Everyone's been very quiet. I've been working. Sherlock's been trying to read things he shouldn't, which serves me right for bringing it home.
John's been pottering about, mainly trying to sort out Sherlock's school gear, and helping with homework and tidying the kitchen that we all made a mess of. And offering me tea. Lots of tea. (Because he wants to help, and can't, so tea is the closest to help.)
It's very eye-opening, meeting the families of murder victims. There is such a broad range of reactions. Some people are so angry, some are numb.
The family I'm dealing with at the moment are incredibly quiet, polite, thankful. Makes me feel so much worse that we haven't caught anyone yet. The eldest, a boy, today when I was talking to his mum he fetched me some water and a got out biscuits. I mean, most kids wouldn't do that at the best of times - his dad's just been killed.
Doesn't make you any more determined to catch those responsible - you always want to do that. But maybe once it's done I'll feel more...glad. That they have that.
And I've been staring at this for so long it's now time to put Sherlock to bed.
Someone asked me today if I thought John and I would foster/care for other children, once Sherlock and Mycroft are all grown up.
Made me think.