Yay, 19 hits! I actually didn't think that anyone would read a Sherlock Holmes fan fiction. Firstly, it was because Sherlock Holmes isn't known by anyone, or at the least liked by anyone I know around me in my life. The closest had been my grandmother and she's been dead for a good eight years. My mother's friend likes Sherlock Holmes, but the Basil Rathborne series to him is a joke. I liked the actor's impersonation of Holmes, his little "ha!" remarks to Watson's (whom I thought was awesome, IF it was pure comedy. Comedy Watson and Drop-Dead Accurate Holmes… NOT a good mix-together) comments and his small flashing smiles that disappeared as soon as it 'looked' like he smiled. And to me, secondly, I've always cherished the true Sir Arthur Conan Doyle series, admiring and loving the original 'sardonic smiling', 'horrible roommate' of the detective Sherlock Holmes was to Watson. His unbelievable charisma (Watson's that is) towards the Detective, and the amount of faith and interest he had in modern views might have made people think of the following words as my classmates have told me after I read to them a few of the detective and the good doctor's lines.

"Wow…that sounds so gay."

It's saddening that to an average teenager the words "He had left me for marriage, I was all alone," equaled to a forbidden love (back then in their time setting) and that they didn't quite see the truth there. Maybe it was because they never read Sherlock Holmes. Nevertheless, to me, it seems that they really had a good friendship going on there, even to make me jealous of my current friendship with my closest friend. It's true. Just ask Chelsie.

But the thought of Sherlock Holmes 'unknowingly' falling in love with a male character is intriguing. Really. It's almost like a Shakespearian Comedy, funny only if you know back then. With a twist of modernization, hopefully I can pull this through.

Well, enough talking, and back to the story (:

First Rule: SHAME ME, OUTWIT ME, BUT NEVER LOVE ME

…

.A Sherlock Holmes Fanfiction.

December 30th

It was the day before the last day of the year when I couldn't take it anymore. Raising my head from the sink, I traced the faint dark shadows under my eyes and sighed. Five days. Two weeks to go. Hell, I wanted to strangle myself.

It's maddening how time can pass by so slowly. Every year, I had looked forward to this trip, being alone with my favorite uncle, minding our own business and doing absolutely nothing that had to do with the civilization a world away outside the forest in Nagano. The only connection to the outside was my computer that I had barely touched since I came here that only permitted me to use emails, my uncle's computer, and the antique rotary phone that I loved to death. The world I had created to soothe me had now changed to a prison cell, all from the discovery of this book. The book was torturing my sanity, from not being able to show it to the world, my world. The only person was my uncle, and he wasn't interested in Sherlock Holmes. In fact, nobody I knew was interested in Sherlock Holmes as much as I was. It was an unhealthy obsession that every mother didn't want her child to have.

I would like to borrow the stage here at the moment, while also breaking the fourth wall by strongly, Strongly saying that my passion towards Sherlock Holmes was NOT fangirl-ism.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle has one said in his famous writings, "One of the most dangerous classes in world is the drifting and friendless woman." I would precisely be that woman right now. Closed away form civilization and utterly BORED. To the max.

...I wanted to read it.

I had told my friend about the diary the same night I had found it over the old rotary at three in the morning. Her voice was sweet to my ears, and I felt freedom I hadn't touched for a good two weeks. I was..happy. Ironic.

"You haven't called lately."

"You won't believe what I found!"

"It's been two weeks. I thought a bear ate you."

"It was behind my PS3 and the TV! Oh man, if only you were here!"

"Are you even listening to me?" Her voice faintly hinted drowsiness although it was still noon at her time as I calmed down and told her about the story. I had read aloud to her the first entry as well as the following ones about their first few cases at London involving one about a rich pink diamond, another of an star-crossed love, and the final, a adventurous chase after a villain couple that the two had to go undercover as husband and wife. My dear friend seemed to be interested about the last story the most. She had given a few exclamations of awe and humor as I read about them having to closely maneuver around a dangerous question from a housewife then having to share the same bed rather uncomfortably, to the point of the detective addressed as Mr. Sherlock Holmes. But it wasn't the facy that the woman was living with her partner as husband and wife that made us laugh.

