#sherlock holmes in italian
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margysmusings · 9 months ago
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A new addition for my author brag shelf. The Italian edition of Sherlock Holmes and the Curse of Neb-Heka-Ra. And yes, that is Basil Rathbone on the cover.
@sherlockholmesbooks
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callmecams26 · 11 months ago
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Ate him TF UPPPPPPP
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angelosrestaurant · 4 months ago
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Today's special:
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Prawn orecchiette with roasted-shell olive oil
Please make sure to reserve a table in advance.
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i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end · 9 months ago
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Show off you Sherlock Holmes editions!
Last summer, I had such a hard time not buying myself one of the beautiful SH volumes I came across in every single bookshop I entered (copyright had just expired!). Luckily, they were all in German, so I managed to resist. But I promised myself to buy one as a treat once I had finished my master thesis, and THAT WAS TODAY!! I will make a careful choice and think I'd actually like an illustrated edition. But I'm curious which ones all of you have! Show me if you like! :)
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amypihcs · 1 year ago
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Hello! As late as usual and a bit more frozen than usual! Let's see today's story!
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Holmes just wants to do his scrapbooking! He doesn't want a case now! Leave him ALONE!
heyheyhey! This is playing DIRTY!
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Holmes being quite a bit vain (and this we already knew) and also very very kind. Lol, the comment of not being seen for weeks! Mrs Hudson only sees him on an almost daily basis because she's FAMILY and adopted him! And worries if he doesn't eat his dinner. Well, what's the MATTER with this lodger?
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Ah, the landlady is anxious, how to find any fault in it! And who wouldn't be calmed by staring into Holmes' eyes? lol. Bet that Watson speaks also for personal experience (when he has nightmares), for exemple.
Now remember, EVEN THE TINIEST DETAIL!
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This smells a lot of Mafia, tbh. And usually there is fire when there's smoke. mmmhn we'll see. What about the food? Watson stop glaring
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W-why printing? (also guess that printing means not writing in cursive?) This is an actually weird way of communication. Well, the idea of concealing the handwriting is good, tbh but again, WHY. Also, short messages and apparently the lodger seems very cautious. How did he look? this lodger, i mean...
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Oh this smells SO MUCH of mafia...
Well, you MUST enter the room in the morning? can't do otherwise!
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WATSON STOP GLARING! Looks after himself? WEIRD.
AH! Something to observe, finally!
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H: He has a beard... but he can't have smoked these! Watson, even with your pretty modest mustache it wouldn't be possible! It would be singed, and it would be such a pity... W: Holmes, stop staring at my mouth, you'll have your kisses. Later H: Alright, alright, spoilsport.
The landlady goes away, Holmes gets his kisses and then back to the analysis!
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This lodger might not be the bearded man who took the keys! It's an idea. But WHY?
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WELL, we can always look in the AGONY COLUMNS! scrapbooking for win! I love how Granada Holmes has his whole little art attack project with the agony columns! He's cute!
AND THEY FIND THE MESSAGES! yahoo! Maybe in the following day's gazette....
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THE MANTLEPIECE POSE! YES! only, Holmes should be happier, but it's alright! Holmes is feeling very satisfied of himself and HEY! CLIENT? What? Hey, they kidnapped her husband... and then let him go? He's shoked? oh damn!
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Nice, time to see this guy! Ah you say you can give us a hiding place? NICE! we'll be there!
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Uuuuh! Here's the house of the last ad on the paper! Ah, is the hideout ready? yay
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W-what? Oke, the substitution, but... WITH A WOMAN? WOW. And such a woman to impress HOLMES! Stuff to meditate on!
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Oh, come on, Watson! I have made a cute deduction! Well, probably she's entangled or well, she and her man are entangled in a matter of life or death! -vibing holmes noises-
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-Holmes is vibing HARDER- While he tells Watson that it's of course l'art pour l'art! (This passage sounds soooo early case! later Watson would know already!)
