murray and lestrade

Well. Murray went up to surprise Lestrade at his conference. There was champagne and there were Homer Simpson boxer shorts, apparently. Later, Murray got himself handcuffed to the bar. That was after he got them kicked out the jacuzzi.

The evening appears to have been a success. Although I don't like to think of the state of L's head in the morning.

I called Murray cheeseface in the comments and promised to explain. It's a short story. He once loudly announced to a bar that fromage was better than fucking. He meant frottage...although he did not stand by his statement when questioned later. There were speculations about what sort of bedroom activity would involve cheese, and he got a new nickname. It's probably best not to think about it too hard.

Right. Going to try sleep again. 

happy birthday, lestrade!

The other one I was looking at said 'you may feel old, but you're still the youngest person I had sex with this year.' But I went with the more topical one. Besides, I would've had to amend it to say 'or last year, or the year before… Or for quite a while, really'. And then some of the humor is lost. So I decided on the royal foetus, because I know you didn't get enough of that at work. :-)

snow and pinstripes

It snowed. I believe Sherlock may have mentioned it once or twice. It's very pretty, or at least the parts that haven't been turned into grey sludge by the traffic are very pretty. 

Sherlock has done his best to spend every waking moment outside and actually chose to walk to school today rather than have us take him on the bikes so he could be out in it longer. Amazing.

L and I dropped him off, had a run that ended with cold fingers, dripping noses, and a desperate desire for coffee. We went home rather than inflict our sweaty selves on some unsuspecting coffee shop. There were showers, coffee, toast, etc., and he talked to me about accent colours for the wedding, which seemed premature, since we don't know where we're having it, exactly when we're having it, or in fact any about it except that it will occur at some point in the future. But since we can't decide about any of those things, perhaps accent colours are a good place to start? He was talking about lithianthus purple (I had to look it up too), which is...extremely purple. But you can't get married in a beige jumper, and it is a nice colour.

Harry texted to say it should be a bee-themed wedding. I'm not even sure how that would work, but Sherlock would probably love it.

After lunch, we went to look at suits, which was like entering some sort of time warp composed of fabric, polished floors, and terrifying neckwear. We only went to two places, and then suddenly we were almost late to pick up Sherlock. I'll let L tell you about the shopping. The only thing I definitely decided was that I don't want to wear pink pinstripes, ever, for any reason, and I don't know how anyone could wear them without looking like a super-villain.

permanent

In her continuing efforts to brighten my life and/or make her brother cringe, Nicky sent me this:

the perm...

I imagine the very serious face is due to him imagining Nicky using it against him in the future. Smart boy.

In other news, I've been looking into the FME training course. The next one in London isn't for quite a while yet. The ones coming up are all far enough away that I'd have to stay there for the week. Not sure how Mrs H would feel about me being away from the boys for that long...or for that matter how L and Mrs Hudson would feel about it, since they'd be the ones making up for my absence. The course summary looks interesting though. 

back to the future

Delorean taxi

The linked article says it's not real, sadly - I mean that it doesn't exist as a taxi, not just that it doesn't really take you back in time.

Sherlock's class had auditions for the Christmas show today. Sherlock wants to be an angel with a light up halo. A dancing angel. Possibly breakdancing. Probably not on the head of a pin, but nothing would surprise me. He's also got a violin piece to play at the start of the show, along with two of his classmates, who I believe are playing cello and harp.

On the way home, he said he wants to invite Molly and Sally to come to the show  as well - but only if he gets the part. Heh. I need to ask Mrs N how many guests we're allowed to bring. There are quite a few of us already.

And I need to start Christmas shopping in a very serious way. What are you all getting your mums this year? Any ideas I can steal?

-

I'm not going to continue the poetry indefinitely, but I realised I didn't do any haiku at all. So here's this, by Issa.


In this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers. 

hope is the thing with feathers

I went to see Lestrade play his guitar at a very small pub tonight. Last night, technically. I was under strict instructions to not do anything whatsoever - applaud wildly? Fling various items of clothing at the stage? Not sure what he had in mind. I behaved with perfect decorum but was still accused of looking 'soppy'... Well, he might've had a point. Couldn't help it. I really do think he's amazing and was so pleased and proud to be there with him. 

