And I can hear it breathing - It's such an eerie feeling, darling.

I've no idea what to write about tonight, so here you are:

Greg The Florist - Part I have no idea because John's last part said he had no idea.

It's been a very long time, but we last left our heroes in the kitchen of their castle, having had an odd day in the local village...

Something scraped slowly across the glass of the window. There was a faint shape, a deeper shadow in the darkness outside the warm glow of the kitchen. And then it was gone. 

John swallowed. "What," he said, adjusting his sentence carefully. "the hell was that?" He got up and moved to the window, Greg beside him. 

There was nothing there. 

They tell you not to hang around and learn what life's about

Sherlock was, predictably, up at the crack of dawn. He leapt on us, burrowed between us, and talked. Just about non-stop, for quite a long time. Mainly about chickens, butterflies/moths, trousers/shorts, degus, the allotment and motorbikes.

Once I'd woken up enough to stand, we got up and went to have breakfast and bake some biscuits. John managed to appear shortly after breakfast and sort of...drape himself over me in a very sleepy hug while I was mixing up biscuit dough. He also managed to drink tea, taste dough and eat toast.

Sherlock was ready to go, in full biking gear, on the sofa, about half an hour before we were leaving. But he wasn't excited or anything. Naaaah.

We headed to meet Mycroft, who was just getting back from taking the dogs out when we arrived. He decided we should go for a ride, and get lunch out somewhere, so we did exactly that. Sherlock probably didn't stop talking the entire ride. I'm not sure if Mycroft kept his headset on or not...

So, basically, we had a lovely day together. We get him back for the Bank Holiday weekend next weekend, too. He wants to go allotmenting - we showed him pics of what we've done.

And I wondered if Sherlock thought we should have this for our wedding cake...what do you think, Kiddo?

The cycle cycling, There's a face with new eyes

I'm tired. Was completely knackered last night and then didn't sleep too well.

Anyway, today's been a world of excitement for Sherlock - the eggs at his school hatched this morning, and it sounds like those poor chicks had thirty odd school kids staring at them as they took their first steps into the world.

He says they're different colours, and he's not sure yet if they'll grow into different types of chicken or not. I guess this is all the big plan to have the kids study them and note down the changes and stuff.

Can't remmeber what I was going to say now.

Oh, eggs. I found this the other day -

Your lovin' give me a thrill, but your lovin' don't pay my bill.

So...this sort of follows on a bit from John's post last night. And also from some of the recent comments, which I've found...helpful in understanding myself a bit better, I guess.

I'm sure this won't be comfortable reading for anyone, but, well, I don't want to upset any of you either, so don't worry, I won't be offended if you choose not to read.

Basically, this is an example of one of the 'controlling behaviours' Bryan used. And how that felt then, and now. And you know, if this helps anyone else have it not happen to them, then all the better.

But now their faces follow me, And all their eyes look shady

I've got two days off :) And I got home today to find a very gorgeous John, a very excitable Sherlock and a big bunch of red roses.

Sadly I didn't get one of these, which, frankly, I've got my eye on... cool, right?

I think it'd be pretty useful in London!


And...on to more serious blogging.

I talked to John and...he said he wouldn't mind if I wrote this.

So, the pictures Bryan put in the show. One's of me in our kitchen, standing at the worktop, reading the paper and making a mug of coffee. One's me in the bath. You can't see anything, but, well... I suppose the thing that bothers me isn't that it's...me, it's that they're, y'know, intimate pictures. They're the sort of pictures, candid, of that part of my life. And he's...putting that out there, as if, like that's still a thing. That's what bothers me. People won't be looking at them thinking I'm here with John and the boys and that Bryan's a scheming fuckwit. They'll be thinking that's...that's the truth.

John said earlier he didn't know what sort of pictures Bry took.

I think I've said it before, somewhere...he is a good photographer. He's won awards. People like his images.  He used to...well, was supposed to...take pictures at weddings and portraits and stuff. He was usually too lazy to do it, after I met him, but he did a few. And the reason people liked his work was that he could really capture people, important moments, emotions. He was good at it.

