post

Sherlock got an envelope in the post today. I didn't think much of it. His birthday's coming up, after all, and it had balloon stickers on it. Glittery ones, even. I did check with his mum, because he doesn't generally get cards, but there are a number of people it might've been from. Mrs Holmes said to let him open it. I could tell she was doing what I'd been doing - weighing the risk against letting him be a normal kid excited to get mail of his own. And he was so excited he nearly burst on the way home.

It was a birthday card. It's got a bug on it, so someone clearly knows his taste. Inside the card were photos of Lestrade, obviously taken by someone who'd been following him on his bike-less commute recently. Some were taken from quite close up.

Sherlock was mainly confused and thought it was a very silly thing to send him for his birthday. I am... Well, I think you can imagine. Lestrade is on his way home. 

caught in this isthmus of a middle state

Paralympics women's doubles medal ceremony:

Esther Vergeer's record is just amazing. I think she's got over 20 slam titles, and a few years ago she topped 400 straight wins. (I know this is late, but a lot of the tennis I'm just watching now.)

Also, there's this. I think they're fantastic, and I wish I'd had anything like that amount of determination when I got home.

Anyway, life goes on. L's told me a little about his case, which is...not good. Some of the cases he works are fairly ordinary, if murder can ever be said to be ordinary, and some, like this, leave me wondering how things like this can happen, how anyone can do these things.

Sherlock asked me what the point of life was today, which was a more complex question than I was expecting to have to answer while making cheese sandwiches on four hours of sleep. I'm afraid I didn't have a satisfactory answer for him. 

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. 

protection

Lestrade got this one:

And I got this one: 

Which, as you can see, is red, and goes with my bike. Although, it's going to be L's bike for a while as soon as his hand is well enough to ride again. I don't really need it on a daily basis. I hope his gets fixed soon though. I know he misses it.

The accident, if it was an accident, was over so quickly that it's difficult to remember the details. It always seems odd that something that happens in so little time can have such lingering effects.

no one needs to worry

We had a little accident on the bike. Bruises and scrapes mostly. We're going to hospital for L's hand, which is swelling nicely. I don't think anything's broken though.

I've talked to Sherlock and Mycroft already, and Mrs H is picking Sherlock up from school, though he's not happy about it. Please be good for her, Sherlock. Hopefully we won't be too long.

Some bastard, also on a bike, cut right in front of us and there was just nowhere to go, bus on one side, pedestrians on the other. You'd almost think he was trying to knock us over. I'm glad it was L driving and not me; I'm sure he managed it better than I would have.

And when I say no one needs to worry...I mean about us. The bike didn't fare so well. I don't think he'll be riding it for a while. 

unpacking, a drama of innumerable parts

We left yesterday morning (Spain, as I think most of you probably guess) and got back to London yesterday afternoon. Mycroft's leaving for school this evening, so not much happened yesterday apart from travel, tantrums about leaving, laundry, un/packing, and consolation brownies. They didn't really make up for not being in Spain anymore, but they helped.

Today: more laundry, more un/packing, the realisation that there are more laundry labels to sew into Mycroft's new shirts, acquiring food one way or another, etc etc.

Sherlock brought Mrs Hudson home a stone he found that has a hole through the centre of it. He's been fascinated this trip with the way water smooths things out and wears them down. He would've brought home every piece of beach glass he found if he'd had his way.

We'll probably do another pan of brownies so Mycroft can take them to school for his friends, or, as he insists they be referred to, the people he knows there. I suppose he has a point. My mum would refer to anyone I knew from school as my friend, even people I considered my mortal enemies. Drove me mad.

I'm using my how to infuriate monkeys tag retroactively for the Gibraltar incident. 

on the blue shore of silence

Mycroft and Mrs Holmes stayed back at the house yesterday, and L and Sherlock and I headed down the beach to explore. Sherlock had a plastic bucket and war paint sunblock, L had his film star tan and smug grin, and I had a pounding headache, L's sunglasses, and occasionally a towel draped over my head. I honestly did not have that many mojitos. They're deceptive. And I'm out of practice.

We walked quite a long way, built a series of quickly abandoned sand castles along the beach, which were misshapen lumps by the time we passed them again, picked up shells and bits of seaweed, watched while Sherlock poked at things in tide pools. I stuck my head in the sea every now and then. It helped a bit.

