Sherlock And The Jewelled Bud

Chapters

The Stab
Afternoon, Mr Holmes
Tea And Bruises

The Stab

A rather excited voice sounded from within a rather unusual library. An outstanding array of journals, books and scrolls were tucked away in the circular shelves that rise up from the floor, embedded into the interior of the thick tree trunk a young lavender pony called home. The storage of knowledge had been moulded to fit inside a huge, magnificent tree which stood taller than many of Ponyville’s other establishments. Quaint little round windows poked from the green leaves that covered the branches, with a small balcony on one side, ready for anypony wanting to night gaze.

The mare who sounded quite ecstatic was Twilight Sparkle, known to be the town librarian however more recent events had magnified her status as she became a Princess of Equestria. Regardless of her new title she seemed very... ‘common’ wouldn’t be the right word, yet she hadn’t at all taken to royalty and behaving like a true Princess. She had the horn and wings, and that was all she deemed necessary to show her power. At least for now.

“Not at all Mr Watson!” Twilight exclaimed as she slipped away a few books into one of the hundreds of shelves circulating the library with her purple magic aura. She didn’t even have to spare a look at where she placed some of the books, her knowledge of the library being so extensive. “I think it’s a very interesting idea seeing as how you’re experiences have left you with quite the mindset.”

Twilight was speaking to a pony of about the same age as her, if not a little older. A dirty blonde mane covered his head and neck, with a hint of grey seeping through. Perhaps he was quite a bit older than her, although he had a young face. His mane stopped at the pale woollen jumper he wore over his khaki jacket, his choice of style no doubt shocking to some ponies residing in the town.

Not long before Watson had told Twilight of his recent retirement from being a member of the Royal Guard, a military doctor to be specific. She had commented on how his cutie mark stood out different to most of the royal guard’s. It seemed very common at first glance, only being a green medical cross painted across his pale orange flank, but on second viewing one may notice there being more to it. A miniature magnifying glass was centred inside it, and every pony who asked what it meant got the same answer as even Watson wasn’t sure why he had it in the first place.

“I bet they’d be a hit.” Twilight added confidently, smiling at Watson as she turned to face him after all the books were back in their spots.

As if by contraction a large smile came across Watson’s face. It had quite some time since he had got on with anypony, after all not even a week had passed by since he first arrived in Ponyville. What made him happier was actually having somepony agree with him too. The military wasn’t a force for sharing opinions at all. “Really?” He asked, almost not believing what he was being told. “It’d be an honour if you could look after them here.” He gave out a slight chuckle as he got a bit ahead of himself. “I’ll have to write the books first, of course. But when...” He paused to think about whether he had much a chance of completing the books. “If it comes to it, I can’t imagine just leaving them lying about my home.”

“It’s no problem, really!” He noticed her cutie mark to be a series of stars, all different shapes and sizes, and although it rang a bell somewhere in his memory. He though back to perhaps hearing a story about the town, but to save any confusion he decided not to bother asking her about it. You’d be surprised just how confined the life of an army doctor could become, to the point even Twilight and her friends’ exploits where unheard of, or dimmed down to just rumour and myth.

She was a Princess though, and a new one at that, meaning she was somepony of immense significance that had and would get up to some adventure. Secretly Watson always wished he could live a life of action, but being a military doctor had put him off quite a bit. During his brief reminiscence of his years of service Twilight noticed his right hoof shaking rather violently for a few seconds, and as his attention returned to her his leg calmed down. Watson caught her look and shook his head, closing his eyes with embarrassment. “It’s nothing.” He reassured with a nervous laugh. “It just... happens sometimes.”

She stared at him with a slight frown, not buying that such an unusual movement is ‘nothing’. After a few awkward moments of Watson dodging her gaze through flipping open a few pages of some odd adventure book, managing to catch the name ‘Daring Do’ on the front cover, she believed she wouldn’t get anything more out of him.

“Like I said;” She said, breaking the silence, “if you manage to finish one I’ll happily keep it safe. After all, just look around!” Twilight spoke proudly, waving her hoof around to signal her vast catalogue. And rightly so! There were many, many books to keep in check. Watson couldn’t imagine a life as a Princess and a lone librarian.

Twilight’s ears suddenly peaked as an afterthought struck her like lightening. “I’ll even set up an exhibition... or a celebration!” She bellowed out, beaming at the thought. “Believe it or not I don’t get many authors visiting here, or Ponyville at all for that matter.”

Watson didn’t look keen at all with this idea. He simply smiled and agreed for the time being, adding “Yes, well... err” in an effort to seem interested. It was short lived, however.

She clapped her hooves together as she thought up her scheme. “And I know just the pink pony to help me...”

It immediately hit Watson that he actually feared a large group of ponies reading something he wrote. He wasn’t the attention seeking type and wouldn’t want any of the ‘fame’ or ‘perks’ that came with a bestseller, if that was even in the question. He hadn’t written anything since he was a colt for Celestia’s sake, so how would a first timer create anything even slightly reputable?

No. He immediately tried to talk her out of it. “No, no that won’t be necessary.” He insisted, waving his hoofs out in resistance. “A place for them to stay will be fabulous; I’ll ask no more than that.” Watson’s tone lowered to a serious and somewhat sad one. “Besides, author’s these days probably lead lives of adventure and mystery. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Ponies always say write about personal experience.” Twilight chimed in, taking the author of Daring Do as her front-most example. “Just go out and get inspired!”

Watson let out a little chuckle, though his tone continued. “I’m not even sure if I’m going to be able to write a single page.”

Twilight’s ears dropped. “Why not?” She asked with concern.

“Because...” He cleared his throat and let out a long sigh. His sad eyes stared into Twilights. “Nothing interesting ever happens to me.”

Not a cloud could be seen in the crystal blue sky as Watson ventured down a street in Ponyville. Everypony was outside, chatting in groups or simply enjoying a walk whilst bathing in the sun’s warmth. The sun rose up to its highest peak in the sky, indicating Watson it was noon.

He had decided the best course of action to get himself better acquainted with the large town was to have a long walk while heading to find some work. The streets in Ponyville were few but very spread out and well connected, which he found helpful. Everything a pony needed could be found on no more than three streets.

As Waston passed the unusually named shops, some advertising the unlikeliest combination of goods, he found himself automatically greeting numerous friendly ponies, each with their own ‘good mornings’ and good wills. Compared to Trottingham where you’d be welcomed by a gaze of death, Ponyville actually knew basic courtesy to folks on the street.

