be grateful this title is not a thyme pun

Allotment pictures. Here is a slightly sad stone frog guarding Reg's old thyme patch, which is on our side, so he says we can have it. He wants to try some new sort of thyme. So we need to pull the leaves out I expect and maybe cut it back? Need to ask him. Or get a book. Or ask you lot. Any of you gardeners? 

And here are some onions that aren't ours, for variety. Except for the thyme, our patch is pretty much just bare earth at the moment, if well dug over earth. Hopefully the pictures will improve as things start to grow. 

We're going to Longleat safari park tomorrow, which should be a lot of fun if we don't lose Sherlock in a maze or let him get devoured by a bird of prey. L's home for the whole weekend, starting today, which is lovely, especially since this is Mycroft's last weekend at home - he and Sherlock are both back to school next week and of course L's at work, and I have another interview...back to what can loosely be called normal around here. 

Also, here's this: 

 O sweet spontaneous

 O sweet spontaneous
 earth how often have
 the
 doting

           fingers of
 prurient philosophers pinched
 and
 poked

 thee
 ,has the naughty thumb
 of science prodded
 thy

       beauty      .how
 oftn have religions taken
 thee upon their scraggy knees
 squeezing and

 buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
 gods
         (but
 true

 to the incomparable
 couch of death thy
 rhythmic
 lover

           thou answerest


 them only with


                         spring)

-- e e cummings

abandoned

Royal Marines out of Afghanistan. I'm pretty happy about that. I know a couple of those guys in 40 Commando and I've patched up more than a couple. Glad to know they're coming home safe.

In totally unrelated news, the comment in my last post from Kate L about abandoned places reminded me I'd come across this:

It's an abandoned hotel in Japan. There are a lot more pictures at the site. Very interesting. He has a link at the top to more places like this that he's documented. 

L and Sherlock are making chocolate and raspberry cupcakes. L has told me I'm not to eat all of them this time, which is really not at all limiting. Five isn't all of them. Ten isn't even all of them. I'm only saying. They smell really good.

Mycroft took Sherlock to the museum today, which is the second outing they've been on alone together without any major property damage, fire, or other catastrophes. I'm very proud - I mean, really, I actually am. They don't always get along perfectly, but I'm so happy they can go out and have a good time together, especially as both of them start growing up.

I almost literally cannot believe they'll be eight and fifteen in few months. Terrifying. 

murray

So, that was Murray. I'd told him about L and the boys and life in general obviously, but not about the blogs because I knew he'd be on here in a flash with every embarrassing story about me he could think of. He was surprisingly restrained though. Not just in that but in general. I suppose it comes of being home and trying to decide what to do next. Because you can't do that sort of thing forever, no matter how...essential it feels. You have to pick when to get out, or the choice gets taken away from you.

We talked a lot, mostly in the middle of the night, so that I feel about as sleep deprived as L does after those night shifts. Yawning my head off. I'm really glad he came to visit, mockery and all.

L and Mycroft have been baking - making cherry and almond cupcakes for Nicky and her family, and banana ones for his mum. It will be a struggle not to eat them before dinner. Or instead of dinner.

For Sherlock (who's been very good today after yesterday's episode of theft, hostage-taking, and coercion into ponds) an old medical illustration with various ways of stitching wounds:

guest post

Hey, this is Murray. Sherlock says I've got to post this bat.


I guess it is pretty cool. Look at the length of that tongue. Damn. What I could do with a tongue the length of my bloody arm...anyway.

Soooo. How does this work exactly? 3C says just say stuff.  Except not that, he says. And with less swearing than usual. Right. I slept on their sofa last night. It's not bad as sofas go and I am a connoisseur of sofa sleeping. I just had to ask a seven year old how to spell that, by the way. What is my life, god. We had french toast for breakfast, that Greg's an amazing cook.

