#holmes assignment help

[punjabassignmenthelpaus]

Holmes Institute is one of the leading institutions in Australia, offering a range of courses, including CHC50121 — Diploma of Early Childhood Education and Care and CHC30121 — Certificate III in Early Childhood Education and Care. Students enrolled at Holmes Institute use platforms like Holmes Institute Blackboard, also known as Blackboard Holmes, to access study materials, submit assignments, and interact with lecturers. However, completing assignments successfully requires in-depth research, proper structuring, and adherence to academic standards.

If you’re struggling with coursework on Holmes Blackboard, facing challenges with submission deadlines, or need expert guidance, professional assignment help services can make a significant difference in your academic journey.

1. How to Navigate Holmes Institute Blackboard for Assignments

The Holmes Institute Blackboard platform, also referred to as Blackboard Holmes Institute, is essential for students to manage their academic tasks. Through Holmes Login or My Holmes, students can: 📌 Access lecture notes and learning materials 📌 Submit assignments and track deadlines 📌 Participate in discussion forums 📌 Receive feedback from instructors

Mastering the use of Holmes Student Login and navigating Holmes Blackboard efficiently is crucial for staying updated with coursework and meeting academic expectations.

2. Common Challenges Faced by Holmes Institute Students

Students at Holmes Institute often encounter difficulties while completing assignments due to: ✔ Complex Assignment Topics — Understanding theories and frameworks can be challenging. ✔ Time Constraints — Managing coursework along with personal and professional responsibilities. ✔ Referencing and Citation Issues — Adhering to APA, Harvard, or other academic styles. ✔ Plagiarism Concerns — Ensuring original content that meets university guidelines.

These challenges make it essential for students to seek professional support to maintain their academic performance.

3. Expert Assignment Help for Holmes Institute Students

To succeed at Holmes Institute, students must excel in their assignments, case studies, reports, and research projects. Whether you’re accessing study materials via Holmes Black Board or preparing for submissions through My Holmes, expert guidance can help you meet academic standards.

Professional assignment assistance includes: 📌 Essay & Report Writing — Structured, well-researched academic papers 📌 Case Study Analysis — Real-world problem-solving using critical thinking 📌 Reflective Journals — Well-written reflections based on practical experiences 📌 Referencing & Proofreading — Ensuring plagiarism-free, high-quality content

Punjab Assignment Help — Your Trusted Academic Partner

If you need expert guidance for your assignments at Holmes Institute, Punjab Assignment Help provides high-quality, plagiarism-free, and well-researched academic assistance. Whether you require support with navigating Holmes Blackboard, structuring your essays, or meeting tight deadlines, our team of professional writers is here to help.

We ensure: ✅ 100% original content with proper referencing ✅ On-time delivery for urgent assignments ✅ Affordable pricing for students ✅ 24/7 academic support

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

🔹 1. How do I access Holmes Institute Blackboard? You can log in to Holmes Blackboard using your student credentials via Holmes Login or My Holmes.

🔹 2. What services do you offer for Holmes Institute students? We provide assignment writing, case study solutions, report writing, reflective journals, and proofreading services.

🔹 3. Can you help with referencing styles required at Holmes Institute? Yes! We assist with APA, Harvard, and other citation styles required by Holmes Institute.

🔹 4. Is your assignment help service confidential? Absolutely! We maintain strict confidentiality for all students seeking assistance.

🔹 5. How can I place an order for assignment help? Simply visit www.punjabassignmenthelp.com or contact us for instant support.

Ensure your academic success at Holmes Institute with expert guidance today! 🚀

[amyreadsandstresses]

What would you say is the opposite of the Sherlock fandom? Asking for a friend

[dduane]

I have been trying to write fic (well, smut) set in a world where certain things are slightly different to serve the fic's plot.

However, each time I try I have run into a problem: my head insists I need to justify the changes - I need to know comprehensive details about how the world works so I can ensure everything is consistent and not too f'd up.

So I get bogged down, and don't write a word. What do?

In your position, I’d sit down and write myself a bible.

This is how I did my prep for Barbie: Fairytopia.* And how I’ve done it for various works of fic presently on AO3… and how I’m doing it right now for the new Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rats of Sumatra III project. I was taught this art by my animation story editors at Hanna-Barbera, and it’s stood me in good stead. (Peter and I pulled down our first miniseries assignment from a company that told us “we gave great bible.” And that was true.) 😄

When I say “bible” I don’t necessarily mean something that thick! (Though some of mine have been pretty hefty, with one TV project’s bible running more than a hundred pages… because I knew I had skeptical and underinformed TV execs to convince about something historical.) For the kind of purpose we’re describing here, your prep bible could be quite short: maybe looking like a bullet-pointed “shopping list”, five or ten pages long. It can be just as long or short as it needs to be to cover all your salient points.

The idea is simply to put down, in concrete form, a list of the main “different things” you need to know and remember about your alternate universe when you’re working in it. This is where you do your justification work, in as much or as little detail as you need to convince yourself you’ve got the necessary bases covered. The virtual “stage manager” who sits at the back of the theater of the Writing Department in your mind, judging when things are right, will be your guide here, and will advise you as to when you’ve got enough and it’s time to stop. And once this stuff is down on the page, you’ll be a position to judge critically whether everything makes enough sense to work with, and slots together correctly.

This is also a bit like (for the prose part of a project) outlining, in that it’s incredibly freeing. Once you’ve got this background nailed down, you know you can safely turn your attention away from it and get down to the serious business: drama, and the character interactions that express it. (And inevitably as you’re doing the bible writing, you start getting ideas for how the substrate you’re laying down is going to affect the conflicts between and among the characters. The bible stage can be incredibly fruitful this way.)

It would be facile to describe the bibling process as “getting the easy part over with first”. Because sometimes it’s not easy! But it’s worth doing first, because having done this first relieves you of the ongoing anxiety caused by knowing you may have to keep inventing or rationalizing stuff on the fly. (Which can produce the kind of micro-blocks that a writer can generally really do without.) …Not that you’re not going to be inventing things on the fly anyway: that’s a normal part of the writing process. But the biggest and most obvious issues will have been handled already, and you’ll know they have; which is always a weight off one’s mind. And the fewer of those weights you have loading you down, when you’re in the midst of the labor of composition, the better.

Anyway, give it a shot and see how it works for you. And then you can, like the rest of us smut writers, get on to the really pressing business: making sure you haven’t lost track of where all the characters’ arms and legs (and things) are when you’re writing those hot steamy sex scenes. 😏

Hope this helps!

*ETA: My remit on this job did include creating a bible for them. But I write a rough-draft one for myself first, including various meta that I needed but they didn't.

[bedheaded-league]

Tbh I think one of the reasons we’re all obsessed with John Watson is because he isn’t just a doctor, he’s a GOOD doctor. And so many of us have had experience with doctors who didn’t care or who brushed us off or refused to take us seriously, so when we see a doctor who’s so obviously a helper and a caretaker through and through, of course we’re going to love him. It’s so clear that he went into healthcare because it was his actual passion, not just because it was a steady job. He sees that someone needs help and immediately leaps into action, no questions asked. Just “Let me see, I’m a doctor.” He’s concerned for Holmes’ health all the time because he actually cares deeply about his wellbeing, not just because Holmes is his patient.

In fact, there’s not even any evidence that Holmes is officially one of his patients. Holmes never makes an appointment with him or pays him for his services, but it’s clear that Watson sees himself as Holmes’ doctor. It really seems like he just sort of assigned himself the role, because like, he’s a doctor, and Holmes is his close friend, so why would Holmes need to go see anyone else when he could just take care of medical things at home? Besides, if he doesn’t insist on it, Holmes will likely just go without medical care most of the time. And that may seem so obvious, but there are so many doctors who absolutely would not do free work for their flat mates or their friends. Not that they’re obligated to, of course, but it’s just so obviously kindhearted for Watson and to do it without question for Holmes.

