Painting Murders - (A Sherlock fanfic)

Okay, so I have never written a Fanfiction before but I sometimes read them so I decided to write my own. It will be an on going project but I hope it's a successful one. But, as I said, this is my first attempt so I hope you won't be too harsh however I am always open to supportive and helpful, critical feedback. I really hope you enjoy it though because, in truth, I am enjoying writing it.

I decided this should be set somewhere at the beginning of A Scandal in Belgravia - just after the swimming pool encounter when Moriarty is running around freely and just before Sherlock is given the Irene Adler case to investigate.

So let's begin!

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I manoeuvred my way through the lunchtime bustle of London; skilfully making sure I wasn't hit by any swinging briefcases or elbowed out of the way by people in a hurry, shouting down their phones.

People tended to make me smile; so wrapped up in their own lives, vacant to the outside world and so focused, so absorbed, in their own business that they failed to observe anything that happened around them.

The man who had just jogged past me signalling for a taxi hadn't seen the mother lose her temper with the small toddler that refused to be held captive for a second longer in his pram. In turn, she hadn't acknowledged the elderly gentleman sat feeding the pigeons by the water fountain who, every s often, whistled a tuneful ballad where each note was a promise of a coin or two received from his glancing audience.

They made me smile. They never noticed.

Tactfully I bumped shoulders with a gentleman dressed in a tailored black suit, holding a briefcase in a white knuckled fist. His phone was poised at his ear through which he shouted his complex demands.

I offered him my profuse apologies as he recoiled away from me with an aggravated glare. However he was still engrossed in his conversation meaning our exchange was short lived as he walked away.

I rolled my eyes dismissively and shook the numbing ache from my shoulder, carefully opening my fist to admire the treasure balanced there.

Shiny, black leather, the Gucci logo logo branded onto the left corner; it was an expensive taking.

I shielded it from the preying eyes of onlookers who might have taken an interest in the wallet that was now in my possession.

Not that anyone would care.

No one had witnessed the crime, of that I was certain. So what cause would someone have to question me?

Saying that they were all completely oblivious was an understatement.

As I walked, I unfolded the wallet to take a peek at its contents.

There was an endless supply of crumpled but fresh twenty pound notes shoved carelessly inside; her Majesties face watching me critically.

I folded the wallet closed again, thinking deeply that the item was probably worth more than its contents.

I ran my thumb over it before fishing out a twenty pound note and turning sharply on my heels.

"Excuse me, Sir! Wait! Sir?" I shouted above the crowds.

People broke from their unresponsive daydreams, turning in the direction of my voice and questioning who's attention I was trying to attract.

I found the right, well dressed man and tugged on his sleeve, pretending to look apprehensive.

"Mister?" I said lightly as he whirled around to face me, his face changing from a blank expression to a deep, cavernous frown.