a difficult post to phrase politely

Anon wanted to know: When you've been with girlfriends is there anything you miss about men? And now you're with Greg is there anything you miss about women?

The short  answer is no. The slightly longer answer has to do with romance and why I've historically been pretty terrible at it.

In my early thirties I had a string of short-lived relationships with women - a few months each - and I came out of each of them not missing men exactly, but missing how much simpler things usually were with men. And I know (or assume) your question was referring to physical differences, but I never really cared about those much, it was all fine, all good.

The differences I saw were mental and emotional...and also they were nothing to do with the differences between men and women. They were about the differences in romantic relationships vs non-romantic.

But I didn't realise that for a long time, and in the back of my mind I think I blamed the women I was with for not being more like men. By which I meant wanting more of me than I was willing to give to anything except my job and my team.

And then I met Laura (the woman in Egypt, owner of Biscuit), who had no interest in me romantically, and that was great. And as a side effect, I became slightly less of an idiot.

Well. Maybe slightly less of an idiot. Because mainly it served to convince me that I wasn't fit for a romantic relationship at all. Maybe that was true at the time. Maybe not. I don't know really.

But in answer to your actual question instead of rambling about romance: no. I love the human body, I think it's amazing in just about every form, and there are so many more (and more important) differences - even just physical differences - from person to person than male vs female that I just don't think of it that way. I have occasionally missed someone's specific physical traits, but not not men or women in general.

home

At a tube station I go through pretty often - nice to see Harrow up there, makes me think of Mycroft. 

Pip wanted to know: What is your favorite indulgent treat? Something that you absolutely love but don't eat very often either because it's so bad for you or it's just too good to have very often.


Hmmm. Maybe Lestrade's pasta with X number of cheeses - I think it's meant to be quattro formagio or something, but it's not really four; it varies from three to seven. It's cheesy and delicious. There might be cream as well? Not sure.

Before I knew him and ate his pasta of many cheeses, it was probably the chocolate cake my mum used to make on very special occasions - older relative's birthdays and things like that. It was chocolate cake with chocolate chips in it and some kind of butterscotch frosting. Delicious.

I went to get Mycroft from school today - out on the tube, where I took the above picture, and back in Anthea's 4x4 with her, Mycroft, two large bags of things Mycroft's decided he doesn't need at school, and two even larger dogs.

Dropped Anthea off, took Mycroft and dogs to the park, where the dogs ran as if they'd been confined for a month, which I know they haven't been. At what age do enormous hounds of indeterminate lineage start to calm down?

Mycroft and I walked and talked for a while and then went to fetch Sherlock. The dogs got many hugs from Sherlock's classmates. I don't think they've seen them since Mycroft went to school. There was a lot of face licking and vaguely concerned look from some of the parents, whether about dog germs or their children getting eaten, I'm not sure.

And now, as L said in his post, everyone's here, and it's warm and cosy and generally perfect. One of those nights you wish could last forever.

stars and balls

X has once again kindly let me post her art with my bum in it.  At least this one has L's too! 

Calliope wanted to know: how about your favorite wintertime activity: snow angels, snowman building, decorating, making baked goods, etc.?


Eating the baked goods? Is that an option? Well. The decorations, maybe. I always liked doing the tree, even though Harry and I had some truly absurd (and loud) arguments over who got to hang which ornaments and who got to do the star. The favoured ornaments were the glass birds and the the hand-painted glass balls so we usually traded (after extended negotiations) two birds and a ball for the star-hanging rights.

Mum always put the lights on herself the night before, because she was (and is) convinced that none of us do them right. She stores them wrapped carefully around the cardboard tubes that wrapping paper comes on and lays them all out on the floor before she starts. We were generally not allowed past the threshold of the living room till she was done.

The tree was all we did in the way of decorating, and last year it was all we did here too, but I'd like at least a wreath this year as well, and I want to take the boys to pick out ornaments. I don't have any, and while their mum did find a small box of family ones, the tree was a little sparse. And they hadn't got to pick any of those, and they should have some say. L, do you have ornaments in any of those boxes you haven't unpacked?

non-answer

Nameless said: Given Lestrade's lovely post today, how about telling us about his most endearing quality?


