A Fanfiction in Bohemia

To Future Collaborators:
If the final game is not just something you want to be playing, but actually  something you want to be making, then we might want to get in contact with you.

Although mostly it's mostly a solo project at the moment, this game is intended to be a team effort. Game development, just like detective adventures, is at it's best when done in company of like minded individuals. 

Current vacancies are:

• A  writer, preferably a native British
• An illustrator, preferably with a style similar to the original books

What we expect of you (regardless of craft):

• Previous completed works (must not be games, may be fan fiction)
• A design thinking and prototype oriented mindset
• Some experience with Google Docs (used for planning)
• 2-4 hours/week to spare

We already have a coder and a dedicated tester (and possibly a composer if we ever need it). Best way to join us is to sign up the GDL or Queer Game Dev discord, then send a PM to 'Jordgubben'. Hope to hear from you.

To the Let's players:

This is a very early prototype, at it's current state it's more of recruitment tool than anything else. As as such it is probably not mature enough to feature in a Let's play. If you chose to include it any way, please mention that at has at least half a year of active development before it could be considered anything remotely close to finished.

To those who want to read the original:
'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' are in the Public Domain. The book is available on both Librivox and Project Gutenberg.

To those confused by a Sherlock Holmes appearing in ACEJAM:

Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.  – J. Watson (as written by Arthur Conan Doyle)