it distresses us to return work which is not perfect

“Many years ago I sent an old, beloved jacket to a cleaner, the Sycamore Cleaners. It was a leather jacket covered in Guinness and blood and marmalade, one of those jobs … and it came back with a little note pinned to it, and on the note it said, ‘It distresses us to return work which is not perfect.’ So that will do for me. That can go on my tombstone.”

--Peter O’Toole

Apart from being a wonderful quote and a rather wonderful thing to potentially have on one's tombstone, his description of the jacket reminds me very much of L's. Blood and Guinness and marmalade... He'd probably blame me for the marmalade. 

Well. That was a very full weekend. Seems like it's been about a week since Friday. Sherlock's play was...sort of a cross between Noah's ark, minus Noah...and minus the ark...with something about the environment and climate change thrown in? I think. There was definitely a flood, at any rate. And at the end when the crops were growing properly again and not flooded out or dried up, all the carrots got up and danced around. As they do. It was great. 

Nicky and her family came to visit, and Mycroft and Carla got to go off by themselves for a while, so I assume Mycroft is currently winning the battle he's waging with his mum. Either that or she's told the security people to especially sneaky, but I think Mycroft would spot them. He's had a lot of practice. The dogs went with them. I'm not sure how much good they'd actually be if something happened, but they're certainly intimidating. 

He and Carla each got one tree decoration while they were out, and now Sherlock is mad for all of us to go out and get ours as well. We're behind on his Christmas schedule, apparently....

something from outer space

Found an article online today with the most amazing pictures, of which the photo above is one. Want to guess what it is? Looks a bit like something from outer space, I thought.

Anyway, once you've considered, you can check out the article and see how close you got.

Mycroft and I went to the Tate Modern today and saw this, among other things. There's also an exhibit coming in April that looks interesting...like it's made out of fluorescent tubes or something. I probably should've read about it, but I didn't, so that's the best I can do.

We picked up Sherlock from school, and he fluctuated between grump and excited and grumpily excited...with a side order of excitedly grumpy. His play is tomorrow, and L has just put the finishing touches on his thundercloud costume. He's also working tomorrow. Sherlock spent a large part of the evening trying to get L to promise to be there, with L explaining over and over that it might not be possible. A contract signed in blood was mentioned, and I had to intervene.

Mycroft is menu planning for Nicky and Co.'s impending visit...I think wasabi mashed potatoes sound amazing. L and Sherlock are less convinced. 

here

Well, we're here! We've been here a little while, actually, but we were a bit busy for blog updates. This is where we're staying: 

It's a beautiful place. There was champagne in the room when we got there, and there's also this:

And it's really just...lovely and quiet and peaceful. It's so nice to spend time alone with my husband and not have to worry about homework or bedtimes or who ate all of whose chocolates without telling who or what the dogs might or might not have eaten (they can't possibly have eaten an entire scarf, can they? It was five feet long...). And just have time to talk and lie about and leave dinner until the last minute because there's only us to organise.

In other news, I've been asked to start doing two shifts a week at work after the new year. I'm not sure it's fair to Mrs Hudson, or to Sherlock. It's not so bad when they're at night, or on L's days off...but then I don't get to see him on his days off, and I know he hates it when I work nights. Just not sure it's worth it, but I'm still thinking about it. 

wormsign the likes of which...

The wreath is complete. It has tinsel and glitter and various baubles and bits of old computer circuits on it. He's also made Murray one wrapped with bandages with some fake blood on and a drawing of a skull stapled to it. Murray is delighted and wants to hang it up at work...I feel this may end poorly for him. 

L sent me this: Australia has  nine foot long earthworms. I mean, of course it's Australia. Where else would it be? Picture behind the page break thing in case anyone is horrified by enormous worms. Lots more at the link.

till time and times are done

Mrs Hudson has just been up to have me try on something she's making for L for Christmas... Should be interesting.

This is our last Mycroftless weekend for a while - he's home on the 6th, although their mum called today to say she might take them on a trip if L and I going away somewhere, which would be lovely for everyone, especially Mrs Hudson, who will probably be thankful for a little peace and quiet by then. It's funny how we always think the flat feels so empty when Mycroft leaves, when of course it is - there's double the number of living beings in the flat, and the dogs count for two people each in terms of chaos. Or about 13 degus each. Whichever unit of measurement you prefer.

