His eyes opened with a snap. They took their time to adjust to the influx of light entering the retinas and allow proper vision, but in time he could see the small sky line of his destination. His head rose from the cushion lining the wall next to him as his ears were filled with the rattling sounds of tracks a tea cups lining the seats behind him. With a bellowing horn and a light screech the train came to a stop.
A blue-capped conductor emerged from the door at the head of the car. He was of average stature, round glasses and an unsettling well trimmed handlebar moustache. Professionally done, he supposed.
“The train has arrived at Ponyville,” the conductor yelled from beneath his elegant whiskers. “Next stop is Canterlot!”
The once sleeping pony was one of few in the train car. He rose to his hooves and wrapped his violet scarf around his neck, a swirl of blue magic tucking it into his burgundy jacket. With a flick of his horn, his magic levitated a bowler hat and placed it snugly upon his brow. Past the conductor and down the steps he trotted before meeting the platform leading to the pleasant town of Ponyville. It was nothing like Trottingham; serene, peaceful, especially clean. Oh how he missed home.
His own visage was nothing unique, a darker grey coat and black mane, neatly swept back past his ears. He was thankful for his bland persona, as he detested the potential of conversing with unfamiliars. There was never anything to say. Nothing to learn from them. The horde of pastel ponies in front of him began to dissipate after a while. He was heading to the far edge of town, his hooves trudging through the fresh mud from yesterdays rain.
Located at that far edge was another pony. She had been called personally to oversee the situation now plaguing her friend. She was known to Ponyville as ‘Princess’. To the friend in question, she was called Twilight.
“Oh, Twilight! You simply must help me!” There was a twinge of desperation in her voice. “I haven’t the slightest idea what to do! This is truly the worst. Possible. Thing!”
Twilight looked to her friend with genuine concern. “Rarity, I know this is tragic. But, don’t you think you should let Mayor Mare know about this?”
“I’ve told her!” Rarity snapped. “She told me that somepony would come to investigate, but that was yesterday. You,Twilight, are my only hope!”
Rarity was one for theatrics, whether or not they were sincere. The situation looked bad to Twilight. Her purple-maned friend had told her of the break-in and the destruction that transpired before she came home from the post office yesterday morning. The boutique was a literal mess. Rarity’s mannequins, once proudly standing and adorned with her latest creations, now lay in heaps upon the floor. Her kitchen was turned upside down, silver and tableware sprawled across every surface. Twilight had no idea where to begin.
“Don’t worry, Rarity. I’ll do whatever it takes to find who did this!” Twilight felt a twinge of pride in her declaration. Rarity almost leapt up and embraced her royal rescuer before the sound of three gentle knocks was heard from the front door.
“Um… is there company?” Twilight quizzed.
“Oh, heavens no. Not with my home in this state.” Rarity approached the door and was startled by another three knocks. Her magic draped the doorknob, carefully twisting and opening the door. There stood a pony of, what Rarity would call, stature. He looked calmly into Rarity’s azure irises and spoke.
“Are you Miss Rarity?” The grey pony questioned.
Rarity was taken aback by a pony of such distinction. It was a rare sight in the sleepy town she now resided it, and one she valued so. “W-well, yes. Yes I am. And you are…”
“Sherlock. Just Sherlock. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He held out a hoof, which Rarity gladly accepted. It was not often she met a stallion capable of such polite mannerisms. It almost made her forget the devastation that rested behind her..
“Hehe, as am I,” she giggled. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to entertain any guests today. My residence here had experienced-”
“A break in, yes I’m aware. And a most embarrassing one at that.” Sherlock interrupted. Twilight, too, joined the brewing conversation.
“Um, excuse me?” Rarity was perplexed, but the gentlecolt was ready and willing to tell all.
“A break in, madam. You experienced one as of late. No earlier than yesterday morn, I would suspect. You, of course, reported this with the local authorities. They found nothing, correct?”
“Y-yes, but-” Interrupted again.
“Such a pity that such fine towns like this are made prey to the clumsy tactics of ‘urban’ police. I can’t imagine what kind of a mess it is in there. Mannequins knocked over, mismatched items, fabric unraveled and strews across your study. You are a seamstress, I can tell. Not just from your reputation but from the small pricks in your hooves, and I can smell no antiseptic on you which means you are not in the medical field. In which case, the only source of lacerations of that variety are from straight steel sewing needles. They must litter your room.”
