The Brother on My Back

Chapter 1.

Ian checked the micro cassette of the mini tape recorder: Almost out, and it was a long playing one. He removed it and glanced at the boy, who was staring at him. "Is the other side empty?"

Sherlock nodded stiffly. His thin face was pale; he had a sheen of sweat at the temples and across his forehead.

Ian flipped the cassette and rewound it; then held his thumb over the record button, glanced again and asked, "Are you sure?"

Nodding once more, Sherlock replied, "It's too complicated to write down. Besides, there's a point that's not quite clear. But you'd have to understand the whole of it to be of any use."

Ah. Ian's jaw grew tight. The boy spoke in an aloof, almost conceited tone of voice, rather like his brother, and it rankled. Although sorely tempted to dress him down, years of working with this sort of boy had taught Ian to be patient. "Well, then," he smiled, "let's begin." He pressed the record button:

Ahem. This is Ian Wharton, headmaster at Tillerman Independent Boarding School for young men. The time is eight thirty in the evening, on this, the fifteenth day of February, 1990, Thursday, the fourth day of our mid-term holiday week. I am at the Holmes' residence with young Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who is, as of this recording, thirteen years of age and a first year student at Tillerman. Sherlock went missing for a time and caused a good deal of worry in some quarters. To account for his whereabouts, he has requested to make this recording. Sherlock?

Long pause. "I don't know where to start."

Begin at the beginning. What happened first?

A sigh. "Organic chemistry."

I'm sorry?

"Organic chemistry. The mid-term assessment. I sat for it-or most of it. That's how I missed my own chemistry mid-term."

Organic chemistry is a lower-sixth course.

"Right."

Another long pause. Sherlock, why would you sit for an exam of a course you're not to take for years?

"Mycroft did it."

Mycroft-

"You knew about that, didn't you? It was his second year, end of spring term. He was meant to sit for his end of term assessment in Spanish but had wandered into the hall where the upper sixth were sitting for Italian. The master was gone; the person proctoring was clueless, and the thing had begun half an hour prior, so Mycroft was rushed to a desk with an exam slapped before him. He had never taken Italian, but he knew French and Spanish and Latin, so he shut up and shoved his way through."

Oh, right.

"And then, because the proctor had pegged him for someone who had gone to hospital with appendicitis (but the proctor didn't know that), Mycroft was dragged off to resit the Portuguese exam the other student had missed the day before (because of the appendicitis), and although Mycroft had had no experience with Portuguese at all, he shoved through that one as well! Of course, he didn't show for his own assessment, so they rang Mummy and Daddy and told them Mycroft had gone AWOL."

Yes, yes.

"I had come home for my end of term holiday that afternoon, and I remember how Mummy had slammed her book shut and shouted, 'For God's sake! What's he done now?'

"Then Daddy had said, 'Don't know, Darling. They're looking.'

"I said he was probably tucked in a corner somewhere, stuffing himself, but no one listened to me."

Ah.

"Daddy said, 'He's only fourteen; he couldn't have got far. Sorry, Sherlock! Must stick by the phone. We'll have to scrounge our dinner.'

"We had meant to go to Changs that night. We never go to Changs. So I said, 'Couldn't you use your pager? We could go out, and if they find him, they would page you.'

"But Daddy said, 'The pager is for work. Mustn't misappropriate her majesty's perquisites.'"

No-

"We can never misappropriate her majesty's perquisites! It wasn't fair. And all we had in the house was tinned fish and tomatoes, and I hate tomatoes! Mummy did give me some wine- Well, a teaspoon in my water because I was only nine- and then I was bade, 'Go away.'"

She was cross?

"Not especially, no. I played Space Invaders until they rang to say Mycroft had been found. He had aced those assessments. Italian and Portuguese. Languages he hadn't studied."

Yes. I remember.

"I'm rubbish at languages, but I like chemistry, and I wasn't allowed to take organic chem as a first year, so I nicked Mycroft's text and fixed it with three lower sixths from my house. I had to help with their problem sets and pay them a tenner each-That's half my Christmas money gone!-but they agreed to sneak me into the mid term."

Oh! Organic chemistry!

"Yes. Organic chemistry. That's what we've been talking about."

Ah. Sorry. It's just- I just recalled there were some irregularities about that exam. You were there, then.

"Yes. I've told you that."

Go on. What happened?

"I was with my helpers that night, outside the hall-"

Hang on, which boys were these? Your helpers.

"Chris Olson, Matthew Thomas and Clarence Peabody. I didn't pass answers! Simply sitting for a test that is not your own is not cheating. We didn't violate the honor code!"

Not the letter of it, no. All right. You were outside the hall-?

"I had to hang back and keep my head down, so I was making shoe deductions."

Shoe deductions?

