#sherlock holmes the case of the silver earring

[fwfanweekend]

UPCOMING EVENTS

FW Sherlock Holmes Fanweekend

DATE: NOVEMBER 22 - NOVEMBER 24 THEMES*:

WHAT-IF / ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE

COMFORT

MUSIC

(*) there will be no theme-days: you can share your contribution(s) to the theme(s) of your choice during the whole event and regardless of the day.

You can participate in the events with whatever you like: fanart, fanfics, gifs, cosplays, etc. Your contribution can be connected to any of the Sherlock Holmes games by Frogwares!

Just mention this blog and/or use the tag #fwfanweekend, and I will reblog your work!

The events will also take place on the Frogwares Discord server, so you don't have to join Tumblr just to participate. Nevertheless, I would love to share your work here!

Greetings and feel free to follow this blog for updates 💚

[hardcore-gaming-101]

Sherlock Holmes: Secret of the Silver Earring

2004’s Secret of the Silver Earring, originally known as The Case of the Silver Earring and sometimes known as simply The Silver Earring, was Frogwares’ second stab at a Sherlock Holmes adventure, and it’s much more like what you’d expect from the concept. Based on an unpublished novel by the game’s main writer, Jalil Amr, Silver Earring switched from a puzzle heavy mystery mansion set up to a more classic investigator concept with a focus on character interaction. It still wasn’t quite what the rest of the series would be like, but it was a major building block in what would come.

Read more...

[spiritcc]

RATING ALL FROGWARES WATSONS BY LOOKS ONLY

the mystery of the mummy

w-

waist snatched. shoulders broad. lestrade uh *googles* is not him

3/10 *to the side* are you sure this is the right characte-

the case of the silver earring

ough.....

his sadness and internal confusion have captivated me enough to grab my forehead and suppress a sob. you cant lose it before your patient, after all...

even his head looks like he had a lobotomy why is this al-

5/10.... crying...

awakened/lupin/jack the ripper

he is done being a victim but there is just not enough polygons in his body to protect him

the neutral photoshop gray outfit is not helping his case either

6/10 slightly better than before. but cardboard-level excitement

testament of sherlock holmes/crimes and punishments

my lord if it isnt a highly esteemed gentleman right here

determination in his gaze, silver in his brow, a Thought on his face. as beautiful as the day he was born

beautiful warm lighting illuminating my man to new heights

david burke/10

the devils daughter

aH

feels like watching a man relapse. this is the bad ending

his character was genuinely nice and pleasant in the game itself, he was lovely. obviously to compensate for the cards that life has dealt him with everything else

barbershop ass. 2015/10 for the year this fashion had to die in

chapter one/awakened

i am going to hunt you like a lowland gorilla this is getting intervention worthy

he is now literally sick and requires CPS involvement

THE FUCKING TEXTURESSS THE SIN OF 14FPS DRAGON AGE INQUISITION

0/10. holmes only took him in because he resembled his literal imaginary friend named jon whom he killed fight club style. this is real.

this cant continue like this. frogwares' cheese had slipped off they damn sandwich. we need to rescue this

dai gyakuten saiban/the great ace attorney

holy shitttt shittddd holy shitttt holyyyyyyy shidddddd

japanese watson with both cultures preserved OUGHHHHHH

the gray. my god the gray.

OUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

100/10 YUJIN MIKOTOBA 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

[seungsuki]

surprise detective - boarding a train and solving a case with your professor? (f!reader)

warning: i mentioned it here!

note: part two is on the way!

the train wheels clatter rhythmically on the train track as [name] quietly sipped the brewed tea. the comforting surrounding sounds of chattering filled your ears as you gazed outside the window of your seat. the lush green isn’t something you can easily spot in the big city so it was refreshing to see the sights you missed in a long it 

“fancy meeting you here miss [name][lastname]”

looking up, a small smile accompanied by an alert look, you calmed down realising who it was. william james moriarty, your maths professor at durham university. along with him was a strikingly similar man except he had his hair done differently and seems to wear glasses.

“professor moriarty! i didn’t expect to see you here!”, [name] replied shuffling to the side for your professor to sit beside you 

“well i'm using my day off. what about you? you don’t seem like a countryside person”, william asked waving to the server 

“ah.. well a family friend is getting married today so i was invited to her big day”, you explained 

“do send my congratulations to her and i hope you finished this week's assignment since class resumes tomorrow”, william sighed knowing you didn’t even touch your work 

“o-oh yeah yeah! i finished it like wayyy before”, you nervously smiles praying the conversation changed 

your prayers were indeed answered. you heard some ruckus from the other table and before you could look over, a man came dashing to your table. he seated himself beside louis and faced william 

“yo professor”, he said startling you in the process 

“you’re that man with whom i sailed together on the noahtic”, william said recalling his memories

“i read about you in the newspaper. you solved the case of count drebber’s murder”, william added 

“you know him professor..?”, you whispered giving the blue haired man a questionable look 

“he’s a detective”, william introduced you to sherlock holmes 

“a detective? wow it must be fun running around and solving cases all day”, you sarcastically gasped as sherlock rolled his eyes 

“and who’s the lady here?”, sherlock questioned

“she’s my student”, william replied vaguely, a habit you noted a few times

“mr holmes, begging your pardon, but we were just finishing our meal”, louis intervened 

“the only one with the plate is the lady. plus, you haven’t even been served your dessert or digestif right?”, sherlock asked looking at you 

“you’re not wrong.. and it’s [name] not ‘lady’”, you corrected making quotation signs for lady 

“yeah yeah, just let me bend your ear for a bit prof!”, sherlock said turning to william 