There was no ice cream, but we did get cold drinks near the surfing school, and looked at, but did not ride, the horses. Sherlock and L wanted to try surfing, and I wanted to lie very still, so they went off for a while. I floated peacefully in the water...until Sherlock was boosted without warning onto my stomach and L ducked down to bite my bum again. It was a well coordinated assault that nearly ended with L's sunglasses at the bottom of the sea.

Sherlock can really swim now. I'm not sure when he went from splashing and paddling to diving and cutting through the water like a tiny eel (that's a moray...), but he's really quite good now. We'll have to find somewhere indoors to take him this winter.

On the way back, Sherlock was pretending to be a bull and charge Lestrade, which led to L wearing Sherlock's bucket on his head, standing on a rock and singing that Toreador song. He doesn't think I have pictures, but I do. 

wake

After the incident with Sherlock and the monkeys, we got on the ferry to Morocco. The wake behind the ferry from Gibraltar to Tangiers:

I wasn't quite sure about the S on the end of Tangier(s) so I looked on Wikipedia (which says either way is correct), and found this: Tangier has been reputed as a safe house for international spying activities. I'm dying to ask Mrs Holmes if this is true, but she'd just give me that look of hers.

I did ask Anthea, but she said Mrs Holmes had given her the day off (as if she answers my ridiculous questions when she doesn't have the day off) and headed down to the beach...not with beach towel and sunblock as one might expect, but for a run, from which she didn't return for two hours. I'm not sure she properly understands the concept of a day off.

And now L has made mojitos and guacamole. He also bit my elbow and informed me that our beach has land sharks. I love seeing him like this, happy and relaxed and playful (even when he cheats at water volleyball). 

let's rewind

I think Lestrade mentioned some of these, but...

Things Sherlock tried to pack on Sunday, for your entertainment:

A smaller bag inside his bag, so that he could bring 'nearly twice as many things!' back with him as he took with him.

Spoons.

A dog.

Mycroft.

The attempt to pack his brother was mainly in retaliation for Mycroft working out how to put books in collections in the Kindle before he did. There is, at the moment, only one Kindle, because Sherlock went unexpectedly Luddite on us and declared that he only liked real books. Of course, now that we're here, and Mycroft has unlimited book access and he doesn't, he wants one desperately.

Oh, and I didn't fall asleep in the airport, whatever L says. Don't listen to him. I think I did sleep on him  for most of the flight though.

And now we're here, and it's...honestly one of the nicest places I've ever been. It's strange. I'm still not used to being able to afford proper grown up holidays that don't involve sleeping on someone's sofa. I know I ought to be; I'm certainly old enough, but it still seems faintly unreal.

I'm writing this next to the pool. You can hear wind ruffling the leaves, hear the waves rolling in, smell the salt. Just woke up from a bloody awful dream, but I don't even care as long as I don't wake up from this. Trying to decide whether L would be cranky if I woke him up for a very late night swim... 

packing, a drama in three parts

Act I, scene i, the kitchen. 

Lestrade is getting ready to leave for work. Mycroft is drinking orange juice and eating toast. I am hunched over my tea in a protective fashion because that is my standard morning position when I'm not forced out of it by the divers alarums and excursions that so often fill our lives.

Sherlock rushes in, dumps a pile of things on the floor, and rushes out again. The things are as follows: a microscope, a large green towel, one of Lestrade's rare ties, a small live frog (how?), a packet of biscuits, part of a computer with some wires hanging off of it, and his book on mummies.

Mycroft, Lestrade, and I stare at the pile.

Act I, scene ii, Sherlock's bedroom. 

I enter, with my tea held before me like a particularly ineffective talisman. Sherlock is wrestling his suitcase out of his wardrobe. With the handle extended, it is as tall as he is, so this isn't going well. I ask what he's doing. He replies with a look that says it should be blatantly obvious that he's trying to force his suitcase into submission. Fair enough.

I remind him that I said we'd start packing later in the day, and that we're not leaving until Monday. He says that if we all get it done sooner we could leave earlier. I explain that this is not how it works. He nevertheless proceeds downstairs with his suitcase.

Act I, scene iii, the sitting room. 

Lestrade is pursuing a small, live frog. Mycroft is restraining the dogs from pursuing a small, live frog. Sherlock has retreated into the kitchen to pack all his belongings which haven't yet run away.

I contemplate taking my tea back to our room and locking myself in, but instead send L off to work and take over the frog hunt myself. It takes close to an hour. It's an agile frog.

