The Homeless Network (Sherlock Fanfiction)

Prologue

Her fingers dance across the instrument, flying through notes. Her body needs to play as much as it needs air to breathe.

Delilah, the girl with the violin. That's what the people call her. Her music ranges from classical to hardcore playing, but the people enjoy all of it no matter what she's playing, for her talent surpasses their taste.

Delilah moves around the area, dancing to her own music. She gets lost in in her memorised piece, playing her music as maestoso as she can with effortless vibrato. Before she registers it, she finishes the piece.

Delilah didn't even notice how big the crowd of pedestrians grew as she played, but soon came to that realisation when an enormous applause erupts. Delilah bows, keeping her violin by her side. 

She can't help the satisfaction and elation that flows through her like a dam being crushed by the water's force. Her face constructs a grin that refuses to be erased.

People start dropping notes into her violin case, creating a collection of money. With each person who drops one in, she politely says a "thank you, ma'am" or a "thank you, sir", her smile never fading from her face. The fact that they're dropping in money to pay for her next meal isn't the reason for her benevolent attitude. It's her chance to play.

But as people come and go, Delilah notices their actions. Their behaviour with each other. She notices how people who know each other tend to lean closer, or people who are left out of a conversation lean back or fall behind. It's the only thing she does to pass time besides creating music. What else is she supposed to do to keep herself occupied on the streets?

As a man comes to leave a note in her case, Delilah notices his left hand has a faint tan line where a ring should be. She plays a game inside her mind, one of deductions.

Once was married, but divorced. Not over it, he touches his left hand ring finger as if he still had it on. Oh, new shoes. New haircut as well as new clothes, most likely promotion. Business man due to brief case. Are those dog hairs on his pant legs? Scratch previous idea, not new, she lists out her deductions inside her head. The game she just started with the man comes to a halt when another man grabs her attention.

The man doesn't drop a note or coins, but a white piece of paper. His hair is a curly mess, yet somehow tamed atop his head. His eyes illuminate a vibrant blue against his fair skin and dark hair.

Delilah notices how his pupils are dialated once he's close enough despite the sunny day. Drugs, she thinks.

"Thank you, sir," Delilah says with a slight nod despite the lack of money. The man doesn't say anything, but briskly pulls up the collar on his coat. He turns around and walks away. Odd, she characterises.

When the last person leaves, she kneels down to count the money. Instead of counting first, she reaches for the paper out of curiosity. The paper is a ripped out corner of a notepad due to the thickness and the cut off lines.

When she unfolds it, she finds three words scribbled in blue ink:

221B BAKER STREET.