Went to see the allotment just now that Greg got Watson for his birthday, which is... I dunno. John Watson. Allotment. Not two things I would've thought went together, but he's really into it, so that's good. All their glasses match too. When did you grow up, Johnny? I only left you alone for a couple of years and nothing in your emails led me to suspect this level of adulthood although I guess getting shut down by op minimise in the middle of every other conversation made things a little weird. Started feeling like I shouldn't talk to anyone off Bastion for a while there. Like it would help or something.

Although being ancient (over forty) now I suppose matching glasses and allotments and proper jobs are age-appropriate, thank god I am still younger than you and always will be. This is bizarre, this writing thing. Makes you say things you wouldn't otherwise. Like: I'm thinking about not going back. I'll probably regret it if I don't but the way it's been since I got home, maybe there's only so much fucking over a bloke's head can take and I should stop while I'm ahead. Whatever.

Why don't I have a tag? I am giving myself a tag. 

unexpectedly exciting

L's been sent off to interview someone at HMP Frankland, which is much too far away. He'll spend the night there (not at the prison, in a hotel nearby). So will Sherlock. He was begging to go along, L and I were saying no, because where would he stay while L was doing the interview? Sherlock insisted he was old enough to stay in the hotel alone (no), and then one of the security people said his mum lived up there and he hadn't sent her an Easter card and he could go along and look after Sherlock for a few hours while L was doing the interview...

And suddenly, I was packing Sherlock an overnight bag and they were off to the train station. Sherlock was wildly excited, and there were multiple updates from the train, including one about how he could fit into the luggage rack... They're at the hotel now and asleep - at least Sherlock is, and I hope L is by now.

I think Mycroft and I are going to the Soane Museum tomorrow and maybe out to breakfast beforehand - despite having been instructed that we're not to do anything fun while Sherlock's away. It's the house he built for his family to live in but there's also a sort of fake monk's cell and yard:

Soane pretended that he had discovered the remains when digging the foundations of his new house: in medieval times, he explained, this had been the hermitage of a monk named Padre Giovanni. In fact had had assembled the ruin from pieces he had salvaged in his role as architect to the old Houses of Parliament. 

Also:

The tomb itself is is inscribed 'Alas  Poor Fanny!' as if Padre Giovanni had withdrawn into seclusion because of a broken heart. But Fanny was Mrs Soane's beloved pet dog, and its tiny coffin still lies in the Monk's Grave.

(both quotes from In Ruins, by Christopher Woodward)

He sounds like an interesting man... 

i always forget what the day after my birthday is

Early this morning - and I do mean early - L woke me up and said he had something very serious to tell me. What was it, I asked, still groggy but trying very hard to be awake and supportive and really listen rather than wonder why I'd been dreaming of giant snails.

'John,' he said. 'I think I have feelings for Anthea. She's made me discover a part of myself I never knew existed. A...[dramatic pause] heterosexual part. So I'm really sorry, but we're going to run off together and start a school for ninjas. You can enroll if you want, we'd be honoured to have you.'

Once my brain got past the initial sleepy panic and the 'feelings for Anthea(???)' part and processed the ninja school, obviously I had to pummel him with pillows until...matters were resolved.

I'm very glad I don't go out and try to drink myself into an early grave for my birthday anymore - April Fool's Day, at medical school, with a hangover, is something everyone should do their best to avoid. 

hungry like the wolf

I've been ordered upstairs to bed while L prepares something for tomorrow morning, so I'll just take this opportunity to say briefly how wonderful he is and how much I love him. And how...constantly amazed I am at my good fortune.

And I'll also post this, just in case Sherlock needs something else to occupy himself with in the morning, or more to the point, in case Mycroft and Anthea need help occupying him. The youtube channel belongs to someone who works at a natural history museum in Montana and this is the first in a series of videos in which they acquire a wolf that was hit by a car and prepare it for...display, presumably, but I haven't watched that far yet.