Evening and they're at the landlady's again! -i'll be very italian now-
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A CODE A CODE A CODE! Eh, Holmes! You should practice your italian a bit more! 'Attenta' means a lot of stuff, as you are freaking out she is understanding (Also the proof that us Italian women as so cool that we even manage to impress Sherlock Holmes uwu) Meanwhile, Holmes sclerandone (sardinian way of speaking) and Watson proposing a cipher and in fact...
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AAAAH! You remember your italian at last! HEY! more messages!
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Holmes going 'WTF's happening now?', freaking out a bit more but no Watson, stay with me! (Yes, Holmes 'pericolo' means 'danger', glad you remember your lessons) We're going to investigate now!
And we'll see their discoveries in the next story!
Vibing a lot with the last part in italian! yes!
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holmesoldfellow · 7 months ago
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Some of the Sherlock Holmes books i encountered while in Rome
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jazzandpizazz · 2 years ago
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“morning, watson!”
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fruitviking · 8 months ago
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Practising Italian by reading from my Sherlock Holmes translation 💎
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white-queen-lacus · 10 months ago
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I'm on my way to sharing the epilogue of my YuuMori ff on EFP, yet I can't help but share this Adlock scene because I'm very satisfied with the result! ❤️ I'll put it under spoilers, mostly because it's quite long!
Nel percorrere il salone, Sherlock vide la combriccola impegnata a seguire le spiegazioni di Herder nel mostrare le sue invenzioni. Qualcuno mancava all’appello, ma chi gli interessava non era presente. Nel notare l’assenza del cappotto bianco, soffrì al pensiero di dover lasciare il tepore per affrontare il gelo, ma indossò ugualmente il suo soprabito nero, per poi uscire da una porta laterale. Nel varcare la soglia, si voltò non appena vide Bond, schiena appoggiata al muro e mani in tasca, intenta a osservare il gioco di luci che attraversava il cortile in lontananza. Nell’accorgersi di lui, sgranò gli occhi azzurri. “Sherly?!” esclamò, raddrizzandosi.
“Hai intenzione di rimanere qui a congelare?” chiese, stringendosi nel cappotto.
Bond lo guardò perplessa, poi sorrise con aria maliziosa. “Devo ricordarti la volta che ti sei spogliato per darmi i tuoi vestiti rimanendo in mutande o quella in cui ti sei tuffato nel Tamigi con Will?”
Sherlock non sapeva se essere impressionato o sentirsi a disagio, quindi si appoggiò con la schiena al muro accanto allo stipite opposto della porta. Il fiato gli uscì in uno sbuffo visibile e si limitò a osservare a sua volta i giochi di luce. Pochi istanti e capì cosa ci trovasse. Non aveva mai visto delle luci correre insieme, poi a scatti, poi inseguirsi in percorsi lunghi e tortuosi. Era magnetico. “Herder ne sa una più del diavolo, eh?”
Bond inclinò appena la testa. Sorprenderla nei modi più disparati era da lui, ma raramente l’aveva visto temporeggiare per qualcosa. “Già…” disse tuttavia, tornando a guardare le luci. “Dubito che ci sia qualcuno di più geniale di lui.” aggiunse, con l’intento di punzecchiarlo facendo leva sulla sua proverbiale megalomania. 
Sherlock, invece, non vi dette corda, alzando gli occhi al cielo. Aveva la stessa postura e la stessa espressione di quando, presentandosi a lui in abiti femminili al posto di Moneypenny, durante la missione al Kensington, l’aveva scorto appoggiato al muro, in attesa. Soprabito invernale e sigaretta mancante a parte, ma l’odore del tabacco era sempre lì. Bond gli rivolse uno sguardo nostalgico. Gli aveva detto, in quell’occasione, che la magia di Cenerentola sarebbe durata soltanto per quella notte e così era stato. Dopo aver risolto il caso, Sherlock era andato via e lei aveva fatto ritorno a casa sorbendosi le frecciatine di un redento Moran e i complimenti del maestro Jack. Dopodiché, aveva riposto l’abito azzurro e la parrucca che riproduceva fedelmente i suoi lunghi capelli biondi nell’armadio. Se la parrucca le era tornata utile per ingannare il visconte Simmons, l’abito era rimasto lì, intoccato. 
