#Mr.Holmes

[fineprintedsunsets]

             ☽ Wanting You And Me ☾ 

Synopsis: Acacia is brought back to the nights she spent alone when a bottle of alcohol and a detective's mouth runs too far. Will his stubborn demeanor and thought-reading mind be enough for Acacia? Or was that night, their last.

Word Count: 3k

!Trigger Warnings!

-swearing

-misuse of words

-brief mentions of cancer 

-mentions of rape/PTSD

-panic attacks/traumatic episodes

-abuse of substances

-intoxication

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 

 Last Night- Morgan Wallen

1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

People say the truth comes out when your lips meet a bottle. I suppose it’s true, because when his lips meet the rim of his beer, drinking in his 5th sip, his 4th bottle, and his first sentence, I can barely stand still. I haven’t drunk once, I never drink and I won't start now. Sherlock took me out to dinner to celebrate my new promotion at Nye Labs, and at how close I’m getting to balancing out the data for my cancer cause. I was happy when I enclosed myself in his arms, and we were practically jumping into each other's arms. I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when I told him. Or maybe it was just because it came out of my mouth. 

He says that a lot. Even If I were to deliver the news of someone's death to him,  he would be too mesmerized by me to care. It made me blush, and after he drug me into his bedroom and didn’t let me leave until I came three times. Now those memories feel like tar in my mouth as he looks at me. 

I drug him out of the bar 5 minutes ago, I grab the bottles he's been stuck to and throw it down against the concrete, watching as the glass shatters. Sherlock’s eyes bulge, too worried about the beer spilling from the bottle to worry about me. Tears wedge themselves behind my eyes, but I will not let him see me cry. 

I won’t do it.

I knew he had substance abuse problems, but It was usually only with drugs, certain medications, and the occasional cigarette. Weed makes him act a fool, meds make him go into crazy OCD episodes, But alcohol? Alcohol makes him speak the truth. 

And the truth hurts.

A lot. 

“Look at us!” I yell, jabbing his chest, and pushing him against the brick wall outside of the bar. We stand there in the back alley, dumpsters with overflowing trash filling my nostrils, my lab coat hanging limply on my frame. Sherlock wears his usual coat, the edges fanning just over his neck. His hair is disheveled, and his eyes are not his own. 

I noticed a pattern, not just with substances, but with anything that was able to make him forget. It was an ugly pattern. A deadly one. 

He stumbled out of the bar after his fourth drink, ending up in the alley, leaning against the wall and sipping from the bottle. I followed him outside, looking around, not understanding why he just left when we were just laughing moments earlier. I find him, against the wall and see his face. 

It’s how it always looks when he’s on something. It’s an odd look. 

An artificial feeling.

Before I screamed, “Look at us”. He said a couple of words, ones that made my palms itchy, and my breath catch in my throat. 

“Why do I stand here with someone who’s anything but me?” Sherlock mutters, taking a sip of his not yet broken beer bottle. 

“What?” I still have a smile on my face, thinking he’s just messing with me, but then I see it. That artificial shine he has to his cheekbones. My smile falters.

“You're not me, Acacia.” Sherlock starts to slur, taking another sip.

“You're not in my head. You stay in a lab, sweating like a pig, caring about a cause that means too much to you.”

I cock my head, It sounds like he’s describing himself. His cases, how indulgent he gets with them. But I shut my mouth and listen to his mumbling. 

“Seeing how these American Men toss their gazes at you, married men, men that aren't me.” 

“How do they look at me, Sherlock?” He pauses, before taking another sip. It’s his 8th one, on his 4th bottle. I’ve been counting. 

“Like a whore. Half the garments you wear are attention-grabbing as it is. Like the red silk panties you have on under that coat-” He starts to walk toward me, struggling to form words, I ignore the way he knows what I’m wearing. It’s Sherlock, of course, he knows. 

“You think I’m a whore.” I say breathlessly. The words sticking to the root of my mouth, hard to get out. 

“Precisely.” He growls, backing me against the wall. His breath is hot, smelling of cheap beer. He looms over me in an alley, and all of a sudden I’m back there. I’m back under my ex’s gaze, it’s no longer Sherlocks. Lance is backing me against my bedroom wall. Forcing himself onto me. My face is sticky with tears as I recall those moments. The moments in which he did way too often. His breath hot against my neck, and all I do is scream. I scream, and scream, begging for Lance to get off but he doesn't. 

