not good

I just got Sherlock to bed. It was a struggle tonight, but I expected it to be. He was up at least eight times between his bedtime and now, asking for anything and everything, but mostly asking if we could go to see Mycroft tomorrow.

Most of you will have seen it on L's blog, but there was a possible kidnapping at Mycroft's school today. Mycroft is fine, Anthea is fine, the dogs are fine. They're probably shedding all over L right now. He got the case - went there earlier today and hasn't been able to come home yet. Hopefully he'll get some sleep on Anthea's sofa, at least a few hours.

I hope the boy's all right. His parents must be terrified. 

i got the job

I was expecting to be told thank you and we'll let you know in a week or two. Instead it was thank you and when can you start. Bit of a shock. I told her after 2 June, and she looked harried, but I don't see how I can start sooner. We leave for Italy at the end of this week. Which is very, very soon I suddenly realise.

She said she'd email me some information, and I have things to sign, and I should know my first shift date before we get back, assuming we have wifi there, not sure about that.

Meanwhile, I have laundry. And packing. And cleaning. And...something to confirm for tomorrow. But for now, I get to meet L and tell him the good news in person. :)

PS: telepathic rats

worker bees

A multi-storied bee...dwelling. Made by architecture students in Buffalo, New York. There are more pictures here where you can see the outside, but I thought this one was the most interesting. 

Sherlock got very excited by this and asked if we could build one on the roof / at the allotment / in a park / on the roof of NSY (because 'they're not even using it for anything and the bees could see the fireworks from up there!'). I'm afraid normal beehives won't satisfy him now.

I just got an email from Dr Feelgood, coincidentally, about consulting a few years ago in a case where a man was stung to death by bees. He ended it with 'And that's when I moved to London'. 

Also in the email...I might have a job soon. One 12 hour shift a week to start with - I'd be on call, not necessarily working the whole time, obviously, but presumably there are days when you do work the full 12 hours, so I need to make sure L or Mrs Hudson will be available to look after Sherlock if I can't be. Need to make some calls, but...yeah. Could be starting soon. It's quite exciting. 

back to the future

Delorean taxi

The linked article says it's not real, sadly - I mean that it doesn't exist as a taxi, not just that it doesn't really take you back in time.

Sherlock's class had auditions for the Christmas show today. Sherlock wants to be an angel with a light up halo. A dancing angel. Possibly breakdancing. Probably not on the head of a pin, but nothing would surprise me. He's also got a violin piece to play at the start of the show, along with two of his classmates, who I believe are playing cello and harp.

On the way home, he said he wants to invite Molly and Sally to come to the show  as well - but only if he gets the part. Heh. I need to ask Mrs N how many guests we're allowed to bring. There are quite a few of us already.

And I need to start Christmas shopping in a very serious way. What are you all getting your mums this year? Any ideas I can steal?

-

I'm not going to continue the poetry indefinitely, but I realised I didn't do any haiku at all. So here's this, by Issa.


In this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers. 

leaves

I think someone asked if Sherlock's half term dates are the same as Mycroft's and I never answered, but they are. Sherlock's plans are becoming ever wilder. If it were left entirely up to him, I think we'd be climbing Everest over the weekend, followed by a short jaunt to the Amazon basin in the week. I'm not sure we'll be going anywhere at all, but I'm sure we'll have fun. It'll be great having him home.

Lestrade brought me home flowers last night because he's the sweetest man alive. White roses and green chrysanthemums, the kind with the extra long petals. There's probably a name for them, but you'd have to ask Greg the florist. They're lovely, and sitting in a slightly wonky vase on the table. It's white and chipped, and I don't actually know where it came from. Maybe it's Mrs Hudson's. The only vase we had whose origin I was certain of is the one I got cracked over the head with.

It's funny how things just appear like that. Not something I'm used to, like having a fixed address and more than two pairs of shoes.

Lestrade, let me know if you want to get lunch or something? And then I've been advised that I'm not too old to jump in piles of leaves in the park with Sherlock, so I expect we'll be doing that after school. 