And I've been thinking about it since she asked, without getting any closer to a real answer. Because it's everything. His kindness and love and warmth. His endless patience with the boys and with me and my baggage train of psychological issues.

How angry he gets - still, after all the years he's done this job - at the ways people hurt each other, how hard he works to fix what he can. How deeply he feels what he can't fix.

The ways he lets me know, literally every day, that he cares and wants me in his life. Everything.

And having said I can't pick... Maybe if I had to, it would be the way he doesn't ever give up, on his work, on me, on himself. Even when things are hard, or look hopeless, he's always willing to keep trying.

That seems like such a clumsy description, but it's the best I can do right now and I really wanted to post this tonight.

Someone give me easier questions for next time please.

irrational is relative

RR wanted to know: John--have you any irrational fears?


I thought of this after the discussion about Orwell's books on L's blog. I never read Animal Farm, but I did read 1984 when I was eleven and afterward I gained a fairly irrational fear of rats eating my face off. Not that, if it was about to happen, I wouldn't be justified in being completely terrified, but it's not exactly likely, is it? Given I don't live in a dystopia and I'm not trying to overthrow a totalitarian regime, I feel fairly safe from being abducted off the street and fed to rats. So it was a bit silly.

And actually when I picture it now (and I can picture it more accurately than I could then, unfortunately) I find it still leaves me a little queasy.

Also bees, sort of. I'm not phobic and I can cope with them with no outward signs of distress, but I dislike them a lot more than is justifiable considering all they can do is sting me a bit. But yeah, mainly rats eating my face off. Thanks, George Orwell.

Though I should say I've read others by him (without face eating) that I quite liked. Down and Out in Paris and London and Keep the Aspidistra Flying are two of my favourite books.

lord innuendo

Danger - You've got to write the next chapter of Greg the Florist. If Greg inherits a large manor house then I wouldn't complain.

L - Just remember, this is your fault.

When John came into work, he found the door locked, and the shop dark. He knocked anyway, and it was only a few seconds before Greg pulled it open in a jangle of bells and pulled him inside. His face was very serious.

"John. I have to tell you something."

"Are you firing me?"

"What? No!"

"Have you got a boyfriend?"

"I... Well, I hope I've got you. But. This is a little... Something's happened."

John tried not to let himself speculate further. "All right. Tell me."

how i got arrested in egypt, twice

Once was a case of mistaken identity. Someone who looked like me (by which I mean: was English, not a giant, and had sort of indeterminately coloured hair) had started a fight with a man who was selling chickens. I presume over the price, but that was never entirely clear. Anyway, he hurt the chicken seller pretty badly, got laid into by a couple of the chicken seller's friends, and then ran off.

Meanwhile, nearby, a friend of mine had lost her dog (chihuahua, named Biscuit). I was running after Biscuit. Biscuit was so small as to be pretty much invisible to the naked eye. The police saw a man fitting their suspect's description running away.

They shouted, and when I realised it was me they wanted, of course I stopped. I'd lost sight of Biscuit in the crowd by then anyway. Things were complicated by the fact that their suspect spoke Arabic and I didn't. They thought I was being difficult. I was completely confused.

They took me in, and I was there for about eight hours, even after the chicken seller came to have a look and said I was not the man in question.

Everything worked out in the end. They found the man who did it. Biscuit found her way home. I was released, albeit with some resentful looks for not being who they thought I was.

The second time I don't remember very well. I was pretty ill. I suspect the food at the hotel where I was staying. I'd gone out to get bottled water and something I could stomach, but it was all too bright, too loud, I was dizzy, there was vomiting. Not pretty. I was taken in for being (they thought) drunk and disgusting in public.

It was probably for the best. They realised their mistake pretty quickly and gave me water and crackers rather than throwing me out on the street, which was kind. By that evening I was all right to get back to the hotel on my own, and a few days later I was fine. 

everywhere

DW asked in the comments of L's post if I'd managed to hurt myself carrying him off to bed and I'm writing it down here so I can remember for the next time I have a similar brilliant idea. Answer: yes. Not badly, but yes. Shoulder: certainly better than this time last year, but (key point) not as good as it was ten years ago. Or even two. Good job, self.

Liz wanted to know: How about places you would like to go on holiday? Either to show the boys different areas of interest or just because you've always wanted to go!


