stop and smell the garlic

A warning to the world: Sherlock is now old enough to be sneaky with Mycroft and Greg. He suggested a bike ride for today, and the four of us set out toward the coast. We kept going, further, and a little further, and then we were at the ferry…

Which we took, bikes and all, and my only starting to suspect something might be up. I did eventually realise it's my birthday on Monday (look, I've been distracted, all right?). And L clearly had a very specific destination in mind... One, as it turned out, with a hot tub.  And a trampoline.

Anthea and the dogs met us here, and it's just... It's really nice. Everyone all together and relaxed. I wish we could've brought the kitten, but she's probably had enough of motorbikes for a while, and she was curled up in Mrs Hudson's lap when we left anyway.

Oh, and when we got here, the wrong lock was locked, and L had to break in...with a coffee shop loyalty card. One of many, I suspect. Sherlock started practising five minutes later and didn't stop until he went to bed.

phobos

Watching L watch football is more entertaining (and occasionally heartbreaking) than actually watching almost any sport.

Sherlock's class are doing ancient Egypt related things again, although no one's getting mummified (that I know of) (possibly one of us if we stand still too long). I called Mycroft earlier and got about two minutes to talk to him before Sherlock stole the phone and told him about Egyptian temple architecture for two hours and also discussed what sort of animal head he would have if he were a god. His top options were jackal, crocodile, and cobra. (He said I ought to have a giraffe one, for which I blame my husband.)

I then got two more minutes of Mycroft before he had to go and do his homework. He says he's fine and, if transformed into a god, would like the head of something with no ears. We'll have him and Anthea and the dogs home again this Saturday, which will be very nice.

In his first two minutes, he told me a story about Phobos going after the rugby ball while some of the younger boys were practising and making off with it...all the way back to Anthea. Bounding across the campus with two teams of twelve year old tearing after him and whooping. He laid it at her feet and sat down, proud and panting and expecting a scratch behind the ears. Sometimes I wonder if Anthea regrets meeting us...

rotating buildings

They're making unbranded versions of various products...I think I have to get the Marmite for L, don't I? And here are these buildings in Dubai, which are apparently going to move and reshape themselves?

They're not built yet, but here is some information about them (second on the list). And somehow they generate wind power in the spaces between the floors? It seems like something out of Star Trek, to be honest, but the article talks about them like they're actually going to happen. Amazing.

So, yesterday... Yesterday was work, for just about 12 solid hours. Usually there are a few slow periods and I can get lunch and even pick Sherlock up from school, get the chores done... Not yesterday. Someone took pity on me around three and gave me half his sandwich, which I got two bites of before I had to leave.

And then when I got home, I found L had made dinner, despite being sick and looking after Sherlock all afternoon, either one of which is enough to make a person want a nap. He's amazing, and I'm very lucky.

spring

Well, I think it's safe to say that it's spring now. L took these today...

Things are blooming, the sky is blue, the sun was out... We got very dirty at the allotment... Well. Very dirty is relative. I have no doubt it will be much worse later on, but there was mud in abundance. And I strained the top of my foot somehow getting my boot off later. That's unrelated to the allotment. Probably.

Reg suggested to Sherlock that he make a scarecrow to keep the birds away from the new plants. He doesn't know what's he's wrought. I remember one of you being worried you'd started something here a few nights ago -- never worry about that. Honestly, it is impossible not to start something with Sherlock. His enthusiasms are enormous and often overwhelming, and always entertaining. We will have the most terrifying scarecrow of all time.

The running is...going. Well, the running itself is fine. Finding time for it is going to become increasingly difficult as the runs get longer, I think. And of course one has to schedule in all that time lying pathetically on the floor afterward...

training

I've been looking at half marathons since L foolishly agreed to do one with me. There's a few in France, in the mountains - which is good because it'll be cooler, but bad because...they're in the mountains. But we don't get Mycroft back until late June, so it's going to be either heat or elevation, and I think I'd prefer elevation. Greg? Preferences? Or we could just do one around here and then we could do it anytime, but I thought something different might be nice. 

