The game yesterday was...well, good, because we won! But generally a little brutal and slightly bad tempered (as expected).
Sherlock managed to refrain from asking anyone to kiss. I managed to refrain from kissing Danger (behind the changing rooms at half time doesn't count. It wasn't my fault. He was utterly irresitible, all sweaty and muddy and in his tight rugby shorts.)
The match ended 31-24, with one broken wrist, a broken nose, suspected cracked ribs, possible broken foot and a steady stream of visitors to the blood bin.
Danger's got a cut on his leg, and numerous bruises, I've got some nice stripes on my back where someone skidded on me with their studs, and more various bruises. If anyone saw the two of us at the moment they'd think we were into some sort of S&M relationship.
Molly and Sherlock spent the time plotting to bring down civilisation - well, they were both smiling a lot, so that's what I presume. And Mycroft talked to both Molly and Sally for a while, and generally kept an eye on Sherlock.
Sherlock did insist on coming on our victory lap, on my shoulders. A few people commented that there wasn't much family resemblance. And in the pub afterward there was a definite split between people who could get over the fact we were gay and looked after kids and people who couldn't cope with this and just managed to occasionally stare.
Then Sherlock had a meltdown last night. The sooner we go camping the better, I think, at least John and I can share the load.
Still, work today, court then work tomorrow, and then Wednesday we're off!