“there goes my afternoon tea”, you sighed rolling your eyes

off sherlock went with his stories. louis looked over to you and gave you an apologetic look to which you simply nodded with yet another small smile. you were finally given a chance to talk to someone with such a brilliant mind yet the blue haired man ruined everything. he seemed to be recounting a case which picked the interest of your professor

“you were his benefactor, weren’t you… william james moriarty?”, sherlock asking making a finger gun towards the blonde man 

you were mindblowned at his boldness. he dares to accuse your professor of such hideous crimes? william was a kind soul who would even stay back to repeat his lecture in a simpler way for you to understand. he never shamed you for that and encouraged you to find your own ways to grasp knowledge. the fact that sherlock proposed such an idea made your blood boil.

it seems you weren’t the only one who looked pissed. you looked over to sherlock's right to see louis who looked rather anxious. you didn’t miss the way his grip on the silver lunch knife tightened after listening to the line. you looked to your left and saw how calm your professor looked- no he looked unfazed, almost like he knew what sherlock was going to say 

“indeed… that is the most amusing assertion. however, it is impossible to prove that i did not do something. also, it would be your job to prove that i did it, would it not?”, william spoke after the small silence  

“i’m kidding! i’m kidding! that would be a case of probatio diabolica, afterall!”, sherlock joked and laughed away the matter

“i was just thinking how great it would be if you were the sharp-witted mastermind”, sherlock continued and gave william a wink to which you tried not to puke 

“catch me if you can, mr holmes”

william said, resting his right arm on the seated sofa of the dining cabin. a smirk plastered on him and you swore you could see his scarlet eyes glowed under the sunlight shining through the window. since when did your professor look this good?

you mentally slapped yourself as a small blush dusted on your cheek, how could you even have such thoughts. he was your professor for crying out loud! this was all sherlock's fault. he shouldn’t have riled up your professor and you decided to let him know by sending him a small glare

“would it satisfy you to hear me say that, mr detective?”, william added, resting his head on his right hand 

“you really are the best! i see my that my joke was well received except to some”, sherlock laughed locking eyes with you 

“oh, you and i are seriously going to get along famously!”, sherlock said smiling 

“thanks for the dramatic tea. it was a good distraction”, you thanked lowering your cup down 

“i still didn’t forget your due assignment tomorrow. i expect you to be able to solve the questions presented tomorrow”, william smiled at you making you freeze 

“why are you so cruel, professor moriarty! maths isn’t my best and you know that”, you groaned knowing he wasn’t joking around 

“holmes”, someone called walking closer to your table 

“oh, here you are!”, sherlock looked over to his left to the man in a black suit and coat

© seungsuki 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator

[bestnoncannonship]

HELLO NAUGHTY FANDOM FRIENDS ITS FERAL CHRISTMAS TREE TIME!!!

You've seen the Good Omens Tree:

You've seen the Merlin Tree:

This year we have the

SHERLOCK HOLMES TREE!

Merry Christmas Everyone! Is this not the perfect Christmas tree for Christmas with your queerplatonic life partner in your strange little house? I think it is. Now our favorite interpretation of Sherlock Holmes is the Granada with Jeremy Brett. So it's his visage and that of his longtime Watson, Edward Hardwicke, who top the tree this year.....with miniature festive versions of their top hat and bowler hat:

Some of the Ornaments are just things that come up often in Holmes's world. Like Holmes's Violin, a Train, a Magnifying Glass, Various Vials of Science and Tobacco Ash, Smoking Pipes, and Watson's Revolver.

Others are references to certain cases; The Severed Ear from "The Cardboard Box", Mary's Pearls and Poison Darts from "Sign of the Four", the French Gold from "The Red Headed League", an Orange with Five Pips from "The Five Orange Pips", the Triangulated Tree from "The Muskgrave Ritual", the Big Dog from "Hound of the Baskervilles", the Noose from "The Resident Patient", the Bicyle from "The Solitary Cyclist", "Silver Blaze"'s horseshoe, A "Blue Carbuncle", Irene Adler's Sovereign from "A Scandal in Bohemia", and a garland of Dancing Men from "The Dancing Men" that spells out the Lyrics to "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen".

I've also included the crest of Mycroft's Diogennes Club with their mascot (a plucked chicken) and their motto (Shut up ...but in Latin), and a skull....because it seemed appropriate.

And of course......there are plenty of copies of the magazine where Watson immortalized their adventures together:

Merry Christmas!

[tears-of-boredom]

ive been playing the older sherlock games of Frogwares. its been cool to see the similarities and also the differences compared to Sherlock Holmes: Chapter One. and in an odd way i love spotting the assets that get reused in multiple games. also the voice actor for Holmes -that im pretty sure has been the same through Silver Earring, Testament and Jack the Ripper- is quite fitting. excatly the tone of voice that I'd expect from this annoying ass man. genuinely i cant understate how annoying he is. and a little bitch as well. but also the autism. he's truly so relatable occasionally.

anyway this was to say that i finished the Jack the Ripper game just now, at 2300. and i just. the whole game i was fine right. i could ignore the fact that they were telling the story of actual events that happened. i could ignore the occasional old photograph that most likely were from the real case back then. but then the credits had to go all "Mary-Jane Kelly was the last victim of Jack the Ripper" and its like a switch was flipped inside me and i got the familiar feeling of terror that i get from anything vaguely true crime related. fucking urgh i feel so awful rn. im gonna try and calm my silly head with crossword puzzles. also i turned the radio on. and also the light.

[everythingcanadian]

Fairytails Have Nothing On This

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Greg Lestrade/John Watson

Rating: G

No Warnings

Summary:

Sherlock wakes up on an October morning. Seeing his two lovers in bed with him gives him a bit of retrospection. Day 28-1 of promptober: Awaken

AO3 Portal

There was no 'one day' that settled everything that had happened. It came in small bursts or lazy waves just making it to shore. Their routines were haphazard but there for formalities. The different starts to their separate days became a beloved pattern. 

