Love to love you...

Firstly, if you missed the beautiful picture Harry sent me yesterday, you need to go back to my last post and see it. Just to set the scene, of us eating lunch today...


Ever have those moments when you sit back, look around and just think 'Yep, this is it'.

I had one of those today. In the pub, between a massive Sunday lunch and a massive piece of Banoffee pie for pudding, stretched out on the window seat, sun on my back, feet trying to avoid two large docile dogs, who had doubtless been fed too many morsels from the table -  one arm around Danger, and Sherlock and Mycroft seriously discussing the whole 'big moon' phenomenon last night, and the inaccuracies in the press regarding the science behind it. Not arguing, but discussing.

And a pint of London Pride in front of me.

Perfection.

Which, of course, got me thinking about all sorts of things about relationships and families.



I remember the first time Nicky and I sat on her bed, having a hug, as some war-of-the-adults took place downstairs, with screaming and shouting and things being smashed. And we made a pledge to each other that we'd always look out for each other. Felt sort of invincible. We went from tolerating each other in a brother-sister way to being a united force. We were Lestrade's, and even if the man who gave us the name had buggered off, it meant we were special. Different. However many marriages and kids Mum had, there wouldn't be another of us.

Remember when Brian (my ex) first mentioned us getting a civil partnership - before it was legal, but when it was all over the news, and we all hoped that it would be law very soon. In a way, that sticks in my mind more than when we actually got married - because it wasn't just for us, it was for every gay couple in the UK. The thought we could finally be partners in the eyes of the law. But inevitably, I also remember coming home to an empty flat, with a note on the table telling me it was over. And realising I didn't even think anything had been going wrong.

I love sharing life with someone, and sometimes I hate being on my own. Alone with thoughts and memories and things I've seen and done. But other times I need to be alone, because I know I have a temper and it scares me that I might inflict that on someone I love. I try to get it all out at work, on people who deserve it, keep it well away from my home life.

I find it very scary, though, when someone worries about me. Like John does. This is entirely unfair, because I can tell you that if were still in the army I'd have gnawed off my own arm with worry. Complete double standards on my part.

Some part of me never quite grew up from what Nicky was saying in comments. I never quite knew where I stood - one minute I was just a kid, and Mum and her boyfriend-of-the-moment were the adults, and we all got along the best a big non-functional family could. The next I was the man of the house, trying to hold things together, sort out however many little brothers and sisters I had at the time, make sure everyone ate and washed and slept and got to school and social services didn't come around again, poking about in our lives.

Still feel like that most of the time - like I'm holding it all together just enough that no one will notice it's all just a facade. When you're young you look up to adults and think they have some magic power of adulthood. But it never comes. You just feel like a kid getting old. So most of the time, I don't really feel like I should be one. Just a big kid, who probably shouldn't be trusted to do anything. And one day someone will suddenly realise this, and take it all away.

Of course, I know everyone else probably feels the same. Except Nicky seems to have done an excellent job at growing up. Maybe I'm just Peter Pan. Are you all the lost boys?