Sherlock Hooves - A Study in Pinkie

Chapters

Serial Killer
Sherlock Hooves
221B Baker Street
Amateurs

Serial Killer

"Quickly, back to the bunkers! Trotson, get over here! The Changelings are attacking! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! AAAHHH! TROTSON! HELP ME! TROTSOOOOOO-"

He quickly woke up from the nightmare he just had. He looked out the window. Moring he thought. His name was Dr. John Trotson. He was an ex-military doctor who had fought in the battle against the changelings. Horrible things happened during the battle. He lost his best friend, whom he couldn't save from the swarm of changelings that cornered them in a dark alleyway. He poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down and opened an empty book. This was supposed to be his diary, but he hadn't written anything in it yet. He checked his watch. It read "8.15 AM". Gotta start heading to the therapist he thought. He got up, and headed out the door.

"How's your diary going?" Trotson's therapist asked

"Good. Yeah, very good" Trotson answered shakily. The therapist shook her head.

"You haven't written a word, haven't you?"

"Yeah..." Trotson said with a sigh.

"John, you're a soilder. It's going to take a while to adjust to normal life" the therapist said. "You're supposed to be writing a diary about everything that happens to you!"

"Nothing happens to me" Trotson replied. Little did he know that was all about to change.

October 12th

A stallion stared at the shadow. The shadow of a mare. The mare had a very sharp knife. And the knife was coming towards him. Before he knew it, everything went black.

"My husband was a happy stallion. He loved his work, and lived life to the fullest" the crying wife of the stallion sobbed, the cameras of the press flashing every second. "And that somepony should of taken his life this way... is a shock to all who new him. I don't know why somepony would murder him".

November 26th

"I'm just seeing what time the bus comes!" a teenage colt yelled to his friend.

"Don't be long!" his friend replied. Time passed, and the friend was getting impatient. He walked to where the bus stop, where he found a note:

Got a cab. Sorry I couldn't go on the bus with you.

In an abandoned building far away from there, the young stallion was looking at the same mare that the the other stallion that was murdered earlier that year saw. The mare still had her knife. The knife she had was covered in his blood. He fell to the ground. Lifeless. Motionless. Dead.

January 27th

The Trotdon Gala. A night were ponies can dance, "dance", and flail while people look at you and think you're stupid. A mare came out of the door to meet with her coltfriend. "She's still dancing?" he asked.

"If you call it that" the mare replied with a chuckle. The stallion looked through the doors to the main hall. "Where is she?" he asked.

Little did they know that their friend with the horrible dancing skills was far away from the building, lying on the ground. Dead.

Cameras from all around room flashed, the press eagerly awaiting the reason for these serial killings. "The body was found late last night outside the Trotdon Main Gala Building. Investigations suggest this this was murder." announced Sergeant Sally Donomane. "We can confirm this murder closely resembles those of 2 other ponies's murders last year. In this light, they are now being treated as linked. This investigation is still going, but Inspector Detective Lestride will take questions now". And with that nearly all the hands in the room went up, people yelling there questions. "These three ponies, they have nothing that link them?" another reporter asked.

"Not yet, but there has to be one-" Lestride was cut off by a letter that appeared in front of him. He opened it up.

Wrong

"What does it say?" the reporters asked.

"It just says wrong" Lestride answered, knowing who it was from.

"Are there anymore questions?" Sally asked the crowd of reporters.

"How did they die?" another reporter asked.

"We don't know what exactly is the cause of death yet but we have our best people investigating-" he was cut of by another letter.

Wrong

"Are there anymore questions?" Sally asked again.

"Could this be the work of a serial killer?" one mare reporter asked.

"It is possible, but we can't confirm that yet" Lestride answered.

"How can we keep ourselves safe?"

"Look, we are all as safe as we want to be-" another letter interrupted Lestride.

Wrong

But there was more:

You know where to find me.

"You got to stop him doing that" Sally whispered to Lestride.

"Tell me how he does it and then I'll stop it" Lestried replied sternly.

Trotson was walking down the street when he was stopped by a voice. "John? John Trotson?" he turned around to see his good friend that he hadn't seen in years, Mike Stanhoof. "Mike?"