“Sherly… è tutto a posto?” chiese, con un tono ora sinceramente preoccupato. “C’è qualcosa che devi dirmi, vero? Che ti ha detto tuo fratello?”
Sherlock realizzò di non aver con sé le sigarette. Sempre un passo davanti. Non era mai facile, quando si trattava di Bond. Di Irene. Ogni volta che pensava di raggiungerla, lei sfuggiva. Era stato più semplice, durante la mascherata. Ma quando le maschere cadevano, lui era soltanto un uomo che non aveva idea di come gestire quel sentimento che era nato come semplice incomprensione, poi ammirazione, poi… non sapeva più nemmeno lui stesso come definirlo in un modo che significasse, per lui, dover ammettere qualcosa che aveva sempre rifuggito. Sapeva anche che rivedere quella che John aveva definito la Donna era qualcosa che non avrebbe mai ritenuto possibile e che non era in grado di capire perché ogni qualvolta si avvicinassero, lei finisse con l’allontanarsi. Proprio come le luci del percorso. Correvano insieme, si bloccavano, si inseguivano. Eppure, in un angolo remoto della sua mente, non riusciva a non pensare a quanto fosse orgoglioso del fatto che, in quei tre anni, fosse diventata la punta di diamante del MI6 al punto tale da suscitare la curiosità della stessa Sua Maestà. Più in basso però, nel suo cuore, avvertiva qualcosa di profondamente diverso e sconvolgente. 
“Sherly, dannazione! Ti sei incantato o cosa?”
Battendo le palpebre, si decise a prendere un enorme respiro, poi voltò appena il viso verso Bond. Non aveva idea di che espressione avesse, ma ne vide le guance farsi rosse.
“Sei felice?” domandò, al posto di rispondere. 
“Che… domanda è?” chiese di rimando, incerta. 
“La vita che hai ora… ti rende felice?” 
Il sopracciglio sinistro tremolò e Sherlock affilò lo sguardo. “Beh… non posso dire che non lo sia… insomma, guarda… sono James Bond. L’agente con licenza di uccidere.”
Lui annuì, ripensando alle sue lacrime, la notte in cui si erano congedati. Se non avesse scommesso sul Lord del Crimine, Irene sarebbe morta per mano di Mycroft. E facendolo, Irene era morta ugualmente, dando vita a James Bond. Si chiese se quella fosse davvero la sola strada percorribile, se alla fine, Irene Adler non poteva esistere più. La donna che mai avrebbe potuto dimenticare. La sola che aveva totale controllo sulla sua razionalità tanto da spingerlo persino a mandare in fumo il suo stesso appartamento e a mostrarsi proprio a lei per prima, dopo esser tornato. Non ultimo, quel tarlo che gli arrovellava il cervello al pensiero di lei stretta al suo braccio, della sua espressione inintelligibile… della voglia totalmente irrazionale di stringerla a sé e di prenderne le labbra carnose in un bacio. E poi, quel gesto che aveva fatto quando, prima di scappare dalla residenza Simmons, aveva posato la mano sul ventre fasullo con aria pensierosa… e, durante la cena, il modo in cui i suoi occhi si erano spalancati per un istante mentre Moneypenny annunciava il lieto evento, per poi addolcirsi.
