due to some confusion

Explanations:

1) In the poll, NSY = New Scotland Yard (i.e. Lestrade & Co.). City of London is the City police force. The four horsemen are, of course, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but they're only reserve players.

2) Innie asked on L's post yesterday if I had any tattoos, and I admitted that I had, once, but it was small, and then I got shot, and what now remains is a scar and maybe a fleck or two of black ink. L guessed what it was (eventually, with some help). A target, a bullseye. To which everyone's natural response was, "Seriously?" Yeah. What can I say? That's the way my life works.

I said I'd explain how that happened.

harvey the fish

Hi this is Sherlock again. I said I would draw Harvey the fish's sarcophagus so here it is. It has Isis on it and the other parts are mostly from Tutankhamun's mummy case, the inside one with the colours, not the just gold one, even though Harvey wasn't a pharaoh or even a king.

muffins vs cupcakes

The muffins vs cupcakes poll came out very nearly even, 56 to 57. Cupcakes won by a hair. Must be the icing. I should hope the outcome of the new poll is a forgone conclusion, if not the outcome of the actual match, but as always, vote early, vote often.

To those being confused by the comments on L's post, Blogger's comment limit for one page is 200, and we've reached it over there. You can see the new comments by clicking through to page two of them.

Mycroft's school visits have been rescheduled due his mum being...somewhere. I thought she said Antarctica, but that seems unlikely. Anyway, Harrow's on Friday now, and I'm not sure about Eton.

For once L's asleep on me instead of me on him. Nice. We ought to work it like this more often. And I have at least another hour before anyone jumps on me. Probably. So, back to sleep. 

summer

Yesterday was the first official day of the summer holidays. Weekends don't count, of course. Already I understand why my mother was so relieved when Harry and I went back to school. It's not that I don't like having them around, but a forty year old trying to keep up with a five year old is just an unfair contest. I thought I had things structured pretty well, but clearly I was wrong.

I resorted to letting them play dog bowling indoors.

another guest post

Hello. This is Mycroft. I can't sleep, and I don't want to wake anyone up, so I thought I'd talk to the internet. Why not? Everyone else is doing it.

I wanted to say something anyway. Thank you. You've all been really kind to me, and generous in speaking about your own experiences at school, and I haven't replied, mostly. Because I don't know what to say. I don't know what to say a lot of the time.

It helps, to hear so many people agree that things will improve eventually, even if I'm not sure I believe it.

It's five now. Sherlock will probably wake up soon, so I'm not sure there's any point in trying to go back to sleep. We're going to go to the motorcycle shop today, where John got his protective clothing, so that I can get some too. I didn't think I'd ever ride a motorcycle in my life, so I suppose some things can change. I'm going to go downstairs now and make tea and wait for everyone else to wake up.


I probably won't know what to say to the responses to this post either. But anyway, thank you.

sports day pt 2

Right, I believe with left off with L publicly groping me, I mean patting my bum. The groping came later.

He was extremely popular with the mums - all of them, not just Y. I don't think he noticed, which was really quite sweet. That was no doubt partly due to the focus with which he was pushing his own agenda...

A: John tells us you're a police inspector. Tell the truth, is that how you two met? Were you arresting him?*
L: Oh, that's a long, long story.
B: We've got time!
L: Nah, really, I think I have to go get tied to Danger** here. But I'll tell you all about it later. You'll be there when we dig the frog pond, right?

They all agreed they would. We'll see who actually shows up.

sports day pt 1

Today was sports day at Sherlock's school, and a good time was had by all, despite the rain. The kids were there from the usual time in the morning, though Sherlock says they didn't manage much in the way of lessons. More running around excitedly and hindering the older children who were helping the teachers set up, I suspect.

Mycroft and I got there about ten minutes late. In those ten minutes Sherlock had consumed, by stealth and cunning, a quantity of cake that Mrs T found so alarming that the first words out of her mouth when she saw me were, "He mustn't have any more!" A variety of things Sherlock potentially shouldn't have any more of flashed through my mind, so I was actually quite relieved when she explained.

a man in uniform

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

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

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

home

None of us slept especially well last night, which meant a lot of lazing around in pyjamas this morning. It also meant that, when L called to say he was back and just unsticking his knee so he could get off the bike, the boys were dozing on the sofa, and I, when I went down to help him with that, was still in my jimjams. Just the bottoms, all right? And a perfectly normal t-shirt, such as anyone might wear in public. Possibly slippers as well. They're very sturdy slippers, almost like shoes.