Not until he’s done with me. 

The memory turns off. My breath is unsteady, but I realize I’m in an alley behind Tipsy Owl. I’m on the floor now, sitting on the concrete, my hands wrapped around my knees, my knees to my chest. I know I'm shaking by the way my bones rattle. I can barely see what’s ahead of me with the tears that crowd my eye ducts. 

Sherlock scared me. He made me go back to that moment. My panic attack starts to recede, keeping my mind at bay for the moment. I stand up, seeing his subtle, before locking eyes with him. 

He looks at me like he knows exactly what he just did. He knows he made me remember. Sherlock, for the first time in his life, looks scared. 

He looks sad. 

“Look at us!” I scream, pushing him against that brick wall. Tears spilling out of me. I grab the bottle, cracking it against the concrete. I still fill his hands over me, Lance’s. 

“You-” I breathe, looking at him, as his eyes fixate on the bottle. I realize now, it’s not because he cares more about the liquid spilling out of the remains of the glass. It’s because he can’t look at me, he knows what I saw. 

“-Scared me,”  I say it like it’s unbelievable to me. But is it really? People warned me about Sherlock Holmes. Why am I so surprised? Because you thought this time would be different. This time another man won't make you feel like Lance did. 

Except he did. 

He. Just. Fucking. Did. 

“I'm not him. I never will be.” He breathes, keeping his eyes fixated on the cracked glass on the ground. His words are still slurred, not as much as he tries hard to focus. 

“You may as well be.” I bite out, stepping away as he tries to come closer. My chest heaves with each breath, trying to find the right words. But men like him, men like Lance, don’t deserve words. 

“Acacia-” He reaches for me again, but this time my fist contacts his jaw. I know he knows I was going to do it, He knows everything I’m going to do in the next hour. But he lets me hit him. My knuckles sting as I pull away, anger replacing the fear. 

“Stay away from me,” I yell. Leaving him in the alley, I go to my car. I reach for my keys, seeing his body in the alley as my headlights roar to life. He looks down at the floor, I can see the bruise already forming on his muscled jaw. 

I hide the feeling that wants me to rush to him, and apologize. It wasn’t his fault. No. I won’t do it again. Lance always made me believe I had done something wrong. I’d done nothing, and Sherlock doesn't deserve my help. 

Another feeling comes to the surface. 

It seems as if it’s our Last Night. 

♠

I wake up in my own bed. My body is cold. I wear nothing but a T-shirt. I slept at my own flat last night, I couldn’t go to Baker Street. Not yet. Not now. Not ever. It was our last night. 

Right? 

I stretch, brush my teeth, tie up my hair, and check the door for mail. As I open the door, my eyes catch on the vase against my rug. I pick up the lilacs, looking at the note attached to it. I close the door, forgetting about the mail in the mailbox. A small red card hands off the rim. I open it, reading the brief message. 

I woke up wanting you and me. 

SH

Below there’s an address. The message is short, but it says so much, especially for someone like him. I won’t forgive him, not yet. But I will go to the address, I will hear him talk, if that’s what he wants to do. Its works first, though. 

♠

I give up after my 5th attempt. I’m not a quitter, usually anyway. I’m not stupid, though. I know when to stop. I put down the beaker as my hand continuously shakes. I’ve tried to take chemicals to the counter, mark down the results of various tests, and even talk to a few lab mates. But nothing has stopped the shaking or the feel of tears dabbing at my eyes.

It’s all his fault. 

Both of their faults. 

I can’t focus, god dammit.

I look up from the counter I work at, pulling off the safety glasses and sliding my lab coat down my arms. 

It’s 5:00 already. I seemed sure about going to this address later in the day. But now? Now I’m not so sure. What happened last night, it was terrifying. And it’s almost as if I’m walking into that court again, waiting to hear Lance's excuse as to why he treated me as he did.

But Sherlock's different. 

Right? 

I huff, almost grabbing the beaker and throwing it, wanting to feel the same adrenaline rush I did last night when I broke that beer bottle. I grab my keys, leave my lab coat on the counter, and head for my purse, pulling it off and flinging it around my shoulder. 

I’ll go. 

But not for him, for me.

For confirmation. 

That last night really was our last. 

♠

I pull up to the location, puzzled when I see Sherlock Aston Martin. In its black beauty. The hood shines as I pull into the parking lot of The Pearl. The place where we first met. I snort, sentiment won't work Sherlock Holmes. 