Later in the day, we'll have to take it back to the park. For now, it's in a glass bowl, regarding me with a hurt expression.

Tomorrow, no doubt, act two. 

minor suns

Back to normal, I suppose, at least until L gets his time off settled and we can get away for a while. Mrs Holmes thinks it's a good plan as well and might even join us for part of it. I don't think we'll be saying anywhere public where we're going, except that it'll have sun (fingers crossed) and hopefully a beach.

L has already painted a vivid picture of himself in (bright) yellow (short) shorts playing air guitar on a pair of jeans - I suppose not actually air guitar, but perhaps laundry guitar? Denim guitar? - when Mrs Hudson brought Laura up to see us.

I wasn't there to witness it, sadly, but L's shriek summoned me fairly quickly, so I got to see his outfit and Laura's reaction to it at least. Or I should say Laura and Mrs Hudson's reactions to it, since Mrs H seemed suitably impressed and told him his shorts fit very nicely (they do).

For those of you not of a mind to keep up with my exes, Laura is the one, as L put it, who has a tiny dog and got me arrested in Egypt. The tiny dog, Biscuit, has since passed on, but she has another now named Vespasian. She gets them from a breeder named, no joke, Mrs Strange. She is, too; I've met her.

L streaked off to put some clothes on, I made tea and introduced her to Sherlock and Mycroft, and we all talked for a while. Or four out of five of us talked, once L returned, and Sherlock glared. Later on in the evening he said she couldn't have me back, which explained the glaring. She kindly refrained from saying she wouldn't want me back, but I know it's true - neither of us would've known what to do with each other in any sort of long term romantic arrangement.

L said he was going to hold my hand possessively on the way to the restaurant, and did so, which I suppose means Sherlock wasn't the only one who was worried, though I hope L knew he had nothing to worry about. Though I'd probably feel the same if his exes showed up out of the blue as mine now seem inclined to do.

Over dinner, Laura told everyone a bit about how we met and kindly left out the fact that I couldn't pay for dinner because I'd lost nearly everything I had in a card game in some bloke's basement. That was an interesting night.

So...there was pizza and ice cream, and Sherlock was won over by garlic bread the the promise of camel riding if we ever go to Egypt. We all stayed up far too late and had a lovely time. I might see her for lunch before she goes back, but I think she's leaving fairly soon, so maybe not.

And now back to bed for hopefully an hour or so before Sherlock's up. It's been a long couple of days. I think I want to just be in bed with L more than I want to actually sleep. 

in the days of frost

Well. This was going to be about Laura's surprise visit, but if you've been reading the comments on L's blog, you'll know it's not going to be.

Someone sent photos to L at work today, pictures of all of us at bouncy Stonehenge. No note, apparently, no overt threat, but the fact that someone sent them is threatening enough. L couldn't reach me or Rachel at first and was understandably concerned, but everyone's fine, physically at least.

It's a difficult situation. I mean, I know I'm stating the obvious here, but...yeah. There's not enough information to actually do anything yet and no way of knowing when there will be. The police and Mrs H's people will be working on it, so that'll have to be enough. I hate the waiting though, always have. 

flourless chocolate cake

Mrs Hudson gave me this one, along with a discourse on what exactly 'stiff peaks' means. 

1.Preheat oven to 150C (300F) degrees and butter an 8 inch springform pan (this is one that the bottom comes out of, which you need because if you turned the pan upside down, the cake might come out, but only in bits, it's too fragile).

2. Melt 125g (4oz) bittersweet chocolate with 1 tsp vanilla, 1 Tbs coffee, and 1 Tbs brandy.

3. Add 90g (6 Tbs) butter, 100g (1/2 cup) sugar, and 50g (1/2 cup) of ground almonds. Heat until butter is melted.

4. Beat 3 egg yolks until lemon coloured and add them to the chocolate mixture.

5. Whip 3 egg whites until they form stiff peaks and fold them gently into the chocolate mixture.

6. Bake for 45 minutes. If you stick a knife or something in the middle, it won't come out completely clean, but it shouldn't be gooey either. Mrs Hudson said it should have 'moist crumbs', which it did, the second time. Sort of. 

late nights

I've been waking up every half hour or so, or maybe not sleeping at all. Just drifting. Thinking, for some reason, of all the friends I've lost, one way or another. I suppose sometimes one just has nights like that. I can't say what brought it on.

I never wrote anything about visiting my parents so I thought I'd try that now, at least a bit.