A scramble for an alarm setting. 

An ease of folding the covers down.

A pull on a pillow to put over a head.

The groans and huffs of aching joints or stiff muscles. 

The need for a quick kiss or a small 'I love you' answered.

(In Sherlock's case on a light affection day, an easy touch or two. Nothing more. On a heavier day, a stroke through his curls, a thorough kiss, and soft pets anywhere the other two pleased.)

On a Sunday in the middle of October, with all three of them home, it finally shook awake in Sherlock, the realisation that his relationship with John and Greg had finally fallen on stable footing. He should have known it ages ago but- he didn't and it blindsided him in a good way. 

He was awake exactly 5 minutes before 7:30am, when the first alarm on John's phone goes off on weekdays. A habit he had picked up about a month after they started waking up in the same bed. It’s still wonderfully dark out and won’t be bright for a little while yet. He’s happy Greg turned the heat on before they piled into bed after a long Saturday. Hunches being batted away and sifted through within an inch of their worth. Otherwise the room would have been ice cold and they all would suffer the consequences of trying to get out of a warm bed into the frigid air.

He turns his head on the pillow towards his two lovers, his two boyfriends, his two partners. Years ago, when John had asked him a few leading questions while they were first learning of each other as roommates, Sherlock never could have imagined he’d be here.

He lets his open eyes roam over the pair.  

The slackness of Greg's face is wonderful. The lines of worry and anger and disappointment are gone from between his eyebrows and his forehead. The sad twist of his mouth that is usually there on a case is wiped away while in sleep. Silvered hair that's growing out from another tight cut is sticking up stiff at odd angles on the one side. Chances are it's flat to his skull on the other. Sherlock won't tell him outright, at least not sober, but it's sweet and sexy. The Silver Fox look is something Sherlock has come to love over the years he’s known Greg Lestrade. He's pretty sure he caused most of the greys there anyway. 

Paired with deep doe brown eyes and a solid body, Greg is every bit of a fantasy as Sherlock had panted after when he first had known the D.I.. Said fantasy loves him dearly and would do almost anything for him. Sherlock can see the crusted sleep in the corners of those closed eyes. Knows there’s a high chance for a little dried line of drool down his cheek.

Sherlock smiles softly to himself. He loves to observe and commit things to memory. This is one of the best images to do that with.

He drags his eyes toward his first love, the one he had fallen so fast for that it took his breath away. He won’t admit it. And he won't admit that having John tinker and operate on Sherlock’s dormant heart gave way for Sherlock to see he was in love with both John and Greg. It took a while for him to settle that issue within himself. 

John is between them, curled away from Sherlock and huddled under the covers for warmth. The quilt pulled up high to his ear. He got in late from the clinic on Friday night, an emergency he needed to follow through on, which had delayed him a few hours. The thick jumper he wore over his button up and tie didn't do much to keep him warm in the evening. He didn't expect to be caught out in the bitter cold though, only the cooling air after a warm afternoon. 

He has been chilled to the bone since then, and both Greg and Sherlock have tried to warm him up in many ways. For now however, he sleeps on, tucked in tight between Sherlock on his back and Greg on his side facing towards the Doctor. The light grey-blond, but mostly grey, hair was softer than Greg's and was plastered to John's head from him rolling around in sleep. Sherlock knows that John's mouth is open because he's snoring softly into the edge of the pillow he shared with Sherlock. 

Carefully he shuffled onto his own side and pressed up close to John’s back, infusing his own warmth into the warm skin pressed against him. He leans in to kiss the starburst of a scar on John’s shoulder, breathing against it and nuzzling the tender skin there. 

He’s woken up into a life he never thought he’d have. Something like stability. A strong bond between the three of them. A little girl snoring away in what was ‘John’s Room’ with the monitor on Sherlock’s bedside table. He was the one most likely to be awake and notice if something was wrong. He had developed a sense for Rosie and her whims or whoa or wonder. 

Currently it is quiet. An enveloping quiet that settled Sherlock’s inner workings as he settled in to a cuddle with his partners. He closed his eyes and listened to the world around him. He could hear cars faintly through the door to their bedroom and the front windows. He heard a bus break a bit up the street. The soft snores of John. The light and somewhat uneven breaths of Greg that no longer worried either Doctor Watson or Medically Curious Sherlock. And he finally heard the soft huffs of an awakening little girl through the monitor. 

Sherlock kissed John’s scar again and slowly shuffled out from the covers, tucking them in close so neither John nor Greg would get cold with him leaving. His duty to a princess was calling.

[marta-bee]

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

Tagged by absolutely no one, but as I am nothing if not a lemming...

1) "To Sleep, Perchance (Holmes-centric, ACD canon)

Last night I dreamt of Maiwand.

2) "Beneath a Silver Tree (Indis and Vaire, The Silmarillion)

The bench was new, Indis mused.

3) "Heed No Nightly Noises (Pippin & others, LOTR bookverse)

This was a good meadow.

4) "The Best Revenge (Holmes and Moriarty, ACD canon)

"Mister Holmes!" I cried out as I made my way across the market.

5) "History Written on Skin (Holmes/Watson, ACD canon)

After – well, after – I felt myself utterly deboned, as formless as one of the sea-mollusks.

6) "In Heaven and Earth (Holmes/Watson, ACD canon/Doctor Who Xover)

On rare occasions, I feel obliged to relate a case without being able to offer a satisfactory resolution.

7) "I'm Not, Actually (Irene/Molly, BBC canon)

“Fancy meeting you here.”

8) "And Ye Shall Live, And Ye Shall Know (Holmes/Watson/Mary, Ritchie Sherlock Holmes)

Slap to the ear, effect negligible.