All this one has is a dead wolf, but the subsequent episodes are more graphic, so proceed with caution. Eventually, I believe, there will be flesh-eating beetles involved. You're welcome, Sherlock.

baggage handling

After lunch, L took me on a mystery tour of London. He said we were going to pick up one of my birthday presents...somewhere. I was surprised he didn't want me on the back of his bike so he wouldn't have to give me directions, but as it turned out, my bike was a necessary part of the proceedings, because I was getting real, rain-proof, lockable luggage for it: 

Obviously it looks better on my bike (because it's my bike), but this gives you a general idea. It's all somehow coded (magnetically? Electronically? Magically?) to open with my ignition key, which is amazing - how do criminals get by these days? Stealing things must be much more complicated - and it all fits perfectly. It's made by BMW so they ought to know how to put things on their own bikes. It'll be perfect for the FME job; I can keep all my things in it and not worry about someone wandering off with them if I turn my back for a minute, and there'll be conferences and so on I'll need to travel for (and Spider fits, I checked, although she does take up almost an entire bag on her own). It's a wonderfully thoughtful gift, and I have an amazing fiancé. 

-

On a completely different note, here's the story Sherlock wrote for school a little while ago. He asked me to post it here. 

-

reading is fundamental

Auto-complete map of the UK (it'll get bigger if you click on it):  

I particularly like 'Edinburgh is a mad god's dream'. Much more interesting than 'London is funny'. Although at least we're not hellish (Oxford) or a dump (many places, apparently), or Swansea (the graveyard of ambition, which has to be the worst of all). 

L had to be at court at what seemed like a truly unreasonable hour this morning. Surely judges don't wake up that early? But he also got out in time for Mycroft to send us both away to have lunch and leave him to finish up studying. He came with us to pick up Sherlock on the bikes afterward, and they've been getting along...slightly better than yesterday. For the most part. Until Mycroft's voice cracks a bit and Sherlock feels it necessary to make fun of him. Mycroft rises above it usually, which is more than I managed when Harry was mocking me for the same thing. 

If anyone knows where spring went, please send it our way. 

barbican

We went to the Barbican conservatory today. It was much nicer in there than it was outside. Parts of it looked like the aftermath of an apocalypse...in some more temperate country than ours.

Zombies not included, although Sherlock hid in the foliage and groaned for a while in an attempt to convince us otherwise. 

Orchids. I can't remember what kind, but they're lovely, aren't they? Made a nice change from the grey brown outside. 

Speaking of outside... 

You can picture Sherlock tearing around this very cold lake, right on the edge, despite being repeatedly told not to. I don't think even he wanted to fall in today though. Tiny bits of snow, vicious wind. Hard to believe it's almost April. 

Mycroft's guessed where L's taking us all for my birthday. He says it's obvious, given what Lestrade's said about it. I think he must mean obvious if you're a genius...or possibly obvious if you're a teenage genius, since Sherlock hasn't got it either and it's driving him mad. If he does get it, I'll be the only one in the dark, but that's all right. I'm not generally that fond of surprises, but I like all of L's, so I can wait. Probably. 

I'm so glad L's home this week. And not just because his cough still sounds like a seal. Or an asthmatic swan. Or some other animal that needs medical attention. It's nice to have him around during the day. 

dot dot dot

Sherlock's after-school art class started today. L and I both went and were forced to participate (all right, I was forced, L did it of his own accord), and I'm glad. It was fun, although I am just as terrible as I thought I would be. We did watercolours this time, which makes sense with kids this age - relatively easy to clean up.

The teacher brought in a few different flowers and some fish (yes really, dead fish) to paint. I did a sunflower...more or less. Three guesses which Sherlock picked and the first two don't count. L did a fish with a flower for its eye which I thought was nice.

And the rest of this post will basically be a letter to L, because I feel like I could've handled this last...thing...that we went through better. Not that I necessarily know how. But sometimes typing is a lot easier than talking.

So...L. I know you think that I just don't like to talk about things...until later, when we're both miserable. It's really not that.

It's more like I'm convinced the only things I can think of to say are...things I feel would not be helpful to the situation, so I don't say them, but then I can't say anything else, so I just say nothing. I get scared of making things worse. Terrified, really. Which is...not helpful in thinking of things to say.

Do you think I used enough...ellipses in that?