Not this time. 

I park the car, turn off the revving engine, and pull my keys out of the ignition. I study myself in my rear-view mirror. A sweat breaks out against my brow as I take steady breaths. I inhale and exhale one more time before my lights go off and I step out of the car. 

I see him, walking over to the hood of his car. It’s not dark outside, but the sun is starting to set, taking its heat with its rays. I stand a few feet away, as he straightens his coat and clears his throat. 

My eyes don’t dare to meet his. I can’t. I won't.

His voice cracks with emotion. 

“I’m-” He starts over, 

“Thank you for coming.” Sherlock’s voice is clear, despite the emotion. He already knows what he’s going to say. 

“I love you, Acacia. The words I spoke last night are nothing if not a reflection of me. A case is no excuse for calling you what I did as If you wanted the attention.” 

I stop him, “What if I did-” 

“-Want the attention.” My stomach rolls at the thought, and of course, he knows I don’t. But he won’t argue. 

“That would be fine, It doesn’t make you what I labeled you.” 

A whore, he said. 

My eyes take me somewhere else at the flashback, 

“You fucking bitch!” Lance slams me against the hood of his car, and the smell of alcohol leaks around me, intoxicating. 

I fight to remove him from me as he goes to my pants, knowing it’s how he always ‘puts me in my place.’ But I kick him right in the stomach, desperate to get away. But he only grabs me, baring his teeth. 

“Fuckin’ whore. Look at you, Desprete for that man’s attention, You want fucked? You want a cock in your mouth, I’ll give you one.” That man was Sherlock. I slipped him a note, it was a small one. But his eyes were on me all night, Lance tossed him a few dirty looks, thinking he was gawking. 

Sherlock was doing anything but. He looked at me with sympathy, he knew something was wrong. The note was an attempt to get him to help, it was a lifeline. Lance took it as I was sliding my number to him. 

It’s how I ended up cornered in this very parking lot, against the hood of his car, desperate for escape. 

Even though this is where me and Sherlock first met, something else is attached to this place. Lance is. But even then, he’s everywhere. Underneath my skin, in my bones. 

I’m back in the present, with Sherlock staring at me. He knows I went back there, he’s the one that saved me that night. I gasp at the intensity of his stare, he reaches for me, almost on impulse but thinks better of it and pulls away. 

“I’d die before I’d ever make you feel that again.”

“Reliving your worst moments.” He finishes, almost to himself. 

“You did, Sherlock.” I want to say more, but I can’t. That’s all there is to it. He made me feel that again at that moment. A trigger. He triggered an episode. 

Sherlock nods, acknowledging my emotionless words, even though tears tug at me more and more, “For that, Acacia. I am sorry.” 

We stood there for a moment, both thinking. Or maybe it’s just me, but I look up, my eyes locking with his grey ones, a calm combination of green, gold,  and blue. 

“Come home.” Sherlock finally says, breathing a lot heavier now. As if he’s afraid I’m about to walk away. But my heart aches, he saved me from Lance, why come home? He was drunk, and like he said the words were more geared toward himself. 

Except for the first ones.

Maybe he just saw me and took his frustration out of himself because I was there. It was my fault I got him drunk-

“It was not your fault. I shouldn’t have drank as much as I did. Do not take the blame Acacia, and If you have to compare me to that prick, do it. Just know-” He clears his throat, and I catch a glimpse of a tear sliding down his face. 

“Know that I will hate myself for the rest of my life, If you want me to, for what I made you feel last night.”

“Blame me. Not yourself.” 

My heart swells, he knew what I was thinking, even if it’s what Sherlock Holmes does. He does it to solve cases, does it to impress people, to show off. But never once did Sherlock Holmes read someone's entire past, future, and current thoughts because he cared. 

He cares. 

Doesn't mean you should. The voice in my head speaks up, the part of me still not at ease with what Lance did. 

“I’ll go home, but I won’t sleep in your bed.” 

“Deal.” Even if it’s painful for him to say, Sherlock won't force me to do anything. 

“I’ll drive in my own car,” I murmur, swiping at a tear falling across my cheek. I walk to my car, pulling open the door, and not looking back as I shut it and start it up again. 

I want to continue to be mad at him, but my heart is relieved at the decision I just made.

Is my stomach in agreement, though? 