Anyway. We've got him back now, along with rather more of his native accent then we're used to hearing. Not sure if that just happened or if he was trying to sound less...London-y. He got about five seconds of peace between coming in the door and Sherlock waking up, and I don't think Sherlock's stopped talking since. L's on the sofa between them now with an arm around each of them, and it doesn't look like he minds in the least.

this is sherlock

Hi I'm writing this instead of John because John is talking to the fridge man. We put all the vegetables in Mrs Hudson's fridge yesterday but the ice cream wouldn't fit in her freezer because of all the things she has in there, mainly biscuits but also other things that aren't as good, but Lestrade always wonders how she has so many biscuits, so that's how.

Also Kira asked if my school was doing a show or anything for the end of the year and we're not, which is good, there wouldn't be any time, we don't even really have enough time to mummify Harvey the fish properly because there are lots of rituals and it takes a month but I think it's okay to do it faster because he's much smaller than a person although it's sad we didn't get to pull his brains out with a hook. Do you think maybe next year we could do a whole person? John told me some people get frozen when they die, or turned into diamonds, so there must be someone who wants to get mummified and we'd be really good at it after we practice on Harvey.

We are having a day with races and things where the parents come to watch, except I don't know if Mummy's coming, but John will and I hope Lestrade will too and Mycroft said he'd do the three legged race with me although I had to ask him for days and days before he said yes. There is also one where you carry eggs on spoons and one where you toss pancakes over strings and I think Lestrade would be really good at that one, he's a good tosser, but I don't know if the grow ups are allowed to do it.

John is shouting at the fridge man now. Not really shouting, but John can shout without being loud. The fridge man said he couldn't fix it until Monday but I think he's going to fix it now. And then we can buy more ice cream! I want chocolate and strawberry and also maybe the kind with fudge swirled in it.

And I just saw in Lestrade's post that he got the murderer so I hope he's coming home today, I'm going to tell John!

sanity: trace amounts

None of us are [is] (thank you, Mycroft) [my tag still says I'm 12] (...I'll see what I can do about that) happy Lestrade is away, obviously. Only one of us rang his superintendent and explained very carefully why he shouldn't be sent away again, or, if he was, that we should go with him. Especially if there were wolves. Three guesses who it was, and the first two don't count.

back to the polls

Right, I still have nothing to say, really, but I'm tired of that last post staring at me from the top of the list.

91 people voted for the Oxford comma. 94 voted again. All of you who voted against, why? It isn't always necessary, but I can't think of an instance where it's actively detrimental to the sentence, so why not just stick it in there? You must have your reasons, so please explain.

Sad roses, abandoned in the park.

on the run

Mycroft's lessons started late today, as one of his tutors is in Tokyo for...some conference. Mycroft told me, and I forgot. The Annual Gathering of Extremely Smart People Who Like Maths. Something along those lines.

I was going running again, and he wanted to come, so we did that. He kept up pretty well. We did about two miles, maybe a third to a half of it actually running, the rest walking. I feel much less dire afterward than I did yesterday. We stopped in the park on the way home to stretch and visit the tadpoles (they're frogs now and too quick for me to get a picture), and he asked me again about the self defense lessons.

miscalculations in scale

There have been an awful lot of brownies recently. Good points of that situation include how excellent they taste, the fact that everyone in our house (even me) can cook something, at least, and their extreme usefulness in keeping Sherlock occupied. I've seldom seen him concentrate as hard as when he's measuring flour.

Downsides include...well, the usual downsides of eating too many sweets. Lestrade and Sherlock tend to run it off without much of a problem, Mycroft has the ice skating and is growing besides, and I...have put on over a stone since I got out of hospital. Some of which was necessary, and some of which really wasn't.

pride

Awake, briefly. So, a round up of the weekend, before I go back to sleep.


