Sherlock And The Jewelled Bud

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."