"Deductions is a game Mycroft and I play; I'm better at it. We deduce all we can from objects or people. The Tillerman twist is that we determine who is from which house by their shoes. Comstock overlooks the bins, so it has the highest percentage of scholarship cases: Cheap shoes, maintained rather than replaced. Grayton has the best views and poshest furnishings, so it's for wealthy legacy men: Handmades, polished. Frye is far and away from everything, so the sons of foreign nationals are housed there-"

Ian snapped off the mini recorder. "Sherlock," he stated firmly, "housing placements are made without regard to income or legacy status or nationality."

"They can't be random," the boy insisted. "Mycroft and I have a seventy-two percent hit rate."

Carefully, "Well, no, they're not random, but neither are certain groups favored with special privileges. Applicants make their preferences known, and the final decisions are made by the board of governors and house masters, based solely on student interests and personalities. Students are placed where they would be most comfortable. Comfortable students are happy students, and happy students are successful students."

"I didn't get my housing preference," muttered Sherlock.

With a quiet sigh, Ian smiled politely. "And what was that?"

"Wilkerson, next to the science building," the boy groused. "But it's for legacy men whose fathers make no money, and geniuses and prodigies and the like: Not me. Mycroft and I both got stuck in Blaine with all the MPs' sons. They're always drunk! If it weren't for Mycroft, they-" He was suddenly quiet.

"Sorry? They-? They what?" Ian prompted gently but listened closely.

Sherlock's eyes were boring into the ground, twitching slightly. "They- If it weren't for Mycroft, they-" He met Ian's gaze and said, slowly, "No one would talk to me at all. And Mycroft hates me." He nodded at the recorder. "Might we get back to it?"

Making a mental note to dig further should this arise again, Ian gave the boy a sympathetic glance and pressed record- All right. You were doing shoe deductions.

"Right. And I noticed all the left shoes from Grayton had these patches on the inner arches: Velcro. Odd. When we were allowed inside, I had my helpers sit me near the Grayton men: Third row from the back. All spread out. We began the exam."

How was it?

"Fine. It was fine. After a bit, I saw a Grayton man had crossed his left leg over his right knee and was looking at his shoe: There was a mirror attached to the velcro patch! And he wasn't the only one either; they were all doing it! They obviously had notes written under the desks and were reading them with the mirrors!"

Yes.

"At first, I wasn't certain what to do."

You could have spoken to the master. Quietly.

"Well, yes, but then I would have been caught. I needed a distraction, so I set off the fire alarm."

How did you do that?

"Do what?"

The fire alarm. You had to break the glass. It was at the front of the room, and you said you were at the back.

"Oh. I had some gobstoppers in my pocket, and I laced the elastic from my sock garter round my fingers, like this."

A hand catapult. You're an awfully good shot.

"Yeah, I'm good with a slingshot. I did miss at first, but I got it the second time! Smash!" A pause. "Gosh, it was awful! The noise! I managed not to yell. The master told us to leave our exams and evacuate. Of course, the Grayton men tried to rub out the evidence, but they were run off. As I left, I flipped over one of their desks. It was fairly obvious what had been there: Written in charcoal pencil."

Yes.

"When I got out, I snuck away, and-"

Did you leave your exam?

"Yes. Of course."

Whose name had you written on it? We collected the exams when the students were evacuated. There was none belonging to Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

"Well, no. You wouldn't have. I'd left the name line blank."

Really? You- Really!

"Yes. I had. Really."

Right. Of course you did.

"Yes. But I had missed my proper mid term-"

Is there anything else about organic chemistry? Anything more to relate?

"No. So when Mummy and Daddy and Miranda came that evening to fetch us, Mr. Rose took them aside and told them I must resit it Monday. They were quite cross, and they said-" Long pause.

What did they say?

"They said- It's just- You seem to know some of this, so I must think it through: Paraphrase and summarize and prioritize, but- it's hard."

Once again, Ian snapped off the recorder and gave the boy a hard look. "Sherlock. This is to be an absolutely complete record."

Sherlock stiffened. "I- I know," he stammered, "but I shouldn't want to be tiresome. I go on sometimes, or so I've been told."

"Just tell the whole of it as it happened. I'll not find it tiresome, I can assure you." Ian began the recorder again-All right, then. What did they say?

A sigh. "Daddy said, 'You see, Sherlock, we had a surprise for you. We meant to take you and Mycroft and Miranda to dinner-"

Miranda?

"Our housekeeper. You know. You were talking with her tonight when I-"

I know who she is. I'm curious as to why she was there that night.

"Oh! When we're on holiday, she sees to Mycroft and me. Mummy and Daddy take her lots of places if we're to go as well."

I see. Your nanny.