Bond sospirò, notando che Sherlock era completamente chiuso in chissà quali pensieri. A quanto pareva, era di malumore e non aveva intenzione di aprirsi. D’altronde, il fatto che avesse più volte invocato di tornare in America le sembrava già abbastanza penoso. Aveva persino pensato di indossare un abito da donna, quella sera… blu, perché il blu le donava, come lui le aveva detto una volta. Ma negli ultimi tempi, Sherlock sembrava aver deciso di metter da parte qualunque sentimento provasse per lei in favore della risoluzione dei casi che si erano presentati nuovamente alla porta del 221B. Eppure, in quel momento le aveva chiesto se fosse felice. La verità era che era tornata ad esserlo, dopo che lui aveva fatto ritorno. La sola idea le era bastata persino ad esser pronta a mandare al diavolo l’identità che aveva assunto pur di trascorrere del tempo insieme. E non era abbastanza. Distolse lo sguardo, rincantucciandosi nel cappotto. “Io rientro. Effettivamente, c’è troppo freddo.” disse, facendo per rincasare. 
“Irene. Irene Adler.”
Nel sentire il suo nome pronunciato con tono serio e fermo, si bloccò.
“James, Sherlock.” lo corresse, tagliente.
“Per me sei sempre Irene, lo sai.”
Gli occhi azzurri di Bond si fecero lucidi e il suo cuore mancò un battito. “E questo dovrebbe bastarmi, ora?”
“Sei troppo intelligente per chiedermi qualcosa di cui sai già la risposta.”
Bond sbottò, voltandosi di scatto e afferrando Sherlock per la collottola. “Ma voglio sentirlo ugualmente. Da te. Che tu mi dica… una volta per tutte… che cosa provi davvero… Sherlock…” disse e nel mentre, la sua risoluzione si fece sempre più debole, così come la sua presa, nel perdersi negli occhi blu notte dell’uomo che la guardavano come mai. Sherlock tolse le mani dalla tasca, sollevandole fino a posarle sulle sue. Per fermarla. Perché non prendesse freddo. Perché anche soltanto il poterla toccare era la prova che entrambi erano vivi.
“Sei tra gli agenti del MI6 che potranno spostarsi in missione all’estero.” disse e Bond lo guardò con gli occhi sbarrati, incredula. “Cosa?!”
Sherlock strinse la presa. “Se le circostanze lo dovessero richiedere… vorresti farmi da partner?”
“Eh?”
“Sì, insomma… in coppia… come coppia… cioè… aaaaaaah! Maledizione!!” incespicò nelle sue stesse parole, imbarazzato.
“Mi stai chiedendo di… aspetta… non capisco… perché non riesci semplicemente a dire le cose come stanno?!” protestò Bond che, diversamente da lui, capiva fin troppo bene, dal suo modo di fare, che intendeva altro ma, ogni volta, era capace di farla diventare matta. 
“Perché non è facile, Irene! Non è facile…” disse, infine, tornando a guardarla. Nella loro vicinanza, nonostante i capelli corti e l’assenza di trucco, Irene era lì e lo guardava a sua volta, bella, indomita e brutalmente capace di farlo capitolare su una graticola. 
“Quando mai qualcosa per te è stata facile? Tu ami i misteri… le cose complicate…”
Sherlock sospirò, vinto. Persino risolvere il mistero del Lord del Crimine si era infine rivelato meno difficile che capire il cuore e le azioni di quella donna. “E tu sei il mistero più complicato di tutti…” 
Irene sgranò gli occhi, col cuore che aveva preso a batterle forte. Ciononostante, si morse le labbra per non dargliela vinta. “Dillo ancora…” sussurrò, con voce tremante.
