short and fast

Just wanted to record this for posterity in case he later decides to deny having said it:

I will only take you to Italy if you promise to let me buy you ice-cream.


Not one of his more hard-driven bargains, but it works out well for me. 


Also, to everyone who's picked "What wedding?" in the poll, you could take a look at this, or google William and Kate. I picked this article for containing the line:  "St James's Palace is dark, dingy and depressing." William, it says, would not want to live there. The source quoted is "a courtier," who has apparently not lived half the places I've lived, if he thinks St James's Palace is dingy. 


Also, to whoever (I suspect Elizabeth, but I can't remember) (or be bothered to look it up) said that we needed a chamoise handkerchief, it'd be more accurate to say L and his bike need one. He's got a print out of it folded up in his wallet. 

the third thing

3. Packed up dinner for L and Sally, went up to his office, giving no thought whatsoever to the photos he'd warned me about. It didn't occur to me for a moment I'd have a problem, and L does tend to be a bit overprotective - it's all right (usually*), makes a nice change from being surrounded by people eager to throw me into mortal peril.

I felt a bit sick while they were eating - like, actually physically ill, wondering if it was the pasta and if I should stop them eating it. And then I realized I was thinking about...how it happened. How the boy in the photos got that way. And I couldn't stop.

gay pubs of all sorts

The pub last night was nice, and made a change from Harry taking me to mainly lesbian ones. The hairy eyeballs I was getting last night were presumably trying to determine whether I was actually with L, or if he was free for the evening.

When I go with Harry, we get looked at oddly for entirely different reasons...I assume (hope) it's because we don't look much alike. The woman behind the bar at the last one asked if we didn't think it was a strange place for a date. Harry laugh so hard she nearly fell over and said anywhere was a strange place to take your brother for a date. (She went home with the bartender later. I was completely unsurprised.)

two thirds

There are three things. This post will cover two of them.

It's very late, again. So late it's early. I feel odd posting about this while Nicky & Co. are here, but I can't seem to settle down to write about anything else, even though there's quite a lot else to write about. I don't actually want to write about this at all, but my usual methods of repression and denial don't seem to be working all that well.

And I asked Lestrade and he said it was all right. I suppose since he told me about it via blog comment it'd be a bit odd to worry about me posting about it. I still feel weird posting about it. Obviously, or I would've stopped blithering by now and... I'll start with the point weighing most heavily on my mind.

i have too many very serious things to think about

So here's a photo of Lestrade, presumably still in his rock god phase.

I... I mean really. Good God. I can't tell whether he's posing or about to punch the photographer, but either way it's a very good look on him. 

Anyway! 

He's at work today, so I think Nicky and I  and the kids are going to do things, although no one seems quite sure what yet. I'm fairly certain Hungarian pastries will be involved. I'll let you know. 

going very fast

I still find it hard to believe they just let us stroll off with one of their very shiny motorcycles yesterday, given the slightly mad glint in Lestrade's eye. Maybe it's just that they don't know him as well as I do. Perhaps, to them, he looked like a sober and respectable D.I., whereas, to me, he looked ready to run off with the thing to Argentina and live in sin with it.

here are some tadpoles

I took photos when we went to the park. These are the tadpoles before the home invasion conducted by two small children and two large dogs. I hope no one was injured. 

evidence suggests

Sherlock at least may have been in the water a bit longer than I'd originally suspected, given his pockets were full of duckweed. I asked him why, and he said he wanted to look at it under the microscope - a suspicious answer at best since he knows perfectly well what fits on a slide (hint: not whacking great handfuls of anything at all).

He asked if I'd thrown it away. Not yet, I said.

cheese

Sherlock's out of school now for the Easter holidays, so I've got him at home all day. Two of Mycroft's tutors are off to Portugal and South Africa so he'll have a lot more free time as well, though I imagine he'll insist on spending a lot of it studying anyway.

I suspect he has some sort of plan to come up with a whole new discovery in his physics tutor's field before she gets back. Either that or he secretly works for some multinational space program. I'm now sure what else would explain the equations on his wall (we did one wall with chalkboard paint so he can write on it).

all my options seem vaguely awkward at this point

I was going to call, but I'm less likely to say something stupid in public, so.

I'm willing to believe it's just a piece of paper to you, but it's not to me. I didn't want to ask about the ring. I suppose I should have, so this is partly my fault. I didn't mind it so much because when we went out people tended to think it was for, well, you and me. Not you and some other bloke. Which I'm well aware is stupid and also deceitful on my part. But it never occurred to me that the reason you were still wearing it was because you were still married.