Rarity and Twilight stood in shock as their visitor retained his cool complexion. Just who was this pony and how did he know so much?
“I… I’m sorry, but what was your name?” Twilight managed to blurt out.
“Sherlock. I’m a detective. I was summoned here to investigate your problem by your ‘Mayor Mare’.” He chuckled at the name. “Quite the play on words.”
Twilight’s eyes shifted from tentative anxiety to full blown excitement. She had read about a detective named Sherlock in the Ponyville Express. She loved the story about how he captured a group of Diamond Dogs trying to steal an heiress’ jewels. She zipped to him without warning.
“Are you THE Sherlock?!” Twilight, despite being a princess, couldn’t resist meeting one of her idols. “The detective from Trottingham who foiled the plot of the nefarious Red-Horned League?! Or who rescued Silver Blaze, the reigning race champion from Cloudsdale?!”
Sherlock’s eyes remained still, but his brow had reached clear to the back of his head. This was not the first time he had met a devoted fan. But never had he met one as eager as the lavender figure that stood grinning before him.
He coughed before answering. “Yes, I suppose I am. You must be Twilight Sparkle. I have-”
Twilight gasped and began to trot in place. “He knows me! He knows me!” she cried to Rarity, who was completely lost in this situation.
“Yes, I do. You are a princess, and everypony must know who their princesses are.”
Twilight’s giggling was brought to a screeching halt when Rarity spoke up, trying to get a hoof of the situation.
“So, Sherlock,” she yelled over Twilight’s frantic giggling. “You were sent to investigate my little -ahem- dilemma?”
“Yes, of course. If you would be so kind as to allow me entry.” He looked to Twilight, who was bouncing in place. Very quickly she took notice of her obtrusiveness.
“Oh! Right. Hehe, sorry.” She stepped aside, allowing Sherlock safe passage into the boutique. After removing his hat and placing it on the stand his ears perked up at the sight of the damage. Not nearly catastrophic, but certainly not of natural causes. He wiped his hooves thoroughly and stepped into the lobby of the dress shop.
“My word.” He began to survey his surroundings, picking up on even the slightest details presented to him. Rarity placed a hoof to her mouth, embarrassed to present the state of her once beautiful display. The gallery was a complete mess. The mannequins that once adorned the stands now lay helpless upon the floor. The curtains had been thrown aside and rested in an asymmetrical fashion. Scuffs and scrapes marked the floor and one particular armoire against the wall. Sherlock welcomed the challenge.
“Isn’t it, though? I can’t believe somepony would do this. And why?” Her question was quickly answered by a studious Sherlock, scanning the lobby.
“For a myriad of reasons, madam. Extortion, theft, blackmail. The thrill, perhaps.” His eyes were unchanged.
Twilight approached the detective, having finally calmed herself. “What do you think happened, Sherlock?”
The black-maned pony continued his surveillance. His eyes were a hawk’s, never flinching or distracted. Always on target. After a few long seconds of silence he replied to the alicorn.
“I have a few theories, but an investigation will have to be conducted in order to clearly understand the situation.” He sighed, a hint of sorrow meeting his brow. “I usually would have my partner here, but poor Trotson was too ill to make the journey. A shame, really, I always enjoyed his constant query.”
Twilight remembered the name. Trotson was his medical professional and partner. The two seemed inseparable. Suddenly her teachings from Princess Celestia came to her and a light bulb flickered in her mind.
“If you would like, Sherlock, I would be honored if you would allow me to assist you.” She assumed her prideful stance like she usually did, confident in her abilities. Sherlock turned and gave a wry smile.
“As you wish.” A ribbon of blue magic enveloped his horn and pulled a notebook and pencil from burgundy pocket of his jacket. It glided to Twilight, who accepted it with her own, purple power. “Please take notes.”
Twilight giggled at the irony, having always told Spike to ‘take a note’. Now it was the inverse. She flipped open the booklet, skimming the notes in Trotson’s own hoofwriting. She found the first blank page and prepared.