Anyway. I don't know if hearing any of that helps. Or potentially makes things worse. But that's what's actually going on in my head when you're thinking I don't want to talk about it. I still don't know how to not do that next time, but maybe we could think of something? Sorry. I am trying. 

a few things

Neverwhere, by Neil Gaiman, has been done as a radio drama, and first episode is available. It actually says it will be available soon, but it was available a few hours ago, because I listened to it. So, not sure what's going on, but I imagine it'll be back shortly. It has that guy from Cabin Pressure in it, and Christopher Lee, Bernard Cribbins, Tony Head, and a number of other impressive people.

I thought this was really nice, and practical:

whitstable

L has the day off tomorrow. I asked where he wanted to go, and he said how about Whitstable, and now we both have this song stuck in our heads. Maybe forever.




We will be buying vegetables while we're there, obviously.

that's why we don't hug kale

At the supermarket a few days ago, I saw a little girl and her mother. The girl, about four, was helping unload things. Her mother handed her some kale, and she hugged it, which was rather sweet, but caused it to slip out of its plastic bag and land on the floor. Her mum helped her get it back in the bag, and then said, And that's why we don't hug kale.

I have a feeling some of the conversations around their house may rival ours for oddness.

Caves full of massive crystals, near Chihuahua, Mexico

Sherlock brought his bloodstain pattern book to school today, which in retrospect was perhaps not the best idea. I didn't even think of it this morning when he asked, but Mrs N had words with me after school. Though apparently the problem was more that the kids found it fascinating than that anyone was upset by it. Some of their parents may not appreciate it.

His parents evening is tomorrow, and while it won't go quite as smoothly as Mycroft's, I don't think we have any unpleasant surprises in store. It does make me feel slightly sorry for my own parents though, thinking of them going to these things for Harry and I. Getting told Harry was smoking or leaving school after lunch and not coming back, or that I was starting fights again (which wasn't true, I never started them). It's like Judgement Day.

I've also got another interview coming up, speaking of judgement. Wish me luck. 

home alone

L and I had a very nice day (helped along by the fact that England won the rugby). I lazed about, he cooked, neither of us got much accomplished. We rang our mums, which went all right. We ate, watched the match, I dozed on him... Perfect, really.

Mrs Holmes picked up the boys this morning fairly early. Sherlock had a giant sparkly card for her, and Mycroft had a less sparkly one, and they had their respective instruments because they'd planned a duet for her on guitar and violin. L got a text from Mycroft saying it went well, and I got seven from Sherlock - a sort of play by play.

She's taking Mycroft back to school tonight, and Sherlock's staying the night with her. L's just been called out. I am, for once, alone - although not really, because Mrs Hudson is downstairs, and there's someone down in security all the time now I think since we had that break in. And, of course, two enormous hounds, to be picked up by Anthea tomorrow and return to Harrow with her. And two degus, who I need to feed, and a partridge in a pear tree (no, Sherlock, no partridges. or pear trees). And to think now that's my definition of alone...

I prefer it this way though. I think part of what disconcerted me so much about being out of the army was going from four in a room (or 30 in a tent) to just me, not even a plant. I'm glad it's not like that for most people when they come home.

fulgurite

L sent me this picture of fulgurite, which looks amazingly like a dragon about to eat someone. It's made when lightning strikes sand and fuses parts of it together. 

Quite a lot happened yesterday. Today. Depending on how you look at it. Mycroft's parents' evening went pretty well. All of his teachers had nice things to say about him. I tried to pay attention and ask useful questions, although how useful anything I had to say would really be is debatable. I mean, it's different at Sherlock's school, but I don't really think Harrow takes anything any of the parents say all too seriously. 

L claimed to be nervous, but looked suave and cool, if slightly damp from the ride. He made it extremely difficult to focus on what everyone was saying. Mrs H looked like she was trying not to scare anyone, which I must say is not her usual look and does not come naturally to her. She's very charming when she wants to be though. 

