the moor, pt. i've-lost-count

I'm going to skip the part the Mycroft told you about, but I'll get us from where I left off to the place where Mr Hudson was holding him first. So...L and I and Sherlock got back to the house. Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson and ran off with Mycroft.

Sherlock said he knew where he'd gone, and that he could lead us there. I was...not happy about that idea, but he said if we didn't take exactly the right path, we'd sink into the mud and never be heard from again. I don't think I even questioned whether it was a good idea to go at all, which you can put down to sleep deprivation and stubbornness, like most of the things I did that day.

Lestrade definitely did question whether it was a good idea to go or not. He wanted to wait for back up, which I still think was probably the more sensible choice. Despite what he says, the fact that it all worked out was more due to luck than anything else. Eventually, because he couldn't convince me not to go, he came with us, which I'm sure surprises no one here.

on the ceiling

After Sherlock's exciting announcement that he got blood on the ceiling from the cut on his finger, I feel the need to point out that it was only because he was waving it around so wildly. There was also blood on the floor, cupboard, Mycroft, and one dog.

It's sunny for the moment. It's supposed to rain later I think, so we're off to swim while we still can. It's meant to be hot today, and it's fairly warm already. (To those inclined to scoff at our weather, the high is meant to be 31C/88F, which is hot nearly anywhere.) The coloured sunblock is a huge hit with Sherlock, who is painting stripes all over himself right now. I'm going to have a hard time getting him to put a shirt on until we get to the pool, I think. Not to mention keeping him from getting pink, red, and orange stripes on the sofa before we leave.

...And I see the dogs are slightly striped as well. Right, going to wash off dogs now and then to swim, and then who knows.

strange dreams

I had one of those nights last night that are so full of dreams that you wake up feeling like you need to go back to sleep. None of them were quite nightmares, just very tense.

1. Interrogated by the KGB, with my son, on an international flight.
2. Dropping eggs into a vortex of water at a Greek Orthodox church and getting told off by the priest for not having my head covered.
3. Someone stroking my hair, which was quite soothing until I realised I was dead and they were stroking my decapitated head.

All that between about one when L and I got to bed and six when Sherlock woke us, his customary energy undimmed by his late night. Woke up with muscles aching, apparently from having clenched them all night.

L was mostly unhurt after the attempted mugging last night, but in pain from bruises and a shoulder strain. I sort of wish he weren't going back out tonight, but I know why he wants to - even assuming work was giving him a choice, which it isn't. I suggested he shave his head again to better fit in with the surroundings he's meant to be lurking in, but he just rolled his eyes at me...

We had pancakes this morning, a nice time in the park, in the sun, and ice cream. Sherlock lept out at us from behind trees, and from above, and from below. Mycroft told us about how school has been going, and apparently he's going on a camping trip with some other boys from the astronomy club (society? I can't remember what its official name is) to do some stargazing, so that'll be nice. By nice I might mean mildly worrying, since as far I can tell, this plan involves no parental supervision, but I haven't got all the details yet. And anyway, they're 14 and 15, and that's probably old enough, right? It's only for the weekend. 

moosercycle

Sherlock's play was yesterday afternoon. It was...roughly what you would expect from a play written and performed by four, five, and six year olds. Very colourful, a bit chaotic, a certain number of forgotten lines, upsets, and tears. All in all though, I thought they did brilliantly.

The story went something like this: Hamlet's father (a ghost) tells Hamlet that his brother (Hamlet's uncle, Claudius) is in league with pirates. There is a duel between Hamlet and his uncle, and then between Hamlet and the queen, his mother, and then between Hamlet and Polonius. Polonius is fatally wounded and has an extended death scene wherein he wills all his swords to his daughter Laertes and all his animals (including moose) to his son, Ophelius (played by Sherlock).

Laertes burns down Hamlet's castle with a lot of billowing silk fire, and Ophelius rides his moose up-river to where the pirates are moored. He unleashes various forms of animal life upon them. Many duels are fought. I'm pretty sure everyone in the play got to have a sword fight at one point or another, and I'm very sure they planned it that way.

In the end, despite the death of their father, Laertes and Ophelius join forces with Hamlet against their common foes of pirates and evil uncles, vanquish them, and...I think go to live in a treehouse. Not quite sure about that part though.