Plus Anthea, of course, but she's a sort of...chaos sink (like a heat sink for chaos). Everyone's better behaved with her around. Especially security. I suspect them of telling urban legends about her while she's away.

I've promised Sherlock we can go and buy tinsel tomorrow. I'll let you know if I survive, but at least it'll get us out of the flat so L can get some rest. Right now, Sherlock's online researching Christmas traditions. I've already had to veto the one about actual candles on the tree.

Did any of you actually go out and shop on Black Friday? Got your Christmas shopping done yet? Ready to hide under the bed and wait till the holidays are over? 

three years

L and I went out for dinner last night, a nice Italian place. He says I smile indulgently at him when he speaks Italian to the waiters, but I don't think that's indulgence he's seeing.

We talked a lot about the fact that it's been three years since we met, and most of the conversations went like this:

Can you believe it's been that long? 

I know, it seems strange. Do you remember how small Sherlock was?

And Mycroft was only 12! 

We must've said those lines, or approximations of, at least five times in the past few days. It doesn't get any less strange. And yet, three years isn't really that long. I was in Afghanistan longer than that. Half the time, it dragged by and it seemed like I'd been there forever, and half the time it seemed like nothing at all, but that was more dependent on what was happening.

This...seems like a whole other life. One that I'm still astonished and grateful for, daily. 

shirt full of mushrooms

I saw a man today with a shirt full of mushrooms. He was holding the bottom of it out in front of him to make a little basket for all of them. I don't know what sort - he was moving fast, and I didn't get a good look. Might not have been able to tell if I had. Brown and dirty is the best I can do. He passed me on the street, muttering something about 'thieving bastards'. I assume he didn't mean the mushrooms themselves, but who knows.

When I told Sherlock this after school, he wanted to know why I hadn't stopped him and asked him what he was doing with a shirt full of mushrooms. I don't think he would've taken well to being stopped and questioned, frankly.

Post-mushroom-man, I met L for lunch. It was lovely to have him out of work early, and we went to a nice Vietnamese place. Banana fritters and honey-gringer ice cream for dessert. And then home, briefly, before it was time to pick up Sherlock.

I just talked to Mycroft, who apparently spent the last hour on the phone to his mum, trying to explain that she can't keep having him followed around by security for the rest of his life... I think she disagrees. The next few months should be interesting. 

nothing but the night

We had a good day today (despite the subject line). Went to the off road place. Sherlock and Mycroft are doing really well and came out on the trail with us for a while. It's hard to believe Mycroft will be able to get his own bike soon if he wants to. I suppose it makes sense than time seems to go faster when you're older, since any given amount of time is proportionally less of your life, but even so, the pace at which this year has gone by seems a bit ridiculous. 

This weekend, in particular, was a blur, and Mycroft is back at school already. He and Anthea seem to be engaged in some sort of war in which he tries to work out her birthday and she smiles serenely like he hasn't got a prayer. Since I assume he'd need her real name to find out her birthday, and since I assume that information only exists on some top secret computer somewhere, I'm...slightly concerned. But he assured me he wouldn't do anything illegal because 'that would be cheating'. 

I've been thinking, as I know L has, about the boy who died on Friday and inevitably about people I haven't been able to save. About how many people will go their whole lives without watching someone die. About how Sherlock and Mycroft have already seen that and the ways I know it's affected them. No real conclusions. Just a lot of think about. 

greg the florist: aconitum

The next morning, Greg cooked eggs and bacon for breakfast. John sat in the warm kitchen, sipped tea, smelled the familiar scents of cooking, and still couldn't shake the thought that it'd been more than a dream. He could feel the fur and the hot breath on his neck. 

After breakfast, they walked along the edge of the property, past a lake, a crumbling stone tower, and through a forest where the trees wove so closely together than they almost blocked out the sun.  

"It goes on for miles," Greg said. "I was looking at the maps. If they're still right, at least. Some of it might've been sold off. Maybe I should sell some of it off."

"Don't do that," John said, before he could stop himself. "Sorry. I know it's your place. But it's just… It's amazing here. And if you sold it, anything might happen to it."

"Might have to at some point, if we really do get all the repairs done." Greg grinned. "But since we can't get anyone to come and do the work anyway, we're fine for now, right?"

"I tried the next town over. They're all 'busy' as well." He stopped short. "We should look at the library, right? If everyone thinks this place is cursed, there must be something about it in there. There's a whole stack of leather bound journals and letters and things."