Oh...everywhere? Italy, obviously, to meet L's family and see Venice and Florence and Rome and...well, everything. I think the boys would really like Japan, and then there's New York City of course, with its blog readers and cupcakes and so on.

I'd really like to see Pripyat (the town near Chernobyl) though obviously I wouldn't want to take the boys along for that. No matter how much Sherlock would probably enjoy it. I have no idea whether L would be interested or not.

Camping in Yellowstone Park would be amazing, and there's some massive national park in Alaska too (even though it's apparently full of bears and mosquitos) that I've seen pictures of and it looks so...wild. I know that's the point, but it's still impressive.

Let's see... Anywhere in France that isn't Paris. I'd go to Paris too, but I've been once already and I think the taxi drivers try to run you down on purpose.

I'd like the boys to see Egypt and the pyramids and all that and hopefully I could avoid being arrested again. Let's see... The Great Wall. Australia (all of it). The Amazon, mainly for Sherlock, since he's the only one of us excited about the concept of spiders bigger than your head instead of terrified sensibly cautious.

...Maybe you would've been better off asking where I don't want to go? This isn't a remotely realistic list, of course, but it's nice to think about.

montreal, two minutes

X wanted to know what I was doing in Canada. Fair enough.

It was for a medical conference, trauma medicine. They wanted me to come and talk about my experience in MERT (medical emergency response team; I looked for a wikipedia article, but there doesn't seem to be one), which I did. I suspect they picked me because I'd gone to school with one of the people organising it. I think she lives in Toronto now, but she was in Montreal then, and took me round to see the sights and insisted I try the bagels. And attempted to insist I try poutine. I...preferred the bagels.

I was only there for three days and was mainly dying of jet lag the entire time, but it was a beautiful city. I'd like to go back some day.

Someone asked if Sherlock managed to keep quiet for the two minutes of silence today. Mrs T says they all did, mostly. She explained it to them half an hour before hand and then again just before. Two minutes is a long time when you're that age.

Sherlock asked me about it after school, what the point of it was and how silence helped anyone. How remembering helped anyone if they were dead. Why there was a silence for people who died in war and not for people who died any other way. Didn't have an answer to that, really. Not one that both felt true to me and would withstand his cross-examination.

 I looked up the proclamation by George V so he could read it and found this as well:

The first stroke of eleven produced a magical effect. The tram cars glided into stillness, motors ceased to cough and fume, and stopped dead, and the mighty-limbed dray horses hunched back upon their loads and stopped also, seeming to do it of their own volition. Someone took off his hat, and with a nervous hesitancy the rest of the men bowed their heads also. Here and there an old soldier could be detected slipping unconsciously into the posture of 'attention'. An elderly woman, not far away, wiped her eyes, and the man beside her looked white and stern. Everyone stood very still ... The hush deepened. It had spread over the whole city and become so pronounced as to impress one with a sense of audibility. It was a silence which was almost pain ... And the spirit of memory brooded over it all. (Manchester Guardian, 12 November 1919)

que sera sera

Innie wanted to know: What do you think the boys will be when they grow up (other than good men)?


I have no idea. Honestly. I think their main problem will be trying to decide and stick with something. My mum used to tell Harry and me we could be anything we wanted to if we put our minds to it, but that's the sort of thing mothers say; it wasn't really true. If your ambition's to be a world class surgeon or an astronaut or something, it's going to take more than most people have in them. Just a fact.

But Sherlock and Mycroft... I do honestly believe they could do anything they set their minds to. Mycroft has talked about working for the government. I'm not sure if he means politics or something like what his mum does. Sherlock has a new idea every day. I just hope they're happy in whatever they pick.

open

Nameless wanted to know: What impact do you think that blogging so openly about your life has had on you?

Blogging about what we do and where we go and so on...oddly, I don't think it's had much effect at all. Occasionally someone will mention the blog, and I think it's getting slightly wider play now than it used to, but I think L probably gets more fallout from it than I do. 

Apart from that, I'm not really sure how open I've been, to be honest. I mean, I do try, and I think I'm better than I used to be, but on the whole, this expressing one's emotions business...I'm not at all good at it. And I try a lot harder with L in person than I do on here. 