9) "Like This (Irene/Molly, BBC canon)

To most people (certainly to those who knew her primarily through her Twitter account, or the evening news), she will always be the Woman.

10) "When the Walls Fell (Imrahil, LOTR bookverse)

Imrahil followed his new liege-lord into the chamber, holding himself a step back from the dais.

As for pattern, the one takeaway is probably my first lines depend heavily on the second for any sort of writerly worth. They are the counterbalance that sets up the second line to really start setting the stage. It does get better; that's what I tell myself, anyway. :-)

[athelari]

Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Silver Earring: proper screenshots.

[Glitch/weird screenshots]

[fwfanweekend]

Hello, froggies!

As already announced, the next FW Sherlock Holmes Fanweekend will take place in November 2024! Thank you a lot for your wonderful suggestions for the themes! I will make a poll to pick the three themes for the event soon!

In the meantime, user colorful_mess18 on the official Frogwares Discord server came up with a wonderful idea:

A mini-event during summer 2024!

The mini-event will take place on AUGUST 25TH. The theme of the event will be BEACH.

As always, you can participate in the "FW Sherlock Holmes Summer Fest" with whatever you like: fanart, fanfics, gifs, cosplays, etc.

Just mention this blog and/or use the tag #fwfanweekend, and I will reblog your work!

The mini-event will also take place on the Frogwares Discord server, so you don't have to join Tumblr just to participate. Nevertheless, I would love to share your work here!

Greetings and feel free to follow this blog for updates 💚

[tamblrraider]

Hey mister sassy, oh no you didn’t!

Previous dialogue:

Sherlock: Watson, come here

Watson: This man is dead!

[my-johnlockficrecs]

hello hello, i was wondering if you or any of your followers have any recs that include sherlock and john going clubbing/dancing? can be for a case or not but bonus points if sherlock changes his attire to blend in and john losing his mind over it

hi anon! ah that's a great trope right there, i'm always weak for dancing johnlock especially. i've tried to put together as many fics under the tropes you asked for as i can remember reading, although i fear i must have missed some of them. if anyone knows more, please do add! i hope you find something you like anon <3

key: 🌏 AU

clubbing

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (4k, E)

John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?”

AKA the night Sherlock learns four things:

1) John Watson is bi

2) John is a fantastic dancer

3) His dirty talk makes Sherlock's knees go weak

and

4) Being shagged by John Watson is even better than The Work.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (151k, E)

“This was like nothing John had ever thought to associate with Sherlock: stubble, skin-tight jeans and three small silver rings gleaming at the crest of one ear. It was unbelievable, like stepping into an alternative universe, and John couldn't stop staring.”

When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim? (Warning: reviews may contain fic spoilers)

The Case of the Made-Up Case by DoubleNegative (2k, teen)

Sherlock takes John to a club. For a "case." Yes, John, a case.

A Cure for Boredom by emmagrant01 (81k, E)

They'd never talked about sex in the year they'd known each other. Well, that wasn't quite correct: Sherlock had never said a word about sex; John had bemoaned his personal dearth of it on many occasions.

noise complaint by @simplyclockwork (70k, E, ch:24/25) 🌏

One loud upstairs neighbour and three days of non-stop party music lead Sherlock to an unexpected meeting.

dancing

Tango by standbygo (1k, M) 🌏

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Shut up and dance – a man’s alibi depends on it.”

Dance With Me by @totallysilvergirl (28k, E)

Sherlock rescues Sally Donovan, and in turn she tries to help him get John to stop faffing about and get on with Johnlock.

Step for Two by @simplyclockwork (4k, teen) 🌏

When single dad Sherlock Holmes enrolls his young son in ballet class, unexpected sparks fly between Sherlock and the fill-in dance instructor, John Watson.

I Don't Dance by @ohlooktheresabee (11k, teen)

After an incident at Lestrade's 50th birthday party, John discovers why his friend and flatmate Sherlock Holmes doesn't dance. It's a shame, because from what John has seen, Sherlock is a very good dancer and obviously enjoys it, too. To lift Sherlock's spirits, John hatches a scheme that will give Sherlock plenty of excuses to dance... and if John just happens to be the one he dances with, well... that's just a lucky coincidence.

come undone by @simplyclockwork (7k, E)

At his stag night, John discovers just how much Sherlock loves dancing

Toe to Toe by standbygo (44k, E) 🌏

Sherlock Holmes is an international ballet star. After a favour for his brother goes south, he finds himself trapped in a foreign country, with a man named John Watson who could be an enemy... or an ally.

A crossover of sorts with White Nights, the 1985 film with Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gregory Hines.

these next three recs are from the things fairy tales are made of series by @watsonshoneybee and on the whole, will make more sense if you read the series in order. which really isn't much of a hardship, as you'll see if you do read it 😌 that being said, part 2 at least will make enough sense even as a stand-alone story, so if you're not in the mood to invest in a whole series rn, you can read just that one. part 7 too can be read by itself.

a good old-fashioned happy ending by @watsonshoneybee (32k, E) {part 2 of things fairy tales are made of}

And Sherlock stands there, in the middle of a Christmas market as John hums along to Silent Night, John’s hand warm in his with fingertips a little gritty from the cinnamon-sugar doused churros they’d shared, and thinks, oh, that’s–that’s an idea, isn’t it?

*

For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves.

the first day of forever by @watsonshoneybee (11k, E) {part 4 of things fairy tales are made of}

“I’m going to marry you,” John murmurs with against Sherlock’s smile, and they both giggle in the joy of it. “We’re getting married.”

“Yes,” Sherlock says, just to hear himself say it out loud. “We are.”