"You think one of them's going to be along the lines of Dear Aunt Milly, I hear you are cursed and there may be demons inhabiting your house and/or person, what can we do to help? Love, John?"

"There might be! At least it's something to look for. Something to do."

"Yeah, all right. You go on, I'm just going up to the point there." He nodded to a jut of rock that stuck out into the lake. "I'll be back in time to drag you out of the books before lunch."

John didn't like it, but there wasn't any logic behind the sharp tug of worry in the back of his brain. It was the middle of the day. All Greg had to do to get back was follow the shoreline.

"Okay. Just...be careful."

"I promise not to get eaten by trees. Go on."

It took the best part of an hour to walk back, and he went directly to the library, and to the journals. He picked one up at random and flipped through it. It was a woman's handwriting, but there was no name inside the cover. Most of the entries concerned the management of the estate, but pressed leaves and flowers also made their way between the pages, labeled with common and scientific names and with the location in the forest where she'd found them.

The book ended abruptly with a faded blue flower. This one had no name. The text under it was a quick scrawl that took some effort to decipher. It read: Georgiana found it near the point. I hope to God it's not all starting up again.

snail races

I keep meaning to collect all the Greg the Florist posts and put them on a page so I don't have to look up the last post every time I try to do more...but that's not going to happen today.

We've just been to the allotment. Do snails hibernate in winter? I think they do. At least, you never see them, so I presume they're doing the snail equivalent of staying home with a hot cup of tea. It must not be cold enough yet, because Sherlock found two of them that were lively enough for a snail race.

You can't count of snails to follow a race track, of course, so he raced them consecutively and measured the distance each one went...in five minutes. Which is more patience for watching a snail crawl than I would've had. Or in fact than I did have. I think I wandered off to pull carrots halfway into the second heat. He wants you to know that the second one won, and that he thinks the viscosity of their mucous may be related to their speed.

We now have carrots (and chard), tomatoes (and chard), and some more small pumpkins (and...chard). The tomatoes are stubborn, hanging on in the greenhouse and ripening while their vines die off. The chard is just unnatural, and I expect to see a news report on it any day now. 

clarity

Here's someone who's embedded body monitoring technology under his skin. 

The article seems to say it only monitors body temperature, which makes one wonder...why he bothered? Proof of concept, I suppose. Still, interesting.

Sherlock's done very well at school and got a sticker in his book - not just academically, but he's done well in getting along with the other students and listening to Mrs N too, which is wonderful, and we're very proud of him. We're planning a trip to the bike place when Mycroft comes home, partly as a reward for him. I imagine he'll also get cake. Between L and Mrs H, cake is inevitable. ;)

The football has gone well...there maybe have been some dancing around the room. It's been a good day, despite the weather.

Sherlock was sitting on L's shoulders last night, watching the fireworks, and when I glanced at them, they were both looking up at the sky with the exact same expression. There's something about the tail end of summer that seems to drag on and on, until you've hit the middle of October and still feel it with you. Maybe it's just me, but the air seems clearer now. 

fireworks forever

Sherlock's mum took him out for the day on Saturday, and I was on call. I'm still not quite sure about everything they did because he told me all of it at top speed when my brain was only functioning at half speed, but I understand there were toffee apples, ice cream, dinner out somewhere 'with tablecloths' (not a huge distinguishing feature, but it does let out a few places), and FIREWORKS. He said it in all caps, trust me.

I didn't have nearly as good a time. FME works rarely features ice cream or fireworks, although there was a tablecloth involved at one point, and a small cat with very sharp claws. The cat is fine. The tablecloth and the officer involved, less so. I was out from about eight to eight, and L made me a lovely dinner when he got home, even though he'd been working just as long as I had.

At some point, I took this:

bats and pumpkins

As it turned out, there was no sanctioned dressing up at school today. Sherlock just wanted to be a bat. We told him no. Or, Greg told him no. I was going to say yes because what could it hurt, but it was pointed out that if one boy showed up dressed as a bat and no one else got to have costumes, it might be a tiny bit disruptive. Sometimes I forget things like this. 

He was a pretend (sulky) bat all the way to school nevertheless, but Mrs N said he didn't give her any trouble once he got there. After school, he was an improvised bat, with dark trousers and a large, flappy black hoodie of L's. 