He’s a really good doctor not just because he’s smart (which he clearly is) but because he is so compassionate, empathetic, and willing to help anyone who needs him. He’s the doctor we all fantasize about finding. What a man. I fuckin love that guy.

[heroesriseandfall]

Introduction to Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying, April 1990

Introduction by Dennis O'Neil for Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying (1990 collected edition)

Transcription below the cut/readmore.

INTRODUCTION by DENNIS O'NEIL

Robin was gone. We needed a new Boy Wonder. There had been two previous Robins. The original first appeared less than a year after a new costumed hero called Batman made his debut in DETECTIVE COMICS #27, to instant success. Some time within the next eleven months, his creators, artist Bob Kane and his writer-collaborator Bill Finger, decided to give their dark, obsessed hero a kind of surrogate son, Robin, who was hailed on the cover of DETECTIVE #36 as “the sensational character-find of 1940—Robin, The Boy Wonder.” Over the next 40 years, Batman’s fortunes varied: always, however, Robin was at Batman’s side.

He served a couple of functions. If Batman were real (and it may shock some of our more avid readers to learn he isn’t), and if he were the grim, obsessed loner he is often portrayed as, Robin, with some help from Batman's faithful butler Alfred, would keep him sane; a man whose every waking hour is focused on the grimmest aspects of society, who is unable to release the effects of seeing his parents murdered, whose life is an amalgam of sudden violence and lonely vigilance, would soon skew into a nasty insanity if he did not have someone to care for, someone to maintain a link with common humanity. But Batman is, of course, not real. (My apologies to avid readers.) He isn’t exactly a fictional character—more on that shortly—but he does not and could not exist as a living, breathing human being. That doesn’t make Robin any less useful: he serves the same functions in the Batman stories as Watson served in the Sherlock Holmes canon and the gravedigger serves in Hamlet: like Holmes’s faithful doctor, Robin is a sounding board, a person with whom the hero can have dialogues and thus let the reader know how brilliantly he’s handling matters and like the gravedigger, he occasionally provides a bright note in an otherwise relentlessly morose narrative.

Which is why I was a trifle uneasy when we—the editorial staff of DC Comics—decided to let our audience decide whether he would live or die. It came to be known in our offices as the “telephone stunt.” We had a character, Robin, the readers didn’t seem terribly fond of. This wasn’t the original Robin, the “character-find of 1940”; that Robin was Dick Grayson and he had graduated from sidekick to bona fide hero who fronted a group of evil-fighting adolescents, The Teen Titans. In 1983, it was decreed that Robin should grow up and assume a crime-fighting identity of his own—become his own man, as befitted the leader of the mighty Titans. He left Batman’s world to assume the name, costume, and persona of Nightwing. Gerry Conway and Don Newton replaced him with a second Robin, Jason Todd, whose biography was virtually identical to that of Dick Grayson. Why not? Gerry and Don were not trying to innovate, they were simply filling a void. The assignment they were given was simple: Provide another Robin. Quickly and with as little fuss as possible.

In 1986, Max Allan Collins inherited the Batman writing assignment and told his editor he had an idea for an improved Jason Todd. Make him a street kid, Collins said. Make his parents criminals. Have him and Batman on opposite sides at first. Sounded fine to the editor and, since DC was in the middle of a vast, company-wide overhaul of storylines anyway, Collins was told to go ahead. I was the editor; I did the telling. And I’d do it again, today. Collins’s Robin was dramatic, did have story potential. But readers didn’t take to him. I don't know now, and will probably never know why. Jason was accepted as long as he was a Dick Grayson clone, but when he acquired a distinct and, Collins and I still believe, more interesting backstory, their affection cooled. Maybe we—me and the writers who followed Collins—should have worked harder at making Jason likeable. Or maybe, I guessed, on some subconscious level our most loyal readers felt Jason was a usurper. For whatever reason, Jason was not the favorite Dick had been. He wasn’t hated, exactly, but he wasn’t loved, either. Should we write him out of the continuity? It didn’t seem like a bad idea, and when we thought of the experiment that became the telephone stunt, Jason seemed the perfect subject for it. The mechanics were pretty simple: we put Jason in an explosion and gave the readers two telephone numbers they could call, the first to vote that Jason would survive the blast, the second to vote that he wouldn't.

It was successful—oh my, yes. We expected to generate some interest, but not the amount or intensity we got. As soon as the final vote was tallied—5271 for Jasons survival, a deciding 5343 against—the calls began. For most of three days, I talked to journalists, disc jockeys, television reporters. We got a lot of compliments. They ranged from a critic’s liking our stunt to the participatory drama of avant garde theater to the brilliant comedy team of Penn and Teller expressing mock envy that we beat them to “the kill-your-partner-900-number scam.” But then came the backlash, ugly and, to me at least, totally unexpected: one reporter claimed that the whole event had been rigged—that, in fact, we had decided on Jason’s demise ahead of time and staged an elaborate charade; a teary grandmother said that her grandchildren loved Jason and now we’d killed him; several colleagues accused us of turning our magazines into a “Roman circus.” Cynical was a word used. And exploitive. Sleazy. Dishonorable. Wait a minute, I wanted to reply. Jason Todd is just a phantom, a figment of several imaginations. No real kid died. No real anything died. It’s all just stories—

I would have been wrong. Batman, and Superman, and Wonder Woman and their supporting casts are quite a bit more than “just stories” if, by “stories,” we mean ephemeral amusements. They’ve been in continuous magazine publication for a half-century, and they’ve been in movies, and television shows, and in novels, and on cereal boxes and T-shirts and underwear and candy bars and yo-yos and games—thousands of ventures. For fifty years. Fifty years! Although the circulation of our magazines is relatively modest, these characters have been so enduring, so pervasive, they have permeated our collective consciousness. Everybody recognizes them. They are our post-industrial folklore and, as such, they mean much more to people than a few minutes’ idle amusement. They’re part of the psychic family. The public and apparently callous slaying of one of their number was, to some, a vicious attack on the special part of their souls that needs awe, magic, heroism.

We had promised to abide by the telephone poll, and we would. But within a few days, it became apparent that we’d have to begin growing another Robin. We had forgotten that Batman exists outside the pages of our comics, is not the exclusive property of DC’s editorial staff; because he is both popular and imperishable, hundreds of others have some legitimate interest in him (not the least of whom are the readers who, for one reason or another, had missed the voting.) Our medium may have kept him alive, but others have added immeasurably to his success. When we began hearing from them, the consensus was that a Batman without a Robin wasn't quite a Batman. I wasn’t surprised. Nor did I disagree, particularly. So our problem became: how to create Robin III without generating the hostility that plagued poor Jason. Dick Grayson was the answer. If, as we thought, readers felt Jason had somehow usurped Dick’s place, then we should link the new Robin to Dick—give Robin III his predecessor’s stamp of approval. One writer had done almost all of the Dick Grayson material DC had published for a decade: Marv Wolfman, co-creator (with George Pérez) of the New Teen Titans. That made Mary the first, and really only, choice to undertake the task of giving Batman a new helper. And if we were using Marv, why not have some of the story happen in the pages of THE NEW TITANS, which he was already writing, and thus be able to take advantage of the very considerable talents of Marv's collaborator on the Titans, George Pérez? George volunteered to co-plot the story with Mary and do layouts on the TITANS episodes, and editor Mike Carlin enlisted Tom Grummett and Bob McLeod to complete George's graphics work. I asked the regular BATMAN artists, Jim Aparo and Mike DeCarlo, to handle the BATMAN issues. Finally, we chose a name for Robin III—Tim Drake—and, after a couple of editorial conferences, six gifted gentlemen retired to do what they do best.