Saturday
We had an amazing time at Pride on Saturday. I thought the boys wouldn't want to come, but Sherlock was tempted by ice cream, and Mycroft said he thought it would be interesting. I was a little worried he'd find the whole thing mildly traumatizing, but he actually enjoyed it.

We talked to a lot of people, because that's what happens when you have a very inquisitive five year old with you, even if you have had a talk with him beforehand about not interrogating people.

with less vegetal innuendo

Previously on Greg the Florist...

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I seriously would have been sunk without your help. Now, the very least I can do is buy you dinner and a pint down the road at The Cock Inn. If you're up for it, of course."


John smiled, and said…


"Love to."

guacamole is not a breakfast food

Cold eggplant is ahead in the poll, followed closely by marmite, and I have to say: I do not understand you people. What could be more unnatural to put on toast than guacamole! I mean, all right, marmite is a valid choice, since it's bad no matter what you put it on, but I would far rather eat cold eggplant on toast than guacamole. Guacamole is not a breakfast food.

Do you know what is a breakfast food? Or indeed an any-time-of-day food? Strawberries. Also, strawberry and sugar sandwiches, which you make by spreading butter on bread and adding strawberries (sliced) and a tiny bit of sugar. (I know, it's perilously close to sugar on toast, but the crucial distinction is that it's not toast.)

too angry to sleep

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

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

andy murray's mum

Awake briefly, though I can tell it won't last. I had to herd Sherlock back to bed. He wanted to stay, but L's in too much pain and Sherlock has, I swear, more than the standard number of knees and elbows when he sleeps. I tucked him back in and let him tell me about jumping spiders until he drifted off again. 

Meanwhile, since I'm up and could use a distraction after today, let me ask you all something. 

hospitals aren't my favorite places

I went in today to get my stitches out, got home, was there all of five minutes before there was a knock on the door. Some young policeman I didn't know. Looked pale and sweaty and asked was I John Watson. There's never a good end to a conversation that starts like that.

He said Lestrade was being taken to hospital following a traffic collision and he'd been sent to collect me. That was all he knew.

I'm writing this from the waiting room. I saw him very briefly before they took him for X-rays. They had him strapped to a back board. His knee looked bad. Blood on his face, but no serious head trauma that I could see. He tried to smile at me, and I tried not to lose it completely.

baby geese, goslings, they were juggled

From the park today

It's funny. When I was fresh out of hospital and limping around London with a sour expression hating the world, I thought sometimes I must actually be invisible. It was the only explanation I could come up with for the sheer tenacity with which people ignored me. That, or they thought I was going to ask them for money.

the next one's on toast

The poll's over. Violence does solve at least some things, according to 58 of you, and doesn't, according to 49. Have to say, I really didn't think Yes would win this one and I think L's not all that pleased that it did (or that I was one of the 58). There was a Gandhi quote I was trying to find on the subject, but I failed. Here's a similar one from the Dalai Lama's Twitter account (really) a few days ago:

Non-violence is a sign of strength; violence is a sign of desperation and weakness. 

it eats birds

Sherlock's finished the cover art for The Jungle Boo. As promised, it has a snake. Also a tiger. The titular Boo is a ghost named Fred. 

Me: And what are the tiger and the snake named? 

Sherlock: They don't have names, they're just Tiger and Snake. They can't talk either.

bryan's an enormous wanker

If anyone wants a short summary of how the meeting with Bryan went, see subject line. For a slightly fuller account, read on.

In addition to being an enormous wanker, Bryan's tallish, with sort of scraggly facial hair - you know, like "I haven't shaved recently, but that's because it's far too mundane and I'm much too busy with my art"? I may be reading too much into his stubble. It's possible. Actually, maybe not, because that sentence covers pretty much his entire physical appearance.

I can sum the whole experience of meeting him up in one sentence as well: I like him considerably less than people who have actually tried to kill me.

violence

L got the boys off to school this morning and then stuck around to help me get the dogs and all our stuff moved out of his flat and back to ours, so I'm writing this from the sofa and looking at a flat that's been so thoroughly cleaned that it looks...possibly better than before. L's off to work after lunch for a while and clearly worried about leaving me alone (note: I will be fine). Glad to be home.