"Good to see you!" Mike said. They both sat down on a nearby bench. "I'm teaching now!" he exclaimed.

"Where?" Trotson asked.

"University of Trotdon" Mike answered. "What about you?"

"Oh, can't afford Trotdon. Not with the money they paid me" Trotdon replied.

"Got somepony to share a flat with or something?" Mike asked.

"Who would want me as a flatmate?" Mike chuckled. "What?"

"You're the second person to say that to me today!"

"Who was the first?"

Sherlock Hooves

A bag containing a body was unzipped by a unicorn. The unicorn had a grey coat, a short, black, curly mane and a blue scarf. "How fresh?" the unicorn asked an earth pony, whose name was Marely Hooper, that was in the the room.
"Just came in!" she replied. "67 natural causes. Used to work here. I knew him. He was nice!". The unicorn zipped the bag back up.

"Fine" he said with a smile. "We'll start with the whip".

The unicorn continuously whipped the dead body, while Marely just watched with a blank expression. The unicorn stopped whipping. "Bad day was it?" she asked with a chuckle. "Listen, I was wondering, maybe later-".

"You wearing lipstick? You weren't wearing lipstick before" he interrupted.

"I uh... re-freshened it a bit!" Marely said with a blush. The unicorn didn't buy it, but let her continue. "I was wondering if you'd like to have coffee?" she asked.

"Black, two sugars please! I'll be upstairs" the unicorn walked away, not know what she was really asking. Marely just stood there.

"Okay" she said.

The unicorn was doing some experiments when he heard a knock on the door. The door opened and two stallions came walking in: Mike Stanhoof and John Trotson. The unicorn looked at the two. "Well" Trotson started. "Bit different from my day".

"Mike can I borrow your instant sender? I've lost mine" the unicorn asked.

"Sorry, it's in my jacket" Mike replied.

"Use mine" Trotson said as he handed the instant letter sender to the unicorn.

"Um... thank you" the unicorn thanked him as he took the IS.

"Old friend of mine. John Trotson" Mike told the unicorn. The unicorn started writing the letter.

"How was the battle?" the unicorn asked. Trotson's eyes widened. Mike grinned.

"Sorry?" Trotson said, seeing if he asked what he think he asked.

"How was the changeling battle?" the unicorn repeated himself. Trotson looked at Mike, still grinning.

"Uh... like any other battle" he answered. "How did you-"

"Ah, Marely, coffee!" the unicorn interrupted Trotson as he took his coffee. "What happened to the lipstick?" he asked.

"It wasn't working for me" Marely replied.

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement!" the unicorn stated. "Now it's to... small".

"Okay" she said bluntly. The unicorn walked over to the microscope.

"How do you feel about the violin?" he asked Trotson.

"Sorry, what?" Trotson replied without an answer.

"I play the violin when I'm thinking, or I talk to days on end. Would that bother you?" the unicorn asked. "Potential flatmate, need preferences". Trotson looked at Mike.

"You told him about me" he said.

"Not a word" Mike replied.

"Then who said anything about flatmates?" Trotson asked.

"I did. Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for, now here he is!" the unicorn replied. "An old friend who returned from the changeling battle, I think it's perfect". Trotson looked down, then back at the unicorn, wanting some answers.

"How did you know about me in the changeling battle?" he asked.

"Nice little place in central Trotdon. Together we might be able to afford it" the unicorn said without giving an answer, once again. "Be there tomorrow, 7 o'clock. Sorry, gotta dash". He started for the door

"Is that it then" Trotson said.

"Is that what?" the unicorn asked.

"We've only just met, and we're going to look at a flat"

"...Problem?"

"We don't know a thing about each other, I don't know where we're meeting, and I don't even know your name" Trotson made a point. The unicorn stared at him.

"I know you're a a military doctor who had just come home from the changeling war. I know you have a brother who you worry about but you don't go to him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, and he recently walked out on his wife" the grey unicorn basically told Trotson the events of the past 3 months in a nutshell. "That's enough to go on with, don't you think?". Trotson just stood there, dumbfounded. The unicorn opened the door and turn to Trotson. "The name's Sherlock Hooves and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon". Trotson turned to Mike.

"Yep, he's always like that" he said.