Afterward, we got to take Mycroft home...into the sugar-fueled disaster zone of hurricanes Sherlock and Harry. They made a batch of cupcakes with edible glitter. Mrs Hudson got two. Mycroft got one. L and I got none. The entire batch of cupcakes was gone before dinner. I don't know how Sherlock and Harry didn't explode, but a walk afterwards was necessary. 

Things happened. Harry is now apparently planning L's stag do. I am sensibly terrified. 

Woke up around three and had a chat with Harry, who was sleeping on our couch. It was...good. We'll probably never be close the way L and Nicky are, but maybe we can do better than we have been. 

car punching

I had another interview yesterday, with Dr B, who thankfully did not google me. He was a bit older and called my phone an infernal device, so I have a feeling google is not top of his list for information sources. He's been doing this a long time though and had some interesting stories. Not sure we're going to suit though. I suspect if he had read the blogs, he wouldn't have approved.

Today, lunch in the park with Lestrade, who could speak and was not wheezing, so that was lovely. Beautiful day.

On the way to pick up Sherlock, I saw someone get cut up in traffic. He started shouting at the man who'd done it and got out of his car at the next light. I thought there might be trouble, which...I suppose there was. Of a sort. He walked up, punched the other man's car, got back in his own, and drove away when the light turned green. He made no impact on the car. I hope he didn't break anything in his hand.

I also looked at more wedding bands.

It's white gold, and the centre bit rotates. Does that make sense? The raised part is not attached to the inner part, so they sort of spin around each other, but they're still connected. There's an animation showing it on the site, but you can only really see it with the one with the diamond in. Anyway, I thought it was nice. Unusual. 

souffle success

I made this. It...worked? Bit dense maybe? I don't have extensive souffle eating experience, so it's hard to judge, but Sherlock ate two of them, so it must've not been too bad. It was actually a pretty simple recipe. It made six, so Mrs Hudson got one, and security got the other. Hopefully they shared and didn't go for a fight to death or anything. They're more used to L's desserts, which are worth fighting over. Hopefully this has erased the shame of the cheese and vinegar incident from everyone's mind.

And here's a tiny bat for Sherlock (and everyone else who wants one):

Lestrade's feeling better, which is wonderful. Sherlock's not even fake-coughing, despite school tomorrow. There was sun today and it looks like there might even be more tomorrow. Things are looking up...and I'm reading about tasers. Or, really, TASERs, since it's an acronym. There's an entire chapter on them in Clinical Forensic Medicine.  Apparently the man who invented them named them after his favourite character: Tom A. Swift and his Electric Rifle (TASER). So, there's something I'm willing to bet most of you didn't know. And will never have occasion to use now that you do know it. 

slow day

Harry sent me a link to this article: We Found Our Son on the Subway. Lovely. You couldn't get away with writing this sort of thing in fiction; everyone would call it unrealistic. I kept expecting something awful to happen as I was reading through it and was very pleasantly surprised. I am so happy for them. And glad to live in a world where things like this are, occasionally, possible.

Lestrade's still ill. Sherlock, thankfully, is not, though he tried coughing and looking pathetic this morning in case I'd let him stay home from school. He couldn't maintain it though. He has too much energy to pretend effectively; it breaks out and suddenly he's jumping up and down on the sofa and singing about orange juice.

Lestrade is looking wan and pale without any effort at all, but I think feeling slightly better today, judging by his slightly renewed interest in coffee. He's mostly been on the sofa with a duvet and an endless supply of case files and autopsy reports. There are so many that I literally don't know how he got them home with them. I think the interior of his bag may be a Tardis. The coughing at night is the worst part, but at least he's had some rest today.

I've been making him tea and reading my new book, Clinical Forensic Medicine: A Physician's Guide. Not an exciting day, but there you are. How are you all doing? 

perils of the internet

I met with one of the people on my interview list today. We were scheduled to meet next week, but she had some time and called to ask if I were free, so we had lunch. She seems nice. We chatted for a while. And then she admitted that she'd googled me. And found the blogs. And I felt as if I'd showed up to the meeting in nothing but my pants.

