Free Mycroft Holmes by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

little’?” Nevertheless, he shut the book with a definitive
clap
and stood to depart without protest.
    Holmes smiled.
    Sherlock was rarely so amenable.
    I have had an impact on him
, he thought, secretly pleased.
    * * *
    The two brothers faced each other within a rectangle of ropes set up on the main floor. Their hands were wrapped in strips of leather so musty that they threatened to turn to dust.
    “Hands high,” Holmes commanded. “Elbows low, head moving. And for pity’s sake, chin down!”
    As if to emphasize his point, he thwacked Sherlock on the jaw.
    Sherlock put his chin down but continued to study his brother, as he had been doing since they’d first entered the gym.
    “And now that you have solved my riddle,” he said, “I think it only fair that I solve yours.”
    “And what riddle might that be?” Holmes asked.
    “What, pray, is that fervor in your eyes?” Sherlock demanded. “Surely it’s not simply from buffeting me about. Is it some intrigue or other that disquiets you? Perhaps an undertaking having to do with human suffering, along with the possibility of circumventing it? If so, it would be the least inspiring subject I could imagine…”
    “Speak less, box more,” Holmes said.
    “…which leads me to assume that Georgiana has something to do with it. Did you not announce, some months back, that you are beginning to look at social inequities not as curiosities to be catalogued, but as wrongs to be righted?”
    “It’s true,” Holmes said evenly. “I do owe that to Georgiana.”
    “She has made you
weak
, brother mine,” Sherlock sneered.
    Why, you ungrateful ninny!
Holmes thought.
Here, I solve your insipid crime, and you insult me?
He jabbed his brother a bit too hard on his exposed septum. Sherlock flinched—but was on the scent and would not be deterred, even by a cuff to the nose.
    “Yes, perhaps it is love that…
aha!
You see there? You pursed your lips! As if not wanting some secret to escape.”
    “I pursed my lips because I would like you to shut up and box,” Holmes said dourly.
    “Nonsense, you are disquieted,” Sherlock shot back. “Discomfited. Why, I would even go so far as to say that this secret distresses you.”
    “Rather than alliterate, kindly practice turning your body
into
the punch, not away.”
    “I am turning away so you do not hit me!” Sherlock protested. Still, he was not about to let it go. “Wait,” he mused. “Has something gone awry with the sainted Georgiana?”
    With that, Sherlock began to hum “La Donna è Mobile” from
Rigoletto
. Holmes was familiar with the opera, and knew precisely what Sherlock was inferring.
    And he didn’t like it one bit.
    “You
must
use height and reach to your advantage,” he said in a vain attempt to take control of the subject. “Utilize your entire body, not just your arm. Like this!” He demonstrated, catching Sherlock in the ribcage. The boy expelled his breath, but was again undeterred.
    “Yes!” he gasped. “The problem is with Georgiana. Perhaps one of her street urchins is in mortal danger. Forced to use a present negative subjunctive when a plain old subjunctive would do!”
    “You are insufferable.”
    “So I’ve been told,” Sherlock said, “more times than I care to recall. Though I do, unhappily, recall each time.”
    “Short uppercuts and hooks, short rights,
long
jabs,” Holmes said, trying to keep the conversation on track. “Not short jabs—and long everything else!”
    “Tell me, Mycroft, why’d you appear today? Surely not for a boxing lesson. And why did you comment, as we strolled here, that you shall be ‘frightfully busy this summer,’ when I have not seen you in weeks? June, July, and August could easily slip by without my noticing your absence. What need would there be to announce it?”
    “Curiosity is a good thing,” Holmes countered. “Pray be judicious about it, and not simply sarcastic. And breathe
out
when you punch. Eye your target. Chin
down
!”