Sometimes I wonder how things would've gone if we'd met years and years ago, when I was in med school and he was still in his band. Really poorly, probably, when I think back on most of my relationships. And that's assuming I got up the nerve to talk to him at all; also unlikely back then. 

On nights like this, it's possible to believe that sometimes things really do turn out for the best. 

-

Hope is the thing with feathers

Emily Dickinson

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...

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. 

it's your birthday

It's your birthday, and you even remembered this year! Happy birthday, Gregory Martin Finchley Lestrade. I hope this card is accurate; I'm picturing you leaping on top of bars for your guitar solos when you played in your band.

I love you. It's funny, but every time I think I've got to some plateau on that front, you surprise and amaze me and I fall in love with you all over again, even more than before. Thank you for being here, for sharing your life with me, for being who you are. 

motorcycles i shouldn't even be considering

The Triumph website lured me back with their design-your-own feature...

But then there was this BMW...

...that I really, really like, I mean look at it. That 'other bikes' menu doesn't work for me, by the way. I think they're trying to tell me that there are no other bikes.

I shouldn't even be looking at this, I was going to get something used. And I especially shouldn't be looking at it at work! 

as the moor turns, pt 3

After that, it was a long and thankfully unexciting walk back to the house. Sherlock fell asleep. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd left my cane at the tor, which I would come to regret in the morning. That night I was just grateful to be in a bed and was certain the next day would go far more smoothly. [insert the hollow laughter of hindsight here]

Sherlock slept in my room, because I didn't know where his was. I slept in a chair propped against the door so he couldn't get out without waking me. He woke me by jumping up and down on the bed and saying my name over and over and over and over and over...and over again.

He and Mycroft and I all had a relatively civilised breakfast, kindly provided by Mrs Hudson, and then I thought we'd take a nice walk into town. I had by that point realised that I'd left my cane on the moor, but I was violently ignoring my leg in the hope that it would continue to be trouble-free. That worked about as well as you'd expect.

We weren't even a quarter of the way there when I fell. Sherlock ran off to get me a stick he'd seen. I sent Mycroft after him. And then my knight in a shining bluish Honda pulled up. Lestrade was on his way to the hall to question me and I saved him a trip.

He gave us a ride into town, stopped at the sweet shop, where Mycroft and Sherlock got out, and then asked me some pointed questions about recent murders, both in London and in Dartmoor. I'm afraid I wasn't taking the interrogation terribly seriously, partly because I still in Afghanistan for at least one or two of them, and partly because I was...distracted. As anyone would be. He kept trying to smoke his pen.

(This is my 300th post, by the way. Seems appropriate somehow.)

threatened with a pork chop

Around ten this morning, a very large man came into the surgery, went up to the receptionist, and said, 'I've got a knife, right, so you've got to let me see the doctor right now.'

He had one hand in his coat pocket, presumably holding the knife. The receptionist rang for me to come out. He explained the situation re: his supposed knife. I asked him to step into my office so I could take a look at him.

Once inside, I explained he'd have to remove his coat and shirt, at which point he pulled his hand out of his pocket, grasping not a knife but a paper-wrapped package. 'I don't have a knife,' he said. 'It's just chops. Can I put them in your fridge?'

We put them in the fridge. I listened to his breathing, and the police arrived a few minutes later. He looked confused, said he hadn't done anything wrong, and explained about the pork chops. They took him off in a police car anyway. He left the chops behind.

As if that wasn't odd enough, one of Lestrade's colleagues stopped by an hour later to make sure everything was all right. Said he'd heard that 'Lestrade's doctor was in some trouble...again.' I hope I'm not getting a reputation... 

not just make up, 80s make up

Thank you, Nicky!

The banal details of our shopping trip clearly can't compare to this, so I'll just mention that Mycroft got a shirt with a pattern on (still very tasteful, but I think every single one he owns is solid colour but this), and Lestrade talked me into jeans that are probably too young for me and failed to talk me into ones with some sparkly thing on the bum. 

stick insects

Sherlock's going to love this.


Lord Howe Island Stick Insect hatching from Zoos Victoria on Vimeo.

There's an amazing article about them too.