And I didn't mind, at the time, that the camera came out at home. In some ways, it was nice, then, to think we'd have those memories. Because at the time, we were ...well, I was, in it for good.

I guess pictures only tell the truth in that split second they're taken. And not even then, sometimes.

And now they feel like lies, up there for all the world to see and take as the truth - when the truth is so very, very different. And that's what I don't like.

And that's taken me about two hours to write and I'm still not sure it's really...that.

Bright light, dark room

John and Sherlock have been working on the allotment today. John's feeling mainly better, glad to say.

Sherlock is annoyed he wasn't allowed to bring home any worms, and that John didn't have a spare apple tree about his person to plant.

We've got a shooting to sort out - one with over 100 witnesses, none of whom want to talk to us. So that's always helpful. I'm sure we'll get there eventually, but...it's a frustrating job. And we're still working on a murder/suicide too, which is also frustrating. And prepping a few cases for court, trying to get warrants, the usual. Too much reading when my body's trying to rebel against me. But better than running around, I suppose.

And tomorrow is the marathon, so...well, who knows what'll happen? We know there will be people who get distracted and forget their bags, and we know that people will be more vigilant than usual, so we fully expect at least some chaos. It seems...I don't know, there's a big generational split, isn't there, regarding who is seen as a threat, and how we react. It's taken a long time for me to stop expecting the coded phonecalls - in fact, that's a lie. I still expect them. Hard to remember the kids coming up through the ranks today don't know what it's like, hearing one's come in, chucking yourself in the nearest panda car and driving as fast as you can to where you know, for sure, there's a bomb.


Jo got in touch today. Most of you will probably have seen John's blog. Apparently Bryan's got a show in a gallery. And two of the pictures are of me. As John would say 'So that's a thing that's happened'. Or maybe he'd say 'which has happened'...

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. I want to feel nothing.

I hear you're feeling down. Well I can ease your pain.

John's been laid low by something he ate. Might go an arrest the chef.

Anyway, he let me know in time that I could gather up enough paperwork to wallpaper most of the street and pop in to see him on the way to fetch Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson had said she'd do it, but I'd promised Sherlock I'd go and see his painting from art club, and I'm not sure when I'll next get the chance, so I thought it'd be nice if I went.

John seemed mainly pale and tired and trying to convince me he was fine when I came back to change and drop work off. So...well, sleep was probably more useful than anything I could do.

Sherlock and I went up to the allotment. I dug out a veggie bed. Sherlock dug a deep hole.

A lady was working nearby, tying up canes. Sherlock, being Sherlock, headed off to interrogate her.

She was very nice. She has an exceptionally neat allotment. Which is something we aspire to. Only ours has more holes which look like bomb-craters.

Cover me, when I sleep Cover me, when I breathe

Well, that was a more...exciting? day than I'd banked on.

Work, right now...it's kids killing kids. Parents killing kids. Just...pretty depressing, really.

Today we headed out on a lead about where a teenager we were looking for was.

I was walking up the little path to the door, looked down as I checked my flies (it's habit!). Saw a red laser dot on my front and yelled...something, I don't even know what yet... and dived for the ground.

The DC I was with hit the floor the other side of the garden wall. We called it in. ARV arrived fairly swiftly after, although it felt a long time then.

And...well, we all waited. A long time. My DC could get away, once we had backup, by crawling along the wall. But I was stuck behind some fairly ripe smelling bins. Cover about 2ft wide, three ft tall, and I had to keep my legs tucked in.

Negotiator arrived and everyone just dug in for the long haul. Except everyone else had somewhere a bit comfier than me.

To cut a very long and boring story short, the negotiator worked it out in the end - with the help of the boy's mum, and it turned out he only had a plastic gun and a laser pointer. Although the murder we want him for is a shooting. They're still searching the house, so might find something, but they probably borrowed the real gun, hired it, something like that.

Arsenal only drew.

And...well, I'm pretty done in, so I'll leave it there, put a very clingy Sherlock to bed and get some rest with John.

I'll leave you to ponder this. Official police issue. ANy ideas on what it is?

And as the sunset faded I spoke to the faintest first starlight

It's quiet.