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. 

three turn-ons

On the assumption that the game will stay popular for a while, I've put the answers post into the bar of links at the top of my blog so people can find it easily.

Day Eight: Three turn-ons.

If L can do it, so can I , I suppose... I think this was the worst one. Easier to think of but much harder to post. 

 

1. Competence. In particular at driving and fixing things around the house, but just in general as well.

2. A bit of dirty talk can be nice. 

3. Smoking. Look, I know, all right? I've dissected those lungs. Believe me, I know. Logic doesn't help. And it's only with certain people anyway.



Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

eight ways

Day Three: Eight ways to win your heart

1. Pick up your socks and turn them right side out.

2. Apparently it helps a lot if your name is Gregory Martin Finchley Lestrade. 

3. Be kind to people who need it, even when it makes your own life harder. 

4. Be more patient with me than I deserve. 

5. Homemade custard creams. 

6. Tell me how you feel, even when I can't manage to do the same until months later. 

7. Let me look after you when you're ill. (Eventually.)

8. Tell me when I'm being an idiot.

 

Day Four: Seven things that cross your mind a lot.
Day Five: Six things you wish you’d never done.
Day Six: Five people who mean a lot (in no order whatsoever)
Day Seven: Four turn-offs.
Day Eight: Three turn-ons.
Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now, and why.
Day Ten: One confession.

as the moor turns, pt 3

After that, it was a long and thankfully unexciting walk back to the house. Sherlock fell asleep. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd left my cane at the tor, which I would come to regret in the morning. That night I was just grateful to be in a bed and was certain the next day would go far more smoothly. [insert the hollow laughter of hindsight here]

Sherlock slept in my room, because I didn't know where his was. I slept in a chair propped against the door so he couldn't get out without waking me. He woke me by jumping up and down on the bed and saying my name over and over and over and over and over...and over again.

He and Mycroft and I all had a relatively civilised breakfast, kindly provided by Mrs Hudson, and then I thought we'd take a nice walk into town. I had by that point realised that I'd left my cane on the moor, but I was violently ignoring my leg in the hope that it would continue to be trouble-free. That worked about as well as you'd expect.

We weren't even a quarter of the way there when I fell. Sherlock ran off to get me a stick he'd seen. I sent Mycroft after him. And then my knight in a shining bluish Honda pulled up. Lestrade was on his way to the hall to question me and I saved him a trip.

He gave us a ride into town, stopped at the sweet shop, where Mycroft and Sherlock got out, and then asked me some pointed questions about recent murders, both in London and in Dartmoor. 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.

(This is my 300th post, by the way. Seems appropriate somehow.)

something amazing

Here's a frog we saw while Sherlock was running us around the park yesterday. Or riding rings around us while we tried in vain to keep up. I stopped to take a picture. Or I coincidentally saw the frog while I was already stopped and bent over and panting. Take your pick. 

At breakfast, Sherlock introduced Mycroft to the idea of body painting for Pride (which may now be Sherlock's third favourite 'holiday', after his birthday and Christmas). Mycroft was wary, but not completely appalled. I may end up being the only unpainted member of our party. He suggested Sherlock ought to get painted-on wings, which would look quite nice and more importantly would not be a target, which was one of Sherlock's other ideas. I don't feel like I could reasonably veto that one, but it would make me feel a bit odd. 

Today...well, it's just gone seven, and Sherlock has so far made himself breakfast (cold cereal), spilled half a carton of milk on the floor, tried to soak it up with today's newspaper, dunked biscuits in his cereal milk, and squished up a banana inside its skin and then attempted to squirt it into his mouth with...exciting results. All before L and I were out of bed. 

When I emerged just now he said proudly, 'I didn't wake you up at all! Let's do something amazing today!' I said he could help me clean up banana and milk and then we could do something amazing. Ideas, anyone? 

