Hamiko-san

John Watson had hoped for a quieter third year so his parents wouldn't have any reason to pull him out of Hogwarts, but he knew he was asking too much. The dangerous assassin Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban and, to hunt him down, the Ministry of Magic had implemented security measures. Measures that can greatly affect the mind of Sherlock Holmes. Attention: Fic belonging to the Potterlock saga. I recommend reading the others

John H Watson

An unusually sunny morning in the tiny apartment 221b on Baker Street.

Bruxa da Luz

In a world where the most famous novels are real, Rosete Le Roux, the teenage daughter of the Phantom of the Opera, is ready to know things beyond her story.

Sophie Claire

Sherlock Holmes is not in his best days in the art of deduction. So much so that he even makes grotesque mistakes with people close and in crime scenes. Will he be dying? Under the influence of narcotics or sick of love? When Scotland Yard is steps ahead of him it becomes even more worrying.

Lanabel

One day, I met an individual possessing an illustrious intelligence and acumen. This person assured me that all humans have a vulnerability—a pressure point—that could easily be wielded against them. Something they would die for, intending to protect at any cost. And that, even a guy like me, unfortunately, would not be spared from this paradigm. — Well, what would my pressure point be? I asked him. The man adjusted his glasses meticulously and stared at me for a few moments, seeming to read the bowels of my mind. Finally, he said, “Hmm… Someone who constantly occupies your mind, filling you with worries. You feel responsible for protecting her, but this person doesn't... Oh, she doesn't like you! Perhaps,” he said with that dull cynical smile, “a drugged, childish, irresponsible little brother who sees him not as an ally but an archenemy. This is your pressure point, your weakness. As I recalled Mr. Charles Augustus Magnussen, there I was, getting into one of my cars, carrying an unconscious body with me. I held it firmly so that it wouldn't fall over abruptly, and after placing my umbrella on one of the seats, I placed it on the back seat of the car. — What's the address, Mr. Mycroft Holmes? — The driver turned around, questioning me, and at that moment, I could see his questioning gaze directed at the fainting man in the back seat: pale, cold, dirty and giving off an unpleasant odor from the car. “221B Baker Street,” I replied.

DragonMK

For whether or not the sound of Sherlock Holmes was heard in Baker Street dwelt the love of John Watson. ❤ Posted in SS