Got him!

Knakcered

Bloody got himm though

Day in the life of a lonely baggage handler

You lot have been suspiciously quiet today. I'd almost believe the world had ended outside of this little corner of East Anglia. But I've seen the odd plane overhead, so I assume civilisation is still out there somewhere?

I'm still here, obviously. Wondering what delights to sample for dinner tonight. Might just go to a supermarket on the bike, get some salad or something.

It's been raining here today. Grey, then a proper downpour. We were out in it, so we just sat in the car (I was working with Cameron again.) he used to be a biker, before his three kids showed up, so we had plenty to talk about.

Anyway, today has been...semi productive. Let's just say local knowledge may solve the case. But it could also have meant it going unsolved. If I'm right (and I'd bet you a pound to a bag of shit I am) then 'i've known him since he were a nipper' will not stand up in court as evidence of innocence, no matter how many people here say it. Tomorrow...we'll be going to have a chat with someone. And I think he'll give himself away.

Policing in Nowheresville, Ruralshire

They really do knock of at 5 here. Unbelievable. Apparently after that there are officers on call from about 25 miles away, but even their station closes, so they have to be called in from home.

It's like stepping back in time.

Usual stuff about can't say much about the case - you all know how it goes now.

Middle aged couple, killed in their own home, no apparent motive. Only one officer here has ever worked a murder case before. But they don't want to bring an entire team in because they think local knowledge will be key. Which it might be.

Yoga bear

I've just done some yoga. There's a first time for everything, right?

Also had Sherlock critiquing my poses. And Mycroft explaining that 'old people aren't as flexible' to him. Thanks, boys.

John suggested it, as Sherlock was being manic. So we all joined in. John (with the help of a laptop, for the finer details of poses) directing us.

Lazy rainy days

Day off.

It's really nice being abke to walk Sherlock and Mycroft to lessons/classes. They're such interesting boys - so full of questions. Just a walk to school with them makes you feel like you're seeing the world in a new light.

John and I came back to the flat, I prepped up dinner for tonight, so there's no need for effort later on, and we did a few chores, and had a pretty lazy morning. Which was good, because it lashed it down with rain.

We headed into town for lunch and a mooch around Soho. Mainly dodging the bad weather.

The hardest words

We do a lot of training in the police. For all eventualities.

Of course nothing really prepares you fully for a riot, or having a gun waved at you. But those things, you deal with however you can, and it's all adrenalin and sweat and action and you get through, and once you have, it's pats on the back and a few in the pub and a celebration of another day you've survived.

And then you do training for informing people of tragedy. Loved ones who've died or been seriously injured. And when it comes to doing it for real, nothing's prepared you for that, either. But it's all long silences and awkwardly watching as someone's world caves in on them.

Obivously it's something I have to deal with more than most. It's hard every single time. It's different every single time. You're never prepared, no matter how many times you do it.

And telling people their child is dead...that's the hardest of all.

Add to that today that I'm not just telling these people that their missing child is dead, I'm telling them that through an interpreter. And they're terrified of me, because they're currently staying in this country as illegal immigrants. Everything I say will be carefully translated and i watch, sitting in silence, as the reality hits them.

And these are just the first parents I'm going to go through this with.

Is it better for them, knowing, but now also exposing themselves and the rest of their family to the law, and the prospect of deportation? Or is it better for the ones we may never find, who choose not to come forward?

I really don't know.

We're starting a huge campaign within the community to try to find out the identities of all the victims. It's a hard slog of trying to win trust and break down barriers. I hope, for them, it's worth it.


And after that doom and gloom, here's a typical Sherlock conversation from this morning, when he arrived in the kitchen.

Me: Sherlock! Why are you picking your nose? Stop it, it's horrible.

Sherlock, frowning: It's not horrible. Earwax tastes horrible. Bogeys are nicer.

I wish I'd had a come back, but it just made me wonder how do we all know ear wax tastes horrible?? Is it just a universal fact you'rer born knowing? Or do we all experiment, then wipe it from our minds in disgust?


I should add, he and Mycroft (and I salute you, Mycroft, for being in control of that situation!) made Brownies last night - and they were delicious. Well done to both of them.

And John was wonderful. I didn't want to go back to his, I thought I'd go home and be on my own. But...well, it doesn't make either of us feel better, doing that. And I'd've had a drink.

It's just going to take a while to get used to being around people who don't treat the job as an inconvenience that should be left at the office, and never brought home in any way shape or form.

A matter of Pride

I'm eating a bacon roll. I ought to be working, but realised that no sensible work would be done when all I could think about was coffee and food. Most of the Yard's food isn't much to write home about. But after years of feeding hungry police officers, bacon rolls they can do well.

Breakfast (very quiet, this morning, with Sherlock not making his presence felt) seems like an awfully long time ago.