uncharted

Dramatic clouds that have nothing to do with this post: 

Sherlock's been amazingly reasonable about not getting degus for his birthday, after the initial shock. I think Mrs T had a talk with him, which made it a lot easier for me to have a talk with him, about why we're a bit concerned he might end up treating his degus like he treats his colored pencils.

Of course he said he wouldn't, and that he'd take care of them and clean their cage and all, and I have no doubt he means it, just like every child who wants a puppy really means it when they say they'll walk it every day, 'yes, I swear, even if it's raining or really hot out or my favourite programme is on!' My parents didn't really buy it from Harry, but she got the dog anyway.

Last night we did a chart of chores he'd to do without being reminded. One of them is walking Mrs Turner's dog. I'll have to go with him for that one, of course, but it's his job to remind me. We'll see how it goes. 

low tide

We went away for the weekend to...a fort.

as requested

One year today, I let Dr E bully me into starting this blog, mainly because it was easier than doing anything else she wanted me to do, like discuss my feelings or get on with my life.

...It seems to have worked unexpectedly well. Good job, Dr E. 

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY

Hello it's Sherlock again, I'm posting from John's phone because I'm BORED and stuck in stupid traffic and no one will tell me what my surprise is. School was fun and I guess I'm glad I went because Mrs T brought in cake and Mendia and Peter even gave me presents.

One was this massive dead bug she found which was really brilliant and I'm going to dry it out and pin it to a card like the bugs in the museum, and Peter's was a water pistol, but Mrs T said I couldn't fill it up until I got home and I'm not home yet because John and I never went there after school, we walked around and got a snack and went to the park. He said I was bothering the ducks, but I only wanted to see their feathers better to see how the water slides off them.

And after my surprise we're going to have pizza and liquid nitrogen ice cream and it will be amazing. I hope we get ice cream and then pizza because I don't want to be too full of pizza for ice cream. 

my favorite tag

Sherlock and I and some rather crumbly shortbread went to fetch L from the airport yesterday. Sherlock, as you've all heard, launched himself at him like a flying squirrel or some sort of flaily-limbed projectile, and L caught him just in time.

We met Hannah briefly before her grandmother took her off home. She seemed...well, tired, mainly. If Sherlock looked like that, I'd be sending him to bed right after dinner, but I don't imagine it'll be that easy for her. I'm glad she's got her grandmother with her now.

Today was pancakes and getting to see Mycroft again for the first time in 'literally forever' according to Sherlock and kites and frisbees and dogs. It was everything back to normal for a day, and it was wonderful fun. Anthea unbent far enough to have ice cream with us (strawberry for her, you can probably guess everyone else's choices by now) and tell us that Mycroft's a lot less trouble than we are. Ha. I think we all knew that.

karma and cheese

To the at least one of my ex-girlfriends who reads this...sorry about that whole going off to war thing and forgetting to email you for weeks at a time. Lestrade has the defense of probably being out of mobile reception range and I usually didn't.

Sherlock and I have been to the park and then home to make sort-of cheese straws out of this frozen pastry stuff from Tesco, salt, dried oregano, and grated parmesan. It's our contribution to the dinner Mrs Hudson's making. I think I might've said we could get ice cream afterward.

My mum called a bit ago, and Sherlock answered the phone, so they've met now, in a manner of speaking. Telephonically. The first thing she said after Sherlock handed me the phone was, 'I thought you were exaggerating!'

Ha. No. I was not exaggerating. 

questions regarding truffles

It's apparently National Cupcake Week, by the way. Just so you know.

Lestrade has been unreachable all day, which I hope means some movement on the case and not that he's been eaten by enormous slavering Italian hounds.

He and Sherlock were discussing truffles last night on the phone. Sherlock was confused at the thought that one found truffles underground with the aid of dogs. He was thinking of the chocolate sort of course, and has not quite yet fully grasped that in addition to being delicious chocolate blobs (filled with ganache, his new favorite word), they are also a form of rather smelly fungus. He has many questions. I do not have many answers.

He also thinks the dogs of war should be trained in truffle hunting, as this would keep us all in ice cream money for the foreseeable future.

In Mycroft news, he says to tell you all he's doing 'all right'. I'm hoping for a slightly fuller report at the weekend. 

home alone

I'm not actually (see title), because Sherlock's home from school now of course, but I have spent a lot of time alone since Lestrade left for Italy. It's odd. The Army doesn't generally leave you a lot of time to yourself, and before that I always had flatmates. On leave I usually went home or to stay with the current girlfriend. I've been trying to think, but I'm not sure I've ever properly lived alone, except for those few months between getting out of hospital and moving into Baskerville Hall with the boys. That seems like it can't be right, but I can't remember more than a few weeks at a time on my own before that. It's...really quiet.

