science!

More here. I thought Sherlock would like these and probably some of you will too. 

I had a dream last night that I'd asked L to marry me and he said yes, and then I woke up and I had to wake him up to make sure it wasn't just a dream...very peculiar. 

Mrs Holmes rang me today to congratulate us and offer to send us to Antartica for our honeymoon. It's sometimes quite difficult to tell when she's joking. 

Did you know they make wood wedding bands? I didn't know that until today. 

Nicky - I don't think I ever answered your comment on L's blog, and I'm sorry. I thought my answer very hard at you, which I realise I've been doing more and more lately. (Note to self: telepathy still doesn't work.) Thank you. You and your family have been so kind and welcoming to me and Mycroft and Sherlock right from the beginning, and it means a lot to all of us. I hope we'll see all of you at Christmas. 

Right, I am off to do the shopping and to pick Sherlock up from school. L, let me know if you have anything to add to the following list contributed to by Mrs Hudson, various elderly neighbours, and security:

odd things you think about

Lestrade posted in the comments of his blog about thinking when he was a kid that the sensation of his heart beating was caused by it swinging back and forth on a pendulum. It made me think about some of the strange notions we get when we're young.

L posted a picture of me long ago, in a post far, far away (that I cannot find). I was four or five, I think, and wearing a suit for my great uncle's funeral. I barely knew him and wasn't too upset about it, but I absolutely refused to go up and see him in the coffin with my parents and Harry. They all thought it was because he was dead, but that part didn't bother me. I wouldn't go because I was convinced he would be naked.

No idea where I came up with that. I suppose it makes sense in an odd way that you'd be buried in the same state in which you were born, and I wasn't old enough to realise that his friends and family would not want to see that. I would tell my parents why either, because I thought they'd say something along the lines of, 'Well of course he's naked! That's just the way it is, come along.' And then I'd have to go. So I wouldn't explain and instead, I seem to remember, hid under a table.

amazeballs

The post's title is Carla's reaction when we told Nicky and her family the news. I think that sums up my reaction pretty well, too. If you haven't heard, go and check L's blog.

No, I mean it, go. He tells it better than I do.

on the way

Lestrade's driving. Mycroft and Sherlock are glaring at each other in the back seat. Sherlock spent ten minutes poking Mycroft, and I didn't notice until Mycroft finally lost his calm and stuck a wad of gum to Sherlock's forehead.

Gum has been removed and Sherlock has been told to keep his hands to himself. I'm having flashbacks to car trips with my parents and Harry. Except Harry stuck the gum to the top of my head, and I ended up with almost no hair after mum was done cutting it.

I think we'd better stop and eat soon. Food always helps in these situations, and those two are meant to be sharing a tent tonight. A tent room. I'm still not used to tents having rooms. When did that start happening anyway? At what point did some tent designer say to themselves, you know, I think this tent needs to be more like a house? Let's add a kitchen and some statuary. Impractical? Oh, maybe just another room then. 

fully equipped

We now have enough cold weather gear to launch an expedition to the North Pole, although Sherlock has pointed out that we should wait until we've baked biscuits because when we get to the North Pole, we'll want them to celebrate with. I told him I didn't think they'd last that long. He said he'd make extra. I also got a hoodie, so I can test it vs jumpers and prove L wrong.

I know it hasn't been that long, but I feel sure Mycroft has grown since the last time we saw him. Lestrade was joking about him being taller than I am, but honestly it's not going to be that much longer.  He's far more grown up and dignified than I was at fourteen. We got sushi today, and he uses chopsticks like he's been doing it his whole life. That sounds silly when I write it out, but at the time all I could think was that he's growing up so fast.

 He's brought home a computer game called Minecraft where you build things out of blocks, which makes it sound like a game for small children, but you can build literally anything you can think of and there's some sort of wiring system and...I'm really not sure. He thinks he can make a computer in it. And he's helping Sherlock build his boat virtually before building it in reality.

We're now awaiting L's presence for biscuit creation, and I'm simmering the beef and broccoli thing, which ought to be done by the time the biscuits are. 

enormous jacket

Since L has said he doesn't mind... 

I like it because he looks so happy. Thanks, Nicky. 