*

A June wedding.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by @watsonshoneybee (5k, E) {part 7 of things fairy tales are made of}

Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft.

It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet.

[transsherlockpropaganda]

A Guide to the Sherlock Holmes Canon

Compiled for BBC Sherlock fans who wish to branch out into the original stories by ACD.

A Study in Scarlet - Holmes and Watson move in together. Shade is thrown at the Mormons.

The Sign of Four - Mary Morstan comes along. Racism.

The Hound of the Baskervilles - The most beloved of the canon. Demon hound stalks Devon aristocrats.

The Valley of Fear - Freemasons have man killed.

A Scandal in Bohemia - Holmes is beaten by the woman.

The Red Headed League - Red headed shop owner is tricked by bank robbers.

A Case of Identity - Step father poses as young man to keep young lady's money.

The Boscombe Valley Mystery - Dying Australian kills another Australian, is let off.

The Five Orange Pips - The one about the KKK.

The Man with the Twisted Lip - Gentleman becomes beggar, is accused of own murder.

The Blue Carbuncle - Precious gem found in crop of Christmas goose.

The Speckled Band - Deadly snake trained using milk and whistle.

The Engineer's Thumb - Criminals try to crush man in hydraulic press.

The Noble Bachelor - Rich man loses wife on wedding day.

The Beryl Coronet - Banker loses part of very expensive coronet.

The Copper Beeches - Governess made to cut hair and wear electric blue dress by creepy employers.

Silver Blaze - Horse commits murder.

The Cardboard Box - Woman receives ears in the post.

The Yellow Face - Man is surprisingly not racist.

The Stock-Broker's Clerk - Man replaced by criminal at job he hasn't started yet.

The 'Gloria Scott' - Holmes's first case. Man has been lying to son for whole life.

The Musgrave Ritual - Butler solves puzzle that has remained mystery to generations of aristocrats.

The Reigate Squires - Holmes pretends to faint, scares Watson half to death.

The Crooked Man - Crippled man returns from India to surprise of man who betrayed him. Also there's a mongoose.

The Resident Patient - Ex-criminal sets up doctor in practice.

The Greek Interpreter - Watson meets Mycroft. Two Greek men get beaten up.

The Naval Treaty - Important state document stolen.

The Final Problem - Persued by Moriarty, Holmes and Watson flee to Europe. Holmes disappears, assumed dead.

The Empty House - 3 years later, Holmes returns. Watson faints.

The Norwood Builder - Man fakes own death to get revenge on ex.

The Dancing Men - Woman is terrorised by coded messages.

The Solitary Cyclist - Woman is followed by strange man on bicycle.

The Priory School - Child kidnapped by his own family.

Black Peter - Drunk man killed by harpoon.

Charles Augustus Milverton - Blackmailer killed by victim.

The Six Napoleons - Scotland Yarders are really proud of Holmes.

The Three Students - Student cheats on exam.

The Golden Pince-Nez - Woman kills man by mistake.

The Missing Three Quarter - Rugby player goes missing.

The Abbey Grange - Holmes lets killer go because of love.

The Second Stain - Woman told she doesn't understand politics.

Wisteria Lodge - Man dies trying to kill Spanish tyrant.

The Red Circle - Italian couple flee from gangster.

The Bruce Partington Plans - Submarine plans stolen.

The Dying Detective - Holmes pretends to be dying of a tropical disease.

The Devil's Foot - Holmes and Watson poison themselves and hallucinate.

His Last Bow - Holmes's final case.

The Illustrious Client - Holmes beaten up on the orders of an Austrian. Watson gets very angry.

The Blanched Soldier - Man's boyfriend does not have leprosy.

The Mazarin Stone - Diamond stolen, disguises worn.

The Three Gables - Woman steals story written by man she had beaten nearly to death.

The Sussex Vampire - Man thinks wife is vampire.

The Three Garridebs - 'It was worth a wound'.

The Problem of Thor Bridge - Governess framed for murder.

The Creeping Man - Monkey serum as viagra.

The Lion's Mane - Jellyfish kills man.

The Vieled Lodger - Woman savaged by lion, hides face for rest of life.

Shoscombe Old Place - Dog provides the answer.

The Retired Colourman - Man is terrible husband.

[babylooneytoonz]

Sound of Music [Pt. 1]

Sherlock Holmes! Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary : Sherlock finds himself being curious about the occupant of the estate next to theirs, especially when all they can hear during evenings is the faint sound of the piano coming from the estate. One day, the detective inside of him decides to try and find out what's going on with the neighbours.

Warnings: none

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost, copy or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist]

It was that time of the year again, at Ferndell Hall, where you could practically smell the blooming of the most exotic flowers that you couldn't put a name to; there were lilacs and chrysanthemums, gladulas and orchids that lined up until the iron metal gate of the structure. The grass was uneven and unkempt, weeds propped up almost everywhere, but that didn't bother Enola. However, as the carriage entered Ferndell Hall, carrying her two elder brothers, Mycroft and Sherlock, there was someone that was bothered by all this — Mycroft. He looked at everything in distaste, grumbling in a not-so-silent manner as to what a mess the entire place was.

The day the brothers returned, all Enola listened to was Mycroft complaining about nearly everything, ranging from the ornaments in the estate that had been broken and left unattended, to the fact that Enola didn't have a set of gloves and a hat on while she was out at the station to receive them.

"How improper!" He muttered to himself, and to Sherlock and the younger brother of the two couldn't help but pass on a cornered smirk to the youngest, silently addressing her with his eyes, asking her to just wait until this fit of their brother passed away and he got just another reason to begin cribbing about.

Back at the house, Sherlock only gave her a half amused smile, as he sunk back into one of the armchairs with a parchment of paper in his hands, a letter that belonged to their mother, in desperate attempts to find clues as to who could have taken her, or whether she left herself with a lover. Although, he didn't let Enola in on his second lingering thought.

