Hi I have written one fanfiction before, well when I see written I mean its on going. This is my first Sherlock fanfiction however and hope you like it. Please read and review comments are appreciated and I would love to know weather I should carry on, this sort of came out on a whim. Please give me some constructive criticism as I would really like to know how to improve I the future. Thank you for taking the time to read it.
Alex (who-vs-SW)
Prologue
The taxi came to a halt; she was here at 221b Baker Street visiting the man that she hadn't seen for 15 years. She got out of the car, thanking the driver and paying him in a few £20 bills possibly slightly more than she should have done but he would appreciate the money for his grandchildren, there was a picture on the dashboard, perhaps for some sort of pocket money or whatever they called it these days probably converted to the American terminology by now isn't that what they always do. It was 10pm and as the woman walked up the steps to the door the moon shone down illuminating her presence, unknowingly to her, giving the man looking down from the window above a perfect view of her movements. If this man was not Sherlock Holmes these actions of spying would probably seem quite "stalkerish" but this man was Sherlock Holmes and so bearing this in mind these actions were deemed really quite normal.
Sherlock Holmes had no idea who this woman was and why she was here at this time of night, she couldn't be a client her disposition was way to calm and collected; she wasn't one of Mycroft minions he would have known her by now if she was trusted enough to come to his house, plus Mycroft had gotten far too used to Anthea's presence to just go and replace her (even Mycroft succumbed to sentiment at times). Those deductions eliminated the most common answers to his questions. And then it occurred to him, of course it was her, how could he forget all those conversations with his mother during the past two weeks, it was Sunday so, it had to be her she was supposed to be arriving on Sunday wasn't she? No, he knew exactly who the woman was that had placed a set of keys in the door of 221b, the keys he had sent to his mother to give to her, and was now climbing up the stairs towards his flat. He may not have seen the woman in 15 years and he may not have recognised her but he knew exactly who this woman was.
She pushed the door open and entered. Sherlock Holmes stood at the window violin in hand, the moon light streaming in through the window. In his traditional dramatic way he spun and faced the woman in his doorway, belstaff coat billowing as he did so. A wide smile graced his lips as his smooth, silky baritone voice began to fill the room.
"Hello cousin long time no see"
