underground sofa

I ordered the sofa today/yesterday...after much debate from all sides. I think Sherlock would've preferred it to have sequins, and Mycroft would've preferred one solid colour including cushions. L and I mainly wanted it to be comfortable and not show too much dirt. Or dog hair. Brown was definitely the way to go there, I think.

This is the sofa:

And this is the colour scheme, because I could not for the life of me work out how to make their website display the sofa in those colours:

Also, have some pictures of the early days of the London underground. I like 8 and 10 the best, I think. The complaints poster is wonderful.

Underground Sofa would be a good band name.

And I'm awake again. As you may have noticed. Think I will wake L up this time and try not to be such an idiot. Good night. 

the last one

Well...Lestrade's off to Italy tomorrow/today/in a few hours, to pick up a serial rapist and bring him back here (London, not our flat). Sherlock hid his passport and various other items in an attempt to stop him. He's not at all happy about it, despite the fact that I have been given instructions on how to make pancakes tomorrow morning, which should at the very least give him some entertainment. We got him into bed and then us in to bed eventually. Lestrade has to be in early tomorrow. He's asleep. I was asleep.

I haven't had a really bad dream about Afghanistan for months now. It's always tempting to think I've had the last one, even though, logically, it'll probably never be the last one. Until I'm dead, obviously. Assuming you don't dream after you're dead, which I suppose isn't really a foregone conclusion. I'm probably not making much sense at this point.

We're going to pick up Mycroft tomorrow, which will be great, and barring any major travel issues, L will be home for dinner. Maybe the three of us (or Mycroft with two sous chefs) can put something together for  him.

So I need to try sleeping again. Might just go for a walk first.

I was looking at this too:
http://www.virginmoneylondonmarathon.com/training-centre/training-advice/training-plans/intermediate-17-week-training-plan/

Doesn't sound too unreasonable. 

plotting

We went to see Mycroft today and took him out for a while. There was a sporting even at his school that he was keen to avoid, so we rode the bikes for a while and got a late lunch and walked for a while. Saw a man walking a small pig, which led to questions from Sherlock about various animals bred to be smaller than they were originally and why couldn't anyone make a giraffe small enough to fit in the flat? Or tiny dinosaurs, or, for that matter, very large dogs? Mycroft pointed out that we had two very large dogs already.

He seems happy enough at school, although he says he would prefer the word 'resigned', or possibly 'plotting a coup'. He may or may not be joking about the last one; it's a bit hard to tell sometimes. He also says I'm not allowed to say I can't believe he'll be sixteen this year, because one year does follow the next and given my age I ought to be used to it by now. Which is a fair enough point, but... Well, I won't say it.

He'll be at university in no time, which I suppose won't be all that different from having him away at school. Except I hope he'll like it better. And/or plot a coup. Either one.

Lestrade asked what he was going to do for his requisite teenage rebellion, and he said he was planning to get a passage from Tacitus tattooed on his back. Which also may or may not have been a joke. Anyhow, he's home next weekend, and we'll be very glad to have him. Tattoo or no. 

short

Out of a long list of reasons L just gave for Sherlock not being able to accompany him to crime scenes, one was that there were no paper suits in his size. He went up to his room and has just come down in a tissue paper suit held together with staples.

L and I are both dying and have sent pictures to Mycroft and his mum. Sherlock is unbelievably pleased with himself, even though he does know it won't get him admittance to murder scenes. He says he's going to be a DI in his next school play. Regardless, I assume, of what the play is actually about.

Of course, it's also just fifteen minutes till his bedtime, and he's bouncing off the walls, so possibly the joke's on us... 

back at work

I am ostensibly working, but actually sitting in a corner until they have some use for me. Mrs Hudson picked up Sherlock from school, and he's been texting me. I finished looking at a sergeant's bite wound and checked my phone to find this series:

S: there is a planet called GJ 1214b
S: it has clouds
S: i read a quote from a man who is a scientist and he said it had loads of water on it
S: also i read that people are going to be able to take holidays in space soon
S: so i would like to go to GJ 1214b please
S: maybe for easter or next christmas

S: mycroft says it's 40 light years away, i thought it was closer :(
S: he also says it's impossible to go faster than the speed of light but i don't think anyone's tried properly
S: they can't even go the speed of light yet so they can't be working at it that hard

I assume he's now building a faster than light rocket ship out of his mum's old Meccano set. 

an exciting new year's eve

Greg had to work New Year's Eve, you'll all remember. And if you saw the comments on his post, you'll know he didn't make it all the way through his shift. I seem to remember the comment starting "Well, there was this man with a knife," which is not a comforting way to start a comment explaining why you're at A&E, by the way, just a tip. But he'd stepped on a bottle and fallen the wrong way on his ankle, so it wasn't as bad as it could've been.

Murray and Mrs Hudson were there to watch the fireworks on television, so I left the boys with them and headed out across the city. Things I inadvertently collected along the way:

-three hugs from perfect strangers
-one unfortunately wet kiss
-two handfuls of sweets
-a plastic necklace, spray painted gold, with a pyramid hanging from a long chain
-almost a dog

I got the dog back to its owner, and I can only hope the dog got its owner home. Otherwise he's still singing on a street corner.

Got to the hospital, did the requisite waiting around while I checked his ankle. Got an X-ray, eventually, and it was...two or three in the morning by the time we got home, I think? Which actually isn't bad at all, considering the holiday, but apparently he picked the right A&E to get sent to.

Came home to find Murray dead asleep on the sofa and Sherlock dead asleep on Murray. Took a picture to torment them in years to come. Murray's drooling a bit in it. Mycroft was reading in a chair with the dogs on either side of him like bookends, and Mrs Hudson had sensibly gone to bed, although she left us some orange cake, which was very kind.

Got Sherlock to bed, got Greg to bed, got Murray a blanket...and then I went to bed and passed out on Greg, leaving him to stare at the ceiling (sorry, L!). I think one of my resolutions last year was not to let anyone I love end up in the hospital. Glad I didn't make that one this year - I try to keep them for at least a few weeks...

Anyone else doing New Year's resolutions? Broken them yet?