I think perhaps I'm bit more traditional than you are about these things. I am not happy to suddenly find out I'm in a relationship with a married man, even if neither you nor he see it that way. I'm not happy you didn't tell me either, but I'm willing to believe you thought I knew.

I think that covers it.

Anyhow. Just come home when you can, it'll be all right. 

the night before

Wednesday night: ostensibly a night like any other night.

The boys got their homework done. Lestrade got home in time for dinner. We all ate together - rather quickly in the boys' case, since Lestrade had brought along his guitar case and they were a lot more interested in that than in pasta.

He also had a box with him. A flat, white box. It filled my heart with dread, for I could guess what it contained. (And whose fault it was, Elizabeth. I won't be forgetting any time soon [this post, first comment].)

beachy photos

The beach at Brighton. 90% of my photos look basically like this - sand plus water - so I don't know how exciting they'll be to someone whose holiday this wasn't. Except for the ones I took in the mist, which generally look like I aimed the camera into a bowl of cream of something soup. 

you are all lovely people

This will not be a long post because I'm having too much fun. Just wanted to say thanks to everyone who left me happy birthdays, you are very kind, and I appreciate it a great deal. Especially Sally, since her threats were instrumental in me getting L to myself this weekend. He hasn't had one single call. Sally, I'm extremely impressed.

And I got cards! One from Lupe and two from Lestrade, one of which I'm not sure I should post, but I probably will anyway.

birthday breakfast

The day I was expecting: 
Possible snogging in bed. Omelets, bacon, toast. Seeing everyone off to their respective destinations and wishing them luck with school/Latin exams/seminars. A planning session with Mrs Hudson re: the enormous birthday cake Sherlock wants to make with me, with frosting and sprinkles and candles and possibly the kitchen sink. Cake making.

highly suspicious

Sherlock left me a comment today (while he was at school, which he knows he's not really meant to do) to inform me that he'd be going with Lestrade to his conference Thursday. I wouldn't normally pay much attention to this. Sounds like wishful thinking, right? Or Sherlock's version of wishful thinking, which is usually to announce how things are going to be and then throw a fit when someone disagrees.

This time, though, he said Mrs T (that's his teacher) told him he'd be off school Thursday and Friday. Now, if he'd said he told her he'd be off school for two days I'd still assume it was just Sherlock being Sherlock, but it's not like him to lie.

a day at the races

We had a lovely day out at the Boat Race, which mainly consisted of beer, pub food, walking, and listening to the boys argue about boat design. Apparently Oxford and/or Cambridge should hire them because they could do it better, and the boats would go faster and tip over less often. At least if Mycroft was in charge.

sunny days

While Lestrade's wading through mud and paperwork, I took the boys out to the park for sun and ice cream and an extremely uncoordinated game of frisbee. The dogs were much better at it than any of the humans and twice saved us from irrevocably losing it in a tree. Deimos in particular can do some pretty spectacular leaps when he wants to.

It's hard to look at them grinning doggy grins and rolling in the grass and remember they (possibly) used to belong to a serial killer. And then I wonder whether they're really the same dogs. And then I decide I'm glad not to know, which is where that train of thought always ends up, so I don't know why I keep on boarding it.

Anyhow. Lestrade wanted a report on how our day went, suitably toned down so he wouldn't be madly jealous, but I think if all he's got is death threats and paperwork, the jealousy is inevitable. Sorry, L. Essentially though, nothing happened today. It was lovely.

who doesn't love crime scenes

I wen to Tesco for Mrs Hudson, got Lestrade's nicotine patches, stopped for coffee. All in all, I was only gone an hour and a half or so. Maybe less.  Lestrade stayed with the boys, and they were all clustered around his computer talking about some crime scene  seminar he's meant to be writing when I left.

When I got back, Lestrade was unconscious on the floor, bleeding copiously from a head wound. Sherlock was examining it with a magnifying glass, and Mycroft was trying to keep Phobos from licking up the blood.

look what nicky sent me

We've all been wondering about Lestrade's band name, and after yesterday's photo debacle I asked Nicky about it. She was kind enough to send me an actual flyer for one of their shows. Hand made by the look of it, and my but that's a lovely shade of pink.

before or after

I mainly spent yesterday reading, eating cake, and watching Lestrade nap on the sofa. Mrs Hudson went mad with the cake. Three kinds, and they were all amazing. Especially the banana something one. I made the boys breakfast (toast and peanut butter) and dinner (cheese sandwiches and peas) but Lestrade and I mainly ate cake. There was also a jar of olives finished off, but that was mostly me as they were spicy. Good day.