“Miss Rarity.” Rarity perked up, attentive. Sherlock did not turn to her. “Describe your day yesterday.”
“It started out like a usual day. I woke up, bathed, curled my hair and other activities-”
“Like what?” Sherlock interrupted.
“Well, there was-”
“No, nevermind. Don’t ‘like what’. Continue with your day.”
“Um… well I had eaten a light breakfast, fresh grapefruit from the market, and made my way to the post office. There was a shipment of a new silk that I needed to complete my summer line. I spoke to nopony on the way to or from, and when I returned my home was…” she sighed heavily. “Like this.”
Sherlock’s brow furled. “Nothing out of the ordinary? Nopony suspicious? A former suitor, perhaps?”
Rarity blushed. “Heavens no! Nothing like that. I saw nopony besides Mayor Mare after the incident.”
“Twilight.” The alicorn perked up. “Does she have any enemies? Anypony who would want to give her a bad name?”
Twilight thought for a moment. Who could possibly want to ruin somepony as generous and as compassionate as Rarity? Suri Polomare, the designer from Manehatten, would be her only guess. But that was it.
“No. I don’t think anypony would hold a grudge against her.” Twilight could see the concentration building in Sherlock. He was a stallion of focus. He turned to the pile of mannequins in the gallery, their sad forms littering the carpet. But he found his first clue.
“Aha. Twilight, here.” She rushed to her hero’s side and stared at the floor.
“Is that… mud?” Twilight gazed at the brown spot buried into the carpet.
“Yes, it is. Which means we have our first hoofprint.” A flitter of magic from his horn and a magnifying glass materialized from beneath his jacket. Twilight felt her excitement rise. It was like watching a magician reveal his magic wand from thin air. He aimed its lense to the ground, mumbling random thoughts to himself.
His head rose from the magnifier’s embrace as he traced the room. Twilight and Rarity both were captivated with his methods. One minute he would stare intently at a piece of string hanging loose from the curtain, then follow invisible tracks to some unknown location only he could discern. A few minutes of his pacing and Rarity became impatient.
“Um, Sherlock, what does this-” Rarity was immediately silenced by the detective.
“Shhhh....” he spun around to the armoire resting against the wall, a small basket protruding from it’s left.
“Interesting.” He sniffed the armoire, savoring the scent of Celestia knows what. He sprung up and made his way to the kitchen, Twilight in tow. She was frantically scribbling what little Sherlock gave her, her own thoughts filling in the blanks. The notebook was becoming her own work station for solving the case. Maybe that was it? Maybe he was testing her?
The kitchen was pristine, in contrast to the gallery behind them. There were many stacks of bowls, plates and other assorted cookware neatly placed along the countertop. Sherlock didn’t like a room that was too clean, it meant there was something hidden or removed. He began sifting through the assorted plates and bowls. His expression began to elevate as he spoke.
“Tell me, Twilight. Why would the perpetrator, who had thoroughly thrashed the gallery, be so gentle with his victims cooking ware?”
Twilight was at a loss, but she didn’t want to disappoint the brilliant mind working in his element. She mustered a response.
“Um… maybe he was careful? Maybe he only wanted to ruin Rarity’s next line of dresses and not the rest of her house?”
Sherlock maintained his gaze on a single tea cup, his eyes sharpening like an eagle’s.
“Curious.” He looked to the ground, knocking his hooves upon the laminate tile. There, agian, the mud that tracked through the gallery made a reappearance. Their perpetrator had visited both rooms. Sherlock lifted his vision to the top cabinets, left open by the burglar.
“Very curious, indeed.”
“What is it?” Twilight was dying to know what was going through the detective’s head. Her anticipation was so great it was almost weighing her down. He keeled to the floor and gazed at the muddy hoofprints that lined the tile. They seemed to bend around the counter and back out into the lobby. Finally he replied.
“Look at these prints. When I approached the boutique I could smell the faint scent of precipitation. Yesterday’s rain did quite a number on the surrounding roads. I could spot many tracks outside similar to these ones on the floor. But it was too many for our perpetrator.”