From the distance he spotted a certain pink pony whom he narrowly avoided, dodging her sight through diving around a corner. With a quick glance back he looked to the sky and sighed in relief as she hadn’t noticed him. However, as he thought to himself about the recent event taking place between he and her a few days earlier guilt began to plague his eyes. He recalled his rude treatment of her.

On the first day Watson arrived in Ponyville his mind was set on sour memories from his job, and the aim of providing himself a more peaceful lifestyle. Once he exited the station, his teeth clenched around a burdensome briefcase, and turned a corner he was shocked to meet a pink pony who burst out in close proximity.

A mixture of confetti and song ensued from her surprise welcome. Sadly for the both of them Watson was feeling much too down to join in with such a celebration, so as politely as he could he told her he wasn’t interested in whatever she was selling. Thinking he completely misjudged her reason for being there she tried to explain herself, however things turned bitter when he barged passed her, leaving the energetic pony in the dust.

For now Watson thought it best to leave the matter alone. Even if he did feel like making up he wouldn’t know what to do or say. Therefore the stallion continued down the street he turned onto, and as if Celestia had graced it up ahead Watson could see a vendor selling bouquets of roses, tulips and other sorts of flowers he couldn’t care enough to recognise.

“Huuuh...” He said with a dragged breath, realising now was actually the perfect time for an apology, “How convenient.”
As it wasn’t busy at all Watson approached the stall in a slump, acting like a child having to apologise to a school rival. It was a small vendor, made of wood and easily packable. For a few moments he browsed the flowers before making his somewhat generic decision.

After scratching his blonde mane Watson mustered up the ounce of courage he needed to ask the brown maned stallion.“Roses please.”

The salesman looked up from his newspaper and peered over to his price list. “Five bits.” He said with a grunt before his attention returned to his newspaper which blocked any view of him.

Watson reached into his jumper pocket and retrieved five bits. He threw them onto the counter and waited for the florist to get him the roses, though after a while of waiting he showed no sign of moving. Growing impatient Watson simply picked his own; a beautiful set of white. He set them on his back and began to head off, but a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey, you never said white.” The florist shouted with a harsh voice. Either this stallion was looking for a fight, or he wasn’t having a good day. Or probably both. A flush of red flustered the florist’s cream face as he dropped his paper and stared straight into Watson’s eyes.

Watson glared at the florist. “What difference does it make? White are cheaper than red anyway.” The florist grunted and returned to reading his paper. Watson stood there, confused with a frown, trying to work out a decent explanation for what just happened.

Before he could look too mental he headed off back down the main street, searching for the pink pony. To his luck she emerged from inside a bakery.

Sweet smells seeped from every window and door as Watson neared Sugarcube Corner, his mouth watering for one of the treats. Before he went off track and gorged himself in pastry’s he reminded himself of his purpose. Once he felt he was within decent hearing range he called over the mare.

“Excuse me!” He shouted down the street, now trotting passed the bakery. “Excuse me!” He yelled again, this time catching her, and half the streets, attention. “You! Yes!” The mare had caught his eye and a mixed expression came over her. She bore a nervous smile, though Watson ignored it for he bore a nervous smile also.

“Well... um... Hi!” He said kindly, trying to find the right words. “About that incident a few days ago. I’m sorry I pushed you its just... I was in a foul mood and I really wanted to get home. Will you accept my apology?”

A spark glistened in the pink pony’s eyes as she conjured up a grin that covered half her face. “Of course I forgive you!”

“Really?” Watson chuckled in joy. He reached back and presented the bouquet to her. “I... got you these too.” He played with them in his hands for a moment, wondering if he had overdone it, then handed them over. “Just a little bit extra, you know?”

Her face lit up like a lamp as she snatched them out of his hooves and gave them a long sniff. “Oh wow!” She said, literally jumping in joy. Her final leap nearly landed her on a roof, something Watson was taken aback at. “These are beautiful, Mr...”

He snapped out of wondering how she jumped so high and held out a hoof. “Dr Watson. Glad to meet you.”

“Pinkie Pie.” She replied, shaking his hoof with a smile.

Now that was taken care of Watson took a glance down the street and reckoned it was time he’d be off. He wouldn’t survive long without a job, after all. “Anyway Pinkie Pie I need to...err.... head over to the station so I’ll leave you be.” He patted her on the shoulder with a warm smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Pinkie seemed saddened by his sudden requirement to leave, but she quickly regained her enthusiasm. It seemed she was chock full of it. “Yep, I’ll catch ya later!” She said, taking her own leave by hopping off into town.

With a grin Watson took in yet another deep breath of relief and walked towards a large, rectangular building with the sign ‘Royal Yard’ printed above the doorway. It was situated a short ways down the road, the sign making it very easy to spot as it hung high in the street above its doors.

The stallion had nearly reached his destination when he had to look twice at a dark alleyway between two towering houses. He had a tendency to scan every nook and cranny of where he walked, even if he never remembered half of it. This time though he thought he saw a shape in the alleyway, about half way down it. There were no lamps and the houses blocked off any light from the sun, so he couldn’t tell if it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. It looked as if there was a stallion leaning against the wall. But then something else took form. Something on the floor.

Without a second thought Watson bolted towards the opening of the alley, his sudden outburst f speed causing him to only just avoid a collision with a panicking child. As he grew closer the mysterious figure he saw on the ground took more of a familiar shape, while the other shadow seemed to have vanished. Once he entered the shadow of the alley his suspicions were confirmed, causing him to nearly fall over at the horrid sight.

“No, please no, not today...” He muttered as he realised what he had come across; a mare’s body laid against the moist floor with a bloody wound dressing her chest. “S... Ssss...” He could hardly string a single word together as he tried to cry for help. “Somepony! Somepony help! Get the guard!” He finally roared at the top of his voice into the street, attracting the attention of many passer-bys. “Murder for Celestia’s sake, get the guard!” He yelled upon seeing one or two of them gathering round to see the disturbance.

Instantly a rush of hooves galloped to the station, some more panicked than others. Adrenaline kicked into Watson and without thinking his medical days came back to him. He checked her pulse and felt nothing, so without fearing dealing further damage to her he inspected the wound. He tried not to get blood on his hooves but the murder was a messy one, and the blood turned out to be useful when he touched it.

