the plague, day 5

We're almost in the clear. Sherlock's tearing around the flat telling terrible jokes to make his brother laugh (One atom says to another atom, "I think I lost an electron." "Are you sure?" "Yeah, I'm positive.") and trying to ride Deimos, who's refusing, quite sensibly, to do anything but lie in front of the fire.

Mycroft is demanding real food for dinner tonight instead of more chicken soup. Mrs Hudson, thank god, shows no sign of getting ill. I have a bit of a scratchy throat, but the air's dry in here, especially with the fire going.


Lestrade came by at lunch time and dragged me out for fish and chips while Mrs H looked after the boys. I didn't realize till I stepped out the door that I hadn't actually been out at all for nearly three days. That much fresh air all at once must've gone to my head because I think I remember telling Lestrade he was my hero. Note to self: next time, at least remember to open a window once in a while, regardless of how cold it is out.

We went for a walk in the park after and discussed the ducks. They're still there, you see. Not all of them, but there are five or six hardcases who have apparently declined to sod off to the south of France or wherever normal ducks go this time of year. The internet informs me that some ducks actually migrate here for the winter, so perhaps these are ducks from the Alps enjoying our comparatively mild temperatures.

I suppose it is all comparative. Kissing outdoors in mild April showers might be thought romantic, but I can now safely say that kissing in January drizzle only makes you feel a bit silly. If warmer.