His hoof raised to his chin. “Maybe…”
Twilight interjected. The tension was building a knot in her stomach. “Maybe he made multiple trips. It’s possible that he staked out the boutique before breaking into it.” Sherlock gave an intrigued expression as he turned to his new assistant. It was refreshing to know that his accomplice had a knowledge of such matters.
Suddenly there was a rap on the door as if flew open, a squeaking voice filled the building.
“Rarity! I’m back from school!” The image of a smaller, pink and lavender mane entered the room followed by a white body. Rarity jumped at the yell and responded.
“Sweetie Belle?! N-now’s not a good time. I have company over.” Sweetie Belle walked around the corner and met the sight of Sherlock and Twilight. She recoiled, her red cape billowing slightly with her movement.
“Oh… um, ok.” The filly’s eyes were fixed on the tall detective. “I’ll just head over to Applebloom’s. I’ll leave you alone.” She was stopped before she could turn back down the hall to the door.
“Excuse me, miss?” Sherlock caught the young filly’s attention. “Your cape appears to be ripped.”
Sweetie Belle’s ears turned a shade of pink as she looked to the gash in her Cutie Mark Crusaders’ tabard. “Oh… yeah. I was actually going to ask Rarity to fix it, but… you look a bit busy.” She swished her front hoof in a circle, which caught the eye of Sherlock.
“Anyway, see you.” She rushed off and out the door. Sherlock turned to Rarity who was sitting at the dinner table.
“Your sister?” Rarity looked surprised at Sherlock’s claim, but digressed. “Yes, she is.” Rarity was drifting a bit, more worried about the state of her house than of her family.
Sherlock turned his head slowly to Twilight, his eyes squinted slightly. She might not have been the master of deduction like the grey pony was, but she could see that he was on to something. Sherlock turned back to Rarity.
“Madam, if I may request something of you.” Sherlock’s manners returned to him, to which Rarity replied with a quick ‘hm?’
“I wish to investigate your bedroom.”
The girls were silent, Rarity’s cheeks turning back to the shade of red. She had heard many lines from many would-be suitors, but never one quite as bold. She turned to Twilight who in turn stared at Sherlock in disbelief.
The art of deduction seldom failed him, but in this instance he could sense as if he had made some sort of mistake. Some split-second calculations and a little reading of the situation and he had his answer. He could feel his embarrassment filling the crevices of his brain.
“Oh! Oh no, no, no. Nothing quite so promiscuous, I assure you.” He tried his best to recover the situation. He sometimes forgot he was better with facts than he was with words. “I meant in the interest of finding the culprit. Not in committing you to… may I please?”
Rarity came down from her fluttery high. It was unlady like to show a strange pony her bedroom. But she wanted the perpetrator found more than anypony. “O-of course.” Rarity lead the detective and his temporary assistant up the stairs. “It’s still the same mess it was yesterday. I haven’t had time to clean.”
They came to her door as it swung open. She nervously invited them in as their eyes bore witness to Rarity’s famed ‘inspiration’. Cloth and needles were everywhere, just as Sherlock had deduced. The bed was neatly made with it’s red blanket atop the matress, completely undisturbed. The window to the outside world was open. It let a cool breeze waft into the room, caressing the many fabrics at their hooves. He walked in but remained to the side by the wall. Twilight followed suit.
“Tell me something, Twilight. If you broke into the hub of a successful business, where would you first go?”
She was afraid this was a trick question, but the lack of fidgeting or twitches in his face assured her he was serious. “Probably where the money would be stored. But I don’t see a safe or anything.”
“Safes are usually hidden, Twilight. Most are better hidden than this one, though.” The two looked questioningly at Sherlock. “It’s behind the sewing machine.”
“And I suppose that’s another feat of your intellectual prowess, hmm?” Rarity was obviously uncomfortable with a stranger in her room and she was not about to let him make a mockery of her. His next statement brought the red from her face to her ears.
“No, it’s because I can see it.” He pointed to the corner of the iron safe, which stuck out from behind the desk the sewing machine rested upon. Rarity laughed awkwardly, using her magic to push the safe more to the left so it was out of view.
Sherlock turned to face the center of the room but was met with a most peculiar sensation beneath his hoof. He lifted it to find what he had hoped to find: mud.