Sherlock's class are building boats to sail on the pond - one or two at a time, I presume, or there are going to be shipwrecks. They're meant to choose a historical or fictional boat/ship and do a report on it in addition to the actual building. Sherlock already has a list of about ten. 

Got the following text from Anthea today: will be taking time off whenever you madmen are going camping in the freezing cold, so let me know. It's going to be fun though, honestly! 

leaves

I think someone asked if Sherlock's half term dates are the same as Mycroft's and I never answered, but they are. Sherlock's plans are becoming ever wilder. If it were left entirely up to him, I think we'd be climbing Everest over the weekend, followed by a short jaunt to the Amazon basin in the week. I'm not sure we'll be going anywhere at all, but I'm sure we'll have fun. It'll be great having him home.

Lestrade brought me home flowers last night because he's the sweetest man alive. White roses and green chrysanthemums, the kind with the extra long petals. There's probably a name for them, but you'd have to ask Greg the florist. They're lovely, and sitting in a slightly wonky vase on the table. It's white and chipped, and I don't actually know where it came from. Maybe it's Mrs Hudson's. The only vase we had whose origin I was certain of is the one I got cracked over the head with.

It's funny how things just appear like that. Not something I'm used to, like having a fixed address and more than two pairs of shoes.

Lestrade, let me know if you want to get lunch or something? And then I've been advised that I'm not too old to jump in piles of leaves in the park with Sherlock, so I expect we'll be doing that after school. 

normality, or something similar

Lestrade's at work. There wasn't enough time to cook dinner before he had to go so we sent him off with sandwiches and spider biscuits, and now Sherlock and I are making breakfast-dinner, with eggs and pancakes and bacon. It'll be good if I don't burn anything. Sherlock says he'll keep an eye on me. The spider biscuits will keep eight eyes on me.

L and I had a long walk around the park and a talk, during which neither of us cried in public, though it was a close thing once or twice. I'll leave him to tell what he said if he wants to, later. I don't think anyone here will be particularly surprised to learn that I feel responsible for not stopping what happened to him, for not getting him back sooner. I know that makes no sense. Knowing it doesn't help.

More than that though, I could feel this distance between us when he got back, and that was... I didn't know how to fix it, or change it at all, didn't understand why it was there, and all I could think was what if it got worse and I somehow lost him over this even after we got him back. So that was terrifying.

I think we're moving past that now though. At least I hope so. Still trying to work out how it happened, and I think it's at least partly the assumptions we make about each other. I think a lot of the time L expects I won't want to talk and tries to respect that and I assume he'll do the talking when he's ready and...yeah. Turns into a bit of a mess.

He said in one of the comments on my last post that he didn't mean to make me feel like his way of coping is better than mine, but I think pretty much the entire world and certainly all mental health professionals prefer talking to silence. I need to do better there.

And now if you'll excuse me, I think my bacon may be smoking. 

sleep's dull knife

Dire sounding subject line is actually from the most cheerful-insomnia related poem I know:

Cut if you will with sleep's dull knife
each day to half its length, my friend. 
The years that time takes off my life
he'll take from the other end! 

It's either Edna St Vincent Millay or Dorothy Parker. I can't remember. Also, accuracy not guaranteed, it's very late.

I was already up and getting some water when Sherlock came and found me in the kitchen. He'd had a nightmare about giant skeletons clattering up the stairs, and he said the worst part was that they never got there, they just kept coming up forever and he had to wait for them. I can sympathise.

I made him some warm milk, which he declared acceptable but not as good as Lestrade's, and stayed with him until he fell asleep again. He didn't ask to come back to bed with us, which I hope is a good sign. Might let him stay home again tomorrow if he wants to, we'll see. I think he's ready for school again though.

Work, thankfully, is not yet ready for Lestrade. I hope not for at least a few more days. He might be all right to go back, but I'm not sure I am. 

bad news

We got another envelope. It had the same bug stickers as the one from Sherlock's 'birthday card' did. This one was hand delivered. Not, I think, by the person who took the photos. Just a kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. I asked him to wait because we'd had trouble with a stalker, and he said he thought the man who gave him the envelope was 'kinda creeptastic' but that he'd given him twenty quid.

I thought it would just be more photos, and there were photos - the three of us at the zoo. There was also a note. It said to enjoy the pictures since it was the last we'd see of Lestrade. I can't get him on the phone or by email or text. I've called Sally, and Anthea's bringing Mycroft home.