It wasn't bad. If anything, it went better than I expected. They liked Mycroft, said he was a very polite and well brought up young man. They liked Lestrade. My mother said he seemed very steady and would be a good influence on me.

They were less certain about Sherlock, but they don't like a lot of noise and chaos, and Sherlock is 50% noise and 50% chaos - in the best way, of course, but they weren't seeing that. And I think Sherlock was predisposed not to be overly fond of them because he knew I was reluctant to see them. That's my fault, and I wish I could've done something differently there.

They're good people. I'm not even sure I can explain why I find it so difficult to be around them. It's...a restrained atmosphere. And I know I'm not a champion discusser of feelings, but there's a difference between not saying things and feeling you can't say them. I remember that feeling so strongly, starting with my very first memories, the undercurrent of belief that if anyone said what they were actually thinking that our world would collapse. And it was never anything that horrible, but lacking the ability to acknowledge it made every tiny thing loom over us.

Well. This is accomplishing nothing. I'm going back to bed, either to sleep or talk to L if sleep fails. Good night. Almost good morning. 

camping and fish and karate

This is Sherlock and I drew Lestrade wearing his uniform and also our tent because he told Mycroft we could go camping and I want to go near the sea and catch a fish. He's not camping in his uniform, it's only to show you what it looks like. I think it's kind of boring and he should have an enormous hat made of bears and a red jacket and shiny buttons but I told Lestrade that and he said then the criminals would see him coming and run away so maybe he's right, he's sort of like a ninja. 

stargazing

Hello, this is Mycroft. A few people have asked when I plan to go on the stargazing trip I mentioned. I'm going today, actually, and I've arranged with Mummy for Sherlock to go and stay with her until I get back. I thought Lestrade and John might want some time to relax, and they can't really go anywhere since Lestrade needs to be available for work.

This is a picture of the inside of our balloon being inflated. I think Lestrade has a lot more of what the city looked like from above, especially the football stadiums, so I expect he'll post some of those. 

Sherlock and I are leaving today, so I need to pack and wrap up my telescope now, but I wanted to show you a poem that John showed me first. It's called The Old Astronomer to His Pupil, and this is the last part, which I like especially: 

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

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. 

olympics

This is the bike portion of the triathlon that we went to see. It was more exciting to watch than I thought it would be, although some disagreed. Mycroft went so far as to bring a book, though he didn't read it the whole time. Admittedly that would've been difficult with Sherlock asking him questions every three seconds. 

The Ukrainian and the Swiss cyclist were at the back, on their own, and as Sherlock said in the comments, everyone cheered for them loudest of all. I wonder if it actually is encouraging or if it just points up the fact that they've fallen behind, and after all their training, too. I hope it's encouraging. I can't decide how I'd feel if it were me.

It was a lovely day out, and we did get ice cream eventually, and L got a nap later, though not for as long as I would've liked. Sherlock and Mycroft discussed Olympic events to take the place of the ones they don't like. Swimming in pudding and dolphin riding were both very popular. 

quiet day

More dog walking and cake eating, but other than that, not much to report. I'm enjoying the Olympic tennis very much, especially as it looks like either Federer or Murray will get the gold now. I think it'd be a great boost for Murray to get it. He might even manage to win the US Open this year.

I'm still not sure what was going on last night that kept L out until all hours. I meant to wait up for him, but didn't quite manage it. Think I fell asleep somewhere around one, and I barely remember him kindly herding me off to bed when he got in.

The boys and I have been making plans for L's birthday. I think he'll be surprised, if not quite as surprised as last year, when he didn't remember it was his birthday at all. The plans include cake, of course, which I am making, by request, without assistance. The things we do for love... 

chocolate surprise

I'm scheduling this to post later so I can write about Mycroft's dessert and still make L taste it with his eyes closed, which is my current plan. It's chocolate cake with with a whipped ganache filling and frosting. Ganache is cream with chocolate melted into it, and this also had coffee, and apparently if you chill it you can whip it like whipped cream. It was both impressive and delicious, very rich and smooth, and extremely chocolatey. I think L will love it.

He's volunteered to watch Federer's match with me. Can't decide if I'm finally winning him over and he's actually interested, or if he just wants to eat cake and doze on me while I watch it. Both options sound pretty good to me, so I don't mind either way.