And then...pumpkin carving. Enormous knives, flailing limbs, potential loss of life or eyeballs. Sherlock and L carved, and I started sorting the seeds from the pumpkin guts, which is genuinely one of the most disgusting things I've ever done and I should've worn gloves. It's the way your skin gets afterwards when it starts to dry on you, like it's sucked all the moisture from your fingers and coated them in an impenetrable shield of water repellent so you can't wash it off. 

But in the end, triumph: 

fallen

Sherlock and I found some good trees today. Here's one:

And Mycroft sent me this site where you can help piece back together an engraved Pictish stone: 

http://pictishpuzzle.co.uk/

I might need more time or patience than I actually have to make any progress, but I like the idea.

Today included laundry, shopping, hot chocolate with Sherlock who helped me fold a multitude of socks afterward, and a pumpkin delivery. Reg brought over the one he'd promised Sherlock in person, and Mrs H gave him tea. We were not invited. ;)

While looking for fallen trees, we also saw a set of three pumpkins stacked up like a snowman, with a stick arm holding a pumpkin head with the guts trailing out of it to the ground. Should've got a picture. 

it is very very early

Lestrade left around three to go and knock down someone's door. I didn't really get back to sleep. Too busy worrying about how it might go wrong, as if that ever helped anyone.

Sherlock woke up a little while ago and came to look for me in our room. He found me in the kitchen making tea and accused me of plotting to go with L and have fun without him. If only...

We've just watched this:



And I'm trying to convince him that Mycroft almost definitely does not want to join us on a pre-dawn stroll. He's made the point that the dogs definitely would, but I think Mycroft getting a full night's sleep trumps the dogs' constant need to smell things and then pee on them.

We'll go and get some sort of breakfast...something for everyone if anything's open this early and then come home and make tea before we disturb the hounds.

Greg, I hope your op went well, or is going well, and that you get everything you're looking for out of it. And let me know if you want anything while we're out. I love you. 

14 seconds

L came up with this fact for me today: in Britain, an ambulance is called to someone suffering the effects of alcohol every 14 seconds. Between my training and now the FME work, I think I've seen at least half of them. I realise that's not remotely possible, but trust me, it feels like it. 

Our allotment has tiny pumpkins. You could wear one as a very small hat, or perhaps carry one around in each hand if you wanted to look festive? I suppose you might, if you had very small hands, try to carve one, which is exactly what Sherlock wants to do, even though Reg has promised him one of his, which are a more reasonable size. (Obviously, he wants to carve that one, too. I think his end goal is to fill the flat with orange, staring faces so that one night, when one of us comes home late, there will be some sort of Pumpkin Incident.) 

Mycroft is on an overnight trip with his astronomy group and so will be a day late coming home for half term - but then we've got him all week, which we're all looking forward to. We might try some more museum roulette. Mycroft said his friend had improved the app and added a few more museums. Should be a good time. I have no idea how this year is going so fast though. Currently trying not to think about it. 

work

I was called out to a domestic violence incident last night. It was painful. All you can do is patch up wounds and hope justice will be done at some point, and know that even if it is, it won't undo the damage.

And the next one involved a pipe stem jammed somewhere you wouldn't want a pipe stem to go. I'm certainly getting a broader set of experiences in this job than I expected.

I got home very late/early. Lestrade had made tea for us and then fallen asleep balancing his on his chest. I had to wake him very carefully. It's just so nice... Well, beyond nice really. Amazing to have someone to come home to after a night like that. 

long gone

I can't believe how fast the week went, and I seem to mean that literally, the way I keep checking to make sure it's really Saturday. Apart from the bike place, we didn't do anything that exciting - mostly long wandering walks, cooking, talking, hottubbing (I'm sorry, Mycroft, I know how you feel about verbing nouns...), and keeping clear of the wild fowl watching us ominously from the pond.

Yesterday from picking up Sherlock to bedtime, I don't think he stopped talking once - clearly he had a much more exciting time than we did! No one burned down the city. L's back to work tomorrow, and I'm back to work tomorrow night and Tuesday daytime, so that'll be interesting.

Here's Sherlock's chocolate spider (which really looks like half an egg in a Halloween costume if you ask me...)

did you miss me??

Hey, it's Murray. I have two things to show you and John's password, so let's gets started. Public service announcement: using your sister's cat's name as a password only keeps out actual hackers, so if that's what you're using, I can only assume you want me to post on your blog.

