wake

After the incident with Sherlock and the monkeys, we got on the ferry to Morocco. The wake behind the ferry from Gibraltar to Tangiers:

I wasn't quite sure about the S on the end of Tangier(s) so I looked on Wikipedia (which says either way is correct), and found this: Tangier has been reputed as a safe house for international spying activities. I'm dying to ask Mrs Holmes if this is true, but she'd just give me that look of hers.

I did ask Anthea, but she said Mrs Holmes had given her the day off (as if she answers my ridiculous questions when she doesn't have the day off) and headed down to the beach...not with beach towel and sunblock as one might expect, but for a run, from which she didn't return for two hours. I'm not sure she properly understands the concept of a day off.

And now L has made mojitos and guacamole. He also bit my elbow and informed me that our beach has land sharks. I love seeing him like this, happy and relaxed and playful (even when he cheats at water volleyball). 

let's rewind

I think Lestrade mentioned some of these, but...

Things Sherlock tried to pack on Sunday, for your entertainment:

A smaller bag inside his bag, so that he could bring 'nearly twice as many things!' back with him as he took with him.

Spoons.

A dog.

Mycroft.

The attempt to pack his brother was mainly in retaliation for Mycroft working out how to put books in collections in the Kindle before he did. There is, at the moment, only one Kindle, because Sherlock went unexpectedly Luddite on us and declared that he only liked real books. Of course, now that we're here, and Mycroft has unlimited book access and he doesn't, he wants one desperately.

Oh, and I didn't fall asleep in the airport, whatever L says. Don't listen to him. I think I did sleep on him  for most of the flight though.

And now we're here, and it's...honestly one of the nicest places I've ever been. It's strange. I'm still not used to being able to afford proper grown up holidays that don't involve sleeping on someone's sofa. I know I ought to be; I'm certainly old enough, but it still seems faintly unreal.

I'm writing this next to the pool. You can hear wind ruffling the leaves, hear the waves rolling in, smell the salt. Just woke up from a bloody awful dream, but I don't even care as long as I don't wake up from this. Trying to decide whether L would be cranky if I woke him up for a very late night swim... 

packing, a drama in three parts

Act I, scene i, the kitchen. 

Lestrade is getting ready to leave for work. Mycroft is drinking orange juice and eating toast. I am hunched over my tea in a protective fashion because that is my standard morning position when I'm not forced out of it by the divers alarums and excursions that so often fill our lives.

Sherlock rushes in, dumps a pile of things on the floor, and rushes out again. The things are as follows: a microscope, a large green towel, one of Lestrade's rare ties, a small live frog (how?), a packet of biscuits, part of a computer with some wires hanging off of it, and his book on mummies.

Mycroft, Lestrade, and I stare at the pile.

Act I, scene ii, Sherlock's bedroom. 

I enter, with my tea held before me like a particularly ineffective talisman. Sherlock is wrestling his suitcase out of his wardrobe. With the handle extended, it is as tall as he is, so this isn't going well. I ask what he's doing. He replies with a look that says it should be blatantly obvious that he's trying to force his suitcase into submission. Fair enough.

I remind him that I said we'd start packing later in the day, and that we're not leaving until Monday. He says that if we all get it done sooner we could leave earlier. I explain that this is not how it works. He nevertheless proceeds downstairs with his suitcase.

Act I, scene iii, the sitting room. 

Lestrade is pursuing a small, live frog. Mycroft is restraining the dogs from pursuing a small, live frog. Sherlock has retreated into the kitchen to pack all his belongings which haven't yet run away.

I contemplate taking my tea back to our room and locking myself in, but instead send L off to work and take over the frog hunt myself. It takes close to an hour. It's an agile frog.

Later in the day, we'll have to take it back to the park. For now, it's in a glass bowl, regarding me with a hurt expression.

Tomorrow, no doubt, act two. 

minor suns

Back to normal, I suppose, at least until L gets his time off settled and we can get away for a while. Mrs Holmes thinks it's a good plan as well and might even join us for part of it. I don't think we'll be saying anywhere public where we're going, except that it'll have sun (fingers crossed) and hopefully a beach.

L has already painted a vivid picture of himself in (bright) yellow (short) shorts playing air guitar on a pair of jeans - I suppose not actually air guitar, but perhaps laundry guitar? Denim guitar? - when Mrs Hudson brought Laura up to see us.

I wasn't there to witness it, sadly, but L's shriek summoned me fairly quickly, so I got to see his outfit and Laura's reaction to it at least. Or I should say Laura and Mrs Hudson's reactions to it, since Mrs H seemed suitably impressed and told him his shorts fit very nicely (they do).