It was the fact that the woman had kept a secret to the man, that she was a she.

…

December
Second Year
Devonshire

I cannot believe that he never noticed until now. Do I not look that much like a lady? After our chase from the couple, we had finally settled back into the Flat. That's when it happened.

It was just a silly mistake. I had fallen asleep in Sherlock's bed and he had climbed in. I hadn't worn my tight vest that had held my breasts in and him being sleepy and mostly unconscious had snuggled into them. I was shocked and stayed up the whole night. The morning had not been a nice one. I recall him yelling at me for the first half an hour til Watson came and yelled at him at what was going in. I recall him blushing red furiously, a composition I had never seen him in. He was so…out of his own self, that it was quite impossible to believe that this was the same person I had shared beds with in the former chase. I guess being with a woman really did shake him; he wasn't quite the romantic fellow nor a womanizer. In fact, he didn't even dare come near women from the work he did. I knew that. That was why I kept it from him.

Then, he disappeared. To one of his little 'secret rooms' most likely that were scattered across London. I had waited for him patiently, knowing that he would come back someday.

He did come back, after a week…sort of. I had noticed the room being used and things being moved around and my guess was he was at Watson's. Poor Doctor. The pipe was missing. And so was the seven percent solution. I could deduce what was going on at the Doctor's house much to the disdain of the doctor. Poor Doctor.

I was very much hurt by this time, after a good three weeks. I hadn't seen a glimpse of Holmes, and although Watson had said that he was fine, I most certainly wasn't fine. I was hurt. Was it shocking that I was a woman? Did he hate women that much? After I write this paragraph I'm setting out to apologize to him at Watson's then look for a lodge to stay in separately. I can't bear to live in this room that have traces of him everywhere.

I felt uncomfortable around him, for the very first time.

…

There were only a few pages after that entry in the middle. I had finished half of the diary with my friend.

There was utter silence for a good ten minutes after I finished reading. I had snapped back to reality after my uncle had tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had finished talking. "Hey…you still there?"

"Yeah."

"That was…."

"Yeah. I know." I had looked at the rotary phone quietly, absorbing the last words in.

"………Do you think I'll get copyrighted if I post this as fanfiction?" I could feel the tension evaporating from the atmosphere as she laughed and yelled my name in an exasperated tone of voice. "I mean come on! Think of the review and hit numbers this thing could get."

"Is that all you can think of right now?"

"What else is there to think of?" I had lied through my teeth and she knew it. We had talked briefly about our own experiences after that, I about deerstalking and she about watching a Opera Concert. After setting the phone down I had looked up into the eyes of my uncle and smiled sheepishly at his frown.

"That was quite a long talk there. Two hours on the phone? Is this why you're staying away from your family, for two hours on the phone?"

"Sorry… I won't talk any longer. Two Hours max. " He chuckled at my response then walked away muttering about teenagers and love stories. He had eavesdropped on my journal reading. I blushed faintly, then retreated back into my room, holding the book close to my hand.

I had (with help from my uncle) changed the attic into a haven. I had various game machines and a TV scattered across the room. A large sofa-bed, and a fireplace. There was one window, and a section of a side of the wall was like a garage door, for the summer. It was nice and warm and comfy and it wasn't uncommon to hear animal life outside the garage door; fox or deer that came to share the warmth radiating from my walls.

The last entry had been a disturbing one. In a way, I was now venturing farther and farther away from reading a piece of historical biography and instead a fanfiction written a long time ago. Now, even doubting if this even happened, and that my ancestor had the time to write this 'fanfiction' during her spare time in a really interesting way.

Nevertheless, I patiently waited til the New Year, when I would be spending my time quietly reading the diary in Nagano on the sofa-bed, with my friend who had agreed to come to Nagano with me to experience the snow.

…

Author's Notes

I don't have much to write after being thoroughly pooped by this chapter. It's passing by rather quickly, quicker then I thought so I have to stop and think for a while about it.

The Main Character's name and the friend's name will be revealed somewhat later on in the story. As well as the name of the woman who wrote the diary.