"No! My last proper nanny was dismissed when I went away to primary school. Miranda just fetches us things and all. Talks to us. Mycroft fancies her, but she's far too old for him: Twenty-eight! And she has a boyfriend, although she's more taken with him than he with her, judging by the Christmas gifts they exchanged-"

Okay. Let's continue with your account. You father had meant to take you to dinner-?

"Right. So Daddy said, 'We meant to-' right '-dinner, then to Heathrow. I am flying to Moscow tonight, and Mummy to Los Angeles. She is to be the keynote speaker at the maths conference at UCLA. You three were going to Los Angeles as well: Miranda was going to attend some conference sessions-' she's Mummy's student at the university as well as our housekeeper '-and you boys could have had fun poking round the research facilities, making observations. Perhaps taking pictures.'

"And Miranda said, 'Or gone to the beach. I was going to take you to the beach. Or Disneyland.'

"And Daddy said, 'But all that's off, I'm afraid. At least for you, Sherlock.'"

Ian pressed the stop button. "Oh dear," he said kindly. "You must have been terribly disappointed."

Sherlock gave a bare shake of his head and replied, "No. No, I was not disappointed. Not at all. Mummy always talks of taking us on her conference trips, but she always finds a reason not to, and she never does. Daddy goes on trips too, but he never even says he'll take us, so: No. Not surprised. Not bothered. Not a bit."

Ah. Making another mental note, Ian gave a final consoling glance, said simply, "I see," and pressed record again-What happened then?

"Yes. Well, then Mummy said, 'None of you can go. Really, Sherlock! This is completely unacceptable! The car is having its transmission repaired and won't be out until Saturday next! How is Miranda to get you to Tillerman?' That was a problem because we live quite far from the tube or any bus lines."

Oh.

"Then Mycroft said, 'Los Angeles? I don't want to go to Los Angeles!'

"And Mummy said, 'Haven't you been listening? You're not going. I'll not have you alone with me, moping about.'

And Mycroft said, 'I didn't want to go! You should have asked me.'

And Daddy said, 'That's why we didn't ask you.'"

Wait- Mycroft really didn't want to go? To Los Angeles?

"Of course not. Mycroft never wants to go anywhere. Then Daddy said, 'You'd best get accustomed to travel, Mycroft. You'll be joining me in Moscow after your A-levels. They've given me leave.'

"And Mycroft shouted, 'I will not go to Moscow!'

"But Daddy wasn't listening. He said, 'You've had half a term of Russian; you'll be fluent by summer, a valuable asset as the Soviet Union collapses.' Daddy works for the government, you know."

Yes, I am aware. Ian pressed stop once more. "Why would Mycroft be an asset?" he asked.

"Oh-" the boy gave a tiny shrug. "He knows things; finds connections; makes predictions. He predicted that stock market crash, Black Friday, months ahead of time. The increased numbers of computer science degrees awarded in the last decade, you see. The drop in cocaine use in America. The rise in popularity of Cabbage Patch Kids. It was fairly obvious."

Ian watched the boy carefully. Finally, "Sorry. Cocaine use? Cabbage Patch Kids? I don't see the connection."

"It's complicated," Sherlock conceded. "Irrational people suddenly having more money and increased automaticity of trading. The prediction saved Britain loads of cash. Daddy was commended!"

"Ah."

"So if the Soviet Union is actually collapsing, Daddy would want Mycroft there to protect Britain's interests. But Mycroft said, 'I won't go! I can't go. I must monitor the revolution here.'"

"What!"

"Oh. Margaret Thatcher is out. Or will be in six months." The boy made an imperious nod. "Even I know that."

Biting his tongue, Ian began the mini recorder again-All right. Getting back: What happened next?

"Well, next, Daddy said, 'Mycroft-'

"But before he could finish, Mr. Rose returned, and Mummy explained our predicament. Mr. Rose said, 'I can't help with your holiday plans, but if transport to Tillerman is an issue, I might have a solution. There is a family residing at the Hurlstone City Farm nearby: A mother, son, grandfather, and, I believe, a great uncle. The grandfather is a magistrate and well respected in the community: His Worship, Victor Reginald Scott Trevor Musgrave the third. His grandson is Victor Musgrave the fifth, a second year student here, in Wilkerson. They might be willing to put our Sherlock up until Monday; shall I ring them?'

"And Daddy said, 'Do. Perhaps they could keep him the whole week. Then Miranda and Mycroft could go to LA!' and everyone spoke at once:

"Miranda said, 'Oh, yes!'

"Mycroft moaned, 'Oh, no!'

"And Mummy said, 'That's not necessary. The week-end is perfectly adequate. Come! Sherlock can remain with Mr. Rose until this Musgrave person can collect him.' And that was how I landed at Victor Musgrave the fifth's house last week-end. That's really how the whole thing began."