The result seemed worthy of being collected between one set of covers, to be read as a graphic novel. We decided to do that and you’re holding the result. I hope you enjoy it. But please don’t think it’s the end of the Robin III saga. Dick Grayson’s lasted 50 years, after all, and Tim Drake does have his blessing.

Dennis O’Neil

April 1990

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[jqafterdark]

Seeing S/O in Lingerie Reaction

From a request in my main blog, this has no smut but VERY SUGGESTIVE so... yeah ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sebastian Moran, William James Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, and Louis James Moriarty

Tag/s: Historically inaccurate lingerie

Sebastian Moran

The man whistled as soon as you entered his field of vision.

He looked like a kid in a candy store.

Straight up GRINNING from ear to ear.

If you're showing him a variety, he'll inspect every single one of them.

It's almost alarming how focused he looks.

Little do you know, he's thinking about how to use whatever lace or strings your outfit has to his advantage in the bedroom.

The minute you're within his reach, Sebastian pulls you to his lap to get a closer look.

He takes his time to take in your figure while his hands roam through your body.

Even as you walk away, his eyes never leave your figure.

Like you were one of his targets on missions.

He would definitely tease you, wanting you to get riled up as much as he is.

What's more annoying is he wants you to say that you want to do it before he continues.

He's torn between taking it off or just doing the deed with it still on you.

Whatever position you're in, he definitely has a good view of you.

A mirror might be involved.

"I'm back-" Sebastian abruptly stopped as your eyes met in the mirror, wide in shock.

His eyes traveled down to your new short silk nightgown and stockings, going up and down before smiling.

"You could have just said so," he chuckled, removing his coat as he walked up to you.

You quickly grabbed whatever was closest to you, in this case, a hairbrush, and pointed it at him as you kept a distance.

"Oh no, you don't! Last time, I chased the target through the city with a limp!" you muttered, keeping your distance as your eyes never left him.

"Do you have a mission tomorrow?" Sebastian innocently asked, making you pause.

"...No...?"

"Then that settles it," he smiled, quickly hugging your waist.

"SEBASTIAN!"

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle. Wouldn't want your pretty outfit to rip, now do we?"

William James Moriarty

When you asked him to come with you to go underwear shopping, he was shocked, to say the least.

But he quickly recovered and agreed.

You definitely have his attention now.

While his eyes kept following you while he drank his tea, his smile was different than it usually was.

It was more... devious, so to speak.

While he keeps his composure, a lot has happened in his mind.

While you were picking some things, William acted like a perfect gentleman.

Holds the clothes you picked, heartfelt compliments to boost your confidence, over all the best boyfriend you could ask for.

Almost too good to be true. And it was.

He might have thought of a few scenarios on how the two of you could get away with it in the store.

It helped that it was a pretty private dressing room, considering the store was made just for the nobles, where it was just you and him.

Even the workers were far from earshot, attending to the other customers at the front.

But he didn't continue since he saw you enjoying your little date and didn't want to ruin your good mood.

It didn't help that you would ask him for help to put some of them on, though... Or take them off.

Besides, he has the whole night planned just for the two of you, and he's making sure no one would bother you two.

You hummed happily as you swung the bags in your arms, satisfied with your purchases.

"I'm surprised you agreed to go shopping with me, Will!" you mused as you turned to William, "Didn't you have a meeting later with everyone? Wouldn't you be late?"

William gave you a smile as he grabbed your hand, "The meeting was moved since some of the professors were out sick,"

"Is that so..." you trailed off, shrugging off his response.

William quietly chuckled, remembering the surprised expressions his comrades had when he said the meeting was canceled and assigned a new mission to everyone.

The manor was now empty until morning.

"Well, whatever! I can't wait to try these at home," you beamed, looking down at your new haul.

"Indeed," William agreed, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Sherlock Holmes

He never saw the appeal of the lingerie until he saw it on you.

Now, lace is his favorite thing on your body.

The first time he saw you in lingerie, it was like he shut down.

He didn't say a word, but his eyes were glued to you as he reached his hand out to you.

When you walked up to him, he eyed every inch of your body, engraving the image of you in his mind.

To him, you looked ethereal.

Like beauty personified.

When he did speak, it was soft and breathless, as if you rendered him speechless.

And when you did it, the sight of you in lingerie and covered in hickeys he left is now his favorite thing.

He gets more possessive whenever he sees you in lingerie.

And surprisingly more gentle and slow, wanting to enjoy every second of it.

Now, every time you buy a new set, he likes having a private fashion show.

When you bring him to a lingerie store, he is not embarrassed at all.

Hell, he'd even pick out a few things for you.

You can tell his compliments are genuine with how serious his expression is.

"Sherlock?" you called out, slowly walking up to him.

His eyes were completely wide as he looked at you.

"Sherl?" you called out again, but no response as he continued to stare at you.

You bit your lip as you covered yourself, feeling self-conscious wearing nothing but a bustier with matching underwear.

"Don't,"

"Huh?" Sherlock quickly grabbed your hands, pulling them down to your side.

"Don't hide it. You look beautiful," Sherlock breathed out, mesmerized by your outfit as his eyes slowly looked up at you.

You felt your face flush as you looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"You're staring too much,"

"I disagree,"

Louis James Moriarty

You almost gave the man a heart attack.

He was not expecting to see you in lace and sheer one night after a long day of house chores.

Was it an unwelcomed surprise? No. Definitely not.

That night, he was just hoping to have some downtime with you after working the whole day.

So when he saw you by your dresser half-dressed putting on stockings, it was like the man turned into stone.

Minutes later, Louis came back and saw you in your robe, relieved to see he was okay.

His face became completely red when he remembered what happened and apologized for walking in on you.

Even though you forgave Louis, he's still scolding himself for liking what he saw.

What's more, his eyes would gaze over your robe when it would slip.

Explaining why he slammed his head on the table was interesting, to say the least.

So when you told Louis it was okay for him to look, he was still shy. But you would catch him stealing glances your way.

He tries to compliment you, say anything coherent for that matter. But he just mutters something while looking at the ground.

However, the moment he got more confident, his hands would not let you go.

Suddenly, he's fluent in dirty talk and knows just what to say to get you in the mood.

And he makes sure you know just how beautiful and alluring you looked that night.

"I truly apologize..." Louis muttered, a cold towel over his head as you chuckled, tying the robe tightly around your waist.

"Don't be. I'm just surprised," you reassured as you removed the towel, making Louis meet your eyes.

You weren't sure, but you swear you saw his eyes tracing your robe down to your chest.

His face turned completely red instantly, making him turn away.

You breathed out a smile as you hugged him tightly, kissing the top of his head.

"I'm really not mad, Louis!" you giggled, swaying side-by-side.

"Besides, that was for your eyes only, you know?" you grinned, making the man freeze as steam came out of his face as you snickered.

"Please don't tease me..."

[callester]

Damian and Anya's aligned imaginary creativity in Mission 113.

The first joint project came from the random assignment in the arts and crafts class that grouped Damian and Anya together. While Anya's intention to help Damian with his model Griffin went astray, her contributed piece had led to a moving interpretation that earned the project the first prize.

Damian's cardboard manifestation of the Paradise Fist seemed to serve as a reminder to the 3D model project that involved similar arts and crafts materials. And while those who caught sight of it had criticised and scrutinised upon the crafted fist, Anya had been the only one who shared the same epic sentiment behind it through plain excitement.

Note: Where most would view Anya's excitement on Damian's manifested Paradise Fist as purely out of its "strangeness", this alone served as another connection to their similar line of imaginations. But alas, most had failed to catch on to such depth of their dynamic despite being hinted on.

Quoting Sherlock Holmes; You see, but you do not observe.

