morning's at seven

It's nearly seven, and L is still asleep. I'm shocked and mildly concerned. Or I would be if he hadn't been up chatting with you lot at three in the morning. Still. Seven. That's like ten for normal people.

Sherlock wanted to wake him up so they could make coffee together as usual. Sweet, but no. He and Mycroft are making breakfast instead. Mycroft's being quiet so as not to wake L, and Sherlock's being noisy very quietly, so as to wake him if at all possible and still not get in trouble for it.

If he manages to sleep through this, he might get breakfast in bed, which I assume will be a lifetime first for him.

We're digging more of the pond today. I don't think we'll finish, but maybe we can at least finish the hole if we've got more help. Should be a fun day. 

the short arm of the law

Since L's super gave Sherlock (and Mycroft, but Sherlock is the one bent on abusing it) that NSY card, he's been treating it like he did the birthday boy badge Mrs Hudson gave him, i.e. a symbol to bend the rest of the world to his will.

Uses to which he has attempted to put it today:

1. Arresting the girl who got to the swing he wanted before he did.

2. Arresting the tree that dropped an acorn on his head.

3. Threatening the man at the fish and chips shop with dire legal consequences if he shorted him on chips.

I put a stop to the first one, and the tree was not impressed, but he got what he wanted out of the third encounter, which was to tell someone new the story of how he got the card.

I asked Mycroft if he planned to tell anyone at school what happened. He said no one would believe him, and he's probably right. 

well, that was exciting

I imagine you've seen Sherlock's post. Perhaps a...wider perspective is in order. So. Let's recap.

We were having a very nice lunch, the four of us, with sandwiches and coffee and crisps and other civilised things. There would've been cake as well, except that, before we got that far, Lestrade spotted someone at another table, someone they've been looking for.

His plan was to step out and phone for backup, which was a good plan. He told me about it, quietly, but not quietly enough apparently (or possibly he can lip read?), because the next thing we knew, Sherlock was on his feet, pointing at the man in question, and shouting, "MURDERER!"

Everyone froze for a second, I suppose because even if you've killed someone it's not ofter you get accused by a six year old, and then the suspect took off, L took off after him, and I tried to prevent Sherlock running after both of them...for about ten seconds. And then the man's friends decided they'd join in.

L had, as Sherlock said, tackled the suspect, and didn't need the man's mates piling on top of them, so I had to do something about them, and Mycroft, bless him, grabbed Sherlock and kept him from running over to help. And by help, I mean kick them with his pointy little feet.

Someone called the police, and there was some mild confusion at first, but L had his warrant card of course, so it was all sorted out in the end.

We're all fine, mainly. Sherlock's uninjured, I suspect Mycroft has some bruises from restraining him, and L bashed his elbow pretty hard on the floor jumping the guy and has assorted bruises and scrapes but nothing serious.

I'll let Sherlock sum up:

"BUT NOW HE'S LOCKED UP AND HE CAN'T MURDER MORE PEOPLE AND THAT'S GOOD AND WE DID THAT AND IT WAS FUN."

pond digging

A surprising number of people showed up to ogle Lestrade help us dig this morning. Six mothers, four fathers, one confused Swedish au pair, plus L and I, Sherlock and Mycroft, and an assortment of everyone's children, who ranged in age from Barely Walking to Old Enough to Use a Shovel. The dogs of war came too, and I think they must have some herding dog in their dubious lineage; they're not much at digging where we want them to dig, but they're pretty good at keeping the little ones out of trouble.

I'm pleased to report that no one turned up in high heels or a suit and tie. I did have my doubts. No one except L and the Landscaper had much idea what we were doing, but fortunately digging is not a complicated or mentally strenuous activity (my sergeant in basic training would've said, "If it was, we'd get real soldiers to do it!" - he said this about nearly everything we did), and L supervised the construction of the raised beds.

cabbages and condoms

No, really. Cabbages and Condoms. It's a restaurant in Bangkok, apparently. I was googling cabbage, thank you very much.

Sorry about yesterday. I tend to assume no one reads my tags but me. Which isn't really an excuse, since it's absurd to...express myself through tags anyway.

Do you see how absurd that sentence was? Even more than I'd feared, sadly.

Anyhow. If I'm going to say something, I ought to just say it, but I suppose I'm not, since I don't know what to say. I'm just restless. At loose ends. Not sure what to do with myself. It's nothing anyone should worry about.