“Blood still warm, meaning it’s recent...” He began, making a mental note of everything he said, “Stabbed through her lung, meaning no scream... eyes still open, clearly shocked...” He leaned in closer as he noticed something odd about the wound itself. “The cut’s jarred, meaning the murderer removed the blade carelessly.” With blood already splattered on his hooves he didn’t mind checking her dripping ears. “Blood running from inside ear, caused by internal head injury, possibly fractured skull due to victim being pushed away or falling? Quick getaway then?” His hoof brushed against a brown paper bag, full of shopping. “Bags of food on floor, so she meant came through here for a short cut then?” He stopped to think.

“Go on.”

Watson’s heart skipped a beat as he realised somepony was looming over him. He jumped up to view a stranger with an intrigued look on his face. He could just make out the stallion’s dark grey coat and curly jet black mane, as well as the scarf around his neck.

He stared at the stranger. “No please, carry on.” He sounded sincere, and on top of that he handed Watson a wipe to clean off the blood from his hooves.

Watson gave a few odd looks from the body to the stranger but he eventually pieced together his theory. “Well from the looks of things this mare usually takes this route as a shortcut when getting her shopping home,” he said, pointing from one end of the alley to the other, “however on this unlucky afternoon she ran into a particularly bad equine. This pony knew their stuff as he or she stabbed her in the lung to prevent her from screaming.

"However, the killer must have seen somepony close by as he quickly pulled the knife out of the body causing the bones around it to move according to the blade, a very unnatural look for a ribcage indeed. The killer then pushed away the body to stop any blood from spurting onto him, therefore causing her skull to fracture as it hit the ground.” Watson handed back the wipe to the stranger, who he thought was an inspector of the guards.

The stranger was impressed, though his cheeky smile said something wasn’t clear. “Well the autopsy is correct.”

“But?”

“Well, an autopsy is pretty basic, isn’t it?” Watson didn’t know what he meant by this, after all many autopsies turn out to be folly and often overlooked. “Surely it’s the murderer’s motive we want if we want to find out who did it?” He recognised his accent as one from Trottingham, probably from a well off part of the city judging from his well spoken manner.

“Sorry, but all I see here is a mugging.” The stranger laughed heartily at this. Watson backed away slightly, unsure of even this pony’s motive. “So what’s your point?”

“Follow me.” He commanded, stern and slightly agitated as if he had better things to do. The grey stallion lead Watson further into the alley and showed him that the path which branches off left leads to a brick wall, whereas to the right an iron gate locked tightly blocks anypony’s escape. “You’ll see there is no exit from this alleyway other than the way you came in. Therefore she can’t have been taking a shortcut, so she must have been lured in. Perhaps it was someone she knew.”

Before Watson’s new acquaintance could continue he halted their little investigation. “Wait just a minute,” he said as the stranger muttered to himself, “who are you?”

The stallion’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Dr Watson! There is a murder at hand and you are wasting valuable seconds investigating the wrong pony.” He brushed past Watson to the body and held a hoof up, pointing towards the exit. “Now then, if you have nothing further to add could you please remove yourself from the crime scene. It would be greatly appreciated, as is your help so far.” It sounded like he added that last bit in courtesy, as his tone certainly suggested it wasn’t from the heart.

Watson began to leave the alley, but in a last ditch attempt to stay he opened his mouth to argue back. All that left his lungs was the word “How-” before the stranger shouted “Good day!” in an agitated tone.

Watson sighed and exited the alleyway, suspecting the pony must have been an inspector or something. His ears drooped as he walked and he constantly looked back, even locking eyes with the stallion a couple of times in which he panicked for a moment for he was a very intimidating pony. Watson made sure that never showed on the outside, but he knew better than to fight an inspector.

As the sunlight shone against Watson's coat once again he was forced to give way as several guards arrived to answer the calls of murder. “About time.” Watson said to himself, watching them all pass by in disgust. He counted himself lucky that they didn’t catch him touching the body, then there would be real trouble, army doctor or not.

Just before he fully left the scene his ears caught hold of the conversation between the stranger and the inept guards. He caught on that they were asking him what Watson was doing so close to the body, and the stranger’s response gave Watson a reason to smile. “He’s with me.”

Then after a pause he heard the same voice shout again, this time directly addressing himself.

“Dr Watson! Name’s Sherlock Holmes, a pleasure to meet you!”

Author's Note

Hope you all enjoy. The original(ish) author's a friend of mine and we pretty much worked on this together, while he posted it. Anyway its on my account now with quite a bit of editing. Three stories on the go, woo!

Afternoon, Mr Holmes

The murder had sent half the town crazy with fear. Watson had to literally dodge a dozen ponies in order to reach the same bakery he recently passed. Word travelled like the speed of light around Ponyville, so never expect an exploit to go unnoticed. By anyone. In fact expect the entire town to know within the hour. Unless of course you’ve murdered somepony. Then you should expect Sherlock Holmes.

Dr Watson took a peek inside Sugarcube Corner and saw that even everypony in there was rushing about, trying to work out what had happened through piling against the windows and trying to catch a view. It seemed all too much like a regular day in Trottingham to him, so he acted like it was.

Without taking much notice of the pony swarms blockading the streets he managed to squeeze himself through the thick crowds gathered around the bakery’s door. After taking an annoyed look back at the inconsiderate ponies and groaning he trotted up to the counter where he found what must have been a couple trying to calm their two twin foals down.

His day was already too manic to be considerate to the couple, so Watson acted as if nothing was awry and had a gander at the mouth-watering treats on sale. Everything was unique. Each cupcake had a different pattern of icing and the pies had their own individual shapes cut into them. But what caught Watson's eye was a glorious slice of chocolate cake sitting seductively on the top shelf of the display case. It was beaming out for him to buy it. He couldn't resist.

"Could I get that slice of cake please?" Watson asked the mare, pointing his hoof to his selected cake. He eagerly waited as she hurried over and picked out the right slice, placing it on a clean white plate. However he hadn’t anticipated her to pretty much fling the plate like a Frisbee at him. With a fair amount of agility he stopped the projectile, glad it didn't smash against some poor pony behind him. More glad that his cake was intact. Not wanting anything else thrown at him he placed the money onto the counter and retreated to an abandoned table.

As he sat himself down Watson began to feel quite alone due to almost all of the tables around him being vacant. Apparently scouring every window for information on the events outside was more important than digging into to a fresh glazed apple pie or muffins the size of your hoof.

