I was going to answer Anon's question from ages ago, but I think I've lost the use of my brain.
I feel like...I don't even know what I feel like.
The Murder investigation is on, and after a day of talking to nosey neighbours I think I've already got a list of suspects, and am pretty happy that my prime suspect is a decent shout. Just got to find the evidence.
I almost want to go in tomorrow and get started on it, but I've left the team work to do and I don't want to miss Mycroft's first day home, especially when John is feeling...under the weather.
There's also got to be some point at which my brain decides to shut down to such an extent that my body goes into stand-by. I mean, there just isn't enough coffee in the world. And I keep thinking I should cut down, while all the time I just up it instead.
Sherlock seems to be winding up to have some sort of epic meltdown about school, too, now Mycroft's finished. I'd almost be scared, if I had the energy.
And I completely forgot what I was doing earlier. Serving out dinner, doing John's killer soup of doom, which has about the same heat level as the surface of the sun, I licked the spoon.
I almost swore in front of Sherlock. Happily my tongue had been melted to a useless lump of flesh and I couldn't. I can't believe anyone would eat that stuff. It was pure torture. There's no flavour, apart from pain.