[punjabassignmenthelpaus]

Holmes Institute Assignment Help: Your Path to Academic Success

Are you a Holmes Institute scholar not doing well in your assignments? Here is help. A professional assignment help for your Holmes Institute assignments is waiting for you at Punjab Assignment Help. Working together, we guarantee you success in your academic studies by rendering quality assignment help, personalized assistance, and the curriculum advice all through your academic pursuit from any part of Australia whether you are in Melbourne, Sydney, or any other.

Why Choose Punjab Assignment Help for Holmes Institute?

We at Punjab Assignment Help, devote ourselves to producing the best, original, and plagiarism-free homework for the students of Holmes Institute. Our team of experts provides tailor-made solutions to a variety of subjects that are given at Holmes Institute. Here’s why you should choose us:

• Expert Writers: Our Team consists of experts in many different fields like business management, IT, and healthcare & hospitality. All our experts are well qualified and have great practical experience which they have attained in the domain they are specialized in.

• Plagiarism-Free Work: Every single paper is an original piece that we write from scratch by the requirements you give us. Using our plagiarism detection technology tools, we check if your papers meet the highest academic integrity standards.

• On-Time Delivery: We appreciate the sense of urgency. We’ll always be able to deliver your assignment on time, no matter how tight your deadline is; thus, you’ll be able to trust it.

• Affordable Pricing: At Punjab Assignment Help, we propose money-saving packages that look after the academic success of all students since our service is quite affordable prices without any compromise on quality.

• 24/7 Support: The customer support is always up and if you have any queries or require updates on your assignment, you can communicate with our customer support team 24/7. We will assist you, always.

Courses at Holmes Institute

A range of courses in fields like Business, IT, Healthcare, and Hospitality is provided by Holmes Institute. The most famous programs are a few of the following ones:

Business and Management:

Bachelor of Business (BBus)

Master of Business Administration (MBA)

Graduate Diploma in Business (GDB)

Information Technology:

Bachelor of Information System (BIS)

Master of Information Technology (MIS)

Accounting

Bachelor of Professional Accounting (BPA)

Early Childhood

Master of Information Technology (MIS)

Every one of these classes is demanding because of detailed assignments, research papers, case studies, and projects are to be submitted by the students. No matter if the tasks are related to the classroom, research, or just the layout and the citations are the things that are bugging you, Punjab Assignment Help is the right place to go to get help.

How Punjab Assignment Help Assists in Accessing Holmes Blackboard

Holmes Blackboard is the learning management system that Homes Institute uses to deliver and manage courses. Students can study material and submit assignments, get their grades, as well as interact with their instructors and classmates through Blackboard Holmes.

At Punjab Assignment Help, we offer full support in gaining access to and utilizing Holmes Blackboard so that you are able to easily submit your assignments. Whenever you experience difficulties with Blackboard or lack understanding of the submission process, our professionals are capable of leading you through each single step.

Steps to Submit Assignment on Holmes Blackboard

Uploading an assignment to Holmes Blackboard is very easy. Go through the following steps to avoid any hiccups with your submission:

Step 1: Log in to Holmes Blackboard

1. Go to the Holmes Institute Blackboard Login page.

2. You will have an opportunity to access your account after you will have filled the student ID and password blanks.

3. Login in your dashboard by means of click the Login button right away and enter the system.

Step 2: Navigate to Your Course

1. Your Blackboard dashboard will have a list of your courses you are taking.

2. Just left-click on the course you have to submit your assignment for.

Step 3: Find the Assignment Submission Area

Locate the Assignments or Assessment section on the left-side menu within your course.

Locate the exact assignment you are supposed to upload. Both the period of submitting and any other necessary details will be shown next to the link of this assignment.

Step 4: Review the Assignment Details

Tap the document name to go through the assignment details such as the submission requirements, word limits, formatting patterns, and the additional resources or directions given by the professor, respectively.

Download any extra notes or rating scales available in case it is needed.

Step 5: Prepare Your Assignment for Submission

1. Your task is to make sure that your assignment is really done up to the instructions and was also not copied from another source and & it has good format.

2. After making your essay, look it over and make sure you referenced everybody who extremly helped you and gave you thoughts and links

Step 6: Submit Your Assignment

Once you have finished the analysis, click the Browse My Computer button (or equivalent) to pick the right document from your computer and hand it in.

Find the appropriate document on your computer (make sure it is in the right format, such as .docx, .pdf, etc.).

Click on the Submit to complete your submission process.

Step 7: Confirmation

1. After delivery, a confirmation message will be received, informing you that your assignment has been uploaded successfully.

2. You can further verify the confirmation and, if needed, also print it out for your records.

Step 8: Check Grades and Feedback

1. Once graded, you will be able to assign the grade to the grade section or the grades section on the blackboard.

2. To begin with, look for your instructors’ comments as they can make you better in your future tasks.

Why Holmes Institute Students Choose Punjab Assignment Help

At Punjab Assignment Help, students of Holmes Institute are aware that they not only do the tasks of their courses but also participate in several activities the same time, that’s why it is difficult for students to concentrate on every task. Therefore, we have assembled a team to do the heavy lifting for you by offering assignment help online instantly at affordable rates. In fact, we go even beyond that by making sure you are fully grasping your classes by providing a tutor if necessary, enabling seasoned writers to apply their skills to the utmost by producing accurate and complete term papers, and helping you complete the submission process on Holmes Blackboard. We are completely dedicated to your accomplishment in your course and do whatever it takes to reach your career goals.

Get in Touch Today!

Would you like to achieve the most in your academic performance and reach the next level? Contact Punjab Assignment Help for their professional assistance and get help with your Holmes Institute’s assignments. Our Experts Guide is at your service.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Steph, do you have any "there was only one bed" recs?

Hi Lovely!

Ahhh, not SPECIFICALLY "only one bed" but I do have a LOT of "Bed sharing" fics where the majority of them are "victims of circumstances" so in turn Share A Bed, LOL. And because I need a list for today, I'm using your list to put out the next part that doesn't have much but I did go through my MFL list to pad it out a bit. For those, I whittled down that section to fics specifically tagged with "one bed" LOL, so check that section out to get more closer to what you're looking for.

If anyone has some fics to share that are SPECIFICALLY One Bed, please do!!!! One of these days I will properly sit down and go through all my bookmarks, and then I'll filter those out from these lists.

BED SHARING Pt. 7

See also:

The Speckled Blonde / BedSharing

BedSharing Pt. 2 and Insecure Sherlock

Bed Sharing Pt. 3

Bed Sharing Pt. 4 

Bed Sharing Pt. 5

Bed Sharing Pt. 6 (Mar 2023)

BOOKMARKS

Both Sides Now by Silvergirl (M, 14,724 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TEH / Reunion Fix-It, Bed Sharing, First Kiss / Time, Undercover John, Couple for a Case, Assassin Mary, Big Brother Mycroft, Norfolk Coast, Angry John, First Kiss, Worried Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Alternating POV, Infidelity, Meddling Mycroft, Emotional Love Making, Matchmaker Mycroft) – Sherlock, undercover on the Norfolk coast, texts that he needs help; John is still seething after Sherlock’s gambit in the train car, and he refuses. When Sherlock goes missing, Mycroft sends John in to pose as Sherlock’s bit on the side.

