Human errors, I beg to differ.

I consider writing as a form of stress-reliever, so think as though the things I write are out if anger, pain, sadness, yet happiness is an option. Excitement for a new case, I could say, is the complete equal to happiness.

Book genres has its way of confusing me. I have a good relationship with detective fiction, though skills of writing such is a big failure and embarrasing. I consider angst and romance, as long as there's somewhat a tragic happening in the certain book. I recommend this certain series called "Harry Potter" as an escape to boredom.

Forgive me if I don't update that quickly in my stories. My brain is a complete mess and it's filled with plots, memories, MATH (despite poll results, I love MATH), peculiarity and stress. My mind palace is currently out of order, as I am currently learning Gallifreyan.

If one shall ask for my presence, contact Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade (unlike my brother, I do try to remember his name) to inform you of the latest murder my brother, the great Sherlock Holmes (as Sergeant Sally Donovan would refer to him) and his undeniably boring yet caring partner, John Hamish Watson are in the middle of investigating.

Oh, how I do love to tease him with the deerstalker hat he spent fame with. It feels better spent with a smoking pipe and a nice cup of hot tea. Mrs. Hudson was clearly delighted with the sibling affection (not how I would put it, I'm afraid).


The name's Charlotte Danelle Scarlett Holmes, and the address is 221C Baker Street.


If anyone asks, I am currently waiting for the sound of the TARDIS' materializing, reading an issue of the Daily Prophet...on my brother's favourite furniture.

Do follow my collab account with WritingLifeStories, @BritNJap. It is still empty, but a story is in the process of completion.