Unobtainable Love

 (Formerly Titled An Untitled Sherlock Holmes Fanfic Story)

By: Yvonne Stevens

Disclaimer: If it's real, or by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I do not own it. Any other things I probably do own. (Yeah, this disclaimer sucks, but I don't care.) Title was suggested by Frankie. Thank you, Frankie!!!!!!!!!!!

{A/N: This does not have a mystery in it. If someone could help me with a title, I'd appreciate it a lot, and this is not a Mary-Sue.}

After I put down the latest issue of The London Gazette, my thoughts turned to the person featured in the last article I had read: Sherlock Holmes, of 221 B Baker Street. My name is Melissa Hunter, and I reside at 511 Brixton Road. I'm in my twenties, fairly tall, at five foot six inches, have light brown hair, and gray eyes.

Sherlock Holmes. Tall, skinny, dark hair, gray eyes, very good observation and deduction abilities, World's Greatest Detective, anti social, and a bit chauvinistic. I sighed. There are not enough words to describe that man.

I sighed again, my thoughts as they always have, turned to Holmes again. I'm sorry to say that after I was finished with school, Holmes and I went our separate ways, and the only time I heard of him was from what I read in the newspapers. I read all the articles featuring Holmes. I saved them all, too. I guess it should come to no surprise when I say that I love Sherlock Holmes.

In fact, I've loved him all my life, I think. I wish I could say that I am Mrs. Sherlock Holmes, but sadly, I am still Miss Melissa Hunter. Oh well, one can't have everything in life, can one?

I gazed absently out of the window in my sitting room, my thoughts as they always have, turned to the article I had just read.

It featured a short account of how Holmes had helped solve the puzzle of a string of burglaries in the Surrey countryside, near Reigate. I made a mental note to cut the article out and paste it in the scrapbook where I keep the other newspaper articles featuring Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I can't wait until Dr. Watson publishes his account of it in The Strand.

I love reading of Holmes's and Watson's adventures in The Strand. I enjoy reading those stories more than the ones I find in the newspapers, even though I love reading about him in the paper, as well. I'm sorry. I'm just rambling, aren't I? I'll try to keep from rambling again.

Anyway, I then went back to thinking about Holmes. That's pretty much all I've been thinking about lately. I remember saying that Holmes and I went to school together. We weren't real close, just acquaintances. My mother was friends with Mrs. Holmes, but like I've said, we were never really close. I saw him every now and then when I was growing up, when mum went to visit the Holmes', or Mrs. Holmes visited my mum at our house.

Holmes was always interested in detective work. I liked to sit in a corner of the yard, or room, and watch him try to be a detective while pretending to read a book. I'm not sure if he ever knew I wasn't really reading. Well, maybe that one time when I was eight, and had the book upside down. But, other than that, I think I did a pretty convincing job. But, I'm not one hundred percent sure of it, so you'd have to ask him yourself.

I also occasionally saw Mycroft, Holmes's older brother. He's older than us by seven years. I don't know what became of Mycroft. I think I heard that he went into some type of government job, but I could be mistaken. I was never close to him, either.

I sat in my chair, thinking these things, when all of a sudden; there was a knock at the door. Who could that be, I wondered, going to the door.

"Hello, Melissa."

It was Vanessa St. Clair, a friend of mine since primary school.

"Hello, Vanessa," I said, "What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Vanessa strolled over to my chair, where I left the paper, and saw the article on Holmes.

"Thinking about Mr. Holmes, Melissa," she asked me.

Vanessa knows how I feel about him.

"A little," I admitted, "So why are you here?"

"I wanted to know if you'd have luncheon with me at my favorite restaurant, Melissa," said Vanessa, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder.

When I agreed, her bright green eyes sparkled mischievously. I wondered why.

"Is your fiancé going to be there," I asked.

"No. I wanted this to be a girl's lunch," replied Vanessa.

Oh, good. It's not that I don't like Mr. Archibald Gladstone, but he is really annoying. Like mosquito annoying. That's why I was glad it was just Vanessa and me.

"Where is your favorite restaurant, again," I asked.

That shows you how long we've been there together.

"Simpson's," was Vanessa's reply.

Oh yeah, that's right. They have good oysters.

I told this to Vanessa. She laughed, and said, "Yes, they do."

After I put on my coat, Vanessa insisted on putting up my hair, since all I did until then that day was braid it in a single plait. Vanessa coiled it up into a tight knot and held it in place with several hair pins, we caught a hansom cab.

"Why are you so concerned about my hair today," I asked her, once we were inside the cab.

"I just wanted you to look nice, that's all," said Vanessa with a sugary sweet voice.

"Oh, all right then," I said, slightly suspiciously.

Vanessa and I had a pleasant luncheon and soon I dismissed Vanessa's singular behavior, as some sudden whim. But, I have to admit, she seemed to know something I didn't, as she kept looking at the door, and out the windows, as though she was waiting for someone to appear. When I asked her this, she just laughed and waved it off airily. I soon forgot about it.

When I was leaving, I heard a voice I hadn't heard in a long time, say, "Miss Melissa Hunter?"

"Yes," I said, looking towards the voice.

Oh lord, I thought, it's Sherlock Holmes!