So. That was interesting. I suppose I have to assume that people are going to do that. I'm lucky Sarah didn't, really. Although in a way, it might save a lot of time. If someone doesn't want to meet me after reading the blogs, I wouldn't have wanted to work with them anyway, so there's that.

Dr A (not even her actual initial; I'm calling them A, B, C etc for now) seemed fine with the madhouse that is my life and said she might even keep reading, at least until we get Sherlock bone-chandelier up, because she wants to see how it turns out. (So, if you're reading this...hello.)

It's an odd feeling. Partly because I'm used to presenting a professional front, but also partly because until L and the boys, there hasn't been all that much that... You know, even as I type that sentence, I realise it's not true. If I'd been keeping a blog in my thirties...probably anyone reading it would've thought I was writing fiction. Anyway. Odd day. 

narwhals and interviews

Narwhals:

I'm reading The Mauritius Command, and sometimes Sherlock perches on the back of the sofa and reads bits over my shoulder. The bit he read today was a scene in which a captain under Aubrey's command is convinced he has a unicorn's horn. It's really a narwhal tusk, which caused Sherlock to interrogate me for my scanty knowledge of narwhals (mid-sized whale, has an enormous tusk, lives in the Arctic), which was obviously not enough to satisfy him, so we looked on the internet for a while and found, among other things, the above picture. 

Before Sherlock got home, I called a few of the people on the list I got from the course to set up interviews for a potential...mentor? Supervisor? Both, I suppose. And instructor, since they're meant to sign off on me and attest to my general competence to do the job on my own after a few months. 

I called five people and got three interviews out of it. The first man said he was retiring soon and wasn't prepared to train anyone, and the third said he was moving to Ulan Bator in three weeks. I wish I'd thought to ask why. I really want to know now, despite it being quite obviously none of my business. I thought about going there to teach English for a while. 

Anyway, I'll let you know how the interviews go, and of course even if someone takes me on, it's no guarantee of employment. Just have to wait and see how it all turns out. Even if I don't get work right away, I might start looking at the requirements for the DMJ (diploma of medical jurisprudence). I think it'd be interesting. 

-

Aaaand apparently Sherlock is the proud owner of a giant purple sparkly bone, which we need to pick up tomorrow. The things that happen when I leave town for a week... 

wedding day

We're just back from Jo and Lisa's wedding. Sherlock fell asleep while we were still there and has been put to bed without waking enough to do more than grumble that he wasn't tired at all before dropping off again. Mycroft has retired to his room to be alone and hopefully get some sleep as well. He was, as always, a perfect gentleman, and must've danced with at least five little girls under the age of six, which takes fortitude.

I got to dance with L, which was lovely, and gave me some hope for our wedding, since I managed not to trip over either his feet or my own. Didn't even feel like I would, which I'll give him the credit for.

During the course of the evening, L managed to balance on my head a veil, a flower from the cake (the cake was delicious, by the way), and a button someone had lost. That's just the things I know about, of course. I dread to think what he'll manage for our own wedding.

And of course we got to hear him play. It was beautiful, no other word for it. Such a depth of feeling, too. I wish you could've heard it. I was, and am, ridiculously proud of him, and I know it made Jo and Lisa very happy, you could see it all over their faces.

avebury

After talking about it for only two years or so, we finally made it to Avebury today. Lovely day, if chilly. We had a picnic, Mycroft and Sherlock and the dogs played tag, Sherlock tried (unsuccessfully) to climb ancient stones that were as unconcerned about him as they have been about generations of children doing the same while their parents' backs are turned for two seconds. He said he would've managed it with both arms full functioning.

I was a little worried about the dogs and the sheep, but they were both very good (the dogs and the sheep, that is). The dogs watched with fascination and lolling tongues, and the sheep wisely kept their distance, drifting away whenever we got too near. They had more trouble from Sherlock, who wanted to touch one, and kept trying to creep up them. Frustrating for him, endlessly entertaining for the rest of us.

I have no pictures for you, sorry. It seemed like the sort of day that didn't really require cameras or phones, except for a few pictures of the boys to send to their mum, because I try to do that most days. Here's someone else's photo though, which is much nicer than mine would be anyway.