There's also a Midnight Sun Run in Iceland, which sounds interesting. Apparently you get to lounge around in thermal pools afterward, which will probably be all we can manage.

And here's a training schedule that Sherlock sent me because "you and Lestrade are old and you should be careful you don't die when you run for miles and miles."

Noted, Sherlock. We will do our best not to die.

There's a link to the website where he found it, but I'm also pasting it here because the constantly moving text at the top of the screen on the site makes me want to hurl the computer across the room. 

moss power

HELLO this is Sherlock and that picture is of a lamp being powered by moss. This is a thing people have made up called biophotovoltaics and it is where the plants photosynthesise and release stuff into the soil that feeds bacteria and then the bacteria break that stuff down and release electrons and you can make power from that. Not very much yet, but I think this would be a good way to power space ships.

I think the different kinds of plants release different stuff, so moss works well and trees might not even though it seems like trees should release a lot more of it. They should find trees that release the right combination of things to feed loads of bacteria and then you could make a giant sphere in space with lots and lots of trees and plants and stuff and it would all run on BPV and could go forever because if the plants died you could just plant new ones.

The plants need their bacteria though so you would have to not do it from the same plants all the time, but it doesn't seem like you would need that much to power a space ship once it got off the ground and if you built it already in space that wouldn't be a problem and it would go forever and we could go to other planets. So I think they should work on that.

Also there is a man who wants to replace all the roads with solar panels you can drive on. That's not as fun but it's probably a good idea but I would rather have spaceships.

rat in a hat box

Work was...relentless. Not particularly terrible in any one case, but a sort of low grade, consistent terrible that makes one wonder if the human race is really worth it. It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but I suppose when I came across it in other countries, I had the luxury of thinking 'oh, well, but it's better at home' even when I knew that wasn't really true.

Getting home (properly home, our flat, as opposed to London in general) helped. Pizza and getting L back from his seminar helped more. So here's the one mildly bright spot of my day.

Reasonably nice house with a flooded basement and a break in. The man came in through the basement, sloshed up the stairs and had an altercation with the home owners. In the course of this, the woman's pet rat jumped off her shoulder and bit the intruder. Scampered off downstairs (the rat, not the intruder; he tried to go out the front).

By the time I got there to treat rat-inflicted facial wounds, etc., both husband and wife were absolutely frantic about their pet...who was eventually found floating in a hat box in the flooded basement. Like Wind in the Willows, I imagine, presumably with oars and a picnic lunch and a mole.

they grow up so fast

The sun came out today in order to taunt Greg for going back to work. What was he thinking? I took the boys and the dogs to the allotment, where Mycroft and I dug things and Sherlock and the dogs sniffed things. This has nothing to do with any of that, but L sent me this picture while we were there - jumping spider holding tiny jumping spider:

And thence, to the park. Where we pretended to play rugby. I tried to explain the rules to Sherlock, not for the first time, and then we all ran around with a rugby ball in more or less complete chaos. In theory, it was me against the boys, but the dogs wanted to play to, and then it was every man (or canine) for himself.

While we were distracted (Sherlock had climbed a tree with the ball and was taunting us), Phobos wandered off and tried to play with a little girl's balloon. The balloon went off with a bang, which gave me quite a start, Phobos tried to hide behind Mycroft, and the little girl hid behind her mum. Couldn't blame her. Phobos was easily bigger than she was.

Mycroft got her a new balloon and an ice cream and made Phobos apologise, in a scene I found eerily familiar. Just replace Mycroft with me and Phobos with Sherlock...

the road home

I'm writing this on the way back from Brighton. Mycroft's reading, Sherlock's asleep, and both dogs are looking over Mycroft's shoulder as if they can read too, or at least as if they're learning. 

I have some pictures for you, none of them taken by me. The food ones are by Greg (I was too busy eating). Deep fried battered buttermilk-soaked halloumi with chips, seaweed, peas, and the best tomatoes on Earth. They were pickled in vodka. More things should be pickled in vodka. I'm not sure what though. Maybe plums? Sherlock hated them, so we ate his.