It was very, very loud, and reasonably entertaining, even when I wasn't quite sure what was happening. Sherlock rode his moosercycle very responsibly and at a safe speed down a river of blue cotton fabric (with very faint floral pattern), and relinquished it at the end of the play with only the mild whinging of the overtired, rather than a full-blown tantrum as I'd feared.

We went to the park, had ice cream and pizza, and came home. The end. 

sports day and possibly romance

Tonight is Moose Night (actual title of the play is Fire and Pirates, which I think you'll agree is much more exciting than Hamlet), and yesterday was sports day. I started out with a bang early on by falling over during the sack race and coating myself in mud from the neck up. I thought I got most of it off, but I found a great deal more in and around my ears when we got home.

L's cakes were very popular, as they should have been. Both were delicious, but the chocolate-lavender one was the best, or maybe I just think that because it was chocolate. It was interesting to watch him making it too, with soaking the flowers and all that. I always like watching him cook.

Sherlock entered just about every race, and entered L and I and Mycroft into every race as well. L and I did a few of them, and Mycroft declined in order to keep an eye on the dogs. Just as well, since the other dogs there were mostly of a size that ours would regard them as snacks.

I told L he should've gone in uniform and impressed everyone, but he declined and attributed my helpful suggestion to impure motives. I still think it would've got him out of that conversation about parking tickets.

Mrs Hudson and hopefully Mrs Holmes are coming along to the play tomorrow evening. I hope it all goes well. The moosercycle looks great, but I'm a little concerned about Sherlock's ability to ride it. And about his willingness to stop riding it when the scene in question is over.

-

Also, I got a comment last night...

I need some romance advice any chance of you running a dating/Romance column some time? You seem to know exactly what to do to turn your man to jelly and I'm sure a few of us could do with that!

So...yes, sure, ask away. I cannot promise to be any help whatsoever, but I'm certainly willing to try. 

hello, beef?

 Just watched this with the boys:

Sherlock thinks 'There's been a moooder' is the funniest thing he's ever heard. He's gone to tell Mrs Hudson about it immediately. I'm not sure Mrs Hudson knows youtube exists, so this should be interesting.

Mycroft's gone out to walk the dogs in the rain. L is either napping or possibly doing paperwork in the bedroom. Not a terribly exciting day really, but that's Monday for you. I'm looking at places to go where it's not raining. It's difficult to pick when the sky is blue in all the pictures. 

more on the moor (5)

Hello. This is Mycroft. I'm doing the next part because I don't think John wants to, and anyway I haven't talked about it much except with Mummy, so perhaps I should.

After I got back to the hall, I went upstairs. I meant to go to my room, but I heard an odd noise. It was a sort of thumping. When I got closer to the attic door, I could hear a man's voice as well, although not what he was saying.

I thought it had to be Hudson, and he shouldn't have been in the attics. I went up to tell him to leave. He was going through a trunk of our grandmother's things. He hit me on the head, and I don't remember very much for a time after that. I remember little bits in between, but they're mostly dark. I think he must have either blindfolded me or put something over my head. Or perhaps I was in a sack so no one would see me. There was a sack on the floor when I woke up.

I was tied to a chair in a stone room. There was a lot of computer equipment and printers, and there was also a cage with two large, black dogs in it. Hudson said he would feed me to them. He said a lot of unpleasant things.

son of the bride of the moor (pt. 4)

I'm afraid I wasn't taking the interrogation terribly seriously, partly because I still in Afghanistan for at least one or two of them, and partly because I was...distracted. As anyone would be. He kept trying to smoke his pen.

The village, which consisted of about ten buildings total including houses, did not have a mortuary or coroner or anything of the sort. The body of the dead man was in the local doctor's office until someone could do something more useful with it. Lestrade asked me to look at it, I presume out of a combination of wanting to see if I looked guilty and lack of any other options since the local doctor was...not in a state to draw any useful conclusions. 

We went there. I looked at the body. Sherlock, I'm sure you'll all be shocked to learn, wanted to see it. I did not think that was advisable. He started crying, got confused when that didn't work, and started crying for real. That was fun. He can be quite loud when he wants to be. 