Failed success by Esen Tunar

Also, here's a video about how ice flakes are formed, courtesy of Innie. I'm sure Sherlock will be snow mad once again when he sees it.


And now, a second attempt at sleep. Good night, everyone. 

city lights

A shot from the Met helicopter that L sent me: 

Our house is down there somewhere...

Beautiful, isn't it? Night shots of city lights always are. It's hard to imagine the entire planet dark the way it was really not very long ago at all. I wonder if any light source people could make prior to electricity would show up from space. Or helicopters. Alien helicopters, obviously, since we sort of needed electricity to... I'll just stop there.

The boys and I have been out enjoying the city while L slaves away at his desk, although Sherlock desperately wants to stop by in his continuing quest to get every single person on Earth to sign his cast. We might at least drag L away for coffee if he's not too busy.

One of the things we got at the end of the course was a list of names of FMEs (or FPs or FMOs or one of the other many acronyms that have been/are being used to describe this job) currently working in our home cities who are willing to supervise trainees - that would be us - for the first six months or so. The idea is that we call a few, set up interviews, and find someone we work well with. After we start working, we get to call them if we have questions, and they look over our cases, things like that, to make sure we're doing what we're supposed to be doing, and then, eventually, they sign off on us, and we're on our own.

So that's the next step. I'll look into it soon, but not until after the boys are back at school probably. Hopefully I can do the interviews while Sherlock's at school so I won't need to bother Mrs Hudson. 

sofa

Sherlock came and woke me up about half an hour ago. I got him some water, and now we're on the sofa. He's asleep again, sort of draped over me like a small, warm, bony blanket, with his arm propped carefully on cushions. My computer's balanced precariously on the back of the sofa, so this is probably not going to be a long post.

The course was good, despite the lack of decent tea. I didn't sleep well without L's freezing cold feet and his... Well. Just without him, I suppose. It's easier to remember where you are when you wake up in your own bedroom next to someone you love than it is when you wake up in an empty hotel room. This was the first time I've been away on my own since I met him and the boys, and it was strange to see how much I've changed. Even the concept of having a home is unfamiliar, at least since I left my parent's house, and missing it - not just the people in it but the physical place - is a first.

Got home around 7.30, locked the bike up, got hit in the midsection by a Sherlock-shaped torpedo and grabbed as tightly as he could managed with only one arm. There was some sniffling when I picked him up and he told me all about it (for the second time, because of course he told me on skype as well, but that's not the same) while Lestrade and Mycroft came to hug me slightly more gently and help me get my things upstairs.

Tea, biscuits, curry, my favourite people, two large slobbery dogs...a good homecoming.

I'll leave you with some valuable information from the course. One of the things we covered was 'demeanor in court', on which our instructor had this to say:

Consider carefully the proposed response prior to putting one's mouth into gear.

I liked it so much I wrote it down verbatim. I don't think there's any area of life that couldn't apply to. 

forensic romance

The course continues. Still interesting. Still a lot to take in, and I feel like I ought to be remembering everything, which is obviously impossible when someone's talking to you from eight in the morning till five in the afternoon. That's what notes are for, of course, and I haven't taken this many since medical school. It's like a week-long flashback. Leaves my brain a bit fried at the end of the day. 

Tonight I looked up one of the historical records the instructor mentioned on Monday:

On the Uncertainty of the Signs of Murder in the Case of Bastard Children, by William Hunter, 1818

That is, it concerns children born out of wedlock being killed, not murders done by bastards. It makes for fairly unpleasant, if interesting, reading, especially once you get past the introduction and read about the individual cases. 

birmingham

Want to help name Pluto's moons? (Who wouldn't want to help name Pluto's moons?)

Anyway, I'm in Birmingham. This is the picture I sent Sherlock and L last night of my hotel room.

Unexciting hotel room

spider legs

3D fractals

There's a lot more of them at that link. They look like whole alien worlds. Just amazing.