Nel sentirla, riconobbe in quel tono lo stesso con cui gli aveva detto addio una volta. Si era voltato altrove, perché non vedesse che in quell’istante, anche lui era commosso. E le aveva detto che si sarebbero rincontrati, se lei fosse stata viva. Lo era. Lo sentiva dai battiti che palpitavano con più forza nei polsi di Irene. E da quel viso che aveva contemplato in foto, poi ogni qualvolta fossero insieme. “Anche se pensi che non sia così… io ti vedo, Irene. E voglio te al mio fianco.” sussurrò, addolcendo la presa intorno alle sue mani, per poi voltare la situazione in suo controllo, provocandole un sobbalzo a quel gesto inaspettato, portandola con le spalle al muro e, come le luci che tornavano a giocare insieme, abbandonarsi a un bacio a lungo agognato da entrambi.
Nessuno di loro due, tuttavia, aveva notato che in alto su quella porta, come sulle altre, pendeva leggermente del vischio, mentre la mezzanotte scoccava, annunciando a tutti il Natale.
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wildbeautifuldamned · 2 years ago
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Vintage De Carlini Christmas Ornament Italian SHERLOCK HOLMES Hard To Find ebay abigail324
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margysmusings · 7 months ago
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My books are available from Amazon Italy. Four of them have been translated into Italian.
@sherlockholmesbooks
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bitchfacesblog · 1 year ago
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angelosrestaurant · 3 months ago
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Today's special
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Tagliatelle alla Bolognese
Hand-rolled ribbons of long, flat pasta tossed in a ragù sauce made with meat, wine, and tomatoes. Topped with a generous sprinkling of freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese.
Maybe a little step from your usual spaghetti Bolognese, Dr. Watson @johnhwatsonblog ?
Please make sure to reserve a table, call or email are ok.
A dopo.
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amypihcs · 2 months ago
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AAAnd I ended up writing something for this and for the first day of cozytober.
You’re back home
As much as it could be seen as a dismissal, as a lack of appreciation for one’s services, Sherlock Holmes couldn’t but be happy about his husband’s discharge.
He had known of it for at least one day more than his dearest had, working in the intelligence offered striking possibilities when one was showing up to the office and not only working from home, but he had only left London on his own leave when Watson’s letter had arrived.
And there he was, in Sussex, enjoying the sweet October sunshine in the year of our Lord nineteen-seventeen from atop the railing he and Watson had built more than 10 years prior, waiting for his Captain.
Dr Watson wasn’t surprised to not find Holmes waiting for him at the station with their car, it was their agreement. No station Welcomes and Goodbyes as having to stifle their feelings in those moments would have certainly made them more painful. He breathed in deeply the fresh country air and set off for his walk toward their bee-house, as Holmes called it.
Nothing could be better than half an hour of evening walk toward home, or rather, nothing but seeing one’s husband jump down from a railing and grin from ear to ear as one walks into one’s own garden.
Neither of them properly ran toward the other, they weren’t as young as that any more as much as Holmes’ athletics still belied his true age. Holmes waited for him and Watson dove into his arms, breathing in deeply, relaxing after months of tension as he felt his husband’s strong, thin arms around his shoulders and his solid, sinewy body in his arms.
“I missed you.” He sighed, breathing in his scent, tobacco, lemons, aftershave.
Holmes broke the hug with a smile. “I missed you too.” He answered, then he kissed him, his hands buried in his hair, moaning as he felt his Watson’s arms tighten once more on his back as he answered the kiss with just as much vigour.
“I’m back home.” Gasped Watson when they separated out of need for air.
“You are, my dearest. – Holmes’ breath was just as laboured as he replied, ruffling his husband’s hair with his fingers. – Short hair doesn’t suit you my love.”
“It will grow again, I also liked it better before this war. Is that my vest?” Chuckled the doctor, well used to his husband’s sometimes strange demonstrations of affection.
Holmes laughed as he played with his Watson's uniform’s belt and buttons. “How did you deduce?”
It was a game, of course, their game. “It’s too large on you, my darling, and a bit too short. Also, you have no clothes of this colour. – The doctor stroked one of his Holmes’ sharp cheekbones. – You needn’t look so worried, Holmes. What do you deduce of me?”