Today was quiet. We didn't go anywhere particularly exciting, just a long walk with the dogs. Mycroft walked them, and I walked Sherlock. Still considering investing in a leash for him, especially with his by no means new, but still exciting, tendency to stop complete strangers on the street and ask them questions. At least he's more polite about it these days.

'Excuse me ma'am, why are your shoes so high?' is probably better than simply demanding an explanation for her high heeled trainers, although not, perhaps, any easier to answer.

We went to the cheese shop, and the butcher, who gave us bones for the dogs, and to a shop that only sells only various chocolate products, of which we bought many. They have bins full of different kinds of cocoa powder. I didn't know there were that many kinds.

And then we came home, and Mycroft set to work on his dessert, and I put my feet up and listened for sounds of mutiny from Sherlock, of which there were, amazingly, none. 

the moor, pt. i've-lost-count

I'm going to skip the part the Mycroft told you about, but I'll get us from where I left off to the place where Mr Hudson was holding him first. So...L and I and Sherlock got back to the house. Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson and ran off with Mycroft.

Sherlock said he knew where he'd gone, and that he could lead us there. I was...not happy about that idea, but he said if we didn't take exactly the right path, we'd sink into the mud and never be heard from again. I don't think I even questioned whether it was a good idea to go at all, which you can put down to sleep deprivation and stubbornness, like most of the things I did that day.

Lestrade definitely did question whether it was a good idea to go or not. He wanted to wait for back up, which I still think was probably the more sensible choice. Despite what he says, the fact that it all worked out was more due to luck than anything else. Eventually, because he couldn't convince me not to go, he came with us, which I'm sure surprises no one here.

on the ceiling

After Sherlock's exciting announcement that he got blood on the ceiling from the cut on his finger, I feel the need to point out that it was only because he was waving it around so wildly. There was also blood on the floor, cupboard, Mycroft, and one dog.

It's sunny for the moment. It's supposed to rain later I think, so we're off to swim while we still can. It's meant to be hot today, and it's fairly warm already. (To those inclined to scoff at our weather, the high is meant to be 31C/88F, which is hot nearly anywhere.) The coloured sunblock is a huge hit with Sherlock, who is painting stripes all over himself right now. I'm going to have a hard time getting him to put a shirt on until we get to the pool, I think. Not to mention keeping him from getting pink, red, and orange stripes on the sofa before we leave.

...And I see the dogs are slightly striped as well. Right, going to wash off dogs now and then to swim, and then who knows.

strange dreams

I had one of those nights last night that are so full of dreams that you wake up feeling like you need to go back to sleep. None of them were quite nightmares, just very tense.

1. Interrogated by the KGB, with my son, on an international flight.
2. Dropping eggs into a vortex of water at a Greek Orthodox church and getting told off by the priest for not having my head covered.
3. Someone stroking my hair, which was quite soothing until I realised I was dead and they were stroking my decapitated head.

All that between about one when L and I got to bed and six when Sherlock woke us, his customary energy undimmed by his late night. Woke up with muscles aching, apparently from having clenched them all night.

L was mostly unhurt after the attempted mugging last night, but in pain from bruises and a shoulder strain. I sort of wish he weren't going back out tonight, but I know why he wants to - even assuming work was giving him a choice, which it isn't. I suggested he shave his head again to better fit in with the surroundings he's meant to be lurking in, but he just rolled his eyes at me...

We had pancakes this morning, a nice time in the park, in the sun, and ice cream. Sherlock lept out at us from behind trees, and from above, and from below. Mycroft told us about how school has been going, and apparently he's going on a camping trip with some other boys from the astronomy club (society? I can't remember what its official name is) to do some stargazing, so that'll be nice. By nice I might mean mildly worrying, since as far I can tell, this plan involves no parental supervision, but I haven't got all the details yet. And anyway, they're 14 and 15, and that's probably old enough, right? It's only for the weekend. 

moosercycle

Sherlock's play was yesterday afternoon. It was...roughly what you would expect from a play written and performed by four, five, and six year olds. Very colourful, a bit chaotic, a certain number of forgotten lines, upsets, and tears. All in all though, I thought they did brilliantly.

The story went something like this: Hamlet's father (a ghost) tells Hamlet that his brother (Hamlet's uncle, Claudius) is in league with pirates. There is a duel between Hamlet and his uncle, and then between Hamlet and the queen, his mother, and then between Hamlet and Polonius. Polonius is fatally wounded and has an extended death scene wherein he wills all his swords to his daughter Laertes and all his animals (including moose) to his son, Ophelius (played by Sherlock).