The whole spectacle sparked a past memory as he thought back to the last time ponies crowded around a victim. He had to make sure nopony broke through to see what had happened as some mare had been hanged in a park. He found the tremor return in his leg once again.

Using his hooves he picked up the cake and took a large bite of it, savouring the taste. He literally bit off more than he could chew, and now he sat with his puffed out, full of the chocolaty goodness. Instantly his mind was drawn away from those memories and towards the sweet, magical land of sweets and chocolate.

His manners were almost primitive as he never saw Pinkie Pie entering the bakery and approaching him from the crowd. His mouth was covered in chocolate frosting and there was no way he could talk, and so when he saw her he nearly choked on the cake trying to clean himself up. In the end he found his attempts had only dirtied himself more as he tried to wipe of the residue with more residue.

"Hi!” She said with a surprisingly normal tone, giggling at the mess he had made. She took a seat opposite him and popped her head up to watch the ponies gathering at the windows. "How come you aren't looking at the thing?"

Watson knew what she was referring too, but he acted dumb anyway. He didn't really feel like getting into it too much. Plus his mouth was still full. "Tching?"

Pinkie rolled her eyes and waved at the crowd behind her. "That thing. Something's happened to somepony."

He took a moment to swallow his food this time, as it was somewhat his duty to inform her of the news, both as an ex-military habit and as the pony who discovered the body."Yes...” He said with a big nod, “There’s... um...” He glanced away for a moment, bracing himself for her reaction, “There's been a murder." It hadn't been the first time Watson had to say this to citizens, and he hoped it would be the last. His leg began to shake once more.

Pinkie's reaction was not surprising; she gasped and tears formed in her eyes. Although, she didn’t burst into tears like most ponies would, even though she seemed a very friendly, up close and personal mare. "What happened?"

Suddenly his leg became still. He leaned forwards onto the table and tried to recollect a detailed story of what happened, but even he wasn't sure, after all Sherlock Holmes and blown his theory back in his face and added another layer of mystery to it. All he remembered was seeing two shadows, himself running towards them and finding a dead mare, so that's what he said.

"Who would do that? Ponyville's a nice place." Pinkie's head dropped onto the table and she sniffled. Watson could see this business was bothering her so he changed the subject.

"This cake is fantastic. Do you know who made it?" Realising who baked it wasn't rocket science, but it was the best he could come up with.

"I made it; I'm surprised you can still eat after seeing a dead mare." Actually, he was surprised that she made it.

He lifted up her chin and attempted to cheer her up. "Well compliments to your cooking, it's the best cake I've eaten in a while." He saw a little smile and knew he was succeeding. He also thought she should know why he could eat at such a time, just to make sure he didn’t come across as some weirdo who gets off on murder. "The reason I can eat it at a time like this is because-"

"You were in the military service as a field medic stationed in Trottingham and the things you saw there make this murder look like child's-play." Sherlock had zoned into the conversation. He was sat on a table a little bit behind Watson with a blank expression on his face. Watson turned and released a breath of annoyance.

"How?” He asked, holding out his hooves. “Who told you I was in the Royal Guard? And while we’re at it, where did you come from?"

Sherlock didn't bother to answer his questions. Instead he carried on with his deduction. "I also know that the only reason you're in Ponyville is because you mother recently passed away therefore giving you no real reason to remain in the city where memories of many horrors due to your job and lingering thoughts of your deceased family constantly flow through your head whenever you have moments to yourself. Thus you came to Ponyville after hearing that the jobs offered in the Royal Guard here are generally peaceful and the town itself is nice enough to settle down in."

Watson's mouth was gaping open. He was speechless towards the short biography spoken out to him from a stranger. Sherlock simply stood there smiling, knowing he was right.

Pinkie Pie gained a surge of new excitement, completely dismissing her recent depressive behaviour. It didn’t seem to take much to make her happy again. "Wow, do me! Do me!" She asked, jumping up from her chain and bouncing on the spot.

Sherlock sighed, but still did as she requested. "You have a double personality. Watson here did something to please you recently, and now you're trying to strengthen your bond in fear that you might again lose him as a..." Sherlock nearly spat out his next word, "Friend. Quite pathetic really, you long to please everypony to satisfy yourself, halting at nothing to ensure you are on good terms with them so you don't suffer psychological depression. I don't feel for you if I am honest, having one friend is bothersome, a whole town of them foolish." He looked at her with disgust, as if she was an unnatural creature.

Pinkie didn't respond at first. She gave a half-hearted giggle that prematurely cut off as clear blushes formed on her cheeks out of pure embarrassment and hurt. "Are you my friend, Dr Watson?"

He shot a dirty look at Sherlock, shaking his head as he glared at the tall stallion."Of course,” He assured, turning back to Pinkie, “you are the only pony that’s made me smile today.” He was telling the truth, and he may as well have extended 'today' to the whole week as he hadn't really met anypony fun in the few days he'd been in Ponyville.

"And you?” She said to Sherlock.

Sherlock guffawed and looked at Pinkie like she was stupid. "I don't have any friends." He said, almost like he was proud. She immediately pounced up and fled outside in an effort to cover the tears forming in her eyes. Watson had already caught a glance of them though.

"What did you do that for?" He hissed, though keeping his voice down. As much as he wanted an answer to why Sherlock apparently had an internal database of knowledge, what he just did was cruel. Plain and simple. "You just ridiculed that poor pony!"

Sherlock just looked at him innocently, then raised his eyebrows and gazed around the bakery. "She's a bit young for you, don’t you think?" He said with a scrutinizing tone.

Even though somepony had just been murdered just outside Watson felt a constant presence of danger regarding the simple task of eating, as he once again choked on the cake due to Sherlock’s comment. He was beginning to fear eating anything with other ponies in a ten metre vicinity. "Hang on a minute.” He whispered, leaning in so only Sherlock could listen, however his tone was no less hostile. “She came over to me. It. Was. A. Friendly. Conversation."

Sherlock got up off his seat and paced around Watson. "Well then what did I say wrong?” He asked earnestly, all the while trying to figure it out himself. “I told her the truth, didn’t I? That’s what ponies like: truth and honesty.” He finished his sentence rather patronisingly, seeming not to fall in with the usual kind-heartedness most ponies adopted.