Spare Parts by Raina_at (E, 63,497 w., 10 Ch. || 24th Century / Futurism AU || Post TRF, Pre-TRF Relationship, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Estrangement, Reconciliation, Science Fiction, Reunion, Nightmares, Angry John, Cybernetic John, Emotional Discussions / Heart to Heart, POV John, Scars, Past Drug Use, Forehead Touching, Emotional Lovemaking, Kissing, Apologies, Kidnapping, Rescue Mission, BAMF John, Bed Sharing, Top Sherlock) – Two years ago, Sherlock Holmes jumped off the roof of New London Hospital. Two months ago, he walked into John's clinic as if no time had passed at all. John hasn't seen him since. But then Sherlock knocks on John's door with a case he can't say no to, and while figuring out why the biggest manufacturer or synthetic limbs in the System is going after veterans, they also need to find out whether there's a way to fix what's broken between them. Part 1 of Realigning Gravity

Out There by DiscordantWords (T, 131,695 w., 10 Ch. || X-Files Fusion || Past Soldier John, Panic Attacks, POV Alternating Present Tense, Anxious John, Canon Adjacent, Deductions, Obsessive Sherlock,, Travelling, Sherlock’s Family, Jealous Sherlock, Mind Palace John, Awkward Flirting, Batting Cage, Kidnapped/Abducted John, Semi-Reverse Reichenbach, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Hospital, Slow Burn, UST, Case Fic, Government Conspiracy, Aliens, UFOs, Mutants, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, Coma John, Forehead Touching, Hand Holding, Drinking/Bars, Past Jolto) – FBI Special Agent John Watson, medical doctor and army veteran, is assigned to assist eccentric genius Sherlock Holmes with paranormal investigations on the X-Files project.

MARKED FOR LATER

One Bed That Wasn't Slept In, and Another That Was by ancientreader (E, 8,455 w., 1 Ch. || Bed Sharing, First Time) – John doesn’t mind sharing a bed with Sherlock. Sherlock dissents. Things go downhill from there.

The Perfect Place by meet_me_in_samarra (T, 10,070 w., 14 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting AU || Crack / Humour, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Only One Bed) – Sherlock needs a flatmate and already has the perfect person in mind. Now he only needs to convince his object of desire to move in and also find out if he desires Sherlock as well.

All of the Things I Need by thalialunacy (E, 10,337 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Parentlock with Rosie, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Big Brother / Uncle Mycroft, Frottage, Anal, First Kiss, First Time, Only One Bed, "Straight" John) – In which John has to be shoved into moving forward, Sherlock actually manages to be surprised, and Mycroft turns out to be an A+ uncle. (And they all live happily ever after, of course.)

The Cavern by elwinglyre (M, 28,323 w., 12 Ch. || The Beatles / 1960s Rockstar AU || Only One Bed, Mutual Pining, Rock and Roll History, Erotic Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Homophobia, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Inspired by Music, POV Third Person Alternating) – Sherlock is not into making magic. He doesn’t believe in it. He does, however, believe in making rock and roll history. His best chance is to join John Watson’s band, the Magic Makers. They begin at the Cavern. There he learns to believe in more than magic with a little help from his friends. AU is set in Liverpool during the early 60s—when homosexuality is a crime.

Roommates are for little people by alexxphoenix42 (E, 69,042 w., 14 Ch. || Teen/Unilock || Forced to Share a Bed, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Relationship, Sherlock is a Prick, Drinking, Inadvertent Drug Use, Family Wedding, Footballer John / Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Frottage, Slow Burn, Mild Dub Con, Cuddling While Sleeping, Slight Homophobia, Posh Boy, Dirty Dancing, Endearments, Nosy Family, Bathing Together, Mild Angst, UST/RST, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff) – John was looking forward to seeing his friends back at uni, but a new year brings new complications, not the least of which is a dorm room with only one bed, and a stroppy roommate with an utterly spectacular arse. God, John doesn't need the headache.

Trick or Treat by Accident and holmesian_love (M, 88,310 w., 8 Ch. || Halloween, Costume Parties / Masquerade, Love Confessions, Only One Bed, Injured John, Three Continents Watson, One Night Stand, Case Fic, Jealousy, Greg and John Relationship, Caring Mycroft, Ghosts) – Sherlock has a new case. One that John is unlikely to get on board with, so it's going to take some convincing. Little does he know that John is discovering new feelings and this whole adventure may unravel more than just a killer.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Urban Life

Being London born and bred, she knew the city’s sounds by heart. Cars honking or backfiring. Large groups of tourists chatting and laughing in the famous sites of the city. Shouts and arguments from the pubs. Swans and ducks cackling in St. James’s Park. They were all a part of her, which became apparent every time she visited her grandparents in the countryside. 

As a little girl, she slept through everything, sound or no sound, but as she grew older, she had trouble falling asleep without all the bustle from the streets of her beloved city. It used to pass after a day or two, though.

When she was nine, her teacher gave the class an assignment about sounds, smells, or tastes and what one or more of them, reminded the children of.

She asked her father for advice on what she should choose, or whether she should go with all the subjects.

“It’s really up to you, love,” John said. “Perhaps avoid the smells. You know far too many disgusting ones that might be difficult to explain. And your teacher might think you’re exaggerating and making things up.”

He looked over at his husband who were currently measuring something green with…well, something foul smelling.

Rosie’s papa didn’t notice any of this, because his sole focus was on the delicate experiment that could solve the case he was investigating.

“Yeah, I think I will go for the sounds,” Rosie said after a few moments.

“Good decision,” John praised just as steam rose from Sherlock’s concoction, and a terrible stench made John and Rosie run to the sitting room and open both windows while coughing loudly.

***

Rosie’s teacher was not entirely satisfied with her assignment. She made her stay in the classroom after she had excused the other children.

“This task was supposed to be truthful and not fictional,” she said.

“I know that. And it is,” Rosie protested. 

“You can’t seriously mean that police sirens and lights remind you of your parents and your uncle.”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“I refuse to have a lying pupil in my class! I’ve called your father and he will be here any minute, so we can solve this,” the stubborn teacher said.

Rosie rolled her eyes and wanted to tell her teacher, who was new, that calling John or Sherlock would do nothing to help the woman’s cause.

As it where, both her parents came to their precious girl’s rescue, and left a befuddled and slightly dazed teacher in their wake.

“How was I supposed to know that her parents are the famous detective and that doctor, and that the uncle is a DI at the Met?” she complained to one of her colleagues later.

She didn’t get much support.

“If you hadn’t been so reluctant to learn the kids’ surnames, you wouldn’t have found yourself in this mess. Watson-Holmes is a dead giveaway in my book,” the colleague grinned. 

@flashfictionfridayofficial @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @helloliriels

@raina-at @meetinginsamarra @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitch-adler @topsyturvy-turtely

@jolieblack @peanitbear @phoenix27884 @bs2sjh @brandiwein1982

@meandhisjohn @a-victorian-girl @221beloved @ninasnakie @shy-bi-letsfuckingdie

@lhrinchelsea @missdeliadilisblog @salmonsown @oetkb12 @jawnscoffee

@gay-ass-bitch @acumberlockedgirl @williamholmeswatson

(Tell me if you want to be tagged or removed from the list)

[scream-at-a-whisper]

Things I like about The Final Baker of Baker Street:

THE INTRO CARD IS FIRE!!! MYSTERY OF THE MIDNIGHT CIRCUS CALLBACK!

"That's my face, baby." Tom's sass knows no bounds

Sam immediately understood the assignment when he decided to be Watson, and AJ pushing Tom to be Sherlock was so silly to me.

Sam antagonising Tom literally seconds into the play.

Mrs. Hudson being confined to the basement is so funny to me

Tom as an apparently villainous character is awesome, he's so funny when he's pretending to be angry. I wonder if this is therapeutic for him?

Don't understnad what the fuck Holmes wanted during that table/sausage roll section, but it had me rolling.

Sam setting up a plot point only for it to immediately be dropped.

"You're wife is a cunt...ry gal," and Sam immediately breaking.

Tom and Sam referencing different iterations of Holmes, and then Sam revealing his was fucking "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" got me. (Poor Tom and his classic's degree).

Sam having to literally turn away to keep from dying while Tom was yelling at AJ was so funny.

"help me."

"I WAS STAGE WHISPERING."

"Don't take my money????" Sam looked genuinely incredulous.