Before all this, No was ahead in the poll nearly 2 to 1. Now it's split almost 50/50. Interesting. Related? Or just a bunch of people weighing in late? Well, I say late, but I'm sure most people don't check in on my meanderings every day.

Anyhow. Yesterday. No, the day before, right. Painkillers ate a lot of yesterday.

I was napping on the sofa, which was probably lucky. I'm sure it's why they didn't see me right away. They started smashing stuff, I woke up, they came at me. Which strikes me as a bit stupid - if they've been told to smash the place up and do it when it's empty, surely that implies their boss doesn't want them attacking the people who live there?

disjointed thoughts

I thought I might be the only one voting yes in this poll. Interesting.

Sherlock got a new plaster this morning (Ariel) and a new boss for his bit of the security team - usually I think they switch around more, but Anthea's sticking more with Mycroft since she's going off to school with him in the autumn and seems to be thinking of promoting this other young woman. I don't know for certain of course, as she tells me nothing. It'll be odd to have someone else in charge.

Mycroft and Sherlock are at music lessons this afternoon, I've got the mess from the weekend cleaned up (did not find any frogs, bugs, or assorted rodents in Sherlock's room, only a sad looking violet in a paper cup), and I'm going to read on the sofa and possibly take a nap. It's going to be amazing. And sensible, since I once again got about two hours of sleep last night. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to...do something. I don't know.

For now, absolutely everyone is out (this never happens), and the whole house is quiet. It's almost eerie. I'm tempted to record it for posterity, but I think I'll make tea instead. 

someday i'll stop posting in the middle of the night

Not tonight, however. I did sleep a bit though, and I'm going back to bed right after this.  Promise.

So, today there was this:

The Red Arrows

The boys were both very excited, and there was a lot of talk about flying planes, which degenerated into Sherlock being angry that Mycroft got to steer one once briefly when he was eight. And then we got kites that look like planes, and all differences were resolved.

insomnia

Do everyone's parents mess them up? Is it just inevitable?

Anyway, I've been watching Would I Lie to You? Here's the one with John Barrowman I've just seen, pretty good. What I haven't been doing is sleeping, obviously. At least tomorrow's Saturday, so I can take the boys to the park and let them run me around till I ought to be ready to fall asleep in the grass. That sounds nice actually. Providing it doesn't pour again.

Things are going tolerably well on the chore front. I have to stand over Sherlock to get him to make his bed, but that's in no way surprising and at least he does it. Maybe I can get them in on making a chart for the fridge over the weekend. I know, the excitement never stops, right?

L's working tomorrow, maybe Sunday too.

Maybe I'll ring the boys' mum, ask if she wants to come along with us. 

definition of terms

Recent events have led me to believe this might be helpful.

John Watson to English Dictionary

1. "Minor", adj.
As applied to injuries: highly unlikely to be life threatening; somewhere around a 2 or 3 on a scale of 1 to death. Still carries the usual risks of infection, etc., and should be treated promptly if at all practical.

2. "Fight", n.
What my parents had at odd intervals when I was growing up. A sort of brief cold war of venomous looks and muttered comments, often followed by long nights at the pub (dad) and excessive baking (mum). Excuse me, I just need to get the brownies out of the oven...

the language of flowers

Look what I found this morning (by which I mean afternoon, which is when I had breakfast), tucked behind the toaster. Sneaky bastard.

Greg tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep as he imagined what John might be doing now - sleeping, expression soft, curled warm under a duvet. Pyjamas? Naked. Who dreamed of anyone in pyjamas?

His hand slid downwards, reaching out...

nescafe, wounds

For those wondering what we were talking about in the comments earlier, Anthony Stewart Head (of...well, so many things, but people seem to know him mostly from Buffy the Vampire Slayer now, and from Merlin) in a compilation of Nescafe ads.



I'm just waiting for Sally to drive L home. (Or not. Apparently he's given her the slip.) He wanted to know how one knew, hypothetically, when stitches were necessary. She said he'd cut himself, he implied someone else had done it for him. "Just a bit of a slice," he says. We'll see.

And here I thought the big excitement of my day would be my ex-girlfriend stopping by out of the blue. Possibly more on that subject after I look at L's hand.