Becoming Holmes Read Online Free Page A

exactly when to be here, this time. Sure enough, just before six o’clock, Mycroft Holmes appears, coming from the same direction as yesterday, glancing at the snaking Dickens line-up, and just as shocked as before to see his sibling awaiting him.
    “Ah,” he says with a suspicious look in his eye, “what a pleasure to see you on two consecutive days. What an absolute pleasure.” His younger brother looks as if he hasn’t slept.
    “Dispense with the lies, sir. I have come to tell you something and ask you a few questions.”
    “And they are?”
    “I must admit that I was shaken by the sight of the new Treasury employee, whom you referred to at tea with some concern, who then miraculously appeared on these very steps.”
    “And why is that?”
    “I know him.”
    “You know him? Then I was indeed correct about his hiding his low accent. Does a rather poor job of it, I must say. His origins are as a working-class man, or am I deceived?”
    “You are not. He is working class, indeed!”
    “You say that with some feeling.”
    “He is a scoundrel and thief. He has somehow raised himself from –”
    “My! There he is now! Goodness, he is coming even earlier today. It is as if he were trying to compete with me.”
    Mycroft is looking over Sherlock’s shoulder as he speaks. “Ronald?” he calls out and waves for the Treasury’s new employee to join them.
    “Ronald?” says Sherlock. He turns and sees Grimsby coming to a halt. Their eyes meet.
    “Yes, Ronald Loveland.” Mycroft lowers his voice. “I am sure he is not as bad as you say. Perhaps you and he had some disagreements in the past, but calling him a scoundrel and a thief, my boy, that is rather dramatic. One must get over one’s personal squabbles. I have reservations about him too, as you know, but he will likely do fine. One must not disparage one’s colleagues. It isn’t good form.”
    Grimsby isn’t moving.
    Mycroft calls out. “Ronald, you must come forward and meet my brother, Sherlock Holmes.” He leans toward Sherlock and lowers his voice again. “I am glad you have washed your horrible frock coat since yesterday, my boy, though by its condition, it looks as if you wash it most every day. You should get more sleep too. You must say hello to my colleague right
here
, out of doors, and I am afraid that you must then depart. Thank God it is still early. There aren’t too many others around yet. Let us do this quickly.”
    Grimsby still hasn’t moved. Sherlock can see his villainous black eyes looking unsure beneath his disguise – under his glasses, his black bowler hat, slicked hair, and fancy suit. Holmes thinks of others like Grimsby he has dealt with, how this one is among the worst, a sort of symbol of evil for him, a cowardly little devil but capable of so much painful mischief. He remembers the beatings Grimsby tried to inflict upon him, his desire to hurt him, break his bones, and disfigure him. He is a little sadist with dark ambitions.
    Sherlock turns and quickly advances toward him.
    “Sherlock?” says his brother.
    Holmes almost runs to the little man. Grimsby flinches.
    “You will keep your distance, sir.” He points his walking stick at him.
    It is Grimsby’s voice, indeed, though he is struggling to make the accent sound respectable.
    “You will keep your distance!”
    Holmes seizes him by the lapels.
    “SHERLOCK!” cries Mycroft.
    “I do not know how you came to this employment,” whispers the tall, thin boy, inches from his enemy’s ear, “but I know it is for no good. I know what you are planning. I shall discover how you got here and use that to put an end to it!”
    Mycroft begins running toward them.
    “You, ’olmes, shall do naught of the kind,” hisses Grimsby as quietly as possible, turning his face so his lips are an inch from Sherlock’s. “Things is in motion now that is well beyond you, well beyond the little games we used to play. HE is making plans. They is developing. If you do not cease this