Holmes smiled once more, and in that golden light he looked just like the young chemist he was when they had met. “You lost almost a stone, but you will be better in some weeks. You need to sleep properly as you are quite tired. Those dark circles under your eyes speak of anxiety, my John, and of pain. I could say your leg more than your shoulder, if I didn’t know that you’ve been hurt two weeks ago…” Holmes let his voice fade softly as he moved his hand to his husband’s side.
“It’s but a graze, my dear. Some shrapnel during a rescue mission, I barely noticed it until I had finished with the poor chap’s surgery. It’s but a scratch, I stitched it close myself.”
“I should like to check for it myself, my dear. As much as I know that your stitches are the best, you must have hidden it from your subordinates for quite a long time to end up stitching it on your own.” He stated
“Those boys were shaking already, I couldn’t let them know that I was hurt. – Watson kissed his husband again and then placed a warning finger on his lips. – I will let you fuss, my dear fellow, but only after some good tea and in preparation for a proper bath.” He smiled.
Mr Holmes grinned at the proposition and lead his husband inside, draping himself on his shoulders as soon as they reached the kitchen. “We are home now, John.”
“Yes. Yes, we are, my dearest Sherlock.” Answered the doctor.
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dr watson in his 60s, tanned by the sussex sun, returns to his old service on the outbreak of WW1
this outfit is not historically accurate at all, but i really wanted to draw how i imagined watson in the gorgeous WW1 era h/w fic The Presbury Letters
+ bonus homecoming to angry bee husband
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amypihcs · 11 months ago
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HELOOO! Even later than usual! And it's NOT university's fault this time, i was having fun in Naples (and a little headcanon-dump will follow about it!)
SO! Watson restarts from where he had interrupted.
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Uh. Has old dad started doing parkour, lately? Weird. And i get why it's frightening, i mean. I would've screamed. And i'm not easy to impress.
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AH AND HE ALSO ACTS AS IT WAS NOTHING!
I get you girl. Holmes gets you too and in fact he observe how weird is that the old man climbs to the second floor. Uh... That date... weird. Wait, why weird?
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Werewolf? No not werewolf, WATSON WHY ARE YOU LOOKING FOR THE GUN??! NO. We will go CALMLY and tell him we made an appointment with him. Okaaaay Holmes!
Perfect! Watson agrees and so until tomorrow
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Old university town! Monday! Holmes NOT considering that Watson has something to do, but Watson is there! Remembering uni-time mondays! They're having a good time!
And then they have the interview... Which goes... NOT FINE. Man Almost tries to toss them out. BODILY. And is stopped by Bennet. Oh here he is!
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H: DOOON'T worry, boy, Alright, i've been in worse situations. Now, may we see the window? AH... Well, it seems quite funny to cl- WATSON STOP GLARING!
Okay, difficult to climb for a normal man. W: The professor couldn't've climbed it and so you will nto do it as well, Holmes. H: As the doctor commands. Ah, you have the information on the professor's correspondent! Jolly good!
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See you next thursday, have patience, you too Watson. We'll be home soon.
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Holmes writes to one of his agents and the evening he gets an answer and reads it as they're having a nice, romantic dinner together. So the professor's correspondent is from Prague. He went to Prague. It connects!
WAIT, old boy. The dates.
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Watson, eyes on Holmes' eyes and ears to his words, ignore the pretty sexy hands. Yeeeees, there's no coincidence here, you are right.
H: I know do i deserve a kiss?
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W: Wait a bit, and all the rest? H: You're asking for too much now! We'll see on tuesday, be patient, Watson.
Holmes wasn't apparently patient enough to let Watson write his closing formula... Oh well, we'll hear from him!!
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holmesoldfellow · 9 months ago
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Books 9-16 of the "Sherlock, Lupin, e Io" (Sherlock, Lupin, and Me) book series by Irene Adler (Alessandro Gatti) (Piemme, 2015-2017)
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