Mycroft’s A level results have arrived. Sherlock has declared this an occasion for celebration, by which he means cake. He and Mrs Hudson are plotting, and he’s invited his mum to dinner. (By invited, I mean he rang her up and demanded that she come. Since she’s in [redacted] I think it’s unlikely she’ll make it, but who knows.)
I’m home from work early due to having gashed my arm open by ingloriously slipping on a literal banana peel and falling against the mysteriously sharp edge of a rusted metal ladder. Went to hospital, got stitches, tetanus booster, questioned how this was in fact my life. A banana peel. Honestly.
But! I’m happy to be home. Mycroft is home as well (apparently spy school let out early today) (yes, Mycroft, don’t call it that, I know), waiting kindly to open his results until we’re all here, apparently not nervous at all. So now we are all waiting for L, some of us (Mycroft) more patiently than others…
It’s not as if any of us doubt he did brilliantly, but I’d still like to know!
I’m home from work early due to having gashed my arm open by ingloriously slipping on a literal banana peel and falling against the mysteriously sharp edge of a rusted metal ladder. Went to hospital, got stitches, tetanus booster, questioned how this was in fact my life. A banana peel. Honestly.
But! I’m happy to be home. Mycroft is home as well (apparently spy school let out early today) (yes, Mycroft, don’t call it that, I know), waiting kindly to open his results until we’re all here, apparently not nervous at all. So now we are all waiting for L, some of us (Mycroft) more patiently than others…
It’s not as if any of us doubt he did brilliantly, but I’d still like to know!