221B Baker Street

Trotson sat on his bed and checked to see if he got any letters while he was walking. He pulled out the latest letter he got:

If brother has green ladder arrest brother.
SH

He didn't even know my IS code! Trotson thought, but after Sherlock's display today, Trotson thought he didn't need too. He looked over at his bookshelf. Sherlock Hooves... he started thinking. Where have I heard that name before. He walked over to his bookshelf and looked under "H" for Hooves. He scanned along the books, touching every spine with his fingers, then he found his book. "The Science of Deduction" Trotson read the title aloud. He opened the book and started reading.

A lone mare entered the room she was asked to meet in. There she saw the mare. The mare with the knife. She tried to reopen the door. It was locked. She turned back to the mare with the knife. And everything went black.

It was a cloudy day in Trotdon, but everyday was cloudy, so it didn't bother the ponies walking on the streets. Trotson walked down Baker Street until he found the door marked "221B". A cab pulled up near him and the unicorn known as Sherlock Hooves stepped out. "Hello" Sherlock greeted Trotson.

"Mr. Hooves!" exclaimed Trotson.

"Sherlock, please" Sherlock replied. Trotson knocked on the door.

"Must be expensive" he said.

"The landlady, Mrs. Hopson, gave me a special deal. Owes me a favor" Sherlock explained. "Few years back her husband got sentenced to the moon. I helped her out a bit".

"You stopped her husband from going to the moon?"

"Oh no, I ensured it!". The door swung open to reveal an old mare with a bluey-grey coat and a blond mane. "Sherlock!" the mare exclaimed as she hugged the said unicorn.

"Mrs. Hopson, Dr. John Trotson" Sherlock introduced the mare to Trotson.

"Come in!" Mrs. Hopson signaled us to come in.

The apartment was nice but not so cosy. There was two chairs, a coffee table, a couch, an assorted bookshelf, and a normal table. Trotson walked around to the kitchen. Apart from all the science equipment, it was a standard kitchen. Nothing special about it, apart from all the science equipment. "Well, this could be very nice" Trotson said as he sat down on one of the chairs.

"My thoughts precisely. It could be very nice" Sherlock agreed. Trotson spotted something weird on the single shelf in the room.

"There's a skull there" he said as he pointed to the weird thing.

"Friend of mine" Sherlock said as he turned to the skull. "Well, I say friend...".

"What do you think then Dr. Watson?" Mrs. Hopson asked. "There's another bedroom upstairs". Mrs. Hopson walked into the kitchen. "Sherlock, the mess you made" she said as she entered the kitchen.

"Found your book last night" Trotson told Sherlock.

"What did you think?" Sherlock asked.

"You said you could identify a IS designer by their tie and a Wonderbolt wannabe by their left foreleg" Trotson said in disbelief.

"Yes..." began Sherlock. "And I can read your military career in your face and your brothers drinking habbits in your IS".

"...How?" Trotson asked. Sherlock just turned away.

"What about these killings Sherlock?" Mrs. Hopson started. "Thought they'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same-"

"Four" Sherlock cut her off. "There's been a forth. But there's something different this time...". Listride came power troting into the door. "Where?" Sherlock asked.

"Maneston, Filly Gardens" Lestride answered.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't of come to get me if there wasn't something new" Sherlock asked.

"You know how they never leave notes?" Lestride started. "This one did".

"Who's on forensics?" Sherlock asked, hopping to Celestia it wouldn't be...

"Canterson" Lestride answered. Sherlock sighed.

"Canterson won't work with me" Sherlock stated.

"Well he won't be your assistant!" Lestride exclaimed.

"I need an assistant!" Sherlock said sternly.

"Will you come?" Lestride asked with a sigh.

"Not in a police carriage, I'll be right behind" Sherlock answered.

"Thank you" Lestride said as he walked out the door. After they heard the door close, Sherlock jumped up and down in exictment.

"BRILLIANT!!!" he yelled. "Four serial killings and now a note! Ah, it's Hearth's Warming! Mrs. Hopson, I'll be late, and I'll need something to drink".

"I'm your landlady dear, not your housekeeper!" Mrs. Hopson told Sherlock.