Well...let's see. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. Sherlock has helped me pack twice so far. I've removed:

• his book on mummies (interesting, but not exactly a good size to fit in a smallish bag)
• a container of black glitter
• three kinds of gum, including the nicotine variety
• two kinds of tea (a nice thought, but I'm reasonably sure they still have tea in Birmingham) 
• a small, plastic fish
• four pressed leaves
• a candle
• a book on bees
• a carrot
• L's uniform hat

I'll leave it up to you to decide which is the most inexplicable. It's either the carrot or the hat, for me. Spider is going to be the most difficult, I think. Her legs stick out no matter what I do. I hope whoever cleans the room at the hotel isn't bothered by spiders. 

Things I am taking include, boringly, clothes, The Mauritius Command, laptop, toothbrush, etc. Trying to decide if I can get away with wearing boots most of the time, because I can fit normal shoes or trainers, but not both. I'll probably go with the trainers and then not run the entire time I'm there. That's always the way it goes, isn't it? No? Just me? Right. 

Sherlock says he has a surprise planned for me while I'm gone... He also says L approved it, so I am extremely curious and only mildly concerned. 

maze

"Almost 30 years ago a Japanese custodian sat in front of a large A1 size sheet of white paper, whipped out a pen and started drawing the beginnings of a diabolically complex maze..."

More about the maze at the link in the caption. I'm resisting the urge to call it amazing. Apparently I'm not resisting it very well though. I hope they decide to do prints of it because Sherlock already wants one. As a stopgap measure, he's drawing his own. I'm pretty sure his has more traps, pools of lava, and buried treasure than the original does. 

I got in touch with a couple of people I know in Birmingham and in theory we'll get together while I'm there. One of them is married to a woman I used to date. Don't know if he plans on bringing her along or how awkward that will prove to be if he does. Hopefully not too bad. She threw a teacup when she broke up with me, but if she'd wanted to hit me with it, she probably would've. 

Sherlock and I are cooking dinner tonight. What did he pick for the vegetable? Broccoli. 

voyager

Stardust from PostPanic, a short film about Voyager I. I originally thought of Mycroft when I saw this, but I'm not sure how much he's going to like it, given it's mostly computer generated and not real footage. It is beautiful though. 

So. I am signed up for the FME course in Birmingham. It starts one week from today. I'll leave the night before, mostly because it starts early enough that I'd have to be on the road long before I prefer to even be conscious to make it in time, but also because I think saying goodbye to Sherlock before he has to leave for school would be disastrous. At least this way he'll have Sunday evening with L to get used to the idea and make biscuits or something. 

No, to make mango eggs, he's just told me. (Hope you're prepared, L...) He also says he'll be fine and he's very very grown up now and won't miss me at all and what day am I getting back? If only all it took not to miss people was being grown up. 

Seeing Birmingham again will be a bit strange. The last time I was there, I was a patient at Selly Oak, I think very shortly before they started moving it all to the new Queen Elizabeth Hospital. The time before that I was visiting someone there, and the time before that I worked there for a little while before I was sent to Kosovo. I gather they're turning the site of the old hospital into some sort of residential area? I'd like to see it though, if anything's still there. 

artistic and other sorts of doom

I talked to Mrs N today about the possible painting class. She said they might start it as soon as March, and that Lestrade was so very kind to have volunteered to help out... I told her I wasn't sure how often he'd actually be able to do it since he's usually at work at that time...and she said she was sure I could fill in for him when he couldn't make it. She's tricky. You've got to watch her all the time or, apparently, you end up covered in small painty fingerprints.

I skipped krav maga yesterday to go with L to visit his mum (which was good, I think, in that she seems more or less resigned to my existence now?) so I went today. The instructor likes to demonstrate on me because, he says, it's important not to rely too much on body mass. Which I think is perilously close to a short joke, though I won't call him on it, because he's a bit terrifying. So I'm once again lightly bruised in various places, but it feels good to work my body that hard. It's a good class.

There are two upcoming FME courses, one in Birmingham and one in Manchester. One's quite soon, starts the 11th I believe, and the other's in early March. Lestrade, any preferences?