Operation Blog

So some people were curious when I mention the Sapphire Team the other day. And wondered if all the police teams were named after precious stones (no).

There are various different ways Teams are named. I'm in a MIT - Murder Investigation Team. Simple.

Sapphire are the rape and serious sexual assault/violence team. Sometimes we work closely with them, as they aren't really equipped to deal with serial offenders, so we help out. We're all under the umbrella of SCD (Specialist Crime Directorate), murder, rapes, armed robberies and other serious crimes.

The Hangover

Not the film, but the brain-crushing-eye-watering-vomit-inducing real thing.

John has one.

(I don't. 'Bad beer' as self-diagnosed by Dr Danger just means  'too much beer'. I fear I had something to do with that, making him worry with my stories of drug dealers. He wouldn't be the first person to decide going out with a Rozzer wasn't worth the stress. Not by a long shot.)

I think this is a fine lesson for the boys about the evils of drink. John grunted something at me about smugness.

But he did relent last night and not make me sleep on the sofa. Although I'm not sure he remembers. Or knew I was there. His snoring was making Phobos whine.

John and Jam

It was entirely Danger's fault that my mind was elsewhere today.

And now he's err...a little bit tipsy. So it seems the perfect time to post this.

A picture of John+Jam.

With age comes experience...

You know when, at the time, you laugh about something like a lunatic, but when you recount the story to someone else, they just get all worried and make it sound like it really shouldn't be fun at all? Well, I haven't quite got around to telling John about this yet...for exactly that reason.


So today at work - which promised to be nothing but a dull interlude between watching Danger eat jam-on-toast for breakfast and coming over and cooking up a storm later - I was expecting, well, boredom layered upon boredom layered upon tedium.

But the day dawned crisp and bloody cold, so it seemed a perfect time to go an annoy some drug dealers. Sgt Donovan and I have a very annoying old case on the books (all unsolved cases are annoying). We know roughly who did it. They know we know. Everyone else knows that they did it AND that we know they did it AND that they know we know.

Contrasts

Well, today's been great. And is quite possibly about to get better.

Enjoyed a nice long mooch around the market, stopped at a cafe to warm up (there's a bitter wind today), ate lots of tasters and bought...well, quite possibly enough to feed either a small army or two small(ish) boys. Lots of my favourite olives and John's favourite bread, some brilliant cheeses, and, of course, for Doctor Danger, some sausages (don't look at me like that, they did look very tasty! The nice lady on the stall knew exactly what I meant!) and some jam (I'll have a camera at the ready, people). And I change my answer to 'is John mean?' because there was no need for him to try to pinch me, or elbow me, or stamp on my foot when we were discussing sausages....or jam. Or cream. Or some rather phallic shaped vegetables. Whatever he says. And he does look cute when he blushes and his ears go pink.

Mycroft, got you the best cheese we could find. I made John carry that bag, then slowly edged away from him on the tube to fully appreciate the dirty looks people were giving him. Hahaha.

Now we thought about having lunch - but have both eaten enough! So onto more...pleasurable and relaxing ways of spending a free afternoon, before we walk up to Sherlock's school to pick him up in a bit.

And I really AM fine, people. You do, sadly, get used to crimes like that. And I've been dealing with them for a very long time. But it was nice not to go back to an empty flat, I'll admit. Sometimes you get too caught up in your own thoughts if you don't have any distractions.

Midnight calls.

Right. The Met's shrink always says it's good to write things down. And John does it. I've got to admit I'm more a 'go down the pub and sink a few pints with your mates' sort of guy usually - given that in this job your mates usually saw the same stuff you did. But since you all seem to have been following this saga since John posted about it in the small hours I suppose you don't mind hearing about it. It'll probably make the local press tomorrow anyway.

It's good for you! Bollocks.

Rather rashly, in a moment of feeling like I shouldn't eat as many take aways and, now I've almost entirely given up smoking, deciding I could be healthier, I decided yesterday I'd run to work this morning. Left work gear here yesterday, took my running stuff to John's.

And yeah. Ran. Jogged. Well, most of it was faster than walking pace. Just about.

But I got here, still breathing and in no need of emergency medical treatment. I may have taken the lift when I got here though. Legs weren't quite up to the stairs.

And since then I've been stuck in a seminar on dealing with the press, a liason meeting about a serial rapist with the Sapphire team and a meeting with my team about a murder. And through every second I can feel my body getting older and stiffer (not like that, Danger.).

I think I need a doctor. One with healing hands.

(see how I've optimistically tagged this 'sport'?)