Scared-J "Huh. Alright. HELP. ME."

"You've cut your table in half!" is giving "Sorry, I'm distracted by the fact that you've just put that into the fire."

"And Tom-Sherlock." Luke is my spirit animal for losing it there.

"I have a very precise spreadsheet of your availability." Okay Mr. Admin.

"She can't, I've locked the door." Hm. Might be fr evil.

Sam, seeing a Luke character: "I should wife that."

"Backstreets back-" audience is weak sauce for not laughing harder at that, funniest shit I've seen in a while.

"What if they're shitting someone else?" "Something else?" "Somewhere else." STOP PRETENDING YOU HAD IT RIGHT.

"A letter! A letter?"

Luke's expressions while reading the letter are so good.

Oh Constable Lestrade, I love this guy.

Was waiting for someone to point out Mrs. Greggs can't read.

Idk how Sam does that voice, I feel the pain just listening to him.

I love Tom's Sherlock voice.

Constable Lestrade's voice is also awesome.

"Oh sorry, let me read from the top of the letter." <- LUKE YOU MESSY BASTARD LMAO.

"We should probably let him finish the letter" "Oh sorry :(." It's Okay-J.

The timeskip confusion lmaooo.

Tough-J when Sam calls him a shitty constable

Luke's little 'good joke' gesture when Sam said Gregg

Tom, bestie, what the fuck was happening with the bee.

Tom got the whole gang laughing with the "even though I just know his voice".

Actor-J "HOW THE FUCK DID HE KNOW IT WAS ME??"

Damn Sam's really fucking going for those violin sounds

Also AJ flexing his actor abilities with how good he is at portraying that mix of fear and concern, like he does such a good job at looking like he really cares about Holmes.

Gonna stop here for 'cause this is getting long. T^T

[thedaredevilsgirl]

I saw you said you write for Sherlock, are requests still open? I have a short blurb of an idea. Reader has a long day at college and Sherlock notices and tries to help, maybe with just pulling reader away from an assignment or something. Fluff, lots of fluff. (I’m tired, thank you for reading this ask though, you don’t have to write it)

A Mystery of Calm

bbc/Sherlock Holmes x Reader

718 words

I decided to combine your idea with one I already had, I'm also in college, so I know how complicated and difficult this period of our lives can be, but we'll get through it.

As it's the first time I've written after so long, I decided to write something not so long, but I hope it doesn't upset you.

Enjoy reading, I hope you like it.

❀﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏❀

It was almost 7 a.m. and Sherlock Holmes was at home at 221B Baker Street, immersed in yet another of his cases, something about a politician killed during his own election campaign. But his attention was focused on something much closer: you, his partner.

He knew that your exams were approaching and that this made you feel overwhelmed. The stress was consuming you, it even seemed to have become a feature of your personality. Worrying about getting the best grades and staying among the best students was like a big weight on your shoulders, it was all you could think about, with no time for distractions or fun, not even the most fascinating books could hold your attention anymore.

Sherlock looked around again and found himself getting worried, it was still so early and you hadn't even taken a break from your studies to eat or sleep the night before, it was clear that you were tired, he could tell just by your breathing and droopy eyes. Noticing your anxiety, Sherlock decided it was time to put work aside and use his skills not only to solve mysteries, but also to help the love of his life.

"Darling," he said softly, approaching where you were sitting, "you need a rest."

You looked at him, a tired expression mixed with doubt. "But I have so much to study, Sherlock! I have a very important exam tomorrow, I don't want to do badly."

Holmes smiled, knowing that you needed more than words of comfort "Sometimes the best way to move forward is to take a step back. Your grades are excellent and you've studied hard, I think a rest and some fresh air wouldn't hurt. How about a walk in the park? We can have a picnic, have something to eat, I can even show you my favorite crime scenes," he says with a sweet smile on his face.

Reluctantly, you agreed. Soon, the two of you were in Hyde Park, where the trees swayed gently and the sun illuminated the path. Sherlock knew you needed him at that moment, so even if it was just something simple, he made the effort and asked Mrs. Hudson to help him prepare a delicious picnic, with sandwiches, fruit and some tea.

You sat under the shade of your favorite tree, the same one where he met you for the first time and asked you various questions, considering you a suspect in one of his cases, where you had your first date and where he assumed that for the first time he might be having romantic feelings for someone. As you ate, he watched you with affection. "You know, even the greatest detectives need a moment's break. The mind needs to be aired in order to find solutions."

You laughed, just being away from your books and study materials made you feel a little lighter. "But I'm not a detective, Sherlock."

"But you are a problem solver," he replied, looking into her eyes. "Life, like a mystery, takes time and patience."

After the picnic, he led her to a quieter area of the park. "Close your eyes and listen," he said. "The sounds of nature can be as comforting as a book."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, feeling your worries dissipate. The birdsong, the gentle whisper of the wind, and Sherlock's reassuring presence beside you brought a peace you couldn't remember feeling for weeks.

Sherlock approaches you, placing his hand gently on your cheek and leaving a kiss under your lips. You smile as he pulls away, knowing that despite everything, you had chosen the right person for you.

"Thank you, my love," you whisper, still close to him.

"And remember, love," he says with a smile. "When everything seems like an unsolvable mystery, it's good to have someone by your side to help clear your head."

In a new mood, you returned home, knowing that you had studied enough and now needed a little rest for your mind. After a long, relaxing bath, you lay down on the bed you shared every night with Sherlock and felt him tuck the soft sheet under your body.

"Sleep well, my love," he says, leaving a light kiss on your forehead and leaving your room to finally let you rest.

[jrow]

May Prompts (25)

Day 24 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 26 here.

Intuition

He may not be Sherlock Holmes, but he trusts his intuition.

In fact, right now his intuition is probably a hell of a lot more reliable than Sherlock’s. He’s seen what Sherlock will do when blinded by anger.

It’s time for Captain Watson to take control.

“Don’t look out the window,” he hisses through a smile. “Keep looking at me or Rosie. Look happy.”

“But John—“ Sherlock argues, gesticulating wildly.

“Sherlock. Trust me.” He knows his tone leaves no room for argument. Even from the great Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock freezes and then starts fidgeting slightly awkwardly. He seems almost … flustered. But then he gives a tiny nod and plasters on a fake smile while keeping his eyes firmly on Rosie.

“Good. Now, you are going to get up and go order two coffees. And I am going to call Mrs. Hudson and ask her to pick up Rosie from here.” He looks at his daughter who is happily scribbling with the crayons and blank paper they brought. He thinks maybe he can see some hearts among her chaos of lines. “We aren’t doing anything until we get Rosie out of here.”

That seems to get through to Sherlock. “Right. Of course. Coffees.”

They proceed with their tasks and soon are back at the table, pretending to have a normal conversation while they wait for their landlady. It’s excruciating.

“Who is he?” Sherlock asks, leaning back in his chair, the picture of relaxation.

“I don’t remember his name but he was on the scene at the … Smith abduction case maybe? Something around that time.” He takes a drink of coffee. “And the bastard has been one of the constables assigned to my room too. Changed his hair and shaved off his moustache but definitely the same guy.”

“Of course, I should have known. No man in their right mind would dye their hair that colour. He’s hoping you won’t make the connection,” Sherlock says, picking up one of the crayons and drawing a happy face beside Rosie’s scribbles. She giggles and snatches the crayon from his hand, having decided she needs the yellow at this very instant. “He seems to think he has a lot to lose. I have no doubt he’s planning an escape—somewhere in Europe most likely.”

To anyone else, he’s sure Sherlock sounds calm, but he hears the quiet fury lacing every word.

He doesn’t know what to say, so they sit in silence for a moment. He drinks his coffee and Sherlock and Rosie play a game of keep away with the crayons.