I...don't know what else to say. 

latibulize

From the list of words that wolf-were provided:

Latibulize v.

To hibernate. Function of a teenager during that part of the morning when papers are being brought in, cats being fed, garbage cans put out, digital clocks being reset after overnight power failures, etc., etc.

Also what Lestrade and I did briefly today after dropping Sherlock off at school, going for a run, etc. That's et cetera as in 'and so on' not as in anything else. We went back to bed, and I went back to sleep, which must've been fairly boring for Lestrade, but he took it well. No reflection on you, L. The past few nights haven't gone well, that's all. Maybe I should switch to decaf too.

I wonder if the last part of the above definition will ever apply to Sherlock. It seems incredibly unlikely, but surely it must happen to everyone? I've never known a teenager who springs out of bed at five in the morning unless the alternative is being discovered by their girlfriend/boyfriend's parents.

I wonder how large a part that played in the creation of boarding schools. 'Let's put them all together where they can't get into so much trouble!' Except, having known boys who went to boarding schools, I'm well aware that they can and do.

Speaking of which - the schools, not the trouble - Mycroft texted to say we could come and visit on Saturday if we wanted to, which of course we do, so that'll be nice. We can bring him the leftover biscuits and scones from tea, of which I imagine there will be several thousand. 

after school special

Mrs N asked to speak to me when I picked Sherlock up today. She's coming to tea on Friday. Sherlock has apparently promised her baked Alaska, which I don't think is going to happen, but I imagine we can at least provide brownies or chocolate swirl biscuits or something.

He was a chimpanzee on the way home. On the whole I prefer elephants, since they very rarely try to climb up you while you're waiting for the light to change.

Sherlock: Chimpanzees fling poo.

Me: No.

Sherlock: They do, I saw them!

Me: I mean, no, your chimpanzee impression does not need that level of verisimilitude.

There is no more reliable way to distract him than with new words, but I'm going to run out eventually. 

arrogance, guilt, and squid

Lestrade is cooking squid. Probably will have cooked squid by the time I finish this. I admit I'm slightly dubious about the prospect of barely cooked squid, but I trust him. Apparently you either have to cook it a long time or barely at all. It gets rubbery otherwise. Having had a fair amount of rubbery squid, I believe it.

I've said before that I don't think I could do what Lestrade does, i.e. go out every day into what is essentially a war zone and come home at the end of it and somehow make the transition back to being a relatively normal human being. Transition has never been particularly easy for me. It's always got to be one thing or the other, all the way or not at all.

I think that's why I found a lot of the work at Sarah's surgery a bit...well, boring. I suppose there's no way to say that without sounding like an arrogant arsehole, but any nurse (especially Murray) will tell you that all doctors are arrogant arseholes, so maybe I am. It wasn't the sort of work I went into medicine for, at any rate. And I know I shouldn't feel that way, but knowing that doesn't help. Just adds guilt to the mix.

When L brought up the possibility of working as an FME (forensic medical examiner for anyone who missed that before), I think, despite having a fair idea of how hard it would be, I knew that second that I'd do it if I possibly could. I've looked into A&E work before, but it just won't fit with Sherlock's schedule. A lot of times I'm the only one who can guarantee I'll make it to his school functions, and I don't want that to change.  This seems like it'll be a bit more flexible. Mrs Holmes is back this week, so I can talk to her about it. Just the prospect of it is a relief in a lot of ways. I didn't realise how much the lack of occupation was weighing on me. 

fme and bed snails

Last night in the comments, I was being unintentionally morose about my lack of employment (I know, I do have a job, but with both the boys back in school, it really doesn't feel like it, and I'm not good at doing nothing all day), and L brought up the possibility of working as a forensic medical examiner.

Basic duties...I'll just quote Lestrade here: examining injured people in custody, examining people who claim to be sick/injured, people who claim to be the victims of police brutality, take blood samples, write out death certs. at scenes, and sometimes present your findings in court. And also, I think, from the reading I've been doing, examining assault victims. I'm going to talk to someone he knows about it and find out a bit more. There's not as much additional training as I would've expected, though there is some.

