As most of you know, Sherlock clambered into bed with us last night, all sad and wanting hugs. He was pretty warm, so John sorted out medicine, I got him some water, and we wrapped him up inbetween us. He wriggled. A lot. He always does, but feeling all out of sorts and uncomfortable and feverish he was even more wriggly than usual.
We're just glad he seeks us out when he needs us.
So, early this morning when I dragged myself onto the freezing fog filled streets, the world looked a bit like this:
That's Westminster bridge and NOT Big Ben (Sherlock insists I don't call it that, because that's not its name, even though that's what you'll probably all know it as...) It's the clock tower of the Palace of Westminster.
Did fairly tedious work all day - essential, but tedious - drank too much coffee, fretted over two of my favourite boys, came home, cooked dinner, tried to persuade my boyfriend he is far, far from useless and am currently being sat on by Sherlock, who is wrapped in a blanket and still in his pyjamas.
DW asked "Why/how you became a cop."
I've been thinking about that for ages. I mean...it's me. I'm a police officer. There've been times in my life when I've felt that's all that defines me. It's all I've been. It's given me reason to get up in the morning.
But I can't pretend that, at the beginning, I was driven by purely altruistic motives.
I'd worked a lot of jobs, never held one down for very long, really. Some I liked, some I hated, some paid better than others. All of them didn't seem as important as going out, playing music, dreaming of making it big... and if that meant the next morning I couldn't get out of bed, or had such a bad hangover I failed to get to work...well, it didn't matter.
Except it did. And I lived in some terrible places...real dives. And then I couldn't even afford those. So I ended up in a squat. It sort of made the terrible places look like the Ritz.
One day I was out busking for cash and got moved on (again) by a beat bobby. He was nice though - told me he liked my playing, bought me a mug of tea. Turned out he played the drums a bit, so we had a nice chat.
The next time I spoke to Mum, or Nicky - don't remember which - and got the lecture on looking after myself and getting a job and making something of my life, I blurted out that I was going to be a policeman. Shut them up. Temporarily. (Although I nearly didn't go through with it - once I'd realised that my lifestyle really, really wasn't compatible with the job. But...well, more pride than sense, sometimes. And I didn't have any better ideas.)
So then I had to do it. And I enjoyed it. Made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Helping people. Getting a bit of respect for the first time in my life - but being taught a good deal about respecting other people, too.
I started out far too angry, far too ready to get stuck in to fights. But some good blokes sorted me out, showed me that wasn't always the solution.
So here I am. It was sort of an accident, really. Should have waited a few years, and I could have sold my soul to Simon Cowell not Robert Peel. (I obviously don't mean that. I wouldn't - couldn't - give it up. And the few times it has seemed like I might have to have been incredibly hard.)