XXX: John. Finally.

The American and I arrived in San Francisco almost two weeks ago. I was expecting John shortly thereafter, but as previous entries here show, he was waylaid.

He did arrive today, finally, in a sarcophagus of sorts and wrapped in plastic besides. I thought Moriarty would be with him, but the villain had clearly made good his escape prior. Not surprising, but the idea that he was loose irked me.

He was nice enough to send along some of my things, though. My heavier coat, a shirt, and my death Frisbee (which John insists on calling a deerstalker).

Just a bit late on the coat, mind. It's spring already. Though I've been known to wear it even in summer because I look so damn good in it. And it's not that hot yet. I am, that is, but the weather isn't.

(Yes, John, that was me being funny. But you only seem to think I'm funny when I don't mean to be.)

Meanwhile, beware of evildoers bearing, well, bears:

But at least we have a good photo to work from.

I showed John around the place, and we discussed our options for capturing dear Jim.

Ever get the feeling . . . ?

There are plants here. John will have to tend them, since I'll forget and then they will die.

One only needs a deerstalker when stalking deer.

(John has pointed out these plants are plastic and therefore need no watering. So much the better.)

We had some coffee . . . They drink a lot of that here.

And then . . .

No, I was not planning a "romantic candlelit dinner."

End game. For now. Though it's almost more fun when he's out and about.

I'm letting John keep the bear.

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Special thanks to Lynn S. Beaver, my second mom and supplier of Sherlock-inspired dolls.