"Something cold will do!" Sherlock stated, ignoring what Mrs. Hopson said. "Don't wait up!".

"Look at him, rushing about. I'll make you that cuppa, you rest your leg" Mrs. Hopson said to Trotson.

"DAMN MY LEG!!!!" Trotson yelled at the top of his lungs, but instantly apologized. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes, this bloody thing..."

"I understand dear, I've got a hip" Mrs. Hopson replied.

"Cup of tea would be lovely, thank you" Trotson said, picking up the newspaper.

"Just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper" Mrs. Hopson stated again.

"You're a doctor" Trotson turned to see Sherlock standing there. "In fact you're an military doctor".

"Yes" Trotson replied as he stood up.

"Any good?" Sherlock asked, knowing the answer.

"Very good" Trotson replied, not knowing where this was going.

"Seen a lot of injuries then. Violent deaths and such"

"Yes"

"Bit of trouble to, no?"

"Yes. Enough for a lifetime" Sherlock grinned.

"Want to see some more?"

"Oh Celestia, yes" and with that, they both were out the door. "Sorry Mrs. Hopson, I'll skip the tea!".

"You both heading out?" Mrs. Hopson asked, poking her head out from her bedroom.

"4 killings. Possible serial killer. I've been sitting at home and now there's something to do!"

"Look at you, all happy about a serial killer. It's not normal" Mrs. Hopson stated the obvious.

"Who cares about normal? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!" Sherlock replied, and then they were out of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock called for a taxi, and off they were to the crime scene.

Amateurs

Sherlock Hooves and his new flatmate were in the taxi on the way to the crime scene. Trotson looked at Sherlock. He wanted answers, and he intended to get them. Sherlock noticed this, so he started the conversation. "OK, you've got questions".

"Yeah, where are we going?" Trotson asked.

"Crime scene, next?"

"Who are you, what do you do?"

"What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective-"

"But?" Sherlock cut him off.

"Police don't go to private detectives" Trotson pointed out.

"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world"

"And that means?"

"When the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me"

"Police don't consult amateurs!" Trotson made a point. Sherlock looked at Trotson for a split second, and started talking.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday I asked you how the war was. You looked surprised"

"And how did you know that?" Trotson asked.

"I didn't know, I saw.

A/N: For further reference every time Sherlock does his "explain somepony's life story" thing I will go into italics mode.

The way you held yourself say military. When you first entered the room you said "Bit different from my day" so trained as a military doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan on the wrists, so you didn't sunbathe. You didn't ask for a chair to sit down on, like you've forgotten about it. And your not old enough to of been in the Snowy War, so changeling battle.

Then there's your brother. Your IS, expensive, long-distance enabled, mini disc player. You're getting a flatmate so you couldn't of afforded it so it's a gift. A lot of scratches, so it's been in the same pocket as keys and coins and you wouldn't treated it like this, so it's had a previous owner, but it's obvious because of the engraving. "Harry Trotson". He's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young stallion's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you can't find a place to live. Not likely you've got an extended family, or one that you're close to, so brother it is! Then there's Clara. Who's Clara? Probably a romantic attachment, the IS says wife. Given to him recently. This model's only 6 months old. 6 months old and he's given it away? If she left him, he would of kept it. No, he wanted to rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, and you're not going to to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, or maybe you don't like his drinking.

"How. Can. You possibly know. About the drinking?" Trotson said, dumbfounded.

Scuff marks around the edging of the plug. He tries to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaky, and unless he's nervous whenever he puts it on, he's drunk when he puts it on!

"I was right. Right about what?" Trotson tested Sherlock, still dumbfounded.

"The police don't consult amateurs" Sherlock replied with a grin.

"That... was... amazing" Trotson said, still dumbfounded. Sherlock looked at him with a confused look.

"You think so?"

"Of course I do! It was quite extraordinary" Trotson insisted

"That's not what people normally say"

"What do people normally say?" Sherlock grinned.

"Piss off!"

Author's Note

Sorry for the short chapter. Consider this a "mini-chapter" to demonstrate the direction I would like to take Sherlock's thinking in. Also, I'm tired out for writing 4 chapters in 2 days. Not going to have another one fore a while. See ya!