Doughnut straws with brandy cream and chocolate to dip them in. Obviously we all loved these. It would be difficult not to. 

this day

For anyone who didn't see it in the comments, Bryan was arrested on a drugs charge today...and called L for help. Help was obviously not forthcoming. I don't even know what he thought Greg could do.

Anyhow. Sherlock's blisteringly angry about it and thinks Bryan should be boiled in oil at the very least. Getting him to settle down for bed was basically impossible, and he sat between us on the sofa until he drifted off around eleven.

L took him upstairs and then we talked for a while. I'm also angry. Obviously. Trying not to suggest he should be boiled in oil or anything similar. It wouldn't help, and Sherlock doesn't need the encouragement.

We went to bed. I'm reading Some Buried Caesar again and read some of it to L. Possibly not the book for him as it put him right to sleep. Although, really, it was midnight by then, and he hadn't had the easiest day, so.

And I'm still awake. Shoulder hurts, leg hurts, brain hurts. Oh, and I worked today. Got one call where a fourteen year old kid had been arrested for attacking his grandmother. So there's that as well.

I don't know if writing this down has helped or not. Going to read some more I think.

owl hugs

I invited myself along on Sherlock's class trip today. Ostensibly I was there to help out Mrs. N and try to keep the kids from actually exploding with excitement when they saw the birds. In reality, I think she and I were nearly as excited as they were. Here are some of the birds they brought (images not mine, taken from their website):

African white-backed vulture:

Barn owl (possibly the most patient bird in the world):

Tengmalm's owl (the one I most wanted to take home):

The rain held off for long enough that we got to see some of them fly. The kids got huge protective gloves and each of them got to hold one of the birds…if they wanted to. Some of them couldn't be convinced. Even the very small owls might look intimidating when you're that young I suppose. Sherlock was obviously not among them. He held everything he was allowed to hold and gave the barn owl a very careful hug.

I had the vulture sitting on my shoulder at one point. He was lighter then I would've thought possible, given his size and 6 foot wingspan. And he nibbled my hair.

Sherlock is still stratospheric about the experience and has had to be dissuaded from perching on the back of the new sofa at least eight times since we got home. He wants to know what would happen if he ate a whole mouse, if it would come out like an owl pellet. I've told him not to try.

gloomy garlic man

I forgot I had started this post and came back to find it the next day with space Alka-seltzer already in place. Odd.

Alka-seltzer in space:

 

And a Tea Council advertisement from 1951:

That's not an ad so much as a way of life.  And now also my phone wallpaper. 

I was doing...something, maybe laundry earlier, and Sherlock fixed me tea all by himself and brought it to me with no ulterior motives - sorry for being so suspicious, Sherlock! It was very kind of you, and I appreciate it.

Sherlock and I went to get tea/coffee/hot chocolate and cakes with L today. He's still missing a suspect, who's evaded a helicopter search, which seems like an impressive accomplishment. Hope he stops being so clever soon and gets caught like he should. 

We have also been to the allotment and saw a man standing over a patch of barren ground, actually weeping a bit. Asked what was wrong, he responded, "Oh, it's my garlic. I'm sure it's all dead." 

Sherlock has been calling him Gloomy Garlic Man and wants to get some and plant it secretly for him, but you're supposed to plant it in the autumn and I think now it would just go soggy before it had a chance to grow. We can give him some of ours, although perhaps that would just be twisting the knife?

underground sofa

I ordered the sofa today/yesterday...after much debate from all sides. I think Sherlock would've preferred it to have sequins, and Mycroft would've preferred one solid colour including cushions. L and I mainly wanted it to be comfortable and not show too much dirt. Or dog hair. Brown was definitely the way to go there, I think.

This is the sofa:

And this is the colour scheme, because I could not for the life of me work out how to make their website display the sofa in those colours:

Also, have some pictures of the early days of the London underground. I like 8 and 10 the best, I think. The complaints poster is wonderful.

Underground Sofa would be a good band name.