Watson drove his hoof onto the table to fetch Sherlock’s full concentration. “Sherlock.” He began, sounding like a parent about to lecture their child. “Sometimes it's better to keep the truth to yourself in order to save the embarrassment of others.”

Without a care Sherlock waved away his heartfelt pitch. "Oh for Celestia’s sake it doesn’t matter!” He said all of a sudden, rubbing his forehead out of pure irritation. If there was anypony who could successfully lecture Sherlock then they sure wouldn’t be found eating cake in Ponyville. “I'm not here for her anyway.” He turned to face Watson and spoke like he was giving out a formal invitation to an evening ball. “Dr Watson, will you help me solve this murder case?"

Watson was taken aback. What made Sherlock think he wanted to get involved with a job based around death and pain once again? He tried to laugh but he was too amazed that so soon after retiring the military life he was being offered practically the same job again, only this time with an added lunatic who could somehow read your entire life within a minute. “Why would I want to do that?"

A grin curled on Sherlock’s face as he knew what Watson got a buzz off. "I watched your entire little autopsy on the cadaver, seeing just how quickly you decided to take it all into your own hooves. And then the look of disappointment flattening your face when I asked you to leave! It was quite sweet really." Sherlock saw that somehow Watson wasn't completely convinced, even if he was practically forcing himself to resist the reasoning. "Your right leg.” He added to top it all off.

Watson's eyes fell to his leg, then straight back up to Sherlock. "Wh... What about my leg?" He said in denial, hating the topic.

Sherlock gave a hearty laugh. “Oh nothing at all...” For a moment Watson thought he was actually going to let it go, however Sherlock couldn’t help himself. “Your leg was shaking when I came in here, when you informed Pinkie Pie of the incident outside.” Watson wondered how long he had been eavesdropping on them. “Most ponies would put it down to that type of thing sparking painful memories of your past.” Watson looked sad, his eyes dropping to the floor as Sherlock made his deduction. “But that’s not it at all, is it?” Then suddenly his eyes shot up to meet Sherlock’s, who smiled. “Because once you began describing your involvement your leg became motionless and your face lit up in excitement. Oh Watson how you love this line of work! After all, if you really hated these kinds of jobs your leg would tremor as soon as the word 'death' is mentioned."

Watson really didn't know what to say. He was outsmarted, outplayed and defeated. For a moment Watson recouped everything that Sherlock had just said, piecing his life together and realising how true to the source Sherlock had hit. He tapped his hoof on the table as he mustered up a response, wondering whether he should hit the smart arse or congratulate him. As he thought on he felt butterflies in his stomach and accepted the reality. Sherlock was right; he adored danger.

"Yes." He said sharply, nodding a few times. With a heavy exhale from his nose Watson smirked. “Damn you Sherlock.”

Sherlock's face gleamed with joy, the most expression Watson had seen yet. They jumped up and trotted out of Sugarcube Corner, Sherlock leading the way. About a third of the cake remained on the table, becoming yet another piece food abandoned for a more interesting cause.

They headed down the street, passing by the crime scene as if nothing were askew. They picked up some speed as the cries of everypony gathered round sounded one after another, with mares and stallions stirring up a panic in both themselves and those around them. As they reached the fountain in the town square they steadied to a walk.

Watson took the opportunity to try and break down Sherlock's skill, or at least find out how he knew. "So," he said, pretending to admire the fountain as they strolled by, "how do you do that thing? "He couldn’t think of a better word. The only explanations that crossed his mind were extensive research or dumb-luck guessing. Sherlock only gave him a raised eyebrow for an answer, so Watson continued. "You know what I mean. How did you know about my past? Research?"

Sherlock looked puzzled as he pondered over how somepony thought that ‘research’ was a viable explanation. "How could I possibly research your entire background in the time between meeting you at the crime scene and speaking with you in Sugarcube Corner?” He definitely had a point, even if it left Watson even more confused over how he did it. “Oh and I just have one question, it doesn’t matter if you answer or not it’s just a little field study research of my own, but are you homosexual?"

Watson couldn't help but do a double take. He stared at the ground for a moment, then he gazed at Sherlock with eyes which read 'what in Equestria?' "No."

“Are you sure?” He asked just to make sure. Or maybe just to get on Watson’s nerves.

Unsure of how he couldn’t be sure about his own sexuality, he answered with sarcasm. “Yes, Sherlock, I am pretty sure... In fact I am very sure that I am not gay.”

“All right.” He said back defensively. “No need to be so conservative.”

“Wha...” Watson sighed, giving up. “Well it did come out of nowhere. Anyway, answer my question; how did you know?”

He saw Sherlock grin as he prepared his monologue. “You were in the military service as a Royal Guard Field Medic because of your cutie mark -Quite obvious really. I know that you were both born and stationed in Trottingham because of your accent. Anypony who’s both been born there and moved to another city or vice versa would have a mixed accent, but since you've never been away long enough to pick one up your accent is completely native. I grew up there too, nice isn't it?" Sherlock's eyes darted around as if there was a screen in front of his face when he spoke, and Watson stopped trying to follow them after it got quite ridiculous.

"Well," he continued, "nice apart from the constant stabbings and such which brings me onto me knowing that you have seen worse than the murder here. Murders in Trottingham are both numerous and considerably more brutal than here in Ponyville, mainly due to the fact that ponies who live there generally do worse than a simple stab. Most thrive for revenge. As a military medic stationed outside a warzone you were forced to treat the victims, consequently giving you a close up view of the monstrosities committed.

"Your jumper told me that your mother recently died. How? Well let’s start with how I know it’s from your mother. As you inspected the body of that dead mare I caught a glimpse of your name marked on the tag of your jumper with a love heart. And who would put a love mark next to the tag? Well if you’re straight then no stallion, so either your mother or marefriend.

"I can see you're not attached because you’re here alone looking for a home and a job. If you were divorced and that jumper was a gift you would have almost definitely gotten rid of it, therefore the only female in your life with nothing to do with a relationship and enough money to buy you it would be your mother. Why did a mare buy you it? Well, it's horrid! No stallion would be caught within a mile radius of something like that in a shop."

Watson growled at Sherlock, though still listened intently. “Finished?” He said sincerely.