Even so, I think it's been good for me. It's certainly been easier than I expected, in a lot of ways. You hear a lot about the way people behave online and I thought I'd get a lot more criticism from people than I have. Instead, nearly every person who's commented here has been more kind and understanding than I had any reason to expect. Thank you. It makes things easier, a bit, especially this month when some of these entries have felt like slowly pulling out my own intestines. (No one should feel guilty about that, by the way. It's my own choice to do them.)

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that  I think it's good practice for being more open with L and the boys, and I really need the practice. It wasn't something I thought of as at all important up to now. Which, looking back on my life, explains a lot. 

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. 

kids today

Roger Federer won the Basel tournament yesterday. He played Kei Nishikori in the final. Nishikori did really well, despite the score, never gave up even at the end. He's going to be a good player. Basel is Federer's home tournament. He used to be a ball boy there, and he buys the ball kids pizza after the final every year. That's the trophy in the bottom left, looking smaller than it is. For a relatively small tournament, it's a truly ridiculous size. 

A number of people have asked for war stories, so... 

letters home

Innie wanted to know: What made you decide to become a doctor and a soldier? How did you make that pairing work?


By the time I was 12 I was pretty sure I was going to be a doctor, because...well, just because. I don't think I ever thought seriously about doing anything else. Other than being an underwear model, obviously.

I also wanted to get far away from home, and I wanted adventure, and not to spend my life looking at ingrown toenails, which was our GP's gloomy prediction for my future when I mentioned what I wanted to be when I grew up.

The Army wasn't the first thing I thought of - I thought maybe a charity organisation of some sort - but I think it was always where I was going to end up.


My grandfather was in the RAMC, in World War II. He was killed in France when my father was quite young, but he wrote him letters the whole time he was in Europe. My father started reading them to me when I was...maybe two or three? So young that I can't remember a time when I hadn't heard them. I've probably still got most of them memorised just from hearing them so often.

Even so, when I started talking about the Army, both my parents thought it was a phase and I'd give it up when I learned more about it. They had a point, in a way. I obviously didn't have a clear grasp at 12 of what I'd be getting into. Grandfather didn't exactly sugar coat his stories, but even so.

But the more I learned, the more sure I was that it was the right thing for me. And it was. There was never a time when I had to question if what I was doing really mattered, and that's the best I could ask from any job.

fast track

Not a requested topic, but you're going to hear about my first bike riding lesson anyway. We went to Hendon, where Lestrade got his police training, and he convinced them to let us borrow their training track for a bit.

He went round a few times first, to take advantage of the lack of a speed limit show me how it was done. No wheelies, though. Mycroft's Housemaster clearly made an impression.

Then there was the lecture portion of the outing, with each point repeated several times and a Very Serious Expression. I'm relatively sure he was more worried about me than the bike. Probably.

And then I got to have a go.

It was brilliant. I want to go back. And then I want my own.

Maybe next time L will make fewer anxious and horrified faces. I wasn't going that fast. 

no one expects...

Desert Wanderer wanted to know: What about something you were unexpectedly good or bad at?

The first thing that comes to mind is shooting. Or, well, marksmanship, I suppose. Precisely hitting what I aim at over a long distance, at any rate, as opposed to most shooting in actual combat, which tends to be less about precision and more about suppression. 

I hadn't thought much about that aspect of being in the Army before I went to Sandhurst. I knew I was going to be in the Army, of course, and I was in the RAMC medical cadetship programme, but medical school didn't leave a lot of room for thinking about anything but medical school, and my F1 and F2 years even less so. I suppose I thought I'd be perfectly adequate at it, but I didn't expect it to be... Fun is the wrong word. Satisfying, maybe. 

It's a difficult physical skill, and, while the Army teaches you a lot of difficult physical skills, most of them don't require that much mental focus. I'd say it's more like surgery, but it's not really like that either. It's its own thing. 

And, of course, it's a skill I've very seldom had to use off the target range. That probably makes a big difference in my attitude toward it .

Walk

Not today's official post, just a picture of my mum's walk. Found it last night when I should have been sleeping.

autumn

Small Hobbit wanted something about autumn...

When I was fifteen or sixteen, there was this massive storm a few days before Bonfire Night - high winds, rain pounding at the windows, loads of damage. Entire trees went down. We heard one go with a crack you could heard over the thunder.