For those of you not of a mind to keep up with my exes, Laura is the one, as L put it, who has a tiny dog and got me arrested in Egypt. The tiny dog, Biscuit, has since passed on, but she has another now named Vespasian. She gets them from a breeder named, no joke, Mrs Strange. She is, too; I've met her.

L streaked off to put some clothes on, I made tea and introduced her to Sherlock and Mycroft, and we all talked for a while. Or four out of five of us talked, once L returned, and Sherlock glared. Later on in the evening he said she couldn't have me back, which explained the glaring. She kindly refrained from saying she wouldn't want me back, but I know it's true - neither of us would've known what to do with each other in any sort of long term romantic arrangement.

L said he was going to hold my hand possessively on the way to the restaurant, and did so, which I suppose means Sherlock wasn't the only one who was worried, though I hope L knew he had nothing to worry about. Though I'd probably feel the same if his exes showed up out of the blue as mine now seem inclined to do.

Over dinner, Laura told everyone a bit about how we met and kindly left out the fact that I couldn't pay for dinner because I'd lost nearly everything I had in a card game in some bloke's basement. That was an interesting night.

So...there was pizza and ice cream, and Sherlock was won over by garlic bread the the promise of camel riding if we ever go to Egypt. We all stayed up far too late and had a lovely time. I might see her for lunch before she goes back, but I think she's leaving fairly soon, so maybe not.

And now back to bed for hopefully an hour or so before Sherlock's up. It's been a long couple of days. I think I want to just be in bed with L more than I want to actually sleep. 

in the days of frost

Well. This was going to be about Laura's surprise visit, but if you've been reading the comments on L's blog, you'll know it's not going to be.

Someone sent photos to L at work today, pictures of all of us at bouncy Stonehenge. No note, apparently, no overt threat, but the fact that someone sent them is threatening enough. L couldn't reach me or Rachel at first and was understandably concerned, but everyone's fine, physically at least.

It's a difficult situation. I mean, I know I'm stating the obvious here, but...yeah. There's not enough information to actually do anything yet and no way of knowing when there will be. The police and Mrs H's people will be working on it, so that'll have to be enough. I hate the waiting though, always have. 

flourless chocolate cake

Mrs Hudson gave me this one, along with a discourse on what exactly 'stiff peaks' means. 

1.Preheat oven to 150C (300F) degrees and butter an 8 inch springform pan (this is one that the bottom comes out of, which you need because if you turned the pan upside down, the cake might come out, but only in bits, it's too fragile).

2. Melt 125g (4oz) bittersweet chocolate with 1 tsp vanilla, 1 Tbs coffee, and 1 Tbs brandy.

3. Add 90g (6 Tbs) butter, 100g (1/2 cup) sugar, and 50g (1/2 cup) of ground almonds. Heat until butter is melted.

4. Beat 3 egg yolks until lemon coloured and add them to the chocolate mixture.

5. Whip 3 egg whites until they form stiff peaks and fold them gently into the chocolate mixture.

6. Bake for 45 minutes. If you stick a knife or something in the middle, it won't come out completely clean, but it shouldn't be gooey either. Mrs Hudson said it should have 'moist crumbs', which it did, the second time. Sort of. 

late nights

I've been waking up every half hour or so, or maybe not sleeping at all. Just drifting. Thinking, for some reason, of all the friends I've lost, one way or another. I suppose sometimes one just has nights like that. I can't say what brought it on.

I never wrote anything about visiting my parents so I thought I'd try that now, at least a bit.

It wasn't bad. If anything, it went better than I expected. They liked Mycroft, said he was a very polite and well brought up young man. They liked Lestrade. My mother said he seemed very steady and would be a good influence on me.

They were less certain about Sherlock, but they don't like a lot of noise and chaos, and Sherlock is 50% noise and 50% chaos - in the best way, of course, but they weren't seeing that. And I think Sherlock was predisposed not to be overly fond of them because he knew I was reluctant to see them. That's my fault, and I wish I could've done something differently there.

They're good people. I'm not even sure I can explain why I find it so difficult to be around them. It's...a restrained atmosphere. And I know I'm not a champion discusser of feelings, but there's a difference between not saying things and feeling you can't say them. I remember that feeling so strongly, starting with my very first memories, the undercurrent of belief that if anyone said what they were actually thinking that our world would collapse. And it was never anything that horrible, but lacking the ability to acknowledge it made every tiny thing loom over us.

