arrogance, guilt, and squid

Lestrade is cooking squid. Probably will have cooked squid by the time I finish this. I admit I'm slightly dubious about the prospect of barely cooked squid, but I trust him. Apparently you either have to cook it a long time or barely at all. It gets rubbery otherwise. Having had a fair amount of rubbery squid, I believe it.

I've said before that I don't think I could do what Lestrade does, i.e. go out every day into what is essentially a war zone and come home at the end of it and somehow make the transition back to being a relatively normal human being. Transition has never been particularly easy for me. It's always got to be one thing or the other, all the way or not at all.

I think that's why I found a lot of the work at Sarah's surgery a bit...well, boring. I suppose there's no way to say that without sounding like an arrogant arsehole, but any nurse (especially Murray) will tell you that all doctors are arrogant arseholes, so maybe I am. It wasn't the sort of work I went into medicine for, at any rate. And I know I shouldn't feel that way, but knowing that doesn't help. Just adds guilt to the mix.

When L brought up the possibility of working as an FME (forensic medical examiner for anyone who missed that before), I think, despite having a fair idea of how hard it would be, I knew that second that I'd do it if I possibly could. I've looked into A&E work before, but it just won't fit with Sherlock's schedule. A lot of times I'm the only one who can guarantee I'll make it to his school functions, and I don't want that to change.  This seems like it'll be a bit more flexible. Mrs Holmes is back this week, so I can talk to her about it. Just the prospect of it is a relief in a lot of ways. I didn't realise how much the lack of occupation was weighing on me. 

fme and bed snails

Last night in the comments, I was being unintentionally morose about my lack of employment (I know, I do have a job, but with both the boys back in school, it really doesn't feel like it, and I'm not good at doing nothing all day), and L brought up the possibility of working as a forensic medical examiner.

Basic duties...I'll just quote Lestrade here: examining injured people in custody, examining people who claim to be sick/injured, people who claim to be the victims of police brutality, take blood samples, write out death certs. at scenes, and sometimes present your findings in court. And also, I think, from the reading I've been doing, examining assault victims. I'm going to talk to someone he knows about it and find out a bit more. There's not as much additional training as I would've expected, though there is some.

I talked to Sherlock about on the way home from school. He seems alternately excited and worried about how much I'd be gone, which I'm a little concerned about too. Obviously, he and Mycroft are my first responsibility, and I'm not quite sure it would be fair to them. But I don't know enough about it yet to make a decision either way, so that'll have to wait.

I think I'm also signing up for krav maga lessons at a place Anthea recommended, too. I'll let you know how it goes.

ETA: This was Lestrade when I went into the bedroom just now...

grim grey palisades

We went to Spike Island. Over the years, it's had a monastery, a prison, a fort, and more recently a prison again. The prison was closed down in 2004, and now it's just a tourist attraction. 

The fact that it was a prison before it was a fort certainly shows, doesn't it? The weather was decidedly grey when we went to visit, and it made the whole thing still more foreboding. 

post

Sherlock got an envelope in the post today. I didn't think much of it. His birthday's coming up, after all, and it had balloon stickers on it. Glittery ones, even. I did check with his mum, because he doesn't generally get cards, but there are a number of people it might've been from. Mrs Holmes said to let him open it. I could tell she was doing what I'd been doing - weighing the risk against letting him be a normal kid excited to get mail of his own. And he was so excited he nearly burst on the way home.

It was a birthday card. It's got a bug on it, so someone clearly knows his taste. Inside the card were photos of Lestrade, obviously taken by someone who'd been following him on his bike-less commute recently. Some were taken from quite close up.

Sherlock was mainly confused and thought it was a very silly thing to send him for his birthday. I am... Well, I think you can imagine. Lestrade is on his way home. 

caught in this isthmus of a middle state

Paralympics women's doubles medal ceremony:

Esther Vergeer's record is just amazing. I think she's got over 20 slam titles, and a few years ago she topped 400 straight wins. (I know this is late, but a lot of the tennis I'm just watching now.)

Also, there's this. I think they're fantastic, and I wish I'd had anything like that amount of determination when I got home.

Anyway, life goes on. L's told me a little about his case, which is...not good. Some of the cases he works are fairly ordinary, if murder can ever be said to be ordinary, and some, like this, leave me wondering how things like this can happen, how anyone can do these things.