“Aha!” Sherlock seemed excited now, which excited Twilight in turn. “Very little of it up here. But our culprit was most certainly in this room.”
“Another track? So the culprit was in here too?” She began scribbling furiously, so enthralled in the mystery that she almost forgot the time of day. “We’re close, I can feel it.”
“No. We’re there.”
The words rose from Sherlock’s mouth like leaves on a stiff breeze. Twilight made a double-take before letting loose a whirlwind of questions.
“B-but, what about the safe? Or the mannequins? Or the plot to ruin Rarity? We still don’t even have any suspects. How are we going to solve the case without anypony to blame it on?!” Twilight was out of breath, her excitement finally gushing out of her. Sherlock trotted over to the purple pony.
“Because I want to hear what you thought happened.” He spoke gently. Her eyes widened at his bold statement. She was being given a chance to prove her wits in front of the master of wit himself.
“Rarity, would you please put a kettle on? I feel a thirst for some Earl Hay.”
The three descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Rarity’s magic found the kettle pot amidst the other dishes and tableware. Sherlock sat at the seat by the window and waited patiently for the kettle to boil. Twilight, however, magically induced a boil until the whistle of steam echoed through the boutique, unwilling to wait any longer. A few moments later and Sherlock was ready, tea in hoof.
“Go on.” He took a sip.
Twilight began reviewing her notes. She adored busywork, and studious activities like this were her favorite pastimes. After a few minutes of checking and double checking her facts she placed the notebook on the table.
“The culprit came here to ruin Rarity. You saw the many sets of hoofprints outside the boutique. Anypony who visited that frequently couldn’t have been a simple burglar. He cased the building several times before finally making his move. The mannequins are a sign of physical vandalism, as somepony wanted to send a message to Rarity. To intimidate her.”
Sherlock took another sip. He was expressionless.
“After you pointed out the safe to me, I too began to wonder why it hadn’t been touched. Which would explain the dishes out of their cupboards and the mess outside the kitchen. The burglar was looking for that safe, either for money or something of value to blackmail Rarity. The person wanted leverage. He searched the boutique, desperately it would seem, until he came to the bedroom. But before he could find the safe, Rarity must have returned. He was startled and escaped through the open window.”
Twilight set her eyes upon Sherlock, who seemed content to sip his tea while she placed her entire hypothesis in front of him. After another quiet slurp he spoke.
“Excellent, Twilight.” She felt a welling sense of pride fill her chest. “It’s too bad it is absolutely wrong.”
Her expression fell, her mouth almost hitting the table beneath it. How could she have been wrong? The clues were there and she followed them dutifully. How?
“Well, not entirely wrong. The part about desperately searching is correct.”
“Bu-but… bu-bu-but how? Where did I… I mean.... it all makes sense!” Twilight’s tension left her slowly as she began to question herself. “Right?”
The cup of tea was placed on the table. Sherlock placed his hooves together, as if prepared to reveal the secrets of the universe to the young princess.
“I’ll start slowly. When did we decide that the invader was here to ruin the madam?”
Twilight’s forehead tensed. “Um… at the start, right? You said that was the reason.”
“Wrong. I said it was a reason, not the reason. That was your first mistake, Twilight. You walked into this case blinded by your preconceptions.” His eyes relaxed as he continued with his explanation.
“Look at the facts. We have three rooms. Three incidents. Three tracks of mud. Once you align the three the mystery becomes quite simple. Why do you think the kitchen was spared the grizzly fate the gallery was subjected to?”
Rarity groaned at the mention of the gallery’s destruction. Twilight, however, was speechless, her mouth working to formulate a sentence. She was unable to deliver.
“It was because they weren’t done by the same pony. Look to the armoire.” Sherlock’s magic flipped the pages of the notebook to Twilight’s section. “There were scuffs along the base of it, as if it was struck with something to move it out of the way. Like they bucked it. Who ever was in that room lacks proper respect for another’s property.” Rarity groaned again.
“Yet the tracks are small, which means somepony of a small stature, yet with great strength, was the one who invaded this home and began their war against mannequin-kind. Unlike here in the kitchen, where everything is pristine. My theory leads me to believe it was an earth pony, as even young ones are known for impressive feats of strength. But look again to the tracks.” Twilight did so and saw the imprints of two hoofprints next to the counter, two more against the lower cabinets.