We went to Bonfire Night on Hampstead Heath, and they had all the debris from the storm piled up and fenced off, and... I feel this must've grown in my mind to be bigger than it really was, but I'll tell it like I remember it. The piles were higher than houses, so long they faded off into the dark on either side.

They were already burning when we got there. It was a chilly night, and most people had set up near the fire for warmth to wait for the fireworks. Mum and Dad and Harry did too. Harry and I wandered off pretty quickly after that, in opposite directions.

leveled

Thanks to everyone who left me blog topic suggestions so I'm not left flailing around for something to write about this month. Please feel free to leave more here, or on the previous post with the rest of them.

L's question, to start with...


So, what's the thing you've made that you're most proud of, Danger?


I think this caught me because I can't recall actually making much in my life, beyond, recently, dinner and brownies. There were a few group projects in the Army that I was involved in, but that was everyone making whatever it was, not just me.

day one

All right, first off, I never actually said I'd blog every day for November; I said maybe. Maybe! Don't believe everything Lestrade tells you. And don't google it either. Anyhow. With no commitment at all to doing the rest of the month, I suppose I could start by telling you about Sunday and the pond.

We started, as L said, with a big muddy hole, which everyone under ten, including the dogs, used as an excuse to get absolutely filthy. Several people over the age of ten got just as filthy inadvertently. The slope down is steeper than it looks and surprisingly slippery when wet. Sherlock painted his face with stripes of mud, and then he painted the dogs.

The liner went pretty well once the dogs were convinced to get out from under it. Phobos does that with the sheets sometimes when I'm making the bed. Deimos usually has more dignity but not, apparently, when covered in mud.

morning's at seven

It's nearly seven, and L is still asleep. I'm shocked and mildly concerned. Or I would be if he hadn't been up chatting with you lot at three in the morning. Still. Seven. That's like ten for normal people.

Sherlock wanted to wake him up so they could make coffee together as usual. Sweet, but no. He and Mycroft are making breakfast instead. Mycroft's being quiet so as not to wake L, and Sherlock's being noisy very quietly, so as to wake him if at all possible and still not get in trouble for it.

If he manages to sleep through this, he might get breakfast in bed, which I assume will be a lifetime first for him.

We're digging more of the pond today. I don't think we'll finish, but maybe we can at least finish the hole if we've got more help. Should be a fun day. 

the short arm of the law

Since L's super gave Sherlock (and Mycroft, but Sherlock is the one bent on abusing it) that NSY card, he's been treating it like he did the birthday boy badge Mrs Hudson gave him, i.e. a symbol to bend the rest of the world to his will.

Uses to which he has attempted to put it today:

1. Arresting the girl who got to the swing he wanted before he did.

2. Arresting the tree that dropped an acorn on his head.

3. Threatening the man at the fish and chips shop with dire legal consequences if he shorted him on chips.

I put a stop to the first one, and the tree was not impressed, but he got what he wanted out of the third encounter, which was to tell someone new the story of how he got the card.

I asked Mycroft if he planned to tell anyone at school what happened. He said no one would believe him, and he's probably right. 

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."

pond digging

A surprising number of people showed up to ogle Lestrade help us dig this morning. Six mothers, four fathers, one confused Swedish au pair, plus L and I, Sherlock and Mycroft, and an assortment of everyone's children, who ranged in age from Barely Walking to Old Enough to Use a Shovel. The dogs of war came too, and I think they must have some herding dog in their dubious lineage; they're not much at digging where we want them to dig, but they're pretty good at keeping the little ones out of trouble.

I'm pleased to report that no one turned up in high heels or a suit and tie. I did have my doubts. No one except L and the Landscaper had much idea what we were doing, but fortunately digging is not a complicated or mentally strenuous activity (my sergeant in basic training would've said, "If it was, we'd get real soldiers to do it!" - he said this about nearly everything we did), and L supervised the construction of the raised beds.

cabbages and condoms

No, really. Cabbages and Condoms. It's a restaurant in Bangkok, apparently. I was googling cabbage, thank you very much.

Sorry about yesterday. I tend to assume no one reads my tags but me. Which isn't really an excuse, since it's absurd to...express myself through tags anyway.

Do you see how absurd that sentence was? Even more than I'd feared, sadly.