Anyway, just random thoughts. Time for dinner. I think we're having takeaway of some sort. 

r. hero, p. taker

Right, I think I said I'd talk about Sherlock's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, although really it was only from about three in the afternoon on. Mrs T had him for the first part, and I'm surprised she didn't call me sooner.

It wasn't so much the yelling, kicking, loudly objecting to life, the universe, and everything. That's not all that uncommon for him. It was the duration. Usually there's a short period of that followed by crying, sniffling, and hugs, but it was like he couldn't get past that this time.

viking funeral

I ended up keeping Sherlock home from school today. He was tired and cranky and on edge and completely prepared to wind himself back up into a tiny maelstrom of fury, and I didn't want to put Mrs T through that again.

Seems to have the been the right choice. He was so shocked when I said he didn't have to go that it reset his whole attitude. We went for a walk instead. A very long walk that included croissants for breakfast, several parks, a shop for more drawing paper, a kite, lunch, and a paper boat launch.

Kira suggested yesterday he draw out his feelings and then set them adrift/alight, and he was so taken with the idea of setting something on fire... Well. We found a small pond surrounded by damp, non-flammable foliage, folded the paper up into a boat, and lit it up. I'd meant to fish out the soggy remains, but it drifted out of reach, and actually burned pretty thoroughly as well.

So, a lot of walking, minor literring, and we've only just got home.

Some people asked what worked in the end yesterday and I'll try to write more about that later. Just too tired right now. 

better and better

I was just back from seeing L off at the airport when Sherlock's teacher rang to ask me to come and pick him up. He was shouting, wouldn't sit still, insulting the other kids, not listening to a word she said. She couldn't have him there with that kind of behavior, it wasn't fair to everyone else. And of course she's right.

I went to pick him up and found him standing on a desk singing Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines over and over. The perils of letting young children listen to Cabin Pressure. Well, I say singing. More sort of shouting the lyrics. Might've been funny if he'd looked like he was enjoying it, but honestly he looked like he was barely holding himself together.

We're home now. He's alternating between sticking to my side like a limpet and running off to kick walls and cause unexpected havoc. I know he's miserable and scared, and I know why. I just wish I knew what to do. I'm about five minutes from phoning my mum to see if she has any ideas. 

dammit

Lestrade's work called earlier, wanting him to come in for some unspecified purpose. It turns out the purpose was to tell him he's being sent to Italy on a kidnapping and murder case. Again, for an unspecified period of time. Until they catch the bastard, basically. Lestrade doesn't want to go, and we don't want him to, obviously, but he's not being given a choice.

Sherlock very nearly experienced nuclear meltdown when Lestrade had to go back to work, so you can imagine how he's reacted to this news. Or maybe you can't. For you sake, I hope you can't. There was a lot of shouting and shrieking and angry, frustrated tears when it turned out, once again, that his temper couldn't change the course of the world. I wish it could, this time. It's really not fair, not today, and yeah, life isn't fair, but I don't think the universe really needed to drive that point home quite so hard.

I called Mycroft to tell him so he didn't read it on the blog first. You'd think this flat was twice the size it is for how empty it feels without him.

family portrait

Hello. It's Mycroft again. I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's been leaving comments wishing me well. It's really very kind of you all. I'm going to read them again when I get to school. I don't know how anyone went off to school without computers and email and Skype; it must've been dreadful.

Here is the picture Sherlock drew for me, or at least drew and eventually decided to give me. He got really angry that he didn't have the right colour pencils for anyone's skin, or for John's jumper, or Mummy's hair. But I think it looks like us anyway.

Thank you, Sherlock. I like it a lot, and it's better than a photograph because Anthea won't let us take pictures of her, and the dogs won't hold still.

I'm going to try to sleep now. 

incomprehensible tennis blather

It's the US Open, though I've managed to miss a lot of it. I saw Federer play today, and I've no idea what was going on with some of those shots he was hitting - not just into the net, but completely wild. Really appalling. He pulled it together to win anyway.

Dolgopolov, whom I've mentioned once before, beat Karlovic, after a bit of a struggle. Pretty good match. As is the one I'm watching now - Tsonga vs Verdasco. Verdasco just hit it so hard it looked as if it knocked Tsonga right over when it his his racquet, though I imagine he was off balance already. Tsonga just won the second set though, and I expect he'll win the match. That's good, it'll make things more interesting later on.

Tomorrow...Andy Murray is playing Feliciano Lopez. Who will Judy Murray be pulling for I wonder?

Anyhow. Day out tomorrow, Sherlock back to school Monday, Mycroft off to Harrow Tuesday. It'll be...strange. 

non-newtonian disaster

What was it you all said about the incident with Sherlock, the dogs, the jam, and feathers not being the last?

Oh, yes. That it would inevitably happen again. And I said, I believe, that as long as it wasn't so sticky I could cope.

There was no jam this time, but I'm not sure it was significantly less sticky.