Chapter 9: With Greater Wisdom~
"So...why...bartitsu?" John asked slowly, eyeing the dojo curiously.
It was early the next morning. They had been flown to Edinburgh following their last conversation with their friends, and were currently in the safe house/ dojo/ 3 day debriefing program hastily set up to prepare them for their entry into criminal war zone Shang Hai."
Sherlock yawned boredly, teeth sticking out like fangs, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his long coat. Mycroft swallowed, patiently.
"We had to pick something that your opponents wouldn't be familiar with. Bartitsu was originally developed in England in the late 19th century."
"Oh...Ok, so, what do we do?"
Sherlock was suddenly pealing out of his coat, and rolling up his sleeves.
Mycroft drew a chalk line across the floor in between the two men, and John rolled his eyes, having expected something a bit more official than this. He should have known better.
"The three main points of bartitsu are these, little brothers mine. First, disturb your opponents equilibrium. Try it out on Sherlock, John, being tall, he's relatively equipped for a fall."
Everyone within ear shot froze then, as Mycroft's words rang hollowly home. Mycroft himself stood aghast at what these words truly meant.
John stood wan faced, and bottled emotions ,like anger and pain, sorrow and fear suddenly spurred him on his heel, to facing Sherlock.
And he blindly spun to knock him down,and suddenly Sherlock twisted and John was on his nose.
He coughed, "So, let me guess...you've already had some experience with this...bartitsu...or whatever?"
Sherlock smiled, "Remember the little plaque that's been hanging over my bed for ages?"
John thought back until he remember the little plaque in question. Contrary to popular belief, John didn't actually spend a whole lot of time in Sherlock's bedroom. Occasionally he was in there looking for stolen socks or missing keys, but that was all.
"Oh...right. It had the rules for a kind of martial arts on it?"
"It's actually a Kodokan judo black belt certificate." Sherlock replied, with a smug smirk.
John stood shakily up, and looked at Mycroft accusingly.
"Like I'd send my own little brother traipsing after a criminal network all over the globe without having guaranteed he was proficient in some sort of self-defense!" Mycroft gasped, himself defensive.
"So, this training is for me then?" John asked, skeptically.
"No,actually. Bartitsu is a free-fighting style. We're taking the judo I was taught ( I mean really John, I know I may look like a willow wisp to you, but how do you suppose I've survived this long if I didn't know how to fight?) and your inclination to soldiering, and combining it into something we can use together. Two heads being better than one. Proceeding with greater wisdom this time."
"Karate meets crazy...and you get...what exactly?" John asked, attacking Sherlock eagerly now.
Mycroft leaned back, smiling at them both.
"A dance, it seems. You're dancing together;be sure to step in time!"
Indeed ,it became a dance of sorts. For hours that wore into days. For 3 days, the two of them, pitted against each other, and plastic dummies, learning to fight together, as if they were fighting against themselves.
"The idea is surprise! Always make like you are about to go for each others throats, and then, proceed,_wise as serpents gentlemen!" Mycroft coached from the sidelines (sitting in a plastic unfolding lawn chair, with a glass of some kind of fruity cocktail Anthea had given him, treating this like some kind of miniature holiday.
"I say we put him out on the dance floor!"John growled, and Sherlock laughed around the plastic tooth-guard he was slipping into his mouth.
Somewhere near the end of the second day, Mycroft started treating it like a contest.
"ELEMENT OF SURPRISE! THEN BACK TO BACK! USE THE OPPONENT'S WEIGHT, AND ANATOMICAL POSITIONING AGAINST HIM!"
Sherlock and John did a sort of acrobatic move mid-air, where they struck palms, and kicked out backwards, and spun, arms linking, and doing a four-legged sweep, that knocked 15 or 16 plastic dummies up into the air.
They both looked up, trying to bat their hair out of their eyes, sweating and panting, to see Mycroft holding up a sign that said PERFECT 10, in his fancy Queen of England penmanship.
"Really?" Sherlock growled.
"Oh, so it's a Game now?" John asked, slipping the tooth guard back in.
At the end of the third day the two of them were doing cartwheels, and dribbling themselves hand over hand, and tagging each other by striking palms, like a ball and jacks game, sprinting about in a leap-frog, kick and punch sort of motion that left about 30 plastic dummies headless.
They looked up, to see the entire dojo holding up perfect 10's. Anthea had a foam finger, that said, "WE'RE NUMBER ONE!" loudly across it.
"Whew, bravo!" she wailed, whistling.
"Congratulations, little brothers mine. You might actually survive Shang Hai. Or at least secure for yourselves a place in the Black Lotus circus should your mission fail."
"Thanks ALOT for the vote of confidence, Mycroft!" John howled.
Sherlock just shrugged, ready to have it started now.