Did the long drive last night. John Hamish was largely asleep. Sherlock was largely awake. We sang. I sang the actual lyrics. Sherlock sang what he thought were the lyrics. ('Hey you, get off my cow.', 'Hold me close, tie me down, sir', 'And your Russian Hedgehog'), and thankfully it was dark enough that Sherlock mainly missed the very large amount of snow still in the Midlands - he only demanded to stop three times. None of which I obeyed.
The hotel's nice. Sherlock's got a sort of sofa-bed type thing, we've got a nice big double. Sherlock managed to relocate into our bed at some point early this morning.
There's an entirely natural reaction most men have during the night. Quite a few times. It's even more natural when you wake up with an armful of boyfriend. It's...really not that convenient when there's a six year old in your bed. And there's only one, painful, way that I've found to deal with it. Ouch.
Breakfast was...well, breakfasty. Sherlock managed to eat a truly amazing amount. And he and John got to meet a few people - mainly people I always meet at these kinds of things, plus a few old colleagues. I think Darren's going to be here tomorrow, so Danger might get to meet him, too.
My talk went well, everyone seemed to find it useful, and Sherlock and John sneaked in the back of the room. When someone asked what they were doing Sherlock apparently very solemnly pulled his ID card on them...
Most people are managing to ignore the fact I'm here with John and Sherlock. Although inevitably not all "Lestrade, the one from the Met. The poof."...yeah. Par for the course, I suppose.
Now, normally I'd be in the bar, but tonight, with one very sleepy Sherlock, we might just take it easy in the room.