Laertes burns down Hamlet's castle with a lot of billowing silk fire, and Ophelius rides his moose up-river to where the pirates are moored. He unleashes various forms of animal life upon them. Many duels are fought. I'm pretty sure everyone in the play got to have a sword fight at one point or another, and I'm very sure they planned it that way.

In the end, despite the death of their father, Laertes and Ophelius join forces with Hamlet against their common foes of pirates and evil uncles, vanquish them, and...I think go to live in a treehouse. Not quite sure about that part though.

It was very, very loud, and reasonably entertaining, even when I wasn't quite sure what was happening. Sherlock rode his moosercycle very responsibly and at a safe speed down a river of blue cotton fabric (with very faint floral pattern), and relinquished it at the end of the play with only the mild whinging of the overtired, rather than a full-blown tantrum as I'd feared.

We went to the park, had ice cream and pizza, and came home. The end. 

sports day and possibly romance

Tonight is Moose Night (actual title of the play is Fire and Pirates, which I think you'll agree is much more exciting than Hamlet), and yesterday was sports day. I started out with a bang early on by falling over during the sack race and coating myself in mud from the neck up. I thought I got most of it off, but I found a great deal more in and around my ears when we got home.

L's cakes were very popular, as they should have been. Both were delicious, but the chocolate-lavender one was the best, or maybe I just think that because it was chocolate. It was interesting to watch him making it too, with soaking the flowers and all that. I always like watching him cook.

Sherlock entered just about every race, and entered L and I and Mycroft into every race as well. L and I did a few of them, and Mycroft declined in order to keep an eye on the dogs. Just as well, since the other dogs there were mostly of a size that ours would regard them as snacks.

I told L he should've gone in uniform and impressed everyone, but he declined and attributed my helpful suggestion to impure motives. I still think it would've got him out of that conversation about parking tickets.

Mrs Hudson and hopefully Mrs Holmes are coming along to the play tomorrow evening. I hope it all goes well. The moosercycle looks great, but I'm a little concerned about Sherlock's ability to ride it. And about his willingness to stop riding it when the scene in question is over.

-

Also, I got a comment last night...

I need some romance advice any chance of you running a dating/Romance column some time? You seem to know exactly what to do to turn your man to jelly and I'm sure a few of us could do with that!

So...yes, sure, ask away. I cannot promise to be any help whatsoever, but I'm certainly willing to try. 

hello, beef?

 Just watched this with the boys:

Sherlock thinks 'There's been a moooder' is the funniest thing he's ever heard. He's gone to tell Mrs Hudson about it immediately. I'm not sure Mrs Hudson knows youtube exists, so this should be interesting.

Mycroft's gone out to walk the dogs in the rain. L is either napping or possibly doing paperwork in the bedroom. Not a terribly exciting day really, but that's Monday for you. I'm looking at places to go where it's not raining. It's difficult to pick when the sky is blue in all the pictures. 

more on the moor (5)

Hello. This is Mycroft. I'm doing the next part because I don't think John wants to, and anyway I haven't talked about it much except with Mummy, so perhaps I should.

After I got back to the hall, I went upstairs. I meant to go to my room, but I heard an odd noise. It was a sort of thumping. When I got closer to the attic door, I could hear a man's voice as well, although not what he was saying.

I thought it had to be Hudson, and he shouldn't have been in the attics. I went up to tell him to leave. He was going through a trunk of our grandmother's things. He hit me on the head, and I don't remember very much for a time after that. I remember little bits in between, but they're mostly dark. I think he must have either blindfolded me or put something over my head. Or perhaps I was in a sack so no one would see me. There was a sack on the floor when I woke up.

I was tied to a chair in a stone room. There was a lot of computer equipment and printers, and there was also a cage with two large, black dogs in it. Hudson said he would feed me to them. He said a lot of unpleasant things.

son of the bride of the moor (pt. 4)

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.

The village, which consisted of about ten buildings total including houses, did not have a mortuary or coroner or anything of the sort. The body of the dead man was in the local doctor's office until someone could do something more useful with it. Lestrade asked me to look at it, I presume out of a combination of wanting to see if I looked guilty and lack of any other options since the local doctor was...not in a state to draw any useful conclusions. 

We went there. I looked at the body. Sherlock, I'm sure you'll all be shocked to learn, wanted to see it. I did not think that was advisable. He started crying, got confused when that didn't work, and started crying for real. That was fun. He can be quite loud when he wants to be. 