It was almost evening, and the sun was beginning to set. Mrs. Hudson had laid out the tea cups, and was pouring the gentlemen some piping hot tea when Sherlock suddenly turned towards the window in the dining room.

"You hear that too, don't you Sherlock?" Enola regarded her brother, who had now stepped up and was already standing by the window, his tall frame covering up her entire view, "that music.. it's captivating, isn't it? I listen to it everyday." Enola stood up rather loudly, and Mycroft chastised her for it, but paying him no heed, she followed Sherlock to fix herself by his side, staring out of the window. Just next to the Ferndell Hall estate was spread out the Cableton Estate, and just last summer's, when Enola and her mother were out in the gardens trimming the shrubberies, they had heard heavy noises radiating from the abandoned estate next door.

"Looks like we've got neighbours," Enola's mother told her, and in her mind, she made a note to go and visit the neighbours but for some reason, it never came up, and now she was gone.

"Who are the occupants of the, what was the name again-- Cableton Estate?" Sherlock turned towards his sister, bringing his pipe up to his well defined lips, who just shook her head, "Never really got the chance to greet them properly."

The screws in Sherlock's minds were turning. Maybe, whoever lived in that house knew something that Enola didn't know, or had seen something that could give him a major clue as to where Eudoria Holmes actually was.

Maybe it was time to pay the neighbours a visit.

The sound of the music was much louder now, loud yet comforting to Sherlock's ears. The Cableton estate was not as big as the Ferndell Hall, but it was definitely lovely. The front lawn was well kept, the hedgerows trimmed timely, and the weeds pulled out. Massive flowers bloomed in a line, and the air smelled fresh and breathy.

Sherlock's curiousity was getting the better of him, and Enola was just being Enola, looking around, holding a massive silver plate with freshly baked goodies layered neatly inside of it as Sherlock rasped against the door.

They were greeted by an older looking woman with a kindred smile. She eyed Sherlock carefully, before turning to look at Enola, and then the baked goods in her hands, "Yes? Can I help you?" She asked, politely.

Sherlock parted his lips, but before he could speak, Enola began, "My name is Enola Holmes, and this is my brother, Sherlock," she turned towards him just for a second and regarded him through her blues before turning back again, tightly gripping the plate of goodies to her chest, "We come from Ferndell Hall. My apologies, we wanted to make a visit last summer, but circumstances weren't as such."

"Oh dear, the children would be happy to see you, come on in," the older woman stepped out of the way, and Sherlock nodded politely, waiting for her sister to be the one to enter first as it only seemed appropriate. He wondered who these children were. As if on cue, a young boy, not older than eight perhaps, darted into the hall, almost colliding into Sherlock's legs, eliciting an immediate response from the governess, "Good God, dear child, would you stop running about all over? You've got visitors? Would you let your sister know you've got visitors?"

"Well, hello there, and what might your name be?" Enola knelt down, so she was squatting on her feet, to get to the same height as the boy, "I'm Enola."

"James, James [Y/L/N]," the boy nervously replied before he turned on his tail and ran off, and Enola couldn't help hide the grin forming on her lips as she watched him disappear.

"Tea?" The older woman asked, and Sherlock nodded, running his fingers through his curls, "If that won't be much trouble?" The woman waved him off with a smile and told them she would be right back, bring the tea whilst they waited.

"And what might you be thinking, Sherlock?"

Sherlock realized he was lost in his thoughts. He wiped his palm over his face, over his well defined jaw and looked at his sister with his eyes narrowed suspiciously, "A governess, a child, but no parents."

"Don't forget the mysterious pianist, Sherlock. Besides, the governess did mention the child's sister," Enola added.

While Enola had been busy interacting with the boy, Sherlock's eyes were scanning around the hall, studying the paintings that hung on the wall. They were mostly abstract but there was something captivating about them all. Sherlock clutched Eudoria's photograph tightly in his grip, waiting for the right moment so he could ask if the neighbours had seen something odd, and could tell him something when once again, the music filled up his ears.

He didn't understand it one bit, how clouded his senses became the more he listened to it. There was something raw, something painful lurking in that music, and although Sherlock couldn't put a name to it, he could sense the anguish of the person who was behind it. It became so unbearable to him, he began walking towards the source of the music, and Enola darted after him, frowning at how strange Sherlock was suddenly acting.

He didn't have to walk much farther, for the room aligned to the hall was the source of Sherlock's torment.

She didn't look much older, perhaps a twenty two if Sherlock's deducing skills were on point. Her dark tresses were short, strange for a woman living in London in that era. She was hunched over the piano, her fingers moving like butter over the keys and Sherlock, and even Enola, couldn't help but keep staring at her. Her side was towards them, so she didn't know she was being stared at. Besides, she was too engrossed in churning out the most melancholic melody to even notice that there were visitors in the house.

Her long lashes fluttered, her head gracefully thrown back, her fingers moving over the instrument without even her having to struggle to remember the notes. It had been as if she had been playing the piano ever since she was born, but she knew that wasn't the case. Slowly, the music that she was playing began dying down, and Enola, enraptured to say the most, unknowingly took a lousy step backwards, her back hitting the cabinet, toppling a vase over and Sherlock's breathing hitched.

The woman stood up, her eyes thrown wide open as she regarded them, obviously flustered and red like a freshly harvested tomato.

"Apologies for the intrusion, and for my sister's not so graceful ways," Sherlock turned towards Enola, giving her a stern eye and she just shrugged before turning to the woman, "I must agree with my brother. Um, you see, we wanted to visit last summer but the circumstances were such.. oh nevermind, we brought you biscuits?" She bit her lip, giving the woman a child like apologetic smile, and Sherlock shook his head silently.