And I'm awake again. As you may have noticed. Think I will wake L up this time and try not to be such an idiot. Good night. 

the last one

Well...Lestrade's off to Italy tomorrow/today/in a few hours, to pick up a serial rapist and bring him back here (London, not our flat). Sherlock hid his passport and various other items in an attempt to stop him. He's not at all happy about it, despite the fact that I have been given instructions on how to make pancakes tomorrow morning, which should at the very least give him some entertainment. We got him into bed and then us in to bed eventually. Lestrade has to be in early tomorrow. He's asleep. I was asleep.

I haven't had a really bad dream about Afghanistan for months now. It's always tempting to think I've had the last one, even though, logically, it'll probably never be the last one. Until I'm dead, obviously. Assuming you don't dream after you're dead, which I suppose isn't really a foregone conclusion. I'm probably not making much sense at this point.

We're going to pick up Mycroft tomorrow, which will be great, and barring any major travel issues, L will be home for dinner. Maybe the three of us (or Mycroft with two sous chefs) can put something together for  him.

So I need to try sleeping again. Might just go for a walk first.

I was looking at this too:
http://www.virginmoneylondonmarathon.com/training-centre/training-advice/training-plans/intermediate-17-week-training-plan/

Doesn't sound too unreasonable. 

plotting

We went to see Mycroft today and took him out for a while. There was a sporting even at his school that he was keen to avoid, so we rode the bikes for a while and got a late lunch and walked for a while. Saw a man walking a small pig, which led to questions from Sherlock about various animals bred to be smaller than they were originally and why couldn't anyone make a giraffe small enough to fit in the flat? Or tiny dinosaurs, or, for that matter, very large dogs? Mycroft pointed out that we had two very large dogs already.

He seems happy enough at school, although he says he would prefer the word 'resigned', or possibly 'plotting a coup'. He may or may not be joking about the last one; it's a bit hard to tell sometimes. He also says I'm not allowed to say I can't believe he'll be sixteen this year, because one year does follow the next and given my age I ought to be used to it by now. Which is a fair enough point, but... Well, I won't say it.

He'll be at university in no time, which I suppose won't be all that different from having him away at school. Except I hope he'll like it better. And/or plot a coup. Either one.

Lestrade asked what he was going to do for his requisite teenage rebellion, and he said he was planning to get a passage from Tacitus tattooed on his back. Which also may or may not have been a joke. Anyhow, he's home next weekend, and we'll be very glad to have him. Tattoo or no. 

short

Out of a long list of reasons L just gave for Sherlock not being able to accompany him to crime scenes, one was that there were no paper suits in his size. He went up to his room and has just come down in a tissue paper suit held together with staples.

L and I are both dying and have sent pictures to Mycroft and his mum. Sherlock is unbelievably pleased with himself, even though he does know it won't get him admittance to murder scenes. He says he's going to be a DI in his next school play. Regardless, I assume, of what the play is actually about.

Of course, it's also just fifteen minutes till his bedtime, and he's bouncing off the walls, so possibly the joke's on us... 

back at work

I am ostensibly working, but actually sitting in a corner until they have some use for me. Mrs Hudson picked up Sherlock from school, and he's been texting me. I finished looking at a sergeant's bite wound and checked my phone to find this series:

S: there is a planet called GJ 1214b
S: it has clouds
S: i read a quote from a man who is a scientist and he said it had loads of water on it
S: also i read that people are going to be able to take holidays in space soon
S: so i would like to go to GJ 1214b please
S: maybe for easter or next christmas

S: mycroft says it's 40 light years away, i thought it was closer :(
S: he also says it's impossible to go faster than the speed of light but i don't think anyone's tried properly
S: they can't even go the speed of light yet so they can't be working at it that hard

I assume he's now building a faster than light rocket ship out of his mum's old Meccano set. 

an exciting new year's eve

Greg had to work New Year's Eve, you'll all remember. And if you saw the comments on his post, you'll know he didn't make it all the way through his shift. I seem to remember the comment starting "Well, there was this man with a knife," which is not a comforting way to start a comment explaining why you're at A&E, by the way, just a tip. But he'd stepped on a bottle and fallen the wrong way on his ankle, so it wasn't as bad as it could've been.