“Why would that same pony furiously kick down mannequins before gently arranging this porcelain city? And to be so far from the top cupboards? Only a unicorn would have the capability of accomplishing such a feat. Our culprit had an accomplice.”
Rarity’s head came up from the table and watched sherlock intently, her interest piqued. Twilight’s eyes began to widen as she saw the logic in his words.
“But what about Rarity’s room?” she quizzed.
Sherlock formed a smile across his face. “Ah, yes. The bedroom. I only asked if I could see it when my initial hypothesis was confounded by the sight of a third track. I must admit it was difficult to detect initially, but the picture became more clear as we ascended the stairs and entered the bedroom.” Another sip was taken.
Twilight interjected, the itching suspicion that there was something missing. “But there was barely any mud in the bedroom, and no signs of destruction. It’s as if the culprits entered and then left immediately. How does that fit in?”
“Sometimes the lack of evidence is all the evidence you need.” Sherlock said cryptically. “For a pony of small stature, as the tracks have lead me to believe they are, the valleys of fabric and other assorted items that lie within that room would have been a far more perilous journey than it would be for you or I. Unless, of course, they had a means of avoiding it?”
Twilight slumped back. She was coming to a conclusion. It was there, burning a hole in her skull. Sherlock could see the gears turning and continued. “Which brings me to the clue I did not intend on finding.”
Twilight stared dead into his eyes. She couldn't believe it. She, a princess of Equestria, and Avatar of Harmony, and still her intellect couldn’t match that of this one, solemn unicorn. “You don’t mean…”
“Sweetie Belle.” Rarity went into a tizzy, which caught Sherlock’s attention as he moved to calm her. “Yes, madam. Sweetie Belle was the final piece that made all the others fit. Her nervousness when she arrived. Her impatience in trying to leave the house. The ripped cape that she wanted fixed.”
Rarity began mumbling unintelligible threats beneath her breath, just loud enough for Twilight and Sherlock to hear.
“So, you think it was Sweetie Belle and her friends?” Twilight’s brain was spent. All the thinking and the thrill of uncovering the truth had done a number on her.
Sherlock shrugged. “That depends. Are Sweetie Belle’s friends a burly earth pony and a mischievous pegasus?”
“AND THEY WERE LOOKING FOR MY GOLDEN FABRIC!!” Rarity stormed out of the boutique, the sounds of anger followed her as she sprinted down the fairway to the Apple Farm, hellbent on finding her sister.
“Wait! Rarity!!” Twilight sat up from her chair, but stopped to look to Sherlock. He sipped the last of his tea and placed the cup on its saucer. Twilight stood in her place, trying to find the right way to express her exhiliration.
“That was… extraordinary!” Twilight was beaming. A dream of her’s had finally come true, to witness the great detective Sherlock in action.
“No, it was elementary.” Sherlock stood from his chair and made his way to the young alicorn.
“I can’t believe it. Here I thought I was the brainy one. Turns out I’m not as smart as I thought.” She gave a small laugh. “I still have a lot to learn, huh?”
“True, your theory was rushed and your excitement did hinder your progress. But you have a brilliant mind, Twilight Sparkle.”
The Princess of Friendship blushed at the compliment, not that it could be seen through the lavender fur. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut of by Sherlock.
“You know, my dear Trotson will be ill for quite some time. And as I recall I still have a few cases back home that need solving.” Twilight’s face began to produce a smile.
“Perhaps you would like to visit me in Trottingham. It would be a pleasure to work with you again.”
The two stood silently for a few moments. For Twilight, meeting an idol of hers was an honor and a privilege. For Sherlock, it was refreshing to meet another as intelligent and as educated as he. It was a moment he would, for lack of a better word, cherish.
The realization suddenly sank in that a raging white unicorn was bringing an unholy crusade upon an unsuspecting sister and her friends who went a little too far.
“We should probably stop her!” Sherlock panicked.
“No kidding!” The two rushed out the door and towards the sounds of screaming and hollering as a fiery unicorn chased her sister across the Ponyville streets.