Well. This is accomplishing nothing. I'm going back to bed, either to sleep or talk to L if sleep fails. Good night. Almost good morning. 

camping and fish and karate

This is Sherlock and I drew Lestrade wearing his uniform and also our tent because he told Mycroft we could go camping and I want to go near the sea and catch a fish. He's not camping in his uniform, it's only to show you what it looks like. I think it's kind of boring and he should have an enormous hat made of bears and a red jacket and shiny buttons but I told Lestrade that and he said then the criminals would see him coming and run away so maybe he's right, he's sort of like a ninja. 

stargazing

Hello, this is Mycroft. A few people have asked when I plan to go on the stargazing trip I mentioned. I'm going today, actually, and I've arranged with Mummy for Sherlock to go and stay with her until I get back. I thought Lestrade and John might want some time to relax, and they can't really go anywhere since Lestrade needs to be available for work.

This is a picture of the inside of our balloon being inflated. I think Lestrade has a lot more of what the city looked like from above, especially the football stadiums, so I expect he'll post some of those. 

Sherlock and I are leaving today, so I need to pack and wrap up my telescope now, but I wanted to show you a poem that John showed me first. It's called The Old Astronomer to His Pupil, and this is the last part, which I like especially: 

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

it's your birthday

It's your birthday, and you even remembered this year! Happy birthday, Gregory Martin Finchley Lestrade. I hope this card is accurate; I'm picturing you leaping on top of bars for your guitar solos when you played in your band.

I love you. It's funny, but every time I think I've got to some plateau on that front, you surprise and amaze me and I fall in love with you all over again, even more than before. Thank you for being here, for sharing your life with me, for being who you are. 

olympics

This is the bike portion of the triathlon that we went to see. It was more exciting to watch than I thought it would be, although some disagreed. Mycroft went so far as to bring a book, though he didn't read it the whole time. Admittedly that would've been difficult with Sherlock asking him questions every three seconds. 

The Ukrainian and the Swiss cyclist were at the back, on their own, and as Sherlock said in the comments, everyone cheered for them loudest of all. I wonder if it actually is encouraging or if it just points up the fact that they've fallen behind, and after all their training, too. I hope it's encouraging. I can't decide how I'd feel if it were me.

It was a lovely day out, and we did get ice cream eventually, and L got a nap later, though not for as long as I would've liked. Sherlock and Mycroft discussed Olympic events to take the place of the ones they don't like. Swimming in pudding and dolphin riding were both very popular. 

quiet day

More dog walking and cake eating, but other than that, not much to report. I'm enjoying the Olympic tennis very much, especially as it looks like either Federer or Murray will get the gold now. I think it'd be a great boost for Murray to get it. He might even manage to win the US Open this year.

I'm still not sure what was going on last night that kept L out until all hours. I meant to wait up for him, but didn't quite manage it. Think I fell asleep somewhere around one, and I barely remember him kindly herding me off to bed when he got in.

The boys and I have been making plans for L's birthday. I think he'll be surprised, if not quite as surprised as last year, when he didn't remember it was his birthday at all. The plans include cake, of course, which I am making, by request, without assistance. The things we do for love... 

chocolate surprise

I'm scheduling this to post later so I can write about Mycroft's dessert and still make L taste it with his eyes closed, which is my current plan. It's chocolate cake with with a whipped ganache filling and frosting. Ganache is cream with chocolate melted into it, and this also had coffee, and apparently if you chill it you can whip it like whipped cream. It was both impressive and delicious, very rich and smooth, and extremely chocolatey. I think L will love it.

He's volunteered to watch Federer's match with me. Can't decide if I'm finally winning him over and he's actually interested, or if he just wants to eat cake and doze on me while I watch it. Both options sound pretty good to me, so I don't mind either way.

Today was quiet. We didn't go anywhere particularly exciting, just a long walk with the dogs. Mycroft walked them, and I walked Sherlock. Still considering investing in a leash for him, especially with his by no means new, but still exciting, tendency to stop complete strangers on the street and ask them questions. At least he's more polite about it these days.

'Excuse me ma'am, why are your shoes so high?' is probably better than simply demanding an explanation for her high heeled trainers, although not, perhaps, any easier to answer.

We went to the cheese shop, and the butcher, who gave us bones for the dogs, and to a shop that only sells only various chocolate products, of which we bought many. They have bins full of different kinds of cocoa powder. I didn't know there were that many kinds.

And then we came home, and Mycroft set to work on his dessert, and I put my feet up and listened for sounds of mutiny from Sherlock, of which there were, amazingly, none.