Late at night, full moon hanging bright in the London sky. There is a tall, lanky man pulling up the collar on his trench coat, as he keeps to the darkness cast by tall buildings. Laying abandoned on a bench by a bus stop, he spots what he's been looking for. The man casually strides over, snatches the newspaper and tucks it into his coat, before heading crosses to the other side of the street, well before he would come upon 221B Baker Street,but he doesn't want to tempt fate. The tired man turns into the dim alleyway a while down the street, dangerously close to 221B. He hurries to the small sort of home he'd set up in the alley between apartment buildings, and slides under his makeshift canopy, feeling the first drop of rain on his dark, curly hair. The lonely man pulls the newspaper out of his pocket, and folds it open. The crinkled pages had been open to the classifieds. He casually scanned them, knowing he couldn't get a job, but it was something to read. In the bottom right corner is an ad, with a picture of a violin. This catches his interest so he squints at the smudged words above it. He catches his breath, and closes his eyes, feeling his heart drop. Without opening his eyes, he lets the paper drop from his hands into a puddle of rainwater collecting by his feet. The worlds only consulting detective turns to the street, and lets out a deep breath, setting his resolve, before walking towards 221B.
The door to the flat is unlock when Sherlock approaches it. He wraps his hand around the smooth brass, and slowly opens the door. The room inside is dark, and the tall man quietly makes his way through the shadows to John's door. Seeing that the doctor is there sleeping, however restlessly, comforts Sherlock some as he heads back to the living room. The detective sees his violin lying where he left it that day, on a small table by the window. He gingerly picks up his precious instrument and positions it to play, but not before taking his place in front of the window with the familiar view. Sherlock revels in the feeling of playing again, as the music floats out. Several minutes later the lights in the room suddenly come on, he feels unbelieving eyes drilling into his back as he stops the music.
"Sherlock?" comes the shocked voice.
Holmes turns around and looks into the eyes of his doctor, John Watson from across the room, "John, you should know that there is no better home for this violin than 221B Baker street." Sherlock says with a smile as he begins to play again. In an alley down the road the words on a piece of soaked paper are almost unreadable.
"Used violin for sale, to good home.
Inquire at apartment 221B Baker St."