Anyhow. If I'm going to say something, I ought to just say it, but I suppose I'm not, since I don't know what to say. I'm just restless. At loose ends. Not sure what to do with myself. It's nothing anyone should worry about.

Mycroft's home today, and we get to keep him until next Sunday, so that'll be nice. I've really missed him, and I never know how much of that to say when he phones. Don't want to accidentally make him feel guilty for going away to school, obviously. I'm probably silly for worrying about it - he's more sensible than that.

In theory, we're digging the pond at Sherlock's school next week, possibly with carnivorous plants, if anywhere around here sells them. No tiger pits though. Or quicksand. Or a selection of insects from the Amazon.

Oh, and this is my 203rd post. 200 was the drunken one. I'm glad, actually, even if it didn't make a lot of sense. It was, as L said, from the heart. 

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? 

a brief note of thanks

Yesterday, L and Sherlock made:

- biscuits
- cupcakes (pink, chocolate, and vanilla)
- a small cake with the leftover batter from the cupcakes
- fudge (also in pink, chocolate, and vanilla)

As well as three meals. I made tea and icing for the cupcakes.

Thanks, Mrs H. As usual, you've given us just what we needed most. And I hope you like pink cupcakes, because Sherlock's valiantly refrained from eating the last one in order to give it to you.

No, I don't know what flavour pink is. 

champagne

This is reatlyy great you know, good champagne and Lestrade and boxers and all. Especially Lestrade. Try to tell him how much i love him but I think it comes outwrtong maybe, or not enough, or something. Anyway it's alot. I mean, singing in mpublic and ridiculouls storeies and everything. just everything. Yeah. It's important.

And he's got pretty eyelashes. Going to sleep now. 

cocooned

It's not really necessary to get out of bed today, right? At least not until lunch time?

Our bed at home isn't bad, but this one's much superior, besides being warm and full of Lestrade and on the correct side of a locked door. I hadn't realised it was a luxury not to be jumped on by someone with small pointy elbows first thing in the morning, but it definitely is. Which doesn't stop me missing him, of course, but there you are. Human beings are contrary like that.

Hi, Sherlock. Hope you're having too much fun with your mum to be reading this. It sounded like she had some good plans for you.

Hi, Mycroft. I hope school's going well still. Maybe we can come and visit some weekend soon? We miss you.

Right, going back to sleep until L wakes up. 

visiting

Mrs Holmes told me a few days ago that, when L and I went to Bath, she'd take Sherlock to stay with her. It's a good thing all round, since Mrs Hudson finds him exhausting after more than a few hours, and with Anthea not here to help, it's really not fair to ask it of her - not that it was particularly fair before, since Anthea's security and it was never her job to make sure he brushed his teeth and went to bed on time.

Sherlock wants to bring his art things and his chemistry set and another peculiar fish to show her the skeleton and 'a real suitcase with wheels to take it all in' and his bike, and and and. The list grows ever longer.

I'm hoping I'll get to drop him off, as I've never seen her house before, not even from the street. I don't even know the address. That's strange, I suppose. Hadn't really thought about it until now.

Lestrade's doing much better. Still coughing a bit, but his breathing sounds a lot better. Sherlock looked quite disappointed when he listened with the stethoscope this morning and said they sounded almost normal. We did our best to convince him this was a good thing... 

frog ponds and e-readers

Right, clearly my next poll should be on e-readers! Apparently they're like opera; either you love them or hate them.

Mrs T is glad the frog pond project is finally getting somewhere. If nothing else, she now has a focus for all her little baby genius to concentrate on apart from actual schoolwork, something that will get them outside and likely running around madly as they stick sticks in the ground and wind string around them and create an impassable spiderweb like Sherlock did in our bedroom that time.

It will be the most impressive pond ever, and I can't wait to see everyone's drawings of it. I imagine Sherlock's rendering will have man eating plants and traps for the unwary.

Sherlock and I had lunch with L today, or L had lunch, and Sherlock had an after school snack, and I had...well, cake. This has got to stop, honestly. (L, are we running when you get home?) Sherlock is now in proud possession of a very large measuring tape from Scotland Yard, which he carried home clutched to his chest, talking about the pond the whole time.

He's just asked me if it can have piranas...and carnivorous plants.