too angry to sleep

I could cheerfully murder Bryan right now. And myself, come to that.

L slept so well last night I thought the full dose of painkillers was the way to go again. Turned out to be just enough he couldn't properly wake up from his nightmare. Just spent at least half an hour convincing him I was me and it was safe to get back in bed. God I'm an idiot. 

sturgeon?

Well, he wasn't joking about the nightmares. The latest must've been quite something. He kicked me straight out of bed with a well placed foot to the arse. I woke up halfway down and manage to roll when I hit the ground. More or less. Lestrade sat straight up, said, "Sturgeon!" and went immediately back to sleep. Can't wait to hear him explain that one.

He seemed perfectly peaceful after that, so I left him to it. Myself, I need some tea and bad late night television before I give sleep a second chance. It's nice, actually. The quiet, and the sitting very still. My "brutal cleaning regimen," as Lestrade put it, has been keeping me pretty busy. It was the thought of Sherlock picking this thing up. I think he would've ended up in hospital, apart from being completely miserable of course. I'd worry less about Mycroft, but only slightly.

Lestrade, I have to say, must have the constitution of a horse. Is that a real phrase? Constitution of a horse? Sounds wrong, but I'm not really awake. I hope the other man's doing as well as he is, and that his wife's keeping him in bed. That sounds entirely wrong, but you know what I mean. God, maybe Harry's right and I actually do worry about everyone.

Right, back to bed. I'll say this for his fever - it keeps my feet warm. 

new law

From now on, people may only get killed between the hours of 8am and 8pm. I feel I'm being generous by not limiting it to 9 - 5. Twelve hours a day is plenty of time to get yourself dead. I could even go 8am to midnight, but that's my final offer.

tennis does not cure insomnia

See subject line for summary of last night.

However, I do think it must induce some sort of alternate state of consciousness. I do feel more rested than if I'd stayed up reading or even watching old movies (4am is not the hour of the wolf; it's the hour of Bogart, Bacall, and Audrey Hepburn). Watching the ball fly back and forth and listening to nonsensical scores announced in rather lovely French accents (all the umpires sound French to me, even the ones specifically pointed out as being Swedish or Spanish) probably leads one into some sort of deep meditative state normally only achieved through years of study and isolation in a Buddhist monastery.