♠ 

I wake up in a sweat, gasping for air. I had a nightmare, one I haven’t had in so long. I reach for something, but all I feel is a body, keeping my head up, pulling me to his chest. It doesn't take me long to realize it’s Sherlock. He must have run in here when I was screaming. I can’t pull away, Lance's sweat is still over me, his breath coating my tongue. 

I punch Sherlock in the chest, he rears back but takes it.

 Even if he triggered it, he’s there as I scream, feeling Lance’s body on top of me, clawing at my wrist, slipping inside of me as I fight against it...

I punch his chest and claw at his hair, but Sherlock takes it. He takes it for me. And I realize then and there, that I love him, and I always will. We all make mistakes, and he’s learned from his, he always has. 

I stop as tears fall down my cheeks and onto my thighs, and I go to kiss him but he shakes his head, taking my head and putting it against his warming chest. 

“Don’t kiss me because you want an escape. Kiss me because you want to.” I sob some more, relishing in those words. He’s right. I’m escaping. 

“No, you don’t, Acacia. Not right now. Hit me, Cry into me, but don’t use me.” His accent is raspy, so I woke him up. He doesn't care though, he’s here for me. 

And I tried to use him as if sex would help this problem. 

“I’m sorry.” I sob, but he picks up my face from his chest, swiping both his thumbs across my face. 

“Do not say it again.” Sherlock orders.

“I should be apologizing to you.” He whispers against my scalp, pressing a kiss there, making my whole face heat. 

“You will see me on my knees, Acacia. But that night is not now.”

Sherlock on his knees, that’s a sight to remember. It makes me smile just a bit as I look into his eyes.

“Ok,” I whisper. 

It won't be our Last Night. 

He let the liquor talk, but perhaps it’s what we needed. 

But I know, I'll always wake up wanting him, and him me.

Even if it hurts in the process. 

[itskenickie]

Don't you think it's funny cause actual canon gay characters in BL manga will say "I love you" but only the shounen bromance can spew out some of the most romantic shit akin to a 19th century poet writing a letter expressing his surpressed love for his lover 😭.....

my six eyes tell me you’re geto suguru but my soul knows otherwise!! 🤡

[starrahcoolership]

mr.Noway Holmes has a very masculine blood type or insides flowing in him that over power the less likely part. He is consumed by entertaining imagination such as Jack Callaghan, Bill Paxton, Bill Pullman and Thomas Jane. avalos Mom loves all the work he puts him.

Very generous donations given to Mr.Phelix

[consult-johnhwatson]

It’s not cosplay, Dr.Watson. Mr.Holmes is a vampire.

~D

I think I'd notice if he really were a vampire, but I have to admit I've never seen him and a vampire in the same room...

@consult-sherlockholmes defense?

[cynoswifey]

William Moriarty dabble

Warnings: NSFW topics involved

AN: Mannnnn I want Willaims fingers inside me 🛐 this is kinda shit though

^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°

William Moriarty. The man that can always hold his composure and knows what to say. Which explains how he's able to keep the straight face even when doing something scandalous. Like for example putting his hand up your dress and sliding a finger into your pussy. While you both are on a train with Sherlock and Louis in front of you. He watches your eyes widen with a smile then adds another finger stretching you out perfectly. Willaim wants to chuckle when you quickly bite down on your lip to conceal your moans. Your so focused on not making a noise you don't register Sherlock talking to you. "Mrs. Moriarty?" You look up "Yes? Mr.Holmes?" You barely keep your moans away. His eyes narrow "Have you by chance caught a cold?" "Oh no I feel fine. Do I perhaps look pale?" You begin to feel a knot form in your stomach "Oh really how curious. But it's quite the opposite you look flushed." Williams fingers pick up the pace more and you feel the knot in your stomach begin to come lose. Your thighs attempt to close but Williams keeps them open as his skilled fingers bring you to your release. You shut your eyes and bite your lip as you a wave of pleasure,that would have sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head if they were open,washes over you. "Is the heat bothering you?" Louis ask. "It seems so." William responds with a smug smirk as he removed his fingers from inside you and he slides his glove on...no one aware of what just corinspired... well almost everyone... Holmes is the number one detective for a reason ♡

^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•^°•Reblogs likes, and ask are appreciated!

Thank you!!!

[awkwardchaosposts]

Icarus and his fool

Sherlock x Golden retriver!male reader

TW: mentions of death(possible murder),strangulation and other things related to crime

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"For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light." -Icarus

*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°*°

He wasn't sure how to feel about this newfound fame. Sherlock did have more clients and more options means more reason to ignore the boring ones.