Good having him home and knowing he'd stay in all night. Good not having him swill coffee like he needed it to live and knowing that might in fact be the case, since he doesn't have a job in which you can combine slow thinking with a long life expectancy. I don't think I like this night shift business.

nap time

The test colors on Sherlock's walls are roughly the colors of rust, dried blood, red wine, and raspberry jam. I don't mind any of them too much, but I like the rust best. I'm actually rethinking the black ceiling. Next time one of his experiments goes wrong, there wouldn't be any need to clean smoke stains off the ceiling.

above and beyond

After the last post I was required to explain to Sherlock what My Little Ponies are. I tried my best - magical talking horses, some with wings, etc. - but he had a number of incisive questions I wasn't equipped to answer. ("Why do they speak English? How can those tiny wings make them fly? How can they write books? Why is this so stupid?") So we looked on the internet.

no comment

I have nothing to say about 1980s Canadian pop singers. We are moving on.

I talked to Lestrade's sister, Nichola, last night, and she was kind enough to send me this:

it owns you

Mycroft put AIM on Lestrade's laptop. He messaged me from work today and the result is below. Sometimes I think we really should try to act more like adults.

lestrade
I JUST HEARD AN AD FOR A CAR CALLED THE RC Z
lestrade
IT SOUNDS LIKE ARSEY Z

the littlest d.i.

I suppose everyone wants details? Right.

On the way to school yesterday, we're coming up the road and there's this boy (16-18, bigger than me, let alone Sherlock) throwing stones over a garden wall. We weren't close enough yet to see over the wall, but quite close enough to hear the poor dog when one of them hit home.

I hadn't even got as far as working out what to say to him (hopefully something that would get him to actually stop instead of getting more abusive) when Sherlock ran up to him, flourished Lestrade's warrant card in his face (all right, more at his knees) and said he was under arrest for "being mean to dogs."

paging d.i. lestrade

LESTRADE, WILL YOU PLEASE ANSWER YOUR PHONE? OR THE FIFTEEN TEXTS I'VE SENT YOU?

Because I've got a fun game for you. You'll enjoy it. It's called Guess Who's Got Your Warrant Card, and I'll give you a hint to start out with: it's not you.

Oh, and he's short, dark-haired, and enjoys waking people up at 5am to demand pancakes. And he just tried to arrest someone on our way to school. 

guiltless

Lestrade sent me this last night. Kind of sums up our entire relationship. I mean that in a good way.

dear internet

 Dear Internet,

Sorry for being drunk all over you last night. It was impolite and uncalled for, but don't worry, I'm suffering for it today.

I probably owe you (or at least Lestrade) an explanation (and it's easier to write it down than say it to his face). And it won't hurt to have the boys hear it either. One thing therapy (or maybe it was blogging?) does teach you is to say things out loud that you'd really not rather even think.

to market

"Show us everything you've got," Lestrade said to the jam woman. "John here loves...jam. Can't get enough...jam. I swear I could feed him jam all. Night. Long. And he'd never complain."

"Oh, men. They're all like that, aren't they? Spreading it on thick when it suits them, leaving you dry when it doesn't." 

I'm not completely sure what she meant by that, but it did bring up several vivid mental images, as I'm sure it does for you. At that point I seriously considered just walking away and pretending I didn't know him. And then there was the sausage man. I'm fairly sure I can't quote what either of them said without breaking some sort of law, or at the very least having to explain things to the boys that I don't want to explain.

pizza wins

A short post as we're leaving early for Borough Market so we're not left picking through the dregs. I thought Lestrade might want to reschedule after yesterday, but he wouldn't hear of it. I suppose it's as well to have a distraction. He would like you all (and the rest of the world) to know that he's "fine, absolutely fine, thank you."

Pizza and Chinese tied for first place in the poll. My own preference, Thai, was in last place. Hm. I note ligature is still lingering last in Lestrade's poll as well, giving me the most unpopular murderous dinner date combo possible. Just as well Lestrade doesn't like Thai and I don't (currently) want to strangle anyone. It's clearly out of fashion.

If I've missed anything vital on the new poll, do tell me. I don't think I can actually edit the poll once people have voted, but maybe I can do another later. 

new law

From now on, people may only get killed between the hours of 8am and 8pm. I feel I'm being generous by not limiting it to 9 - 5. Twelve hours a day is plenty of time to get yourself dead. I could even go 8am to midnight, but that's my final offer.