“I wonder how Larkin got mixed up in all this. Hate to say it, but I feel a bit sorry for the guy,” he finally says, mostly to pass the time.

“That’s easy,” Sherlock says, keeping his focus on Rosie. “Constable Needs-to-Die happened upon Mr. Larkin in the midst of some crime. Something serious that would come with significant jail time. The constable looked the other way in exchange for a major favour, which he called in when he decided he needed to get you out of the picture.” A pause. “Feel no sympathy. Robert Larkin got exactly what he deserved.”

That rather somber sentiment is quickly dissipated by Rosie’s squeals of delight and calls of “Nana” that announce Mrs. Hudson’s arrival. She’s trying to jump down from the booster even before Mrs. Hudson made her way through the door.

“What did you tell her?” Sherlock asks quietly, leaning close.

“Just that I … errr… just that I was hoping to have a little extra time alone with you,” he says, feeling the heat in his cheeks rise. It’s not that far from the truth, really, but feels like a confession of sorts.

Mrs. Hudson swoops in and hugs Rosie before Sherlock can respond. “There’s my little princess, let’s get you in your pushchair. We are going to have so much fun!” For a woman pushing 80, Mrs. Hudson is impressively spry. She quickly gets everything together (eschewing all help), including getting Rosie all buckled in without a fuss.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock says, his voice neutral but his toe tapping rather aggressively.

“It’s my pleasure, boys. You two have fun,” Mrs. Hudson replies with a wink. “Don’t get into too much trouble.” Her words are light but there’s a look in her eye that makes him think she understands the urgency. In a flash, she and Rosie are gone.

He tries to pick up his coffee but his hands are shaking in anticipation of what’s to come. And relief that, whatever happens, Rosie is safe in Baker Street. Where she belongs.

It’s also relief that he is here with Sherlock, about to do … whatever it is they are about to do. Together. It’s where they belong.

“John,” Sherlock says, forcefully. “Rosie is safe. It’s time to do things my way now.”

Time to follow intuition once again.

“Dear god, yes.”

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[thegildedbee]

Box: May 2 Prompt from @calaisreno

“You wished to see me,” Mycroft says, looking not at John, but down at his own left hand, where his thumb is rubbing across the fingers curled into his palm, making clear that the sentiment is not returned.

“No,” John replies, impassively.

“And yet,” says Mycroft, making a sweeping gesture with his right arm, ending with a careless flick of his hand in John’s direction, “here you are.”

“Well-spotted. There’s that famous Holmes intellect at work.” John shrugs his shoulders with eloquent disdain. “Needs must when so many devils are doing the driving.”

Mycroft lifts the corners of his mouth in an insult of a smile.

Each man looks the other in the eye, unblinking, the hands of the three-tiered gilded clock on the mantel the only moving objects in the room. After a moment it is quarter past the hour, and the timepiece – which John would have been unsurprised to learn had belonged to a Qing dynasty emperor, were its current owner to share the information – softly chimes.

John leans forward, pressing his fingers into the edge of the massive Victorian partners desk behind which Mycroft sits.

“Sherlock is not dead.”

Mycroft slowly shakes his head. “Not so, Dr. Watson. Are you telling me that you do not believe the evidence of your own eyes and hands at the physical damage sustained by Sherlock's body?”

“And yet there is evidence otherwise," John counters.

“I do hope for your sake that you have shared your thoughts with your therapist or another medical professional, so that you can receive the care that you so clearly need.”

“Petty taunts, Mycroft. No need to unsheath the rapier if there’s no danger in sight.”

“I am a busy man. Do get to the purpose of your visit so that it can be concluded. That is, if there is a purpose, beyond letting time pass as you sit here engaging in fantasy?”

John sits back, and nods. “Very well. I want to be assigned to help protect Sherlock as he engages Moriarty’s network.”

Mycroft scoffs. “Were that even true, there would be no reason for me to acquiesce to such a request.”

“To prevent the release of the evidence I have to the contrary. And it's not a request. It is a demand."

Mycroft arranges his features into a simulcram of pleasantness. “And what evidence would that be?”

“I have no desire to reveal my hand on that score just yet. Not until I hear the word 'yes'.”

Mycroft purses his lips and picks up a fountain pen and points it at John's chest. “It would be unwise to engage in threats, Dr. Watson. I can press a button and have you detained in an instant, therefore placing any mythical information under lock and key as well.”

John snorts. “Not my first rodeo, Mycroft. If I don’t give a particular signal three hours from now, the evidence will be released to the press. From multiple sources.”

In a deliberate motion, Mycroft inserts the pen into a repurposed bronze inkwell. “And what if, in releasing this alleged information in a misguided attempt to soothe your distress, you should increase any danger to Sherlock, and the effect would be to cause him harm? What then, doctor?”

“With all due respect, Mycroft . . . if Sherlock is dead," John smiles, "then the release of my information will have absolutely no effect at all. None whatsoever."

“Do not box me in, doctor. You will regret it.”

“Oh, I have regrets, but that is not one that will be added to the list.” John narrows his eyes at the man opposite, and then says briskly, “Time to demonstrate your diplomatic skills, Mycroft -- time to negotiate. Chop chop. End of story.”

......................................................... @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl .........................................................

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes' class is your most difficult, but he's about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: It was a drabble then it weren't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You're not certain. Not at first. But when are you ever confident in anything?

Yet you're assured by the dark curls and vibrant eyes, the slanted brows never devoid of judgment. More than anything, it's his posture that confirms his identity. Professor Holmes is staunch and indomitable even as he browses shelves of antique style pens; crystal, wood, and brass. He considers each as he would every word of a term paper. 

You're doubt turns to what to do next. Do you say hello? Or pretend you don't see him? Would he know either way? You're fairly convinced he can't pick you out of the lecture hall. 

So you do what you do best and fade into the scenery. You trail along the shelves and dip around the other side, putting your attention to the spools of thread, organized in a perfect spectrum of hues. As you mindlessly touch the thread, your mind wanders back around the row.

You would never expect to see the professor there, though honestly, you've never thought of him outside the classroom. You avoid that as much as you can, you stress enough over his unattainable standards. His is the only class which has you below an A. 

You contemplate the silver twine. You've been looking for the very thing and yet the price is much above your budget. All that for some shine? 

You move on, turning around to the balls of wool and needles arranged from thinnest to thickest. Your ears are pricked by the familiar timbre. The professor's voice carries as easily as in the lecture hall. You try not to listen but you can't help the instinctive decipher of each syllable. 

"Are these genuine silver?" He asks, presumably of a passing associate.  

"Um, I'm not sure, sir," the squeaky adolescent reply is met with an impatient sigh. "I work in the back." 

"Work in the back doing what? Sorting stock? Do you not know what you put on the shelves?" Professor Holmes' disapproval is unmistakable.  

His tone make you want to run. It is the same detest wrought into the feedback scribbled in the margins of your assignments. If it isn't perfect, it's not acceptable. 

You should go. You don't have the money to waste on hobbies you don't have time for. Nor do you relish an encounter with the very man responsible for your lack of free time. 

You make sure to walk toward the far end of the aisle and avoid any possible sighting. The very thing you meant to distract yourself chases you from your procrastination. Two days before your paper is due, and you've not even touched the readings due for that week's class discussion. 

📕

You’re barely awake as you claim a seat in the melancholic lecture hall. The coeds are silent, only yawning between slurping from paper cups, or slumping dangerously over the narrow armrests. There’s a dour commiseration in the air; a sort of resignation. 

Papers are handed in and yet the outcome is almost assured; Professor Holmes will surely find at least a dozen reasons to dock marks. Sometimes it seems even the font can draw his ire. Yet, there is more to be done. He will expect a lively discussion before that three-hour block is done and if he doesn’t get it, you will all sweat for it. 