Mycroft's home today, and we get to keep him until next Sunday, so that'll be nice. I've really missed him, and I never know how much of that to say when he phones. Don't want to accidentally make him feel guilty for going away to school, obviously. I'm probably silly for worrying about it - he's more sensible than that.

In theory, we're digging the pond at Sherlock's school next week, possibly with carnivorous plants, if anywhere around here sells them. No tiger pits though. Or quicksand. Or a selection of insects from the Amazon.

Oh, and this is my 203rd post. 200 was the drunken one. I'm glad, actually, even if it didn't make a lot of sense. It was, as L said, from the heart. 

leather daddy

As in the father of one of Sherlock's classmates, wearing leather, because he showed up on his bike. Nice man. He pulled up this morning to drop his son off and recognised and we chatted a bit. I think we met him briefly at Sherlock's sports day a few months ago, but the bike is new (and I suspect inspired by Lestrade's). Who knows, maybe Mrs T will be next...

I've been walking since I dropped Sherlock off, more or less. Stopping in parks and cafes and so on. Might just stay out until it's time to pick him up. L - you want to get lunch at any point? 

a brief note of thanks

Yesterday, L and Sherlock made:

- biscuits
- cupcakes (pink, chocolate, and vanilla)
- a small cake with the leftover batter from the cupcakes
- fudge (also in pink, chocolate, and vanilla)

As well as three meals. I made tea and icing for the cupcakes.

Thanks, Mrs H. As usual, you've given us just what we needed most. And I hope you like pink cupcakes, because Sherlock's valiantly refrained from eating the last one in order to give it to you.

No, I don't know what flavour pink is. 

champagne

This is reatlyy great you know, good champagne and Lestrade and boxers and all. Especially Lestrade. Try to tell him how much i love him but I think it comes outwrtong maybe, or not enough, or something. Anyway it's alot. I mean, singing in mpublic and ridiculouls storeies and everything. just everything. Yeah. It's important.

And he's got pretty eyelashes. Going to sleep now. 

cocooned

It's not really necessary to get out of bed today, right? At least not until lunch time?

Our bed at home isn't bad, but this one's much superior, besides being warm and full of Lestrade and on the correct side of a locked door. I hadn't realised it was a luxury not to be jumped on by someone with small pointy elbows first thing in the morning, but it definitely is. Which doesn't stop me missing him, of course, but there you are. Human beings are contrary like that.

Hi, Sherlock. Hope you're having too much fun with your mum to be reading this. It sounded like she had some good plans for you.

Hi, Mycroft. I hope school's going well still. Maybe we can come and visit some weekend soon? We miss you.

Right, going back to sleep until L wakes up. 

visiting

Mrs Holmes told me a few days ago that, when L and I went to Bath, she'd take Sherlock to stay with her. It's a good thing all round, since Mrs Hudson finds him exhausting after more than a few hours, and with Anthea not here to help, it's really not fair to ask it of her - not that it was particularly fair before, since Anthea's security and it was never her job to make sure he brushed his teeth and went to bed on time.

Sherlock wants to bring his art things and his chemistry set and another peculiar fish to show her the skeleton and 'a real suitcase with wheels to take it all in' and his bike, and and and. The list grows ever longer.

I'm hoping I'll get to drop him off, as I've never seen her house before, not even from the street. I don't even know the address. That's strange, I suppose. Hadn't really thought about it until now.

Lestrade's doing much better. Still coughing a bit, but his breathing sounds a lot better. Sherlock looked quite disappointed when he listened with the stethoscope this morning and said they sounded almost normal. We did our best to convince him this was a good thing... 

frog ponds and e-readers

Right, clearly my next poll should be on e-readers! Apparently they're like opera; either you love them or hate them.

Mrs T is glad the frog pond project is finally getting somewhere. If nothing else, she now has a focus for all her little baby genius to concentrate on apart from actual schoolwork, something that will get them outside and likely running around madly as they stick sticks in the ground and wind string around them and create an impassable spiderweb like Sherlock did in our bedroom that time.

It will be the most impressive pond ever, and I can't wait to see everyone's drawings of it. I imagine Sherlock's rendering will have man eating plants and traps for the unwary.

Sherlock and I had lunch with L today, or L had lunch, and Sherlock had an after school snack, and I had...well, cake. This has got to stop, honestly. (L, are we running when you get home?) Sherlock is now in proud possession of a very large measuring tape from Scotland Yard, which he carried home clutched to his chest, talking about the pond the whole time.

He's just asked me if it can have piranas...and carnivorous plants.