So, it's ... bloody hell, twenty to eleven, and I've finally escaped Sherlock's room, having been thoroughly quizzed about every aspect of the 'Brides in the Bath' murders. Mainly aspects I didn't know much about...but he seemed to enjoy it anyway, and I promised he could use my laptop to Google it tomorrow.
Finally get to spend some time with John!
Today my day was mainly boredom - in court, for a case, defendant didn't want to attend, case was almost called off, then almost held without him, then video links were mentioned, then he decided to stop arsing about and get in the prison transport lorry...but wouldn't get out again at court.
Finally though, we got through the bits I needed to be there for and I could escape. By escape I mean 'do some other work'. It was off to a nice bit of London (for a change). Although not for a very nice reason.
It sort of says so on my bio, but I'm a murder team detective. Means I pretty much only deal with murders. Sometimes attempted murders. Occasionally kidnappings we think might turn into murders. Sometimes deaths in the workplace and sometimes rapes. Were also asked to help out other branches of the Met or other police forces if they have a 'major incident' to deal with. Like a murder. So basically, most people I deal with are murderers, families of murder victims and all the verious members of the professions who help us catch and convict murderers.
Bet I sound like a barrel of laughs.
5 comments:
Maybe not a barrel of laughs, but the fact that you take all this objectively horrible stuff and turn it into entertaining bedtime stories for a very unique five year old is pretty much a barrel of wonderful.
You were wonderful with him. ♥
And now who's blogging before bed! Ha.
PS: It was a good story; you should tell the internet some time.
You might surprise yourself. Or maybe Americans are just morbid? Because every homicide detective I've met (I don't do homicides myself, but I've done ride-alongs and I sometimes run into them even if they're not on my cases) has had an absolutely killer sense of black humor. I've always guessed it's a way of coping with the stress of seeing horrible shit all the time.
X - it's nice that he's so interested. Well, perhaps 'nice' isn't the right word.
Lindsay - Yeah, the humour can get pretty dark at work. Sometimes you have to laugh or you'd cry. But (to other people reading this) it's not that we're disrespectful, it is just a coping mechanism.
John - This is all your fault, that's all I can say.
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