His mouth opened to apologize yet again but before he could even do that, the mysterious piano woman turned around, towards the other door of the parlour. She pulled it open and disappeared through it.

"I scared her off, didn't I?" Enola drawled, staring at the vacant space in front of the piano where she sat, seconds back.

"I am most certain of that," Sherlock hummed.

Sherlock hadn't felt this level of unease in a long while as he sat there, his knee bouncing up and down, his eyes fixed to that one spot of dirt on the carpet, his lips puckered into deep thinking. He knew their behaviour had been way off, and was disrespectful, yet he couldn't wonder but think what had made her run away.

Just then, footsteps sounded in the hallway just adjacent to the hall, until the figure of the governess emerged, a tray held in her hands. She laid the tea cups down and filled up the cups with piping hot tea. Following the governess, [Y/N] finally entered the hall, her arms in front of her, her fingers nervously toying with each other.

She lowered her head, just lightly before she glanced at her governess and gave her a slight look, a look that Sherlock quite didn't understand. Perplexed, he turned towards his sister for help. For a mighty detective, Sherlock Holmes was as clueless as a lamb when it came to women, and their thoughts and their actions, and she was a complete stranger. The nearest that the detective could bring himself to deduce was the fact that she had been offended by the intrusion.

It was only when the governess cleared her throat, the only sound in the parlour being that of the clinking of the silver sterling spoon against the ceramic tea cup as the [Y/N] began stirring the tea in her teacup, did Sherlock and Enola look up from their own respective teas.

"Miss [Y/L/N] appreciates the gesture, and might I add, she thinks that the biscuits were just perfectly done," the governess turned towards her and the woman gave her a half smile, half blush as she brought the cup up to her rosy lips and took a sip of it. Enola turned to her brother, and then back to her, and blinked, "thank you. The next time, I could try chocolate chip."

Sherlock cleared his throat and turned towards Enola, making her go quiet, as his fingers slid into the pocket of his pants and he pulled out Eudoria's photograph. He slightly leaned forward, his elbow resting against his knee as he threw out the photograph towards the two of them so they could take a look, "we did come with another purpose. We are trying to look for our mother Eudoria. She is missing." He threw out his hand towards [Y/N], and this time, she took the photograph from his hand and looked down at it, handing it to her governess as she gave him a confused look.

"Did you happen to see anything that you perhaps thought was remotely strange or unusual?"

Sherlock was quick to grasp the shock registering on the woman's face, making it known that she had no idea whatsoever and he sighed, slinking back against the comfort of the armchair, his hand resting on his knee. That's when he noted something, the woman lifted her hands in the air, keeping them parallel to her bosom, as she began motioning something to her governess in sign language. It was only then he realized why she hadn't spoken a word to him. It wasn't because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Holmes, Miss [Y/L/N] does not have anything of importance that can help the two of you with your search. She hardly leaves the confines of Cableton Estate."

Sherlock nodded, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles as he took the photograph back, pocketing it, "Thank you for trying, Miss [Y/L/N].

[Y/N] nodded, and Sherlock noted the way her lips curved upwards, just slightly, her cheeks slightly rosy.

It was then that the governess informed her discreetly that it was time for her music lessons. Gently, she stood up, and nodded in curtsy, her head dipping just lightly as she took her leave and excused herself, slithering out if the hall from one of the mahogany doors, until she was out of sight, and the governess turned towards Sherlock, "You have questions, I suppose?"

"We don't wish to intrude," Sherlock's deep baritone went.

The governess sighed softly, flicking a glance towards the way [Y/N] had left from and she took a deep breath, "I was twenty when the [Y/L/N]s took me in as a governess for their lovely children, [Y/N] and James."

Sherlock regarded the older woman through his oceanic blue eyes, his fingers placed against his chin, as though he was deeply listening, which he was.

"Four summers back, it was a lovely afternoon, and the [Y/L/N]s were on their way to city, when they were brutally murdered. It's a miracle Miss [Y/N] survived."

Sherlock tensed, his earlier relaxed posture changing as he sat upright and glanced at Enola, before looking back at the governess again.

"Pardon me, but wasn't Miss [Y/N] an eye witness? Were the murderers not caught?"

"Unfortunately, she never spoke again. We did try our best to get her to speak, or even write but she decided against it," The governess arched herself forward, so now her voice was reduced to a mere whisper, "the police never found out who killed them, and the mystery still remains."

"The police can be.. er, incompetent but I can help if you would like?" Sherlock offered.

The governess shook her head, smiling softly, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I would convey that to Miss [Y/L/N] but I doubt she wants anyone to engage in this again. The last experience was not so.. pleasant for her."

Sherlock turned towards his sister, a weird set of expressions passing between the two of them, as Sherlock stood up, nodding courteously, followed by Enola who finally broke her own silence with a smile, "Thank you for having us, and apologies for er, our untimely visit."

The governess walked the two of them out until they were on their way to the Ferndell Hall once again, and Enola noted how quiet Sherlock was, all the way. As they reached the front gate, and stepped into the vicinity of their front garden, Enola turned towards his brother, her eyebrow raised slightly in jest, "You seemed fascinated by Miss [Y/L/N], Sherlock."

Sherlock's mouth opened, and he narrowed his eyes for a bit, trying to come up with the right words, but it was as if words had failed to make a presence into his mouth and his mind. He was already thinking, his thoughts revolving around a singular thought. Who murdered her parents? "I'm not fascinated by her but rather the story that stays hidden from the rest of the world, Enola."

"And what exactly do you intend to do about it, Sherlock?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, sister, once I find where our mother is, I'm going to offer to look into the murder of her parents."