I talked to Sherlock about on the way home from school. He seems alternately excited and worried about how much I'd be gone, which I'm a little concerned about too. Obviously, he and Mycroft are my first responsibility, and I'm not quite sure it would be fair to them. But I don't know enough about it yet to make a decision either way, so that'll have to wait.

I think I'm also signing up for krav maga lessons at a place Anthea recommended, too. I'll let you know how it goes.

ETA: This was Lestrade when I went into the bedroom just now...

grim grey palisades

We went to Spike Island. Over the years, it's had a monastery, a prison, a fort, and more recently a prison again. The prison was closed down in 2004, and now it's just a tourist attraction. 

The fact that it was a prison before it was a fort certainly shows, doesn't it? The weather was decidedly grey when we went to visit, and it made the whole thing still more foreboding. 

post

Sherlock got an envelope in the post today. I didn't think much of it. His birthday's coming up, after all, and it had balloon stickers on it. Glittery ones, even. I did check with his mum, because he doesn't generally get cards, but there are a number of people it might've been from. Mrs Holmes said to let him open it. I could tell she was doing what I'd been doing - weighing the risk against letting him be a normal kid excited to get mail of his own. And he was so excited he nearly burst on the way home.

It was a birthday card. It's got a bug on it, so someone clearly knows his taste. Inside the card were photos of Lestrade, obviously taken by someone who'd been following him on his bike-less commute recently. Some were taken from quite close up.

Sherlock was mainly confused and thought it was a very silly thing to send him for his birthday. I am... Well, I think you can imagine. Lestrade is on his way home. 

caught in this isthmus of a middle state

Paralympics women's doubles medal ceremony:

Esther Vergeer's record is just amazing. I think she's got over 20 slam titles, and a few years ago she topped 400 straight wins. (I know this is late, but a lot of the tennis I'm just watching now.)

Also, there's this. I think they're fantastic, and I wish I'd had anything like that amount of determination when I got home.

Anyway, life goes on. L's told me a little about his case, which is...not good. Some of the cases he works are fairly ordinary, if murder can ever be said to be ordinary, and some, like this, leave me wondering how things like this can happen, how anyone can do these things.

Sherlock asked me what the point of life was today, which was a more complex question than I was expecting to have to answer while making cheese sandwiches on four hours of sleep. I'm afraid I didn't have a satisfactory answer for him. 

loose ends

The meeting with Mrs Holmes today was very short. She gave me a package, had me memorise an address, I took the package there, and that was that. I got the feeling that wasn't what she'd called me in for, actually, that I was filling in for someone who hadn't shown up just because I happened to be there.

Bit odd. But I'd rather be the one filling in than the one who didn't show up. Hope he escapes with his life when she gets hold of him.

I did also get her to sign off on Sherlock's martial arts lessons while I was there, so that's ready to go when he is. Maybe another week or two. he's still complaining about things being different at school. He says they have better books in the new classroom though, so that's something.

We made avocado and tomato pasta for dinner. Basically, you cut up tomatoes and avocados, mix them with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper, and basil, and then when the pasta's done you drain it and put it in the bowl with the stuff and mix it around. Very easy.

After dinner, Sherlock said everything was too quiet and stood on the sofa to see how loud he could make his violin be. Quite loud, it turns out. 

protection

Lestrade got this one:

And I got this one: 

Which, as you can see, is red, and goes with my bike. Although, it's going to be L's bike for a while as soon as his hand is well enough to ride again. I don't really need it on a daily basis. I hope his gets fixed soon though. I know he misses it.

The accident, if it was an accident, was over so quickly that it's difficult to remember the details. It always seems odd that something that happens in so little time can have such lingering effects.

no one needs to worry

We had a little accident on the bike. Bruises and scrapes mostly. We're going to hospital for L's hand, which is swelling nicely. I don't think anything's broken though.

I've talked to Sherlock and Mycroft already, and Mrs H is picking Sherlock up from school, though he's not happy about it. Please be good for her, Sherlock. Hopefully we won't be too long.

Some bastard, also on a bike, cut right in front of us and there was just nowhere to go, bus on one side, pedestrians on the other. You'd almost think he was trying to knock us over. I'm glad it was L driving and not me; I'm sure he managed it better than I would have.