But if he had to name one thing he hated about it...

"Mr. Holmes! Mr.Holmes!"

You shouted from the crowd of reporters. You had a particular talent of being so loud that you could break even Sherlock's focus. He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Scratch that,he was definitely annoyed.

Icy blue eyes found yours in the crowd. The closest he came to engaging with paparazzi.

It was odd to see such a cold and intimidating stare to make your face light up like fireworks on the 4th of July.

But he grew bored after five seconds. He could already tell everything he needed to know about you so why waste his intellect on something so meaningless.

Unfortunately for Sherlock,you followed him around like some lost puppy.

"Mr. Sherlock? I work with London Time Magazine and I was thinking-"

"Yes I know" he dismissed before you could even finish,putting on some gloves as he analyzed the body.

You both knew that you shouldn't be here but Sherlock was never one to worry about the rules. If you wanted to risk trespassing a crime scene then that was your problem. Not his.

"Well what would you think about an interview?"

"No"

"Oh" his answer was straight to the point atleast

The victim was strangled but no marks of resistance.

Reason: Drugged? Victim was too disoriented to fight back

He sighed. "Stop that"

You raised an eyebrow yet smiled like some jolly idiot. Sherlock made a note to not look at your face too much as to avoid that smile. How he hated it. A simple mind you were.

"Stop what?"

"I can hear you thinking,if you can even call it that. It's distracting "

There it was again. That smile. "Sorry. It's just you're so..." arrogant? cruel? Acting like a Gallus domesticus? "cool"

Cool? That word made his mind spiral in confusion. Your excited fanboying wasn't something he expected to see.

Sherlock knew a lot of people found his mind to be extraordinary,including himself.

But very few would find him 'cool'

"The interview. I'll...think about it" he lied so easily.

Never in his life has he seen someone so excited. What a twat

The door closing signalled to him that you left. Honestly it was better that way. Now he could finally focus.

The victim has no signs of being intoxicated. They look perfectly put together. The bruise on her neck looks older than 8 hours,meaning..

Sherlock dug in her bag. Cellphone,wallet, driver's license...

"There you are"

'Red room' the key card must be to some sort of hotel.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

1:59...2:00 the clock read

Sherlock was having trouble sleeping.

"Oh Sherlock look at the mess you made"

Mrs. Hudson scolded him in her too sweet voice. "I'll clean tomorrow" he made the empty promise. 'London Time Magazine' the web page stared back at him. His surroundings was filtered into white noise as he sulked. Brooding was the word Sherlock liked to use

"Mrs. Hudson" he called just as she was halfway out the door. The woman turned slowly so as to not upset her troubled hip. "Yes dear? Would you like some tea?"

"What does it mean when someone calls you...cool?" he confided in the woman far over her 60's,knowing well that she wouldn't understand what she'd call 'youngster slang'

~*~*~*~*~*

When Sherlock's mother made him learn to play the violin she certainly didn't think that it would be the source of outlet for her son's frustrations.

The apartment was filled with cries from the violin. Begging him to play more gently no doubt.

But he didn't. He was so frustrated with himself.

Sherlock hated feeling and this strange airhead made him feel just that. Albeit it was just curiousity he still hated the thought of his mind being stimulated by something so simple. It made Sherlock worry that all Anderson's talking has finally made him just as feeble minded.

"No don't be ridiculous,Sherlock. No one can be as stupid as Anderson" he silently reassured himself.

'Plink'

A pause ensued. He went to inspect his violin only to find one of the strings broke under the pressure of his abuse.

"Mrs. Hudson? I'm going out for a bit"

"What for dear?"

"It seems I'm in need of a stronger violin"

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[markeylovesbandddd]

Nobody likes mr.holmes. He likes to touch my hair and hit me and Mr McKenna ends up hearing about it😭

[ibuks]

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Hey Mr.Holmes! I missed you. I’ve had a hard few months with my job and it’s been stressing me out. I finally quit today and I’m so happy. I just needed to let it out because I’m so proud of putting myself first🙈🥹.

~D🧛🏻🦦

Welcome back on this hellish website. I had noted your absence, it had been quite boring, so hopefully your return will make things more interesting again.

Sources of stress are always good to quit if you are able to, so I fully support your choice. Constant stress can have very negative impacts on your mental and physical health so removing yourself from that environment was the correct choice. So I agree that you can be proud of yourself, such decisions are often not easy. Any other news or maybe a mystery, riddle or case for me?

