we're just going out; we may be some time

We're going to Scotland, in fact. I got an email with an itinerary and B&B info from herself before I even asked about Mycroft's sky-watching expedition. Mycroft's happy and packing up his telescope. Sherlock's happy because he doesn't have to go back to school yet. (Sometimes I do wonder about making him go to school. He loves learning, and I worry a bit that school's going to knock that love out of him. I know they're slowing him down. But he's got to learn to actually speak to children his own age at some point, yes?) Mrs Hudson has declined. I think she'll be happy to be on her own for a while. Lestrade has work, obviously. [Ask him anyway.] (Relationship advice now, Mycroft? Really?) [He calms you and Sherlock down.] (...I'm just going to move on.)

The end times are upon us:

Thousands of dead fish washed up last week on a 20 mile stretch along the Arkansas River between Ozark and Clarksville. On New Year's Eve thousands of red-winged blackbirds tumbled from the sky in Beebe, Arkansas. [source]

My grandmother would've loved this. She'd say it'd be rains of toads next and "all those bastards would get what's coming to them." Very keen on bastards getting what was coming to them, my Gran. I think by "bastards" she generally meant the Inland Revenue. And occasionally the U.S. government. Oh, and very often the local butcher. She said he frenched his ribs wrong. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but it sounds pretty bad.

The town we're heading to isn't far from her old house. Maybe we'll drive by and have a look. Got to pack now and wake up Sherlock. He's sleeping with my copy of Gray's Anatomy. That boy needs a teddy bear. Do they make a Teddy Ruxpin that reads medical texts and perhaps astrophysics?