Lock & Mori by Heather W. Petty6/1/2023 ![]() ![]() True to form, Lock swished his cane in a semicircle through the air above his head and then sliced down toward me with as much power as he could. ![]() He’d caught me clumsily practicing my aikido katas in my attic space the week prior and decided that I needed to learn Bartitsu, which he claimed was “the ultimate self-defense art.” Evidently, Lock liked to use the word “ultimate” when what he really meant was “antiquated.” But when we’d sneaked out of school before my last class, I hadn’t expected him to bring me to a sparring gym. ![]() Was it normal that he seemed to enjoy nothing more than our attacking each other with sticks? Not that I expected much normality from Sherlock Holmes. He was the happiest I’d seen him in weeks, which probably should’ve concerned me a bit. Use my strength to bolster yours.” He offered me perhaps the most arrogant smile he was capable of delivering and added, “Not that you’ll get the opportunity.” “Don’t forget you’re trying to keep me off balance. He was sweaty, and his cheeks were rosy, partially from his efforts, but mostly out of pure joy. The perfect height to shield the overhead blow that had been his opening gambit all afternoon. I held my weapon up as well, one hand at each end, just high enough to glare at him from under it. ![]() I tilted my chin up in a half nod and made a noncommittal noise. He held his weapon in one hand high over his head, the shaft end pointed at the floor between us. I stared down an overconfident Sherlock Holmes, begging him to so much as twitch. ![]()
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