25th December

Fucking Christmas.

I fucking hate Christmas.

Really.

Oh, and I made the mistake of turning my phone back on when I woke up. Harry is still snoring, so I decided to wait for her with getting presents. Well, she bought me a book and I guess it's about medicine again. Maybe I could have told her I want socks.

Or a gun. I could use that. Eh. No. Forget it.

I bought her a flower-y dress. Not my idea, Clara chose it, but don't let Harry know. Well, not until she reads this blog, anyway. Maybe I will block this page on her laptop, that would solve it.

Yes. Gotta do that.

Ha! I did it. Harry will be surprised.

But I still hate Christmas.

Really, it's so fucking depressing. And cold.

I should probably write something about yesterday evening, but it's still morning and I don't really know if it's a good idea.

Well, onto less depressing thoughts. I turned my phone on and got about seventeen messages from Professor Sherlock. Let's look.

John. I hate my brother, I am going to kill him. -SH

I am not sure when exactly did I tell him to call me John. But he seriously seems to disregard all boundaries and I would be very surprised if he even knew what 'personal space' is.

The next one.

How long does it take for polonium to affect the victim? -SH

Poor Holmes's brother, really. And I am afraid the professor has a strange liking for poisons, look.

Is the poison contained in the fugu fish hemotoxin, myotoxin or neurotoxin? -SH

Or other:

Why do people use polonium, when botulotoxin is 100 times more effective than polonium? Why are people so stupid anyway? -SH

Honestly, is he some kind of an assassin? Well, I guess those information could be useful.. more so when he wrote, that 'botulotoxin is almost impossible to trace', when used.

Isn't that fascinating? No.

I should stop storing these information, I am not going to poison anyone. Even though.. well, no.

I am a doctor, I know what poisons do, I have seen it before, and it wasn't nice. Botulism is not nice. Even more so when I didn't know how to help those affected and could just watch. Fucking watch it when they died. Drowned, or fell, or got hit by a wandering bullet. Or they heart just gave up at the end.

That's why I hate poisons. I saw soldiers covered by phosphor and was unable to operate them. It was even worse than seeing soldiers with grenades in their stomachs, threatening to explode any minute.

Harry is awake. Dancing around the flat in my shirt and ridiculous reindeer headband, humming some ridiculous carol. Really. It's just so fucking ridiculous, I can't help but laugh.

She opened the present and changed the shirt for the dress. She looks pretty, but she should honestly put down the headband. I am glad Harry is happy. Well, she is almost glowing now, because Clara called and they spent about two hours hanging on the phones together.

By the way my dear sister is giggly now (two in the afternoon) I guess they decided to have a dinner-date later tonight, so I will be left to myself. I don't mind, I have work to do, that I didn't finish yesterday.

Time to say what I did yesterday.

I went out. I talked to some old friends. Injured soldiers from the army who are from London as well. Most of them have stitches with my name on them. I asked them questions and they gave me answers.

They even recommended a net of underground informants, the homeless. I found few of theirs bases and again and again repeated the name.

Most of them have never heard it, but promised to keep their ears open for me. Seems that an injured ex-soldier who doesn't mind sharing what little money he has is a friend.

But few, few.. few of them had heard it.

Adam Ostranski.

He is an ex-soldier, from the commando under the command of Martin Kuffenbach. Both of them originally from Central Europe, but operating in Great Britain now.

Well, not really. From what I gathered the commando broke and their leader is already dead, so it's probably only him.

But if not.. If they are all together again (sans the leader, of course), I have more on my hands than I thought.

Not that I will do anything. Of course I won't. I am not searching revenge, even though it would be perfectly reasonable for me to be.

But I know that hate can only create more hate. Hate scares me.

I will go out this evening again, so that I can ask once more. It's as if being back in war, London is suddenly 'battlefield' and not just a town.

That reminds me what 'Mycroft' told me:

'Most people see houses, cars and shops when they walk the London streets. But when you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see battlefield.'

I should ask him to go out with me, I want to see the battlefield.

I miss it.

I so fucking miss it.

IMPORTANT:

Just for your information, the OC characters ( and , also the whole commando of theirs) are from a book called Asphalt by Štěpán Kopřiva. :) Read it, if you are able to get it and like insane books, full of action, blood and manly jokes. It's brilliant. Really.

Why's that important? Because of the copyright, obviously. And because I love the book.

Review and Smile!

Me.