laptop. He looked up when he heard the sound of rapid footsteps ascending the stairs. The door burst open, admitting Shelly.  

"You blokes are never going to believe the case I've got for you!" She threw her pack onto the ground and sat down crossed legged before the fireplace. Sherlock tried to act uninterested, but John could see that he was excited; for both the case and Shelly. She was a intern at Scotland Yard, mainly a coffee mule. Sherlock had found her in the file room, documents scattered around her, taking notes. He had admired her observation skills and hated to see "good brains melt in a cafe".

John stood up and went to his chair. "What do you have?"

Shelly pulled a file out of her pack. "I swiped this from the archive," she began. "It was marked 'unsolvable', clearly they forgot about you two."  

Shelly stood up and handed Sherlock the file. As he read it, she sat on the arm of his chair. "So there have been three cases of people being buried alive," Shelly began. "They are drugged, kidnapped, and buried in old, wooden coffins-like the kind they used to make in like Dicken's time. The catch, they're given their cellphone, fully charged and a string of numbers and letters."
"Numbers," John interjected, his curiosity peaked. "What numbers?"

Shelly snatched the file away from Sherlock, who silently protested with a small hand gesture and roll of the eyes. 

"Its uh...SWP6KN6UJ," she read. "Every single victim, that's the only info they are given. They plead and beg over the phone. Police haven't been able to crack this guy! It's been nearly four years since the last victim."

Sherlock stood up and went to the window, arms behind his back, and stared out the window. "Four years, whats the point now?" He asked.  

Shelly shrugged. "I don't know, I though a challenge maybe? Like a riddle, or an old detective story-"

"Boring." Sherlock interrupted. "Four years is the expiration date on my interest thank you for dropping by Miss Dorian, you're welcome to stay for tea, but I feel like you'd much rather stomp out and slam the door. Good day either way."

Shelly scoffed and stood up. "Really?" She said. "Is that all you have to say? I break protocol and you just brush me off like that?"

"Please don't act like this is my fault you broke protocol. It's your constant need for attention that puts you in these situations."

Shelly grabbed her pack and the file and headed for the door. "Thanks for nothing you prick."
She left the flat, slamming the door behind her. John turned to Sherlock and shook his head.

 "What the hell was that?" He asked. "Jesus Sherlock, she's just a kid trying to help. You could have just given it a whirl."

Sherlock reached for his phone and smiled. "Of course I'm going to give it a whirl, it's fascinating!"

John stood up, confused, per the norm. "What? You just told her you had no interest whatsoever! Why-why-why would you do that again?"

Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck and swung his coat on. "Please John, she's a coffee mule for Scotland Yard," he said. "When I met her, she was hellbent on proving herself, which made for excellently driven work on her part I've merely given her that underappreciated motivation that she needs."

John furrowed his brow and licked his bottom lip. "Motivation?"

"Yes John, do keep up," Sherlock said. "Right now, she's going to speak to the family member of the most recent victim. If we go now, we can get there just as she's leaving-assuming she got a cab right when she left the flat."

John grabbed his jacket and phone and headed out.

***

Shelly stood outside the woman's home, putting her gloves back on. "I really appreciate you speaking to me Mrs. Tunnel, I know this must have been hard to recount."

"Oh it's no bother love," Mrs. Tunnel replied. "In a way-even though he's gone-talking about it was a bit of a comfort. Like his memory is still worth something. Thank you for taking an interest in this again; I always knew there was more the police could have done you know? This killer needs to be found."

"Well I agree with you there Mrs. Tunnel, but please, I'm sort of following this lead in an...unofficial capacity. I'm just someone who doesn't want to see this bastard walk."

Mrs. Tunnel smiled and gave Shelly another hug. "Thank you love," she said.  

"Oh no, trouble. Thank you for the tea," Shelly said, laughing.  

About an hour later, Shelly was leaving the pub. It had just been raining so the air was damp and cold. She wrapped her jacket tightly around her and began the walk home. She still had the file in her backpack and her brain was going over the facts of the decade old case. She was missing something, something big...something...something...

Shelly stopped and grabbed hold of a nearby lamppost, her head spinning. She felt a nauseating sensation overtake her. She looked around, she was alone. Shelly reached for her phone to dial the emergency number...then everything went black...