Gay Flamingos Adopt Abandoned Chick Sherlock gave me this one when I said I was doing a post and it's a nice article that I have just one problem with and that problem is the following unexplained phrase: can feed their chick without any female help, by producing milk in their throat. They can do what now?? How do you type a sentence like that and then not explain it? Is it just me, can all you blokes out there (by blokes maybe I just mean flamingos?) produce milk in your throat? Because let me tell you, that is not a skill I have. Although I can see how it might come in handy in certain situations.

Number two is this: 9,000 Human Sand Silhouettes Serve as a Reminder of D-Day

It's...quite an undertaking. Yeah, don't know what else to say about that really. 

Because I know you are all dying to catch up on my fascinating life I will tell you that I've got an A&E job in a London hospital and won't tell you which one in case you come and stalk me, although if you're single and want to stalk me for romantic purposes, I'd probably be up for that, let me know. Just don't tell Watson, he's a little protective of you lot. 

What else... I'm taking Sherlock and Mrs Hudson out for dinner tomorrow night, don't know where yet. Recommendations? 

we're here because we're here

We have biked, we have settled in, bought food, made dinner - L did that last one, I chopped things and distracted him. It's a wonderful place. Just...quiet and all on our own and generally perfect. View of a little pond from the hot tub on the deck. Have some pictures.

Inside:

Outside:

And the bike place:

It was great, but we don't usually do that sort of riding, and I am sore in a new and exciting variety of places and glad I have the week to recover. I'd definitely do it again though. Well, I say that now. Tomorrow may be a different story once I've set up, but I imagine the hot tub will help a lot. 

in the electric dusk

Here, have a small frog. The pond at Sherlock's school is full of them, in varying sizes from about half the size of this one to two or three times his size. Or her size. I have no idea how to tell male frogs from female frogs.

so far

L is working again tonight. Sherlock is overflowing with the desire to join him. I told him to wait in his room and I'd make him an obstacle course, which I have done and will probably regret. And if I don't, Mrs Hudson will when he comes charging through here like a herd of oversized squirrels. I might go down and apologise preemptively before I tell him it's ready. 

I have work tomorrow night, which will hopefully give L enough time to recover and nap after work before I have to leave him with our small ball of energy. I have some diseased lung pictures in reserve for them to look at together. (Sentences I never thought I'd write, No. 847.) Still, hopefully, everyone will be in bed by the time I get a call - it does usually seem to work that way. 

Here, have a poem. I just read this for the first time the other day and really liked it.

A Small Number

Olena Kalytiak Davis

So far, have managed, Not
Much. So far, a few fractures, a few factions, a Few
Friends. So far, a husband, a husbandry, Nothing
Too complex, so far, followed the Simple
Instructions. Read them twice. So far, memorized three Moments,
Buried a couple deaths, those turning faces. So far, two or Three
Sonnets. So far, some berrigan and Some
Keats. So far, a scanty list. So far, a dark wood. So far, Anti-
Thesis and then, maybe, a little thesis. So far, a small Number
Of emily’s letters. So far, tim not dead. So far, Matt
Not dead. So far, jim. So far, Love
And love, not so far. Not so love. So far, no-Hope.
So far, all face. So far, scrapped and scraped, but Not
With grace. So far, not Very.

so, that happened

I finished Stiff and found it...more or less appropriate for Sherlock, although probably not for most eight year olds. Mrs N has volunteered me to help her take Sherlock's class to the Museum of Natural History, which should be...exciting.

It was odd, if nice, getting to work with L. Of course I know he does the same job as the rest of the police I work with (more or less), but I hardly ever get to see him actually doing it. Although, as he pointed out, by the time I got there, he was mostly done and asleep on his feet. It was hard work not to kiss his forehead and tell him to take a nap, but I restricted myself a hopefully non-embarrassing hug. So relieved the boy was all right - frightened, of course, but mainly all right.

Sorry this is so short. I feel all out of things to say recently. 

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. 

by the sea

We're staying in an old railway car, which is something I didn't know you could do until L showed me the website. Sherlock is very excited about it, but that's a downgrade from very VERY excited - he initially thought it was our own private car that we could take wherever we wanted on the rail line. He noted the lack of tracks and engine almost immediately, but there was a moment there when I thought he might explode.

We're near the sea, and there's a place hire bikes and a path to ride on, so we've been doing that, baking, letting the dogs run around and try to bite the ocean. You'd think that would get old, but it never does - perhaps because their level of enthusiasm for it never changes.