Murray and Mrs Hudson were there to watch the fireworks on television, so I left the boys with them and headed out across the city. Things I inadvertently collected along the way:

-three hugs from perfect strangers
-one unfortunately wet kiss
-two handfuls of sweets
-a plastic necklace, spray painted gold, with a pyramid hanging from a long chain
-almost a dog

I got the dog back to its owner, and I can only hope the dog got its owner home. Otherwise he's still singing on a street corner.

Got to the hospital, did the requisite waiting around while I checked his ankle. Got an X-ray, eventually, and it was...two or three in the morning by the time we got home, I think? Which actually isn't bad at all, considering the holiday, but apparently he picked the right A&E to get sent to.

Came home to find Murray dead asleep on the sofa and Sherlock dead asleep on Murray. Took a picture to torment them in years to come. Murray's drooling a bit in it. Mycroft was reading in a chair with the dogs on either side of him like bookends, and Mrs Hudson had sensibly gone to bed, although she left us some orange cake, which was very kind.

Got Sherlock to bed, got Greg to bed, got Murray a blanket...and then I went to bed and passed out on Greg, leaving him to stare at the ceiling (sorry, L!). I think one of my resolutions last year was not to let anyone I love end up in the hospital. Glad I didn't make that one this year - I try to keep them for at least a few weeks...

Anyone else doing New Year's resolutions? Broken them yet? 

day off

Yesterday the boys went off with their mum, and Greg and I took a bike ride. We saw floods...

And more floods...

And cows. Not pictured. Mainly they're not pictured because I (completely understandably!) mistook some mooing for my phone vibrating, and L was laughing too hard to take any photos. And I was too busy trying to look stern and then watching him actually have to sit down and wheeze slightly to take any. I still maintain it wasn't that funny. 

I've had seven texts from him today. 

1. moo

2. bananas? [this was in response to mine about did he want anything from the shops]

3. moooooo

4. moooooooooo

5. you love me really

6. what do ghost cows sound like?

7. moooOOOOooOOOOOoooo

I do love him really, and it's a good thing... 

Here are some pictures Mycroft took last night and this morning at his mum's. The first one is the fire Sherlock lit mainly by himself with help from Mycroft (according to Sherlock's report, that is):

And the second is from a walk they took. Lovely, isn't it? Looks like a painting.

And now we're all back together once more, and we've had pizza, and the Christmas tree is lit up. Sherlock and Mycroft are fiddling with Sherlock's microscope, and L and I are semi-conscious on the sofa with dogs drooling on our feet. 

merry christmas everyone

Murray send me the above picture last night when he was working. Now he's passed out on Mycroft's bed, hopefully to awake soon, and then maybe he and I will have a better chance against the boys at cards then I'm having on my own. It's a good thing we're not playing for money.

And here is the terribly impressive yule log cake:

Not quite as alcoholic as the background suggests. Probably. 

And I think I hear Murray stirring, which means that I might be able to leave the boys with him and Mrs. Hudson and sneak off to visit L for a bit... I fully expect Mycroft to have won all his worldly possessions by the time I get back. He's honestly a little terrifying, and Sherlock's learning fast. 

Merry Christmas, everyone, and I hope you're having a good day whether you celebrate it or not. 

adopt a skull

I'm at an unpleasantly damp crime scene. Someone's just shown me this link where you can adopt a skull. They all have info about them written right on them and you can pick which one you want from a catalogue. My first thought was a Christmas present for Sherlock, but, well, it's a lot of money, and we've already got him...a few things. Possibly more than we should. But if you're shopping for anyone who would like a skull, this is your lucky day.

Contrary to L's advice, I have now been vomited on, punched (only a bit, I'm fine), and felt up, but I think I get to go home soon. At least unless I get another call before that happens. It's been an intense night so far. Very glad I got to go home and get the medal Sherlock made for me though. Several people asked me if I know I've got glitter on my shirt. Obviously the answer was yes (medal is at home for safe keeping).

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.