And when I say no one needs to worry...I mean about us. The bike didn't fare so well. I don't think he'll be riding it for a while. 

unpacking, a drama of innumerable parts

We left yesterday morning (Spain, as I think most of you probably guess) and got back to London yesterday afternoon. Mycroft's leaving for school this evening, so not much happened yesterday apart from travel, tantrums about leaving, laundry, un/packing, and consolation brownies. They didn't really make up for not being in Spain anymore, but they helped.

Today: more laundry, more un/packing, the realisation that there are more laundry labels to sew into Mycroft's new shirts, acquiring food one way or another, etc etc.

Sherlock brought Mrs Hudson home a stone he found that has a hole through the centre of it. He's been fascinated this trip with the way water smooths things out and wears them down. He would've brought home every piece of beach glass he found if he'd had his way.

We'll probably do another pan of brownies so Mycroft can take them to school for his friends, or, as he insists they be referred to, the people he knows there. I suppose he has a point. My mum would refer to anyone I knew from school as my friend, even people I considered my mortal enemies. Drove me mad.

I'm using my how to infuriate monkeys tag retroactively for the Gibraltar incident. 

on the blue shore of silence

Mycroft and Mrs Holmes stayed back at the house yesterday, and L and Sherlock and I headed down the beach to explore. Sherlock had a plastic bucket and war paint sunblock, L had his film star tan and smug grin, and I had a pounding headache, L's sunglasses, and occasionally a towel draped over my head. I honestly did not have that many mojitos. They're deceptive. And I'm out of practice.

We walked quite a long way, built a series of quickly abandoned sand castles along the beach, which were misshapen lumps by the time we passed them again, picked up shells and bits of seaweed, watched while Sherlock poked at things in tide pools. I stuck my head in the sea every now and then. It helped a bit.

There was no ice cream, but we did get cold drinks near the surfing school, and looked at, but did not ride, the horses. Sherlock and L wanted to try surfing, and I wanted to lie very still, so they went off for a while. I floated peacefully in the water...until Sherlock was boosted without warning onto my stomach and L ducked down to bite my bum again. It was a well coordinated assault that nearly ended with L's sunglasses at the bottom of the sea.

Sherlock can really swim now. I'm not sure when he went from splashing and paddling to diving and cutting through the water like a tiny eel (that's a moray...), but he's really quite good now. We'll have to find somewhere indoors to take him this winter.

On the way back, Sherlock was pretending to be a bull and charge Lestrade, which led to L wearing Sherlock's bucket on his head, standing on a rock and singing that Toreador song. He doesn't think I have pictures, but I do. 

wake

After the incident with Sherlock and the monkeys, we got on the ferry to Morocco. The wake behind the ferry from Gibraltar to Tangiers:

I wasn't quite sure about the S on the end of Tangier(s) so I looked on Wikipedia (which says either way is correct), and found this: Tangier has been reputed as a safe house for international spying activities. I'm dying to ask Mrs Holmes if this is true, but she'd just give me that look of hers.

I did ask Anthea, but she said Mrs Holmes had given her the day off (as if she answers my ridiculous questions when she doesn't have the day off) and headed down to the beach...not with beach towel and sunblock as one might expect, but for a run, from which she didn't return for two hours. I'm not sure she properly understands the concept of a day off.

And now L has made mojitos and guacamole. He also bit my elbow and informed me that our beach has land sharks. I love seeing him like this, happy and relaxed and playful (even when he cheats at water volleyball). 

let's rewind

I think Lestrade mentioned some of these, but...

Things Sherlock tried to pack on Sunday, for your entertainment:

A smaller bag inside his bag, so that he could bring 'nearly twice as many things!' back with him as he took with him.

Spoons.

A dog.

Mycroft.

The attempt to pack his brother was mainly in retaliation for Mycroft working out how to put books in collections in the Kindle before he did. There is, at the moment, only one Kindle, because Sherlock went unexpectedly Luddite on us and declared that he only liked real books. Of course, now that we're here, and Mycroft has unlimited book access and he doesn't, he wants one desperately.

Oh, and I didn't fall asleep in the airport, whatever L says. Don't listen to him. I think I did sleep on him  for most of the flight though.

And now we're here, and it's...honestly one of the nicest places I've ever been. It's strange. I'm still not used to being able to afford proper grown up holidays that don't involve sleeping on someone's sofa. I know I ought to be; I'm certainly old enough, but it still seems faintly unreal.