Mycroft got fed up and asked if he could walk home on his own. It was a relatively short walk, in broad daylight. I said yes. I wish I hadn't. 

I got Sherlock calmed down slightly. Lestrade drove us back to the Hall. We found Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson, kidnapped Mycroft, and escaped onto the moor. 

devil in the white city

Last week, while picking up Sherlock from school, I had a book pressed on me rather insistently by one of the mothers. (We know each other slightly and chat sometimes while waiting for school to let out; it wasn't completely out of the blue.) I took it, because she was so sure I'd love it, and because why not?

It's called Devil in the White City, and it's about the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago, and the serial killer H.H. Holmes. If I'd known that last part, I would not have brought it into the house. Sherlock is wild with curiosity over 1) not just a murderer, but one with his last name, 2) a book I'm reading that he deems worthy (i.e. contains no magic, talking animals, and isn't about boring things like people and their ordinary lives which are not cut short by sudden death).

I can't decide whether to read him the fair parts and hope he gets bored with it, or keep him away from it entirely, but he's definitely not reading the serial killer parts. It's good though. I don't know how accurate the history is, but he's clearly done his research going by the forty pages of citations at the back.

In some ways, I wish it was just about the fair. The descriptions of it, and the quotes from people who saw it at the time, are fantastic, makes you wish you'd been there. I suppose the stuff about the killings wouldn't have been so disturbing before I knew L. Not that it was ever going to be light reading, but now it's impossible not to imagine what he'd go through investigating that sort of crime.

(Also, I'm glad to see I've finally found someone who can beat Genghis Khan in the poll.)

something mycroft sent me

Mycroft sent me this video about the Higgs Boson particle, and I...understand it slightly more than I did before, but I still wouldn't say I understand it. It's also made me very slightly paranoid, in that it sounds like the opening to a science fiction film in which scientists accidentally open a rift into another and much more hostile dimension.

Mycroft will roll his eyes so hard he may strain something when he reads that last sentence.

The Higgs Boson Explained from PHD Comics on Vimeo.

And I may have posted this before, I can't remember, but here's Brian Cox explaining...the universe.

In other news, L is still refusing to let me try his tart until after dinner, which I think you'll all agree is appalling behaviour. On the other hand, he's made me a tart, so I can't really complain.

L continues to insist that 'no moose' is still an option, but he's not fooling anyone but himself. Sherlock hugged his leg when he got home that day and said he was sure L would make the most brilliant moose ever, so he was doomed from the start.

A patient at work today told me that he's 81 and the secret of his continued health is onions. Loads and loads of onions. He said he goes through a bag of them every week. I admit, he did look good for his age. And smelled only faintly of onions. 

red and shiny

I got the call just after lunch. The man on the phone seemed nearly as excited as I was, confirming my impression than my bike is superior to all other bikes, but perhaps it's just his personality? Anyhow, went to pick it up as soon after work as I could decently manage, but had to go home first to retrieve helmet, etc. and then excite various curious glances on the tube regarding non-tube-standard attire.

It was waiting for me outside when I got there, looking very red and shiny and larger than I remembered. Last bits of paperwork taken care of, I had time for a very short ride before fetching Sherlock from school, sadly not on the bike.

(I now want him to grow nearly as much as he does because then I could drive him to school on it. As it is, since I go straight from his school to work, I'll really only be able to ride it in the afternoons - though after the summer holidays and two months away from the surgery, I can't really expect Sarah to keep me on anyway. Perhaps when Mycroft goes back to school, I'll just ride about all day.)

Brought it home, went to collect Sherlock, brought him home and introduced him to the new bike. Let him sit on it. Successfully extracted a promise to keep entirely away from the internet until after I surprised L. May have bribed him slightly with biscuits.

Mrs Hudson agreed to look after him and feed him dinner, and I left for NSY, keeping a safe distance from anything that might scratch my paintwork.

L walked right past me, though he gave the bike an appreciative glance, and I had to take my helmet off and call him back. His appreciative glances were this time more appropriately divided between the bike and me, and he called me a sneak and a toe-rag and a git, which was entirely the reaction I was going for, and then graciously allowed me to take him to dinner. We had a very nice time, and I'm already plotting where we can go for a decently long ride, hopefully at the weekend if not sooner.