We've gone from having Mycroft, Carla, Paul, Sherlock and two dogs to just Sherlock, all in a couple of hours. The flat seems very still.

We had a fantastic day today. Motorbikes, mud, the six of us...it was chaotic, crazy, but just loads of fun. The weather was perfect - recent rain, but beautiful today. We were with a good group to get out on the trails - everyone was fairly experienced. We got some real speed on. Got some good air off some kickers, it was just...yeah, great. I only fell of twice. One of them was a landing that I got all sorts of wrong - and the source of my (extra) painful bum.

Yesterday all the kids behaved impeccably. And ensured their greater freedom in the future, by being so responsible.

So, firstly, Sherlock and Paul said I had to post this:

Ingonyama ilele

Our oven is broken. Sherlock isn't happy about this. Apparently it's my fault, because he isn't allowed to use it... there's a logic in there somewhere.

Anyway, saw this, thought of our current situation:

Today we went to Longleat. I've been there before, on a school trip. Our teacher, Mrs M, swore she knew the way through the maze. We all got lost. For ages. We never reached the middle.

Sherlock loved the bat cave, and...well, most of it, really. It is well done, the whole place. I tried to explain about Lord Bath and his 'wifelets'...he didn't get it. I'm not sure I get it.

We've fed deer, held tarantulas and snakes, seen Monkeys steal someone's windscreen wipers, watched lions sleeping...it was great. And Sherlock is tired out, and currently asleep on a seat in the living room, all curled up.

Mycroft said he enjoyed it, too. Especially the birds of prey show that Sherlock started this whole conversation with, and the wolves.

I'm not sure what John's favourite bit was. John?

Mine was just...the four of us. I love it. Love it even more when I feel brave enough to hold John's hand, in the dark of the batcave, or the audience of the bird show ;) Or steal a kiss in a deserted bit of maze. Until Sherlock leaps out of a hedge onto us.

A wolf, eating a ...dead thing.

Without saying a word you can light up the dark

Having a day where I don't want to be grown up. Don't want to be responsible. Don't want to have anyone relying on me.

Worried at work, that we'll let down a family badly, because of a mistake made. I...hope it won't come to that. But it could. And it's out of our hands now.

And...and.

I've spent my whole life second-guessing people. Reading every tiny change in their body language, their expressions. The way people breathe. Their eye movement. The flex of their hands. The shift of their weight. Nervous tics, wetting lips, rubbing face, cracking joints. I can read a thousand words into a silence.

I don't think it's bragging to say that most of the time, I've been fairly good at it. Practice, experience, all comes into it.

But all my practice has been on people who've ... not had my best interests at heart. And I'd never really noticed that, particularly. I mean, not...not in relation to how I read people. Because that's just how it's been.

And now I suppose I'm realising that I go into everything with such a skewed vision of how people work that...that sometimes I really can't read them at all.

And on here...even less.

I'm also becoming more aware that I get so completely tied up with trying not to make anyone feel bad, that I probably send completely mixed messages, most of the time.

Even saying this, I seriously worry how people will read it.


In other news. Trying to get Sherlock to pick out some veggies for the allotment. John and the boys have been working there today - digging over the ground, planting up, making what sounds like and area for hippos to wallow in, should any be passing.

Sherlock has brought about 90% of the soil home with him. And is currently planting cress seeds in a variety of pots/holders/substances. And also Googling fertiliser. I'm trying to keep an eye on him, for fear he stumbles across bomb-making info. Or just alerts the security services by ordering us a few tonnes of it...

On the subject of - an interesting article on the kind of crime we're currently fighting.

Some people think you've got to like your life one way, I disagree.

Took the boys (all three of them) and the cupcakes (all 24 22 20 19 of them - and John, I KNOW it was you that...who?...ate the fifth one!) off to see Mum, and after, Nicky and family.