I'm writing this next to the pool. You can hear wind ruffling the leaves, hear the waves rolling in, smell the salt. Just woke up from a bloody awful dream, but I don't even care as long as I don't wake up from this. Trying to decide whether L would be cranky if I woke him up for a very late night swim... 

packing, a drama in three parts

Act I, scene i, the kitchen. 

Lestrade is getting ready to leave for work. Mycroft is drinking orange juice and eating toast. I am hunched over my tea in a protective fashion because that is my standard morning position when I'm not forced out of it by the divers alarums and excursions that so often fill our lives.

Sherlock rushes in, dumps a pile of things on the floor, and rushes out again. The things are as follows: a microscope, a large green towel, one of Lestrade's rare ties, a small live frog (how?), a packet of biscuits, part of a computer with some wires hanging off of it, and his book on mummies.

Mycroft, Lestrade, and I stare at the pile.

Act I, scene ii, Sherlock's bedroom. 

I enter, with my tea held before me like a particularly ineffective talisman. Sherlock is wrestling his suitcase out of his wardrobe. With the handle extended, it is as tall as he is, so this isn't going well. I ask what he's doing. He replies with a look that says it should be blatantly obvious that he's trying to force his suitcase into submission. Fair enough.

I remind him that I said we'd start packing later in the day, and that we're not leaving until Monday. He says that if we all get it done sooner we could leave earlier. I explain that this is not how it works. He nevertheless proceeds downstairs with his suitcase.

Act I, scene iii, the sitting room. 

Lestrade is pursuing a small, live frog. Mycroft is restraining the dogs from pursuing a small, live frog. Sherlock has retreated into the kitchen to pack all his belongings which haven't yet run away.

I contemplate taking my tea back to our room and locking myself in, but instead send L off to work and take over the frog hunt myself. It takes close to an hour. It's an agile frog.

Later in the day, we'll have to take it back to the park. For now, it's in a glass bowl, regarding me with a hurt expression.

Tomorrow, no doubt, act two. 

minor suns

Back to normal, I suppose, at least until L gets his time off settled and we can get away for a while. Mrs Holmes thinks it's a good plan as well and might even join us for part of it. I don't think we'll be saying anywhere public where we're going, except that it'll have sun (fingers crossed) and hopefully a beach.

L has already painted a vivid picture of himself in (bright) yellow (short) shorts playing air guitar on a pair of jeans - I suppose not actually air guitar, but perhaps laundry guitar? Denim guitar? - when Mrs Hudson brought Laura up to see us.

I wasn't there to witness it, sadly, but L's shriek summoned me fairly quickly, so I got to see his outfit and Laura's reaction to it at least. Or I should say Laura and Mrs Hudson's reactions to it, since Mrs H seemed suitably impressed and told him his shorts fit very nicely (they do).

For those of you not of a mind to keep up with my exes, Laura is the one, as L put it, who has a tiny dog and got me arrested in Egypt. The tiny dog, Biscuit, has since passed on, but she has another now named Vespasian. She gets them from a breeder named, no joke, Mrs Strange. She is, too; I've met her.

L streaked off to put some clothes on, I made tea and introduced her to Sherlock and Mycroft, and we all talked for a while. Or four out of five of us talked, once L returned, and Sherlock glared. Later on in the evening he said she couldn't have me back, which explained the glaring. She kindly refrained from saying she wouldn't want me back, but I know it's true - neither of us would've known what to do with each other in any sort of long term romantic arrangement.

L said he was going to hold my hand possessively on the way to the restaurant, and did so, which I suppose means Sherlock wasn't the only one who was worried, though I hope L knew he had nothing to worry about. Though I'd probably feel the same if his exes showed up out of the blue as mine now seem inclined to do.

Over dinner, Laura told everyone a bit about how we met and kindly left out the fact that I couldn't pay for dinner because I'd lost nearly everything I had in a card game in some bloke's basement. That was an interesting night.

So...there was pizza and ice cream, and Sherlock was won over by garlic bread the the promise of camel riding if we ever go to Egypt. We all stayed up far too late and had a lovely time. I might see her for lunch before she goes back, but I think she's leaving fairly soon, so maybe not.