Sherlock asked me what the point of life was today, which was a more complex question than I was expecting to have to answer while making cheese sandwiches on four hours of sleep. I'm afraid I didn't have a satisfactory answer for him. 

loose ends

The meeting with Mrs Holmes today was very short. She gave me a package, had me memorise an address, I took the package there, and that was that. I got the feeling that wasn't what she'd called me in for, actually, that I was filling in for someone who hadn't shown up just because I happened to be there.

Bit odd. But I'd rather be the one filling in than the one who didn't show up. Hope he escapes with his life when she gets hold of him.

I did also get her to sign off on Sherlock's martial arts lessons while I was there, so that's ready to go when he is. Maybe another week or two. he's still complaining about things being different at school. He says they have better books in the new classroom though, so that's something.

We made avocado and tomato pasta for dinner. Basically, you cut up tomatoes and avocados, mix them with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and basil, and then when the pasta's done you drain it and put it in the bowl with the stuff and mix it around. Very easy.

After dinner, Sherlock said everything was too quiet and stood on the sofa to see how loud he could make his violin be. Quite loud, it turns out. 

protection

Lestrade got this one:

And I got this one: 

Which, as you can see, is red, and goes with my bike. Although, it's going to be L's bike for a while as soon as his hand is well enough to ride again. I don't really need it on a daily basis. I hope his gets fixed soon though. I know he misses it.

The accident, if it was an accident, was over so quickly that it's difficult to remember the details. It always seems odd that something that happens in so little time can have such lingering effects.

no one needs to worry

We had a little accident on the bike. Bruises and scrapes mostly. We're going to hospital for L's hand, which is swelling nicely. I don't think anything's broken though.

I've talked to Sherlock and Mycroft already, and Mrs H is picking Sherlock up from school, though he's not happy about it. Please be good for her, Sherlock. Hopefully we won't be too long.

Some bastard, also on a bike, cut right in front of us and there was just nowhere to go, bus on one side, pedestrians on the other. You'd almost think he was trying to knock us over. I'm glad it was L driving and not me; I'm sure he managed it better than I would have.

And when I say no one needs to worry...I mean about us. The bike didn't fare so well. I don't think he'll be riding it for a while. 

unpacking, a drama of innumerable parts

We left yesterday morning (Spain, as I think most of you probably guess) and got back to London yesterday afternoon. Mycroft's leaving for school this evening, so not much happened yesterday apart from travel, tantrums about leaving, laundry, un/packing, and consolation brownies. They didn't really make up for not being in Spain anymore, but they helped.

Today: more laundry, more un/packing, the realisation that there are more laundry labels to sew into Mycroft's new shirts, acquiring food one way or another, etc etc.

Sherlock brought Mrs Hudson home a stone he found that has a hole through the centre of it. He's been fascinated this trip with the way water smooths things out and wears them down. He would've brought home every piece of beach glass he found if he'd had his way.

We'll probably do another pan of brownies so Mycroft can take them to school for his friends, or, as he insists they be referred to, the people he knows there. I suppose he has a point. My mum would refer to anyone I knew from school as my friend, even people I considered my mortal enemies. Drove me mad.

I'm using my how to infuriate monkeys tag retroactively for the Gibraltar incident. 

on the blue shore of silence

Mycroft and Mrs Holmes stayed back at the house yesterday, and L and Sherlock and I headed down the beach to explore. Sherlock had a plastic bucket and war paint sunblock, L had his film star tan and smug grin, and I had a pounding headache, L's sunglasses, and occasionally a towel draped over my head. I honestly did not have that many mojitos. They're deceptive. And I'm out of practice.

We walked quite a long way, built a series of quickly abandoned sand castles along the beach, which were misshapen lumps by the time we passed them again, picked up shells and bits of seaweed, watched while Sherlock poked at things in tide pools. I stuck my head in the sea every now and then. It helped a bit.

There was no ice cream, but we did get cold drinks near the surfing school, and looked at, but did not ride, the horses. Sherlock and L wanted to try surfing, and I wanted to lie very still, so they went off for a while. I floated peacefully in the water...until Sherlock was boosted without warning onto my stomach and L ducked down to bite my bum again. It was a well coordinated assault that nearly ended with L's sunglasses at the bottom of the sea.

Sherlock can really swim now. I'm not sure when he went from splashing and paddling to diving and cutting through the water like a tiny eel (that's a moray...), but he's really quite good now. We'll have to find somewhere indoors to take him this winter.

On the way back, Sherlock was pretending to be a bull and charge Lestrade, which led to L wearing Sherlock's bucket on his head, standing on a rock and singing that Toreador song. He doesn't think I have pictures, but I do.