I...might have scared everyone a bit, because we got to the ...home, or whatever you call it, and, well, I'd thought about it a lot all the way there, and I'm just determined that she won't bloody ...bring me down, you know? So I told them to follow my lead. And then became some sort of...clown-like, manically happy just...I don't know. You know the sort of really annoying person who just turns everything around to try and make it all happy and cheery, when all you want to do is have a cathartic moan? Like...incapable of talking about a serious subject? Yeah...everything she said that was heading off to negativity I jollied her out of. I got Sherlock to tell her all about his school chicks/chickens, John told her about his birthday weekend, and Murray visiting, Mycroft told her all about his astronomy trip later in the year... we just bombarded her with stuff.

At the end I mentioned what she might do after she's released... she still wants to go home, so...well, we talked about that a bit. About her getting some help, getting her house adapted...that sort of thing. She didn't really want to talk about that, though...so, well, I'll try again. I'm not sure she really wants to face the idea, despite being adamant about it all.

Then we went off to see Nicky, Carla, Paul and Mark. Had a lovely time. I was co-erced into giving motorbike rides (by my niece, nephew and sister!) and it was just nice to spend a bit of time there.

But now we're home again. Sherlock is moaning that we gave away ALL the cupcakes.


Heard Maggie Thatcher died. I've got...no love for her, putting it mildly. But the sort of comments about being glad she's dead I find very distasteful. I'd rather her policies had died - many of them, sadly, live on. She wasn't a leader anymore - she had no power. She was just an old lady. A mother. And I don't think anyone should celebrate a death.

It's enough to drive you crazy if you let it

Back at work.

Danger, Murray, sorry for being an arsehole recently. To coin a phrase - it's not you, it's me.

We went and saw the allotment earlier. It seems...quite big? But not for the four of us. And it's not like it's been neglected - Reg has tried to keep on top of it, so we just need to dig it all over and then get planting! Sherlock was very happy to see that Reg has lots of strawberries, so we might be able to have a few plants which will give us a crop. We'll have to think about getting a shed, and either a greenhouse or some cold frames or something. And if we do want to grow soft fruits then an enclosure for that.

Murray was very kind earlier and ...allowed the boys to take him out and show him London. Although I'm not quite sure which bits they showed him. A wet bit, by the sounds of it... And apparently Sherlock picked his pocket and then held his wallet to ransom, until Murray agreed to some more Sherlock-friendly purchases. (This is because Murray dared to hide Sherlock's easter eggs earlier. I'm assuming John is doling out some form of punishment/education.) I might have done, but John had already nearly made me late for work.

Possibly not quite as wet as this - this is the Met's Marine Policing Unit demonstrating just how tidal the Thames is - seems like a lot of people don't realise (Which is good, when they think the bodies they dump won't be found, and turn up at low tide.)

I'm standing, Numb and frozen, Among the things I love so dearly

After all the excitement of last night - and this evening - I nearly forgot to post.

Last night we got to the hotel late. The address was 'Pity Me'...it wasn't wrong.

Sherlock was unimpressed by the place. No fun things at all.

He'd been really good - mainly - on the journey up, even though it was a long time to sit on a train for. He was asleep when we got to the hotel, but woke up enough to get his pyjamas on, protest about brushing his teeth, and get into bed.

I'm not sure exactly what time it was - not that long after I'd gone to bed, so probably around 2 ish - he climbed into bed with me instead, because his bed 'smelt funny'.

At that point I really didn't care what happened as long as we were both asleep.

Some like it hot and some sweat when the heat is on

Work...workworkwork. Got back to some cases which ...aren't very nice. And the usual paperwork, although everyone's been doing pretty well at keeping it away from my desk, thankfully.

John brought the boys to see me for a quick coffee, which was nice. Sherlock climbed all over me, because he's still eating his Easter Eggs.

Still coughing like a b******. Although...feeling better again? I don't know. Can't you just get your lungs spring cleaned or something?

Mycroft has made us some fantastic pizza tonight, because he's a wonderful young man and very thoughtful.

It seems we're all pretty excited about the allotment - which I'm really pleased about. I really wasn't sure  if everyone would like it. Sherlock is planning some sort of bio-engineering. The rest of us are planning what we'd like to eat. Apart from mutant strawberries.

I thought, as John loves his hot food so much, we probably needed some chillies.

Obviously, I'm not that keen on them...

But then we found these - something for everyone ;)