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? 

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. 

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.

did you miss me??

Hey, it's Murray. I have two things to show you and John's password, so let's gets started. Public service announcement: using your sister's cat's name as a password only keeps out actual hackers, so if that's what you're using, I can only assume you want me to post on your blog.

Gay Flamingos Adopt Abandoned Chick Sherlock gave me this one when I said I was doing a post and it's a nice article that I have just one problem with and that problem is the following unexplained phrase: can feed their chick without any female help, by producing milk in their throat. They can do what now?? How do you type a sentence like that and then not explain it? Is it just me, can all you blokes out there (by blokes maybe I just mean flamingos?) produce milk in your throat? Because let me tell you, that is not a skill I have. Although I can see how it might come in handy in certain situations.

Number two is this: 9,000 Human Sand Silhouettes Serve as a Reminder of D-Day

It's...quite an undertaking. Yeah, don't know what else to say about that really. 

Because I know you are all dying to catch up on my fascinating life I will tell you that I've got an A&E job in a London hospital and won't tell you which one in case you come and stalk me, although if you're single and want to stalk me for romantic purposes, I'd probably be up for that, let me know. Just don't tell Watson, he's a little protective of you lot. 

What else... I'm taking Sherlock and Mrs Hudson out for dinner tomorrow night, don't know where yet. Recommendations? 

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. 

home again

We have beans! We had a few before. Now we have...a lot. These beans may end up on the evening news by the end of the summer. Two children crushed by massive falling bean pod, film at eleven. 

Here's a site that Mycroft showed me. He says it helps him concentrate at school. And at home when Sherlock's not in the flat. It's called Coffitivity and it plays the sounds of a coffee shop at you. I'm not quite sure whether I like it or not yet. 

I had a long and ridiculous argument with Murray this morning about whether it was rude of me to ask him to be my best man via text. He maintains it was. I maintain if we went around pointing out every time we were rude to each other we'd literally never do anything else. I also said I'd ask you lot - rude or no? He said yes anyway. 

this is murray

Hey this is Murray, Watson's making help him weed the allotment (what is my payment?? I DON'T WANT CHARD, jesus who wants chard??) so I'm stealing his phone and trying to do this post thing. Typing loads on this keyboard is not the easiest thing in the world and he's going to see me in a minute. I mean, I have a smart phone and all but I don't use it to write f***king novels on unlike some people. Do you want to know how lon g it took me to find the star key just then?

In case anyone cares about my life apart from my mum I have two job interviews coming up, one with a perfectly normal London hospital and one with 3C's boss because she called me out of the blue and told me to be at an address at a time and I think I should go because even Watson seems possibly genuinely a bit scared of her. Army still owns my soul for now oh shit he's seen me gotta post fast

small growing things

Here are some tiny things coming up in the allotment that may or may not be sorrel. We didn't label things as well as we could have. 

And bleeding heart, which we put in Saturday with Mycroft before we had to give him back to the school. It seems happy so far. 

Mycroft also told me I shouldn't keep abusing my phone's camera apps like this, but I'm  not listening. When I was about nine, our neighbour gave me his old camera, which was cheap and plastic and broke almost immediately (probably didn't help that I dropped it in a pond...a few times...) and it took pictures like this. Which is why the apps sell so well, I imagine. Nostalgia? Of course, fifty percent of mine were of Harry making a face because she'd got between the camera and whatever I was taking a picture of. 

On the job front, I have an interview coming up. Wish me luck. I feel like I might need a better suit. 

Oh, and Muray says to tell you that he's started the process of leaving the Army and should get his 'soul and free will back in roughly seventeen years'. By which he means a few months. 

like spring

It was freakishly sunny and warm today, as if it were actually spring or something. Amazing. Sherlock and I went to the park after school and were pirates for a while - sword fights with sticks, sailing leaf boats on tiny bodies of water, that sort of thing. Sherlock has learned nothing from his broken arm and will still climb everything in sight given half a chance. He was halfway up a statue today before I stopped him.

Murray joined us for a bit, and for ice cream. He says he's not going back and might be leaving the Army too. He's thinking about looking for A&E work in London. I don't know what that job market's like, but he could hardly be better qualified. I told him there was babysitting in his future. He looked worryingly pleased. It's possible I shouldn't leave him and Sherlock alone together without someone else to babysit both of them.

I'm...relieved, I suppose. Sad, too, in a way. It feels like having both of us done with all that is a more permanent end to it than when it was just me, somehow. But I'm quite glad he won't be getting shot at anymore, obviously. And I'm glad it was his choice.

Anyway, as you probably saw in the comments of L's post, we're letting Sherlock pick out eggs from here to grow into a butterfly (or moth) and then release at the allotment. He is wildly excited, and I'm pretty excited too. We'll let you know what he decides on. My money's on the death's head moth...  

murray

So, that was Murray. I'd told him about L and the boys and life in general obviously, but not about the blogs because I knew he'd be on here in a flash with every embarrassing story about me he could think of. He was surprisingly restrained though. Not just in that but in general. I suppose it comes of being home and trying to decide what to do next. Because you can't do that sort of thing forever, no matter how...essential it feels. You have to pick when to get out, or the choice gets taken away from you.

We talked a lot, mostly in the middle of the night, so that I feel about as sleep deprived as L does after those night shifts. Yawning my head off. I'm really glad he came to visit, mockery and all.

L and Mycroft have been baking - making cherry and almond cupcakes for Nicky and her family, and banana ones for his mum. It will be a struggle not to eat them before dinner. Or instead of dinner.

For Sherlock (who's been very good today after yesterday's episode of theft, hostage-taking, and coercion into ponds) an old medical illustration with various ways of stitching wounds:

guest post

Hey, this is Murray. Sherlock says I've got to post this bat.


I guess it is pretty cool. Look at the length of that tongue. Damn. What I could do with a tongue the length of my bloody arm...anyway.

Soooo. How does this work exactly? 3C says just say stuff.  Except not that, he says. And with less swearing than usual. Right. I slept on their sofa last night. It's not bad as sofas go and I am a connoisseur of sofa sleeping. I just had to ask a seven year old how to spell that, by the way. What is my life, god. We had french toast for breakfast, that Greg's an amazing cook.

Went to see the allotment just now that Greg got Watson for his birthday, which is... I dunno. John Watson. Allotment. Not two things I would've thought went together, but he's really into it, so that's good. All their glasses match too. When did you grow up, Johnny? I only left you alone for a couple of years and nothing in your emails led me to suspect this level of adulthood although I guess getting shut down by op minimise in the middle of every other conversation made things a little weird. Started feeling like I shouldn't talk to anyone off Bastion for a while there. Like it would help or something.

Although being ancient (over forty) now I suppose matching glasses and allotments and proper jobs are age-appropriate, thank god I am still younger than you and always will be. This is bizarre, this writing thing. Makes you say things you wouldn't otherwise. Like: I'm thinking about not going back. I'll probably regret it if I don't but the way it's been since I got home, maybe there's only so much fucking over a bloke's head can take and I should stop while I'm ahead. Whatever.

Why don't I have a tag? I am giving myself a tag.