Mycroft, L, and Sherlock have baked, and the cake is cooling. It's chocolate, with more chocolate, and chocolate icing to be applied later on. Couldn't ask for a better day, really.

Happy birthday, Sherlock. Watching you grow up is an amazing experience, and I'm happy to be a part of your life. 

cupcakes

Sherlock mainly made these. I helped. The cakes themselves are pretty good, but we had frosting issues. You know how it is. It got too stiff and then you squeeze too hard and it just gets everywhere... 

I am unaccountably exhausted and may go to bed before Sherlock does. Certainly will if he has his way. He's wrapped around L's feet like a small boa constrictor. 

brno ossuary

These are all skulls:

It's the second largest ossuary in Europe, and they only found it in 2001. The bones had been all shifted and tumbled by water and time, and they had to clean all of them before they opened it to the public. There's about fifty thousand people buried there.

...Even as I write this, I'm a bit concerned Sherlock will want to go there for his birthday. But I thought it was too interesting not to share.

L fell asleep immediately upon hitting the bed, but I'm still awake. Don't really know why. It feels like it's been a very long week somehow. My shoulder's ached since Wednesday, more than the bruises. Come of the way I twisted when he hit me, I expect. It was harder not to hit him back than I would've thought it would be.

Anyway. I'll try sleep again. 

dr feelgood

Dr Feelgood has been and gone. We went over my files, and he pointed out a few things I could be doing more efficiently, which was helpful. He also left a present for Sherlock, a book called Stiff, which is about all the things that can happen to dead bodies, from organ donation to decomposition to being freeze-dried and turned into compost. He said he thought it sounded like just the thing for him.

He's probably right, but I'll be reading it first to make sure that... You know, I'm not sure what I'm expecting this book to contain that Sherlock wouldn't gleefully read and then discuss at breakfast the next day. But just in case. It's obviously not a children's book.

He also said a police sergeant called him Dr Feelgood the other day. I tried not to laugh too much, if only because we hadn't finished my review yet.

And here is a video of a gelatine cube bouncing off a flat surface.

canal ride

We took a bike ride today (bicycles, not motorbikes). We went to the canal, which was a pretty long ride for Sherlock, maybe the longest he's done. You can tell he's getting bigger and stronger though. He wasn't nearly as exhausted as we had feared/hoped. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful place:

We bought sandwiches and things and eat in the grass by the water. It was strange not to have Mycroft and the dogs with us. I missed him a lot today. He would've had a good time. And, obviously, the dogs would've loved it. They also probably would have jumped in the water and then shaken it off all over us, which I didn't mind missing.

Also, Sherlock would like to remind you, me, L, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, and the world at large that his birthday is coming up. 

snakes etc

Wawrinka is two sets up on (Andy) Murray in the US Open. I'm not even sure what to think about that.

In non-tennis news, I'm back to work tomorrow night, 7pm to 7am. Going by previous Friday nights, I expect the forecast to be light drugs with occasional heavy drinking and stupid fights that, in the end, have no identifiable cause.

Dr Feelgood emailed to say congratulations, so apparently he's reading the blogs. Also that it's time for a meeting to discuss how the job's going and so he can look over my files - until the six months are up, it's his job to make sure I'm keeping proper records, with the kind of information needed for court cases, not just normal medical records. So we'll do that later in the week, hopefully when Sherlock's at school.

I keep my file cabinet locked, for obvious reasons, whose initials are SH. If he asks, it's also booby-trapped and magically warded. And full of snakes. 

quiet

Mycroft, Anthea, dogs, books, and luggage have all been returned to Harrow. Also various new clothes, old computer parts, and a mountain of baked goods. Sherlock asked me at one point if it were possible to mail a person in a box and travel that way, if you weren't going very far (read: to Harrow, for a sneaky visit to your brother). When I said no, he then wanted to know if you could send a body that way. Because if you can't visit your brother via post, the next best thing is to send him (for example) a stuffed bear? Not sure.

We saw a stuffed bear, by the way. Yesterday. In a petrol station. I regret not asking for an explanation.

The countdown to bedtime has begun. We've been letting him stay up late for the holidays, but I think it'd better be back to normal tonight. You can tell he's tired. Also, L and I have a lot of sewing on of name tags to do. We tried a few days ago, and Phobos swallowed one whole trying to lick my hand.