And now back to bed for hopefully an hour or so before Sherlock's up. It's been a long couple of days. I think I want to just be in bed with L more than I want to actually sleep. 

in the days of frost

Well. This was going to be about Laura's surprise visit, but if you've been reading the comments on L's blog, you'll know it's not going to be.

Someone sent photos to L at work today, pictures of all of us at bouncy Stonehenge. No note, apparently, no overt threat, but the fact that someone sent them is threatening enough. L couldn't reach me or Rachel at first and was understandably concerned, but everyone's fine, physically at least.

It's a difficult situation. I mean, I know I'm stating the obvious here, but...yeah. There's not enough information to actually do anything yet and no way of knowing when there will be. The police and Mrs H's people will be working on it, so that'll have to be enough. I hate the waiting though, always have. 

flourless chocolate cake

Mrs Hudson gave me this one, along with a discourse on what exactly 'stiff peaks' means. 

1.Preheat oven to 150C (300F) degrees and butter an 8 inch springform pan (this is one that the bottom comes out of, which you need because if you turned the pan upside down, the cake might come out, but only in bits, it's too fragile).

2. Melt 125g (4oz) bittersweet chocolate with 1 tsp vanilla, 1 Tbs coffee, and 1 Tbs brandy.

3. Add 90g (6 Tbs) butter, 100g (1/2 cup) sugar, and 50g (1/2 cup) of ground almonds. Heat until butter is melted.

4. Beat 3 egg yolks until lemon coloured and add them to the chocolate mixture.

5. Whip 3 egg whites until they form stiff peaks and fold them gently into the chocolate mixture.

6. Bake for 45 minutes. If you stick a knife or something in the middle, it won't come out completely clean, but it shouldn't be gooey either. Mrs Hudson said it should have 'moist crumbs', which it did, the second time. Sort of. 

late nights

I've been waking up every half hour or so, or maybe not sleeping at all. Just drifting. Thinking, for some reason, of all the friends I've lost, one way or another. I suppose sometimes one just has nights like that. I can't say what brought it on.

I never wrote anything about visiting my parents so I thought I'd try that now, at least a bit.

It wasn't bad. If anything, it went better than I expected. They liked Mycroft, said he was a very polite and well brought up young man. They liked Lestrade. My mother said he seemed very steady and would be a good influence on me.

They were less certain about Sherlock, but they don't like a lot of noise and chaos, and Sherlock is 50% noise and 50% chaos - in the best way, of course, but they weren't seeing that. And I think Sherlock was predisposed not to be overly fond of them because he knew I was reluctant to see them. That's my fault, and I wish I could've done something differently there.

They're good people. I'm not even sure I can explain why I find it so difficult to be around them. It's...a restrained atmosphere. And I know I'm not a champion discusser of feelings, but there's a difference between not saying things and feeling you can't say them. I remember that feeling so strongly, starting with my very first memories, the undercurrent of belief that if anyone said what they were actually thinking that our world would collapse. And it was never anything that horrible, but lacking the ability to acknowledge it made every tiny thing loom over us.

Well. This is accomplishing nothing. I'm going back to bed, either to sleep or talk to L if sleep fails. Good night. Almost good morning. 

camping and fish and karate

This is Sherlock and I drew Lestrade wearing his uniform and also our tent because he told Mycroft we could go camping and I want to go near the sea and catch a fish. He's not camping in his uniform, it's only to show you what it looks like. I think it's kind of boring and he should have an enormous hat made of bears and a red jacket and shiny buttons but I told Lestrade that and he said then the criminals would see him coming and run away so maybe he's right, he's sort of like a ninja. 

stargazing

Hello, this is Mycroft. A few people have asked when I plan to go on the stargazing trip I mentioned. I'm going today, actually, and I've arranged with Mummy for Sherlock to go and stay with her until I get back. I thought Lestrade and John might want some time to relax, and they can't really go anywhere since Lestrade needs to be available for work.

This is a picture of the inside of our balloon being inflated. I think Lestrade has a lot more of what the city looked like from above, especially the football stadiums, so I expect he'll post some of those. 

Sherlock and I are leaving today, so I need to pack and wrap up my telescope now, but I wanted to show you a poem that John showed me first. It's called The Old Astronomer to His Pupil, and this is the last part, which I like especially: 

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.