Things that also need to happen today: (L, don't let me forget!) need to get a birthday card for my mum...and ask her why she has sent me a box full of her wedding china with no note of explanation. 

mummies and policemen

The museum yesterday was interesting, lots of information on the mummies' placards. Sherlock got a book in the gift shop called Conversations with Mummies, which was written by the woman who used to be the head of the museum's Egyptology department. Mrs T is going to get more than she asked for, but she's used to that by now. 

This is the unwrapping of the 'Two Brothers'; they were Sherlock's favourites. I liked the coffin made for a cat.   

Got back in time to hear L's talk, or parts of it at least. Three hours is a very long time for Sherlock to sit still and listen to anything, even if it's about murders, so there were a few breaks.

Today was a little boring for Sherlock I'm afraid, as I had to pick up some things, but he hauled his new book around with him and read parts of it aloud to me (and policemen at the hotel and strangers in shops).

We met Darren for dinner, and I hope he doesn't regret agreeing to it. Sherlock had an enormous number of questions for him, half of which were about police work, and half of which were more about establishing Sherlock's territory (i.e. Lestrade and I). Darren was very, very patient, and Sherlock did warm up to him after a bit.

Tomorrow, we're going flying. 

the last two

Is that a small amount of eyeliner? I think it might be... He looks barely old enough to shave here. 

The shirt is positively subdued for the eighties... 

Well. Yesterday...I don't know what to say, apart from it was a nice day out, which is safe enough. My Victorian novel metaphors are not holding up, and the whole thing is proving more complicated than I expected. Just as well L was with me, or I might've been in trouble. Apparently the police find it suspicious when you walk up and down a row of houses for half an hour trying to see in the windows. I'm sure I don't know why... 

now that he's safely asleep

Isn't he sweet? And smiling for once. 

coffee

First off, X drew the goat eating my trousers and kindly gave me permission to post it here:

It's pretty brilliant and I'm relieved it features the goat more prominently than my trousers. Thank you, X.

Mazarin wanted to know about my first date with L. I'm not quite sure what to count as the first one, but I suppose it's got to be the first where we got together, on our own, without the boys, specifically to drink coffee in an awkward fashion.

Just finding that much time took a while. Sherlock wasn't at school yet, and I hadn't found more than one of Mycroft's tutors. I had to get Mrs Hudson to watch them, and then I had to explain repeatedly to Sherlock why he couldn't come along and what the difference was between a date and just two people drinking coffee together.

It was a Sunday, I think, and we met at a place near NSY. The woman who took our order gave me a very dark look indeed. At the time I wondered if she thought I was going to steal the cutlery. She's warmed up somewhat since though, so maybe she was just worried I wasn't good enough for L.

We drank coffee. We talked about the boys and their mum, and the investigation that she'd basically made disappear into the ether. It was a little... I dunno. Slow, I suppose. Vaguely awkward pauses. Lots of smiling and not quite knowing what to say. I assume L was restraining himself from making dirty jokes, which must've been quite limiting, and I was trying not to... Well, put him off in any way.

I was a miserable bastard and I couldn't imagine why he'd want anything to do with me, and I was a miserable bastard with two young kids to take care of - not generally what most people are looking for. So I was probably trying too hard. Maybe we both were.

We were only there for about an hour, and I left feeling I should've done something differently, but he rang me up the next day to ask if I wanted to do it again. Of course I said yes. 

well, that was exciting

I imagine you've seen Sherlock's post. Perhaps a...wider perspective is in order. So. Let's recap.

We were having a very nice lunch, the four of us, with sandwiches and coffee and crisps and other civilised things. There would've been cake as well, except that, before we got that far, Lestrade spotted someone at another table, someone they've been looking for.

His plan was to step out and phone for backup, which was a good plan. He told me about it, quietly, but not quietly enough apparently (or possibly he can lip read?), because the next thing we knew, Sherlock was on his feet, pointing at the man in question, and shouting, "MURDERER!"