Enola smiled, a naughty one but she dared not comment. She knew what was happening, but she wanted destiny to play out its course. Enola had a hunch, and her hunches were never mostly wrong, except perhaps for one or two. But she was confident that Sherlock was somehow captivated by the stranger that lived in the estate next to theirs, and that the whole idea of trying to find out who murdered her parents were just an illusion Sherlock's mind had formed, just to get himself another chance to be able to see her again. She didn't need to let him know that though, and she decided that it would be the best to leave things run their own course.

Over the course of the next four weeks, Enola and [Y/N] grew close. Enola found herself sneaking out often, mostly escaping from her older brother, Mycroft, to shelter with the [Y/L/N]s. Although [Y/N] never spoke, Enola began seeking solace in her music. She would sit in an armchair, right next to the piano, her elbows resting against its surface as she watched the woman play. It was a sight for her sore eyes, watching the woman crinkle her nose just lightly when her hands were so engrossed in playing the piano but a loose strand of her dark locks managed to escape from behind her ear pricking against her nose. She would let out a giggle as she watched [Y/N] scrunch her nose almost immediately, and she would have to forcefully pause with the piano, and her palm would fly up to her lips, and she would sneeze lightly.

[Y/N] found herself spending more and more time in the company of Enola. She found herself on untimely walks with the younger girl, her arm in hers, as the two of them walked in the front garden of the Ferndell Hall. Although she never spoke, there was now like a deep rooted understanding between the two of them that wasn't formed on words, but rather unsaid emotions. If it were up to [Y/N], she considered Enola a sister she never had.

This led her to have another starkly contradicting thought in her mind. If she considered Enola like her younger sister, did that mean she had to think of Sherlock as her brother figure?

That afternoon, she sat under the tree, her back resting against the bark of the tree, her hair fuzzy and all over her eyes, as she used her dainty fingers to push them away from her eyes. She was listening to Enola rant on about Mycroft, as she paced left and right, her hands on her hips. She was extremely done for, eversince Mycroft had told her about his intentions to see her in a finishing school run by Mrs. Harrison,"Breeding a proper lady, he says. Can you believe that, [Y/N]?"

That afternoon she told [Y/N] about her plans to disguise herself as a boy and leave Ferndell Hall. At first, [Y/N] protested in her own silent way, grabbing her hands and tugging them down, shaking her head but when she saw how important this was for her, and when she heard how commited she was to this idea of going away, she couldn't say no or do anything about it but to accept what she wanted to do. Thus, she wished Enola good luck, kissing her forehead, and let her leave.

After Enola left, [Y/N] found it terribly hard to concentrate on the trivial things in life. She hated spending time around her piano, she hated reading, and she hated anything that was remotely not worrying about the girl. It was only that one day, when a letter finally arrived for her, from Enola, did the nervousness that had long settled into the pit of her stomach, start washing away.

Taking the letter from her governess, she ran outside, clutching the letter to her chest, pressing it hard against it as she ran up the hill, using her hand to hold her skirt up, while the other held the letter.

Once she was sat comfortably under her tree, she rolled the letter open, and a breath of relief escaped her lips. Although Enola had not told much, the letter said that she was safe, and she was closer in her search for Eudoria. That was good enough for her to get her tension and the knots in her body and her mind to melt away to an extent. And the rest was done by Sherlock.

[Y/N] didn't realize how her running up that hill had invaded the detective's privacy. He had already been up on that hill, shielded from prying eyes as he sat under another tree, smoking his pipe. When she ran up the hill, the faint rustling and the crunching of the dried autumn leaves made his attention spike, and he lifted his blue eyes, fixing it on her.

She was beautiful, sublime, her face the colour of summer, of flowers blooming in a backyard.

Sherlock stood up silently, in a way not to scare her off. He could see her read a letter, her expressions dramatically changing, from a straight face to a smile. It had to be Enola.

"Fancy meeting you here, Miss [Y/L/N]."

[Y/N] had the clearest of faces that Sherlock could think of. She was as transparent as water, and Sherlock could read her expressions like a book. This was maybe her way of communicating, through her lips and her eyes and Sherlock felt he was mastering the art of it. She bit her lip nervously, her fingers tightening around the now crumpled parchment of paper.

"I hope I'm not intruding."

He noticed how she shook her head, her nose crinkling slightly, a bit of panic in her eyes as she quickly hid the letter away, shielding it within the heavy layers of her dress. He didn't comment on it. The truth was, he had been keeping track on Enola himself so he knew he knew much more than she did.

It's only when she shook her head and looked up at him, her doe like eyes meeting his for the first time, did he realize how his heart skipped a beat. The last time he had seen her, back at her estate, she had been withdrawn, but this woman was far from withdrawn. In fact, she looked happy to see him.

The look in her eyes was enough to tell Sherlock that she was okay with him sitting down next to her, so he did, careful to keep a good distance away from her, but they were parallel, their faces drawn to the vicinity in front of them. He wondered what was running through that beautiful mind of hers but if only she could tell him.

Sherlock and [Y/N] silently sat for the next few minutes, the silence being comfortable enough for the two of them to absorb each other's breaths. It was only when [Y/N] stood up, and nodded at Sherlock, did he realize that it was getting late. Out of courtesy, the man stood up too, his eyes falling on the letter that had, unknowingly fallen from her, and was now laying abandoned on the grass.

He bent, lifting it up and slowly, without even reading it, handed it back to her.

"Miss [Y/L/N]. Can I walk you back?"

A nod of her head and a smile on his lips, Sherlock found himself walking with her in silence, with his own smile reaching his eyes, the letter clasped to her chest.

A/N- Any feedback is welcome, and appreciated 💗.

P.s Planning to write this as an extended fic because my baby Sherlock deserves some love !

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