On Lord Howe, there used to be an insect, famous for being big. It's a stick insect, a critter that masquerades as a piece of wood, and the Lord Howe Island version was so large — as big as a human hand — that the Europeans labeled it a "tree lobster" because of its size and hard, lobsterlike exoskeleton.

I wouldn't want to find one in my slipper, but I hope they get a second chance. 

Went for a nice ride with L this afternoon while Sherlock was squeezing all possible information of a visiting biologist about the pond. L even rode on the back for a while, with no apparent heart attacks. I imagine he'll still be glad when I get my own though. 

all's well that ends well

L's back to work, and Mary's entertaining the boys, and I'll try to explain things a bit without bringing down the wrath of Mrs H.

I used to know the man who was behind the abduction of Mary's mum. A long time ago. He was in the Army then. I gather he was thrown out on his ear not long after, and I'm not surprised. There was a lot of rumours. Him talking to the wrong people and information getting where it shouldn't, things going missing. Nothing was ever proved, although apparently it was later on.

I can only assume that's why Mrs H wanted me involved, although if she already knew who he was... I don't know. Maybe she just wanted confirmation. You can run yourself to death trying to follow her trains of thought.

Most of the packages Mary was getting were a sort of trail of breadcrumbs from her mum that I won't go into the details of because I don't know how on Earth she managed it, but a little while ago there was something else, from him. A sort of threat-slash-bribe. Mrs Morstan was not giving him what he wanted, and he thought he could get it from Mary instead.

I recognised his... Not signature. This odd little sign he used to doodle all the time. Either as a result of that, or independently, I have no idea, Mrs H and her people found and retrieved Mrs Morstan. I went to give Mary the good news...and he broke into her flat while we were having tea and tried to... I don't really know what his goal was, actually.

Fortunately, he came on his own. We had a bit of a scuffle, I knocked him out, and you've read the aftermath. Mrs H tells us Mrs Morstan should be home tomorrow. 

cambridge

We had, as L said, a lovely ride to Cambridge. I had the key to Mary's mum's flat, which was basically in the same condition she'd left it in when she went to France three months ago. It certainly didn't look like she had any particular plans to be away long, although I suppose if she hadn't planned to come back at all, there would've been no reason to empty the fridge.

I did wonder at first if someone had searched the placed in the way you see it done in films, everything tossed about everywhere, but Mary did warn me it would be messy. We did find an old map that very likely has nothing to do with anything, and then we found a chip shop and ate lunch. Sherlock's been pouring over the map today in between glaring at us and eating cake.

The motorcycle lesson went well. I rode something gold and Italian this time, and I think L is going to have some sort of seizure if I don't start remembering the exact make and model so I can tell him later. He listed about forty different ones it could've been and I gave him a blank look, and he said how could I remember what all the bones in the hand are called and not the company that made one bike. I told him my brain's already full of bones and so on, but I don't think he bought it.

I got this from Mycroft today, 'for the internet', he said. Here you go, internet:

eye of the tiger

Please note the tiger striped seat covers...

So. The meeting with Mrs Holmes yesterday. I didn't really know what to expect. I never do with her, and these little visits are always exciting. It was only the second time I've been to her office. It's quite small, extremely wood paneled (all the walls and the ceiling), and has an espresso maker that L would be wildly jealous over. It looks brand new though, and it did last time I was there too. I don't think she spends a lot of time there.

We had coffee, talked about the boys, made certain plans which will be a pleasant surprise for them and for L, I hope. And then she asked me to go and talk to...some people about some things.

This is where it gets tricky. I can't give out details in a public blog, and frankly I barely have any details to give out if I wanted to. There's a possibly accidental death involved, and a young woman who's been sent a number of...well, I can't say what, so let's call them pearls, over the past few years.

I don't know why she'd want me to look into it. I'm sure she has more qualified people. And I'm a bit worried L may die of worry. But it does sound awfully interesting. 

he knows how to make an entrance

First motorcycle lesson tomorrow. L claims to be nervous, but give the appointment he has later in the day, he has much better reasons to be nervous than me wobbling around on a bike for a few hours. The one he claims is his 'eye check up'. The only similarity is that he's also got two of what he's actually going to get seen to.

Speaking of appointments (but not the sort L has tomorrow), I have one with Mrs Holmes on Friday. I don't know what about. Should be interesting, at least. They always are.