Everyone froze for a second, I suppose because even if you've killed someone it's not ofter you get accused by a six year old, and then the suspect took off, L took off after him, and I tried to prevent Sherlock running after both of them...for about ten seconds. And then the man's friends decided they'd join in.

L had, as Sherlock said, tackled the suspect, and didn't need the man's mates piling on top of them, so I had to do something about them, and Mycroft, bless him, grabbed Sherlock and kept him from running over to help. And by help, I mean kick them with his pointy little feet.

Someone called the police, and there was some mild confusion at first, but L had his warrant card of course, so it was all sorted out in the end.

We're all fine, mainly. Sherlock's uninjured, I suspect Mycroft has some bruises from restraining him, and L bashed his elbow pretty hard on the floor jumping the guy and has assorted bruises and scrapes but nothing serious.

I'll let Sherlock sum up:

"BUT NOW HE'S LOCKED UP AND HE CAN'T MURDER MORE PEOPLE AND THAT'S GOOD AND WE DID THAT AND IT WAS FUN."

leather daddy

As in the father of one of Sherlock's classmates, wearing leather, because he showed up on his bike. Nice man. He pulled up this morning to drop his son off and recognised and we chatted a bit. I think we met him briefly at Sherlock's sports day a few months ago, but the bike is new (and I suspect inspired by Lestrade's). Who knows, maybe Mrs T will be next...

I've been walking since I dropped Sherlock off, more or less. Stopping in parks and cafes and so on. Might just stay out until it's time to pick him up. L - you want to get lunch at any point? 

practice makes...embarrassment

Rugby practice went all right. On the whole. I'll just quote Lestrade to start with:

Picture the scene - 20 odd cops, practising rugby...

Sherlock swinging around, holding hands with Sal, wearing shorts, t shirt...and his wings. And in a quiet moment he chooses to shout 'when are you all going to KISS, like John and Lestrade do when they play with each other in the park??'

Most of the time I don't think twice about the things he says and it takes L to remind me that it would really be better if he didn't say a lot of them quite so loudly and in public. This one...I was fortunate to have a coating of mud that probably disguised the colours I was turning. Except for the tips of my ears, Mycroft informed me. Thanks, Mycroft. 

L was, of course, also covered in mud, but it looked good on him. (Wait, he'll now accuse me of harbouring secret mud wrestling desires.) 

Anyway, I'm glad, in a way, because it was odd not having anyone but Sally know we were together, and they certainly do now. Now I suspect they're wondering where L was hiding Mycroft and Sherlock all those years. And, according to one conversation I overheard, if Sherlock is a boy or a girl. 

I was going to say more but I forget what it was and also L's both commented and texted to tell me to go to sleep, so I'll give it another go. I have Alice the Spider to keep me company of course, but it's not quite the same. 

a man in uniform

We stayed over at L's last night, since Mrs Hudson was...actually quite insistant that she'd be happy to get the boys off to school this morning on her own. Well, almost on her own. Apparently at one point, Sherlock scaled the bookcase in the living room and refused to come down until Anthea came upstairs and gave him a stern looking at. Words are usually unnecessary for her.

Point being, I slept in. Until nearly ten. It was amazing. Well, I got up to see L off and fail to make him lunch because we'd eaten everything we brought over with us and there was no food. But I went back to bed after. And slept. Sleep is a marvellous invention.

Got up, drank coffee, went in search of clean sheets so I could change the bed...and found L's uniform instead. Sort of wadded up at the back of the top shelf. When spread out on the bed, it looked quite nice, apart from the wrinkles and the one small moth that appeared to be living under the collar. So I dropped it off at the cleaners' on the way home. I mean, he might need it, right? You never know.

evidence suggests

Sherlock at least may have been in the water a bit longer than I'd originally suspected, given his pockets were full of duckweed. I asked him why, and he said he wanted to look at it under the microscope - a suspicious answer at best since he knows perfectly well what fits on a slide (hint: not whacking great handfuls of anything at all).

He asked if I'd thrown it away. Not yet, I said.