“Far from it. I know your mothers dead because of the condition of your jumper. Ponies often don’t wear clothing so you have kept that jumper for a good reason; memory. Back in Trottingham you would have kept it clean, washing it many times causing the wool to wear and the colour to fade, probably because you had regular contact with your mother. Perhaps you visited her often or maybe you even lived with her, making you feel the need to look the part. However now it is dirtier and less looked after, yet you still wear it. The only logical reason why you carry on wearing it is that it’s a reminder of your mother; a gift from her."

When he finished Sherlock tightened his scarf slightly and possessed a grin which made it clear to anypony that he was happy with himself. Dr Watson on the other hand was silent. His face was blank and neither of them spoke for the rest of the journey.

A group of three fillies sprang out from an otherwise quiet cafe. They were all oddly dressed, wearing capes that were shoddily sewn together, but Watson took no notice. He was still astounded. They stopped right beside the cafe, at a large wooden door with the marking '221B' printed beneath the window. Sherlock held his hoof out as if to present the residence.

"Here we are." He said with enthusiasm. "221B Baker Street. Quite funny really, we're still on the same street as that bakery. I suppose that might explain the street name, not that it matters. I'll explain more on the murder when we get inside." He went to unlock the door but was interrupted by Watson’s hoof.

"Sherlock? Can I say something." He now spoke rather coolly, and he stood up straight in a failed effort to match Sherlock's height. Sherlock didn't respond as he thought he knew what was coming, after all his deductions never really got positive reception. Preparing for a punch or kick Sherlock closed his eyes and tensed. "That was brilliant!" Watson said with a chuckle, completely startling Sherlock who raised his eyebrows. "Absolutely genius. Maybe a bit blunt, but by Luna; that was fantastic!"

"Really?" Sherlock said, holding back his joy. However Watson saw a little smile push through his stern face. "That's a change."

"Change from what? People telling you to piss off?" He replied jokingly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and opened the door. "Precisely."

Tea And Bruises

The door to 221B slammed shut behind Sherlock as the two ponies entered the flats. Shuffling could be heard from a room just to one side of the stairs, which grew in an upward spiral a couple of metres opposite of the door. From inside came the sound of a teapot filling up with water and some cups being placed onto a tray with a clang.

"I'll bring up some tea." Shouted an old mare’s voice as she got everything ready. Her wooden door was open slightly, though she never appeared. Sherlock headed straight for the stairs, leaving his new companion completely unannounced.

Watson followed on though nearly bumped into Sherlock as he halted all of a sudden. “Don’t rush yourself!” He called into the room, leaning from the second step.

They both trotted upstairs onto the first floor. The whole building was very traditional on the inside, with wallpaper that was actually kind to the eye. Only one room resided on that floor, so without any further ado Sherlock unlocked the door and marched into his home, allowing Watson to soak it all in.

It was a room filled with boxes of books, papers, trinkets; pretty much the beginnings of a hoarder. Stacks of dusty collectables were stacked against each other, held up by the sheer weight of everything so squished together. Regardless of the mess Watson immediately fell in love with the place. It was just layers upon layers, much representing the shadowy personality of Sherlock.

He had a wander around the large flat, inspecting the ancient wooden walls and the traditional stone fireplace in the living room. A small mound of ash sat in the fireplace, though no signs of any recent use were apparent. There were no logs that Watson could see, while the fire poker looked so disfigured it could have been a veteran of some war. A chill ran down his spine as he swiftly realised how cold it was.

“We’ll have to get that fixed.” He muttered quietly, eyeing the bent fire poker. Sherlock noticed his remark, and the shudder that accompanied it.

“If you’re talking about the fireplace then leave it.” He remained near the doorway, watching Watson inspect the flat. “You’ll be surprised at how hot it can get in here when the right situation arises.” He said sternly, Watson taking that he was quite accustomed to the conditions of 221B Baker Street.

Hardly listening to what he was saying Watson stepped towards the kitchen; however as a yellow cloud rose from a glass tube of purple liquid he quickly jumped back and did a double take. “In the kitchen... really?” He said half in surprise and half annoyed, pointing at the unusual set up.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, finally closing the door behind him. “The living room is for living, the bedroom for sleeping, and the kitchen for everything else.”

“The kitchen is for eating, not conducting experiments, Sherlock.” After receiving no response he tested out the comfort of a chair in the living room, facing the window right beside the fireplace. It sat opposite another chair, which, as Watson quickly found out, was actually in a safe, non hazardous state to sit in. As he planted his flank down a tornado of dust sprung like a jack in a box from the small, stained brown hoof-chair. With a few coughs he jumped back up, almost blaming Sherlock for his woe until he spotted Sherlock staring at something.

"What's wrong?" Watson asked when he noticed Sherlock had bent down to examine the dusty, overturned corner of the large red rug which spread across most of the room.

Sherlock didn't say a word back so Watson assumed he was once again blatantly ignoring him. Giving out the same treatment Watson exited the room and passed through the kitchen with speed, ducking under the abnormally coloured smoke. Apart from the laboratory in the middle of the kitchen lying on top of what should be the dining table, the kitchen looked pretty normal. Everything was there; the fridge, oven, plenty of no doubt empty cupboards serving no purpose other than aesthetics.

A chilly draft waved in from the master bedroom at the end of the short hallway. He wondered how Sherlock could survive in these conditions, and whether his cruel show to Pinkie Pie earlier had simply been due to his cold personality, rather than any spite. At that same time he noticed a second bedroom, though no signs of anypony residing there could be seen. There was a double bed, a wardrobe, and a pony behind the door.

Wait.

Before Watson could call out a figure pounced from the shadow of the door, catching him completely off guard. In a matter of seconds Watson was on the floor with the hooves of a pony dressed in black around his neck.

Slowly Sherlock lifted himself up from the ground, scanning the disturbance of the rug intently. “Watson, be careful.” He said far too quietly, thinking Watson was still in the room. “I think somepony's here." He warned before looking up and sighing as he saw Watson had left.

Watson’s eyes watered as he tried to shout back to Sherlock, but he couldn't break free of the assassins grasp. “Sshhh... gargh!”

Sherlock’s ears peeked as he listened carefully, almost gliding around the room to keep himself quiet. "John?"

His pupils began to dilate as the lack of air took its toll. With a last ditch attempt Watson bucked the attacker with the force of ten ponies, luckily hitting the assassin's belly and sending him flying backwards against one of the kitchen counters, narrowly missing the experiments. A number of dirty pots crashed down onto the floor, purposely neglected by Holmes, one heavy pot even thumping the assassin on the head as he sat there in a daze.