Mycroft got fed up and asked if he could walk home on his own. It was a relatively short walk, in broad daylight. I said yes. I wish I hadn't. 

I got Sherlock calmed down slightly. Lestrade drove us back to the Hall. We found Mr Hudson had hit Mrs Hudson, kidnapped Mycroft, and escaped onto the moor. 

devil in the white city

Last week, while picking up Sherlock from school, I had a book pressed on me rather insistently by one of the mothers. (We know each other slightly and chat sometimes while waiting for school to let out; it wasn't completely out of the blue.) I took it, because she was so sure I'd love it, and because why not?

It's called Devil in the White City, and it's about the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago, and the serial killer H.H. Holmes. If I'd known that last part, I would not have brought it into the house. Sherlock is wild with curiosity over 1) not just a murderer, but one with his last name, 2) a book I'm reading that he deems worthy (i.e. contains no magic, talking animals, and isn't about boring things like people and their ordinary lives which are not cut short by sudden death).

I can't decide whether to read him the fair parts and hope he gets bored with it, or keep him away from it entirely, but he's definitely not reading the serial killer parts. It's good though. I don't know how accurate the history is, but he's clearly done his research going by the forty pages of citations at the back.

In some ways, I wish it was just about the fair. The descriptions of it, and the quotes from people who saw it at the time, are fantastic, makes you wish you'd been there. I suppose the stuff about the killings wouldn't have been so disturbing before I knew L. Not that it was ever going to be light reading, but now it's impossible not to imagine what he'd go through investigating that sort of crime.

(Also, I'm glad to see I've finally found someone who can beat Genghis Khan in the poll.)

something mycroft sent me

Mycroft sent me this video about the Higgs Boson particle, and I...understand it slightly more than I did before, but I still wouldn't say I understand it. It's also made me very slightly paranoid, in that it sounds like the opening to a science fiction film in which scientists accidentally open a rift into another and much more hostile dimension.

Mycroft will roll his eyes so hard he may strain something when he reads that last sentence.

The Higgs Boson Explained from PHD Comics on Vimeo.

And I may have posted this before, I can't remember, but here's Brian Cox explaining...the universe.

In other news, L is still refusing to let me try his tart until after dinner, which I think you'll all agree is appalling behaviour. On the other hand, he's made me a tart, so I can't really complain.

L continues to insist that 'no moose' is still an option, but he's not fooling anyone but himself. Sherlock hugged his leg when he got home that day and said he was sure L would make the most brilliant moose ever, so he was doomed from the start.

A patient at work today told me that he's 81 and the secret of his continued health is onions. Loads and loads of onions. He said he goes through a bag of them every week. I admit, he did look good for his age. And smelled only faintly of onions. 

red and shiny

I got the call just after lunch. The man on the phone seemed nearly as excited as I was, confirming my impression than my bike is superior to all other bikes, but perhaps it's just his personality? Anyhow, went to pick it up as soon after work as I could decently manage, but had to go home first to retrieve helmet, etc. and then excite various curious glances on the tube regarding non-tube-standard attire.

It was waiting for me outside when I got there, looking very red and shiny and larger than I remembered. Last bits of paperwork taken care of, I had time for a very short ride before fetching Sherlock from school, sadly not on the bike.

(I now want him to grow nearly as much as he does because then I could drive him to school on it. As it is, since I go straight from his school to work, I'll really only be able to ride it in the afternoons - though after the summer holidays and two months away from the surgery, I can't really expect Sarah to keep me on anyway. Perhaps when Mycroft goes back to school, I'll just ride about all day.)

Brought it home, went to collect Sherlock, brought him home and introduced him to the new bike. Let him sit on it. Successfully extracted a promise to keep entirely away from the internet until after I surprised L. May have bribed him slightly with biscuits.

Mrs Hudson agreed to look after him and feed him dinner, and I left for NSY, keeping a safe distance from anything that might scratch my paintwork.

L walked right past me, though he gave the bike an appreciative glance, and I had to take my helmet off and call him back. His appreciative glances were this time more appropriately divided between the bike and me, and he called me a sneak and a toe-rag and a git, which was entirely the reaction I was going for, and then graciously allowed me to take him to dinner. We had a very nice time, and I'm already plotting where we can go for a decently long ride, hopefully at the weekend if not sooner.