You flutter through your notebook. Unlike your other courses, the paper is crinkled and the writing is erratic. Each week sees you with at least another twenty pages added to the reading list. You don’t understand how anyone can keep up with it all; the work alone is as much as all your other classes combined. 

You jump in your seat as his even-keeled voice rolls through the air. He hardly has to project as his baritone fills the large room. You look up and fumble for your pen. Professor Holmes doesn’t permit devices. The last person caught merely looking at their phone was dropped from the course. 

You chew the end of the pen as he begins his introduction, but not without a sharp remark about your midterm papers. It’s as if he’s already made up his mind that you’ve all failed. There’s no bell curve in this class, just an impossible mountain. 

“To make it simple,” his accent lilts off his tongue, “I’ve decided we will do things a bit differently this week. I will have you sort yourself into groups and each will discuss an assigned article. At the end, we will reconvene and you will nominate a member to present your conclusions. You may use our usual guiding questions for these purposes.” 

You nod and furrow your brow thoughtfully. The idea of splitting into groups is daunting on its own. It’s one thing to put your hand up amid the wide sea of your peers but it’s another to parse yourself down into a smaller group amid strangers. Despite weeks of sitting side-by-side, you don’t really know anyone. They all seemed to have made friends before that and made no effort to find any more. 

“Well, off you go,” Holmes flicks his fingers, “you’ve two minutes to arrange yourselves. I’m no kindergarten teacher, certainly you can figure it out.” 

There’s a low murmur then a lull before anyone moves. You hear the chatter that connects the smaller pairings to each other; aren’t you in my econ class? Oh, you were at the Delta party? You gather your notebook and stand, searching for an in. 

“Um,” you approach the nearest cluster of bodies, “room for one more?” 

It’s as if you’re invisible. You wince and clear your throat. Before you can try again, a deeper ahem comes from behind you. You crane to see over your shoulder. Professor Holmes stands at the end of the row, one brow arched as he crosses his arms. His old-fashioned vest strains as his chest bulges against the buttons. 

“Eh, she’s in need of a group. Have some manners.” 

You’re surprised by his intervention, but grateful. You try to smile but it’s probably more of a pathetic simper, “thank you, professor.” You nod and turn back to the other students. 

“Uh, sorry, yeah, can I tag along?” You ask. 

They shrug, none of them daring to ignore Professor Holmes. You sit at the edge of the group, heat speckling up your back in embarrassment. The others as good as ignore you as they go back to complaining about their papers. 

“I didn’t sleep,” a blond you think is named Ethan mutters, “fucker had me tearing out my hair.” 

“Yeah, I was supposed to go to a Barbie party but I need this class,” a pretty redhead rolls her eyes. 

There’s at least ten other students circled between three rows. You glance around at the others as they bow and chatter in kind. You shuffle your notebook in your lap and lean in, trying to seem involved. 

“Right then, you,” Holmes points to your group, “take Jones et al,” he moves his finger towards the next group, “Halloway,” he continues down the list of readings as silence pervades the space.  

It isn’t until he bids you to start that anyone dares speak again. The professor paces at the front of the room, hands in his pockets, as his longs stride take him from one end to the other. As you watch him, he seems to sense it, and his blue eyes meet your own. He hardly reacts before he puts his attention back to his repetitive route. 

“Alright, so Jones et al,” you redirect your attention as your peers continue their griping over lost sleep and shitty coffee. “So uh, we should go over main arguments first--” 

“Didn’t read it,” Ethan scoffs and two girls giggle. 

“I don’t know how that tight ass thinks we have all day for the stuffy bullshit,” another guy snorts. “Some of us get laid.” 

You blanch and chew your lip. You look around and receive only agitation and indifference. 

“Since you’re such a smarty pants, why don’t you do the presentation, huh?” The redhead chirps, “you always have so much to say.” 

You frown. You only put in what you need to get a decent mark. You’re hoping the discussion grade can save you from your disastrous first assignment. Besides, aren’t you all facing the same foe? Shouldn’t you be allies? 

“Well, we should talk about the article a bit. Did anyone else read it?” You insist. 

You don’t get an answer, only scoffs and sneers. Shoot. You look down at your notebook and shrink into yourself. It’s just like high school. You’re the one building the diorama by yourself until midnight. You’re the one doing all the talking in the class debate. 

You scribble notes in the margins as the other garble on about some party and the new cafe opening up at the Student Centre. You keep a hand on your neck as the heat builds under your skin. You should’ve just stayed on your own, not that you have much of a choice. None of them even want to acknowledge you. 

Professor Holmes calls time and you pop your head up, catching your glasses before they can bounce off your nose. You fix them as the lecture hall hushes and you all twist and turn to see the professor. He walks up the centre aisle and points to the group in the very back. 

“You, come on,” he demands. 

There’s crinkling of paper and scratchy coughs. A guy in a polo sweater stands with a cluster of lined paper in hand. He reads out with fractured syllables as if he can’t make out the writing. Professor Holmes sighs and you glance over at his scowl. He’s not impressed. 

“Right, and beyond the obvious, what were your final reflections? Did you have a single thought about the author’s narrative on the consequences of the railway on colonized communities?” He pauses and waits, tapping his clefted chin. Silence. “Mm, absolutely compelling,” he remarks dryly. 

You gulp as your group fidgets. Holmes jabs a finger at another group, calling out a student by name, “thank you for volunteering.” 

The woman with the buzzcut stands, looking nervous as she peers around her group members. She sways and wets her lips, playing with the ring around her lower lip. She laughs nervously before she begins, pausing and umming and ahhing. 

“Enough rambling,” Holmes shakes his head and turns toward your group. Your eyes go wide as the rest peek over at you. You rise as the professor stands just at the end of the rows. “Ethan, you seemed to be doing most of the talking, let’s hear it.” 

Ethan grimaces and sends you a look. He shakes his head. You shrug. You don’t know what to do. You offer your notebook and Holmes clucks. 

“I’m sure he can do it himself, he’s a big boy,” Holmes insists, “let’s hear your take on Jones et al. They have some rather interesting arguments about the cultural significance of the Silk Road, did they not?” 

Ethan exhales and stands, a tick in his jaw as he faces the professor. You chew your cheek as he stutters, “well, what we were talking about was that... er, the Silk Road... um...” 

“Yes, yes, you made some rather intriguing arguments about the Gammas, didn’t you? And how you have so many important things to do, eh? Well, Ethan, if you can’t keep up, you don’t have to bluster,” Holmes reproaches, “your boasting does suggest incompetence over importance.” 

Ethan chokes. There’s a low titter of laughter from further back as the rest of your group stares at their hands. You hug your note book and lower your head as well. 

“Come on, then,” Holmes wags his fingers and calls your name, “stand up. Let’s hear something coherent.” 

“Oh, uh,” you lift your chin as Ethan falls into his chair with a snarl. You get up and focus on your notebook. You swallow tightly before you get your vision to clear, “typically when we think of the, er, Silk Road, er, we fixate on, uh, on uh, on the movement of goods such as dyes and, and, and rice...” you can’t help your stuttering. You just know the professor will have your throat next, “but Jones et all argue that, ummmm, um, the movement of peoples and contact between various cultures is just as... as important--” 

“Ah, yes, someone has done their work,” Holmes proclaims with a clap. 

“All of you. One thousand words on your groups assigned article by the end of the week. You may drop them off at my office.” 

“What?” Several students burst out in shock. 

“It is an individual effort, yes? Not a group project. You have until Friday at 6pm.” 

“Professor,” a woman whines from the back. 

“Would you like a thousand more words?” He turns to face the lecture hall completely, “no, alright then. I can be generous. You may go early so that you can catch up on your readings.” 

He smirks and tilts his head smugly. He spins on his heel and strides down the low steps to the front podium. You glance down at your notebook and slowly flip the cover. 

“Fucking browner,” Ethan growls.