"Sherlock!" Watson yelled with a raspy voice, still recovering from being choked. Without delay Sherlock sped into the kitchen and whipped the assassin with a hard buck on the chin. Blood splattered against the white kitchen tiles as he coughed violently at the mercy of Sherlock and Watson.

Sherlock took a moment to check all of his science materials and test tubes were in their respective places, with nothing out of line. Behind him the masked felon twitched around and bobbed his head in pain, unable to recover fast enough to plan any sort of escape.

"Not exactly the welcome party I was hoping for." Watson said with a sarcastic tone, rubbing his sore throat.

Holmes turned to the attacker and looked over his body. "Well when I happened to visit the fancy dress store they were all out of clowns.” The detective ripped off the stallions mask to reveal a grey pony, his mane darker than his coat. “Looks like this one got the last mask... Who are you?!" Sherlock spat, pinning the captive against the floor. "Come on!” He yelled after no response, “What's your name?"

The grey pony was still in the middle of a coughing fit as Sherlock shook him around, trying to force the answer out of him. Watson was ready to intervene and check the pony was medically fit, at least enough not to fall unconscious at any time. He did not need to though as the faint words "Pine Breeze" slipped from the pony’s lips, though Sherlock still wasn't happy.

"John, get me some tape.” Watson rushed into the living room and searched around for a few seconds before looking lost. “It's in the third drawer." Sherlock ordered with a breath of agitation.

As Watson fished out the tape from the draw something occurred to him. "How do you know my name is John?" Even he didn't believe it was possible to deduce a first name, especially since he made an effort to keep it a secret. Once he found the grey masking tape he trotted back to their new prisoner and handed it to Sherlock, who tied up the pony’s hooves and covered his mouth.

Sherlock spotted his empty wooden chair next to his desk, just waiting for a new prisoner to sit on it. They carried Pine Breeze over and tied his legs to the chair’s legs, just as extra insurance that he wouldn’t get away. As they did so Sherlock gave his answer, even if it was dismissive. "Lucky guess."

John wasn't satisfied with that. Where was Sherlock's amazing explanation? "Rubbish!" He said bluntly.

"What’s ‘rubbish’?” Sherlock turned to Watson with a confused look. Pine Breeze was as secure as they could get him, and now they were just arguing in front of him.

The velvet curtains slid together as John concealed their prisoner from anypony in a position to look inside. "Surely you had something to go on?" He ran across to the door and made sure it was shut properly.

"I did say I read your jumper tag. ‘J. Watson’.” Again, Watson wasn’t convinced one bit. They were a million names he could think of beginning with ‘J’, and he’d start with the normal names first. With a sigh Sherlock continued. “Well, you're reluctant to give out your first name! I would say it is an odd name in these parts, but it’s definitely not non-existent in Trottingham. A common one there actually, I was knew a pony called Jeff. Happy?" John returned to Sherlock's side and shook his head, to which Sherlock looked up to the sky, praying Watson would stop his whining. "Lucky. Guess."

The thick brown floorboards nearly cracked as John stomped in frustration. "Damn your lucky guess!” Pine Breeze leaned back in fear, though Sherlock just watched him, staring at him with zero motion or emotion. Watson took a few breaths and tried to calm himself down "Just, don't tell anypony else it, please?" Watson shot a glance at Pine and riled himself up again. “I mean its bad enough some stranger who tried to kill me a few moments ago knows it!”

There wasn't much wrong with the name in Sherlock's opinion. After all, it's just a name isn't it? It won't help you solve crimes or anything like that. “I won’t.”

Watson breathed out in relief, though his ears poked up as the sound of cups shaking on a tray grew closer and closer. There was a knock on the door and Watson looked to Sherlock for an answer, though he got none as Sherlock’s attention was focused on Pine.

Without waiting for an answer an old mare creaked open the wooden door and fluttered into the room, holding a long tray with one cup of tea and a teapot balancing on it. She blew her golden brown mane out of her eyes and paused when she noticed Sherlock had company. "Oh, Sherlock you've got friends round.” She said, very bewildered and surprised.

Watson simply looked between them in his own confusion as she didn’t seem at all phased by the bloody pony strapped to a chair in front of them. She saw the third member of Sherlock's company, although she wouldn't be getting any tea for this one. Mrs Hudson wasn't a stupid pony, she knew what had happened down to the the blood running down Pine Breeze's chest.

“Excellent observation, Mrs Hudson, now please leave.” He said sharply, not giving her the time of day.

“I’ll leave the tea and bring another cup for your friend.” She said softly, placing the tray onto a small coffee table between the two hoof-chairs beside the fireplace.

Watson felt like he had better introduce himself, though really he hoped to learn more about Mrs Hudson. “I’m Dr. Watson.” He said with a big smile. The old Pegasus was the colour of tea itself, and her presence screamed motherly, something Watson felt immediately attracted too.

She almost squealed in joy. “Oh! Hello dear, I’m Mrs Hudson. I rent the rooms out. I’ll just go get another cup.” Well that explained it; she must have to put up with this sort of stuff all the time, if that is what happened all the time. He certainly didn’t hope so.

A loud sigh came from behind Watson. He saw Sherlock exhibiting an unneeded look of agitation. "That won’t be necessary Mrs Hudson, now would you please stop holding up my colleague?"

She jumped off and scuttled out of the room with a giggle. “One’s got two sugars, the other will have none. I can’t remember which-” She called as she halted outside the door, the floorboards creaking below her. John gave a thankful nod of his head.

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock snapped, now wishing to get on with things.

She fluttered off down the stairs with a “Hum!”

"Now to Pine Breeze.” John said confidently, though still frowning at Sherlock for his treatment of the Landlady.

“Mmm... Not quite.” He sighed as Sherlock picked up the single cup of tea and handed it to Watson. “Do you take sugar?”

“No.” Watson took a sip and stuck out his tongue in disgust. “This one’s yours.”

The swapped cups and returned their attention to Pine Breeze. Watson let Sherlock take the reins, which instantly led to results. “You're a gardener hired to kill me." Both John and Pine Breeze gazed at Sherlock, wondering how he found that out so quickly. Sherlock looked at them both and grinned, like a child about to get some reward for answering a question. "What does he smell like, John?"

Reluctantly John took a whiff of the air around Pine Breeze and immediately he realised what Sherlock was getting at. "Cut grass." He said with confidence. With this Sherlock held up his hoof to reveal a couple strands of thin grass.

