Mycroft and Sherlock by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar

Author:Kareem Abdul-Jabbar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

30

SCOTTISH SURGEON JOSEPH BELL WAS TEN YEARS OLDER than Mycroft, yet he seemed to him infinitely wiser as he listened to Mycroft’s heart, paused a moment, then listened again.

“Inherited susceptibility,” Bell muttered, which struck Mycroft as ironic, given the circumstances.

“I have been under pressure lately,” he ventured, “that can certainly be labeled ‘inherited.’ My brother Sherlock is often more than I can manage…”

It was a joke, and a weak one at that. But there were not even signs of polite amusement on Bell’s face. He simply lifted the cold stethoscope from Mycroft’s chest and bid him wait a moment before putting his shirt back on.

Bell had a military bearing, a high forehead, a strong jawline, and features that just skirted handsomeness, given a slightly hooked nose. And although his light-colored eyes were kind, he was rather inscrutable, even for a formidable appraiser like Mycroft Holmes. He suspected that Bell had taken some pains to become so, most likely as protection against nosy patients.

“Is there something the matter with my heart?” Mycroft asked pointedly.

Dr. Bell removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He took Mycroft’s pulse, as he had already done a half-dozen times, dropped Mycroft’s arm, waited five seconds, then lifted it once more.

“What is this about?” Mycroft inquired, unnerved.

“The pulse. It has twelve variables of rhythm, each one distinct, each forecasting a different outcome. And yes,” he said as he pressed his thumb into Mycroft’s wrist before releasing it one last time. “There is something wrong with your heart.”

Mycroft thought back to the physical examination he’d endured a few years previous with the Methuselah of doctors, “physician to Prince Albert” Sir James Clark, and what Clark had said upon examining his heart: Not a pleasant sound at all—like water sloshing in there, Mr. Holmes.

Was it within the realm of the feasible that both he and Douglas suffered from some ailment of the heart? Douglas due to those small but potent bullets lodged nearby, and he from… he had no notion. In any event, Bell was taking a Saturday morning not only to discuss Charles Fowler, but also to put Mycroft under the stethoscope. For it was Bell who had commanded him to lie down the moment he’d laid eyes on him.

“With the stethoscope, I hear what is called a ‘friction rub,’ lower left sternal border,” Bell was saying in his light Scottish brogue. “From other sounds, as well as symptoms you have mentioned and I’ve observed, including the slight swelling in your feet, the left ventricle of your heart is enlarged, and you have a murmur. The murmur is light and intermittent, yet it is there all the same, rather stubbornly so. Childhood illnesses?”

“Rheumatic fever, aged three,” Mycroft replied.

“Ah. Well then, these issues have likely been present for many years, nothing to do about it. Unfortunately, the already weakened muscle has been badly compromised.”

“By what? A poison of some kind?” Mycroft blurted out.

“Poison?” Dr. Bell responded, eyes widening. “Whatever gave you that idea? No. A bout of untreated malaria.

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