[ridiasfangirlings]

Munakata x Nagare enemies-to-lovers Sherlock Holmes au? (Currently watching YuuMori and I suddenly thought of this for some reason). First I wanted to make this MikoRei like usual but I just can't imagine Mikoto fitting the battle of wits thing in Sherlock Holmes stuff. Doesn't seem like his thing (I don't read the K side stories so maybe I'm wrong lol)

It is hard to imagine Mikoto doing the battle of wits thing, not because he isn’t smart but I think he would consider it way too much effort put into being sneaky when you could just punch someone XD Munakata and Hisui would definitely be a bit more of a match for this case. Imagine Hisui becoming known as the ‘Lord of Crime’, though while he’s the main criminal mastermind the alias itself is also used by Iwafune and Yukari as well. Iwafune is some fallen aristocrat who still has money but not as much influence as he used to due to stepping away from public life to do charity work. He gave orphan Yukari a job as his attendant and poor disabled orphan Hisui became his child and legal heir. Everyone thinks that they’re just a nice family trying to do good works, no one knows that Hisui is truly the notorious criminal trying to change the world by punishing corrupt aristocrats who would otherwise buy their way out of crimes, and who wants to make a world where everyone is equal. 

Munakata meanwhile is a private detective whose path continues to cross with that of the Lord of Crime, though Munakata himself has not been formally asked to uncover that person’s identity he considers it a personal project of a sort — he only wishes to find out the identity because he thinks it would be interesting. I imagine Munakata would also notice that the Lord of Crime despite his name does not target people who are poor or weak regardless of the bad they do, only aristocrats, and he finds this particularly intriguing as he is certain that the Lord of Crime must be of high class himself. He and Hisui probably meet at some fancy banquet or something, like a scam charity run by a corrupt noble and Hisui is ostensibly attending as one of those poor sad disabled kids who this charity will help but really he’s here to make sure the noble in question is revealed as a scammer and then dies. Munakata was invited as a famous detective and his eyes shine the moment he meets Hisui, despite Hisui putting in an act of an innocent guileless person Munakata recognizes immediately that this person has a keen mind.

After this they’re constantly trying to one up each other, Munakata has his suspicions about the Lord of Crime and is getting closer and closer to finding that person’s identity while Hisui has decided that Munakata will be the one to unmask him when the time is right. Iwafune is concerned because he’s been suspecting for a while that Hisui was intending to die in order to make his wish a reality and he’s torn between wanting to let Hisui do what he wants and hoping Munakata will figure it out before things get too dangerous. Hisui and Munakata keep running into each other too, mysteries pop up and they both just happen to be in the same place, smiling at each other blandly and exchanging pleasantries while both running their own agendas (also please imagine them doing that ‘catch me if you can, Mr.Holmes’ moment from Yuumori and meanwhile Watson Fushimi is in the seat next to Munakata with a disgusted look like please stop flirting in front of my dinner).

[ketchhhaglendadelle]

I can see that she definitely is inspecting it too, I can't make out what it means or who she was talking to but there was a handshake before she took the rig off the road, bdRapierHoist§

While out.

On a walk, one day

黽旄則 Ash of PALLET TOWN met a talkative bouxhjakquere

The postman is never confused so he starts by telling Mr.Holmes that it does sound lofty but unless he's sure it's not in Ontario it might just be on the earth somewhere.

Sherlock Holmes leaves the post office in a fury

Escort,flattened

[khalidhusain786]

🔍 Mr.Holmes

Mr.Holmes is a information gathering tool (OSINT). The main purpose is to gain information about domains,username and phone numbers with the help of public source avaiable on the internet also it use the google dorks attack for specific researchers. It also use proxies for make your requests completley anonymous and a WhoIS Api for getting more information about a domain. Installation git clone…

[adweirdod]

Cath me if you can…

Mr.Holmes?

[starrahcoolership]

mr.holmes needed more melloguidance medium from tipsy and who taught him what he knows on metropolis clifford drive street about 1:07 pm on March 26, 2024.

[angrybisexualfurry]

Mrs.Watson : Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Mr.Holmes ?

Holmes : ...No.

Watson : I do !

Mrs.Watson : I know, John.

Watson : I'm sad !

Mrs.Watson : I know, John.

[graphicxperience]

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