"These were in his mane.” Watson took a closer look, scooping up the grass himself. “What is the date today?”

Watson looked at Holmes as if he was stupid. “You can tell this pony’s a gardener but you don’t know the date?”

Holmes looked at Watson as if he was stupid. “Oh, sorry! I forgot the martial law in place for not knowing the date!”

John marched over to the fireplace in a huff, working out the current day. In truth he had lost track of the date over the last week or so. Beginning a new life could be time consuming, even if that time was spent on things other than a job. "Thirteenth of December." He read.

Sherlock started pacing, reaching each end of the living room though not stopping at the sofa. Instead he took a final step onto the black leather before turning and repeating his patrol. "Why would anypony be cutting grass at this time of year?" His tone seemed very sure the answer would be,’ why indeed?’

"There could be odd jobs here and there." John replied as he tried to recollect any place in Ponyville with long enough grass.

In any case Sherlock was without concern. "No, no there's not enough money in it for a pony to make a living on, especially in winter and especially since most ponies take it into their own hooves when it comes to gardening. Now we have a motive...” Sherlock moved himself right up close to Pine Breeze, to the point that their noses almost touched. “You needed money."

Pine Breeze’s reaction was all Sherlock needed to secure his point. The gardener lowered his eyes with a sullen glare to the floor. He was found out. John was shocked on the other hand. If this pony's motive was needing money then surely this pony was being paid to kill Sherlock. "So this murderer has been paid to kill three ponies, and to finish it off kill you so they’re never found?” He asked to clear up his suspicions.

Sherlock laughed at this question, thinking it ridiculous. "Of course not John. Why would a murderer who's used a knife to kill three ponies be here with nothing but his hooves?"

Maybe John had missed a detail but hadn't there been only one murder? Just as he was about to ask three knocks came from the door all of a sudden, with no sound from the stairs or floorboards. “Maybe the pony paying Pine Breeze wanted to make sure?” Watson said quietly to Sherlock.

Both ponies readied themselves to ambush whoever it was, hiding at each side of the door. It creaked open slowly and Sherlock let out a war cry. John hadn't bothered to attack as he saw who it was; Mrs Hudson. She let out a scream but managed to keep a grip on the cup she was carrying, much to the advantage of Sherlock as she was ready to smash it over his head. Luckily she was used to his antics.

She tutted at him for giving her such a fright. "Sherlock what on earth are you doing?!” She hovered in and placed the cup onto the tray, then continued to prepare a second cup of tea. Watson hadn’t noticed at first but her cutie mark was of two bluebirds facing one another. The first sang while the other held a key in its mouth. Her tan coat was fairly wrinkled but complimented with the colour of the mark.

"Sorry Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said back like a drained child to a teacher. "Thanks for the tea. Get the guards would you please?"

“Just a minute.” She said, practically ignoring his request. Instead she poured a small amount of milk and mixed it in. “Do you take sugar?” She asked Watson after noticing Sherlock had taken the tea for himself.

“No thanks.”

Once she finished she handed over the tea. “The guards.” Sherlock said, more or less commanding her. Watson blew on the brew and watched her wobble out of the flat in a hurry. Sherlock took a sip of his tea and continued the interrogation.

He tore the tape from Breeze’s mouth, leaving a raw red rash around his lips. "You've been hired to kill me, but by whom?” The criminal had tried to say very little since Sherlock hit him in the jaw and everytime he moved his mouth he would either wince or cry in pain. Watson had picked up on this.

"Can you speak?" Watson said with some concern. He received a shake of his head. Watson sighed. He was happy that the pony who recently tried to murder him wasn’t feeling any better, but they needed answers. Or at least, he himself did until Sherlock would no doubt spell it all out for him. “You’ve probably broken his jaw.” He noted after a small inspection. Though it sounded like Watson was disappointed at Sherlock for not controlling his strength there was a hint of smugness when he spoke.

“It doesn’t matter.” Sherlock gazed out of the window, peeking through the blinds to watch Mrs Hudson flee to the station. “Even if he could speak, we wouldn’t be told anything new. He hasn't been sent here to kill us. He's a warning."

Watson peered at Sherlock, narrowing his eyes in frustration. “Did you say ‘he hasn’t been sent here to kill us’?”

Sherlock continued to scan the streets. “Yes.”

“Not five minutes ago that pony was choking me to death! How is that a warning?”

“He might have caught you off guard, but I had already deduced his presence by the time you were wrestling on the floor.” His breath steamed on the cold window glass, the temperature dropping so low that Watson noticed his own too.

Watson took a seat on the hoof chair he pretty much claimed as soon as he entered the room. He took a moment to stop himself from lashing out at Sherlock’s vainness, silencing himself through drinking his tea.

The ancient dust from the curtains spread out in the air around Holmes. He took a long yawn and poked his nose back into the room, seeing that Watson had sat down. “For an ex-military pony I would have expected your reflexes to be... I don’t know, sharper?”

“All right Sherlock.” He warned, wishing Holmes would stop with his cheek. “Who does he work for then?”

Sherlock yawned second time and sunk back into the curtains. "Could be the murderer, though I don’t see why. This pony is proof he is inept.”

“At what, the ‘murderer-hiring’ business?” Watson joked before he gulped down half of his tea.

Watson saw Holmes’ head move slightly towards him from behind the curtain. “Exactly that, actually.” He said before turning his view back outside. “It takes a murderer to know one, and a murderer can only spot experience either equal to his own or lesser.”

This was foolish advice. “How’d you figure that then?”

“Watson, I may not have lived in Ponyville for a great extent of time but my life has been dedicated to this line of work. Trust me; I know what I am doing.”

The room became silent for a few moments. Both ponies sipped their tea while Pine Breeze whirled in and out of consciousness. Or maybe he was just bored. Either way both he and Watson jumped when Sherlock suddenly flung the curtains out of his way with a shout.

“Ah! The guards are here.” He walked over to the door while lowering the volume of his voice. “Celestia there useless.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you remember how long it took them to arrive at the crime scene earlier?”

“An age.”

“Exactly. Yet when there's an attempt they rush over at the speed of sound!”

Watson took the oddity into account, but what really struck him was who had sent Pine Breeze. If it wasn’t their murderer, then who else would want Sherlock dead? Then it struck him.

What criminal didn't want him dead?