Sherlock Holmes (and unwanted Co.): The Ripper Dressed In Black

by ProbableSarcasm

Rating: teen
Tags: Main 6, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Other, Princess Luna, Original Character, Comedy, Adventure, Princess Celestia, Crossover
Length: 2474

The cold streets of cobblestone has seen many, but none match the bloody hooves of a killer. Sherlock and unwanted Company is tasked to find the killer plaguing the streets of London but the locals rise in paranoia. So much for a relaxing vacation!

London.

A cold, cold town at night.

It was a foggy night, she could hardly see the houses without squinting her dull green eyes. She usually works at this time of night, her profession was hardly one to be proud of, but it brings in the bits and keeps the food on the table. A lot of stallions have been looking for an escort lately, ever since uniting with the Celestial Empire; the prohibition on alcohol has been appealed and everyone could drink to their heart's content.

Her ear twitched.

She was sure she heard something sharp scrape against a woody texture, the hair on her neck stood on edge.

Her heart pounded.

She turned her head behind her, and there was a silhouette of a finely dressed stallion.

The moon shadowed his image, but something chilling reflected off of a shiny object in his mouth.

It was a butcher knife.

Sherlock hates working on petty theft, it's too easy to deduce the culprit. They leave all the arrows pointing at them, and all the evidence to disregard what they say.

However, Sherlock Holmes can never turn down a good homicide! Especially this series of slayings, they seem personal, yet, cold. These ladies are "workers", how harshly could they have treated this killer?
And these letters... they change in writing format but keeps the handwriting...
Maybe there's more than one ripper?

Sherlock Holmes usually has one rule: only John may assist him with a case. That understanding with the universe seems to collapse when the Princess assigns him a Formal Order of The Civilian Duties to assist a unicorn named Twilight Sparkle and her company.

Get some coffee, it's going to be a long night.

Published 2015-07-22 20:30:03 UTC
Last updated 2015-07-22 20:30:03 UTC

A Slip of a Tumble

Author's Note

This chapter is a filler prologue, predictions if anything.

A Slip of a Tumble

Ponyville

Nine Hours Later.

Twilight Sparkle hatessleeping in. She specifically told Spike to not let her sleep in if the event that she ever doesn't get up on her own, it ruins her entire day's worth of a perfectly good schedule. She had important, very very important work to do today and she needed to be up bright and early to be as effective as possible for this task.

Twilight shot up, her eyes refusing to open. Twilight lit up her horn, and dug through the bedside table for the scotch tape. She ripped the tape and attached them to her eyelids and taped them open. The tape failed, and her eyes snapped back shut. Twilight snorted in frustration, some air blowing of of her ears.

Oh, Spike is so going to hear it...

Twilight shook her head violently, she rubbed her eyes, she even tried the tape again. Twilight started pacing, trying to wake herself up, it wasn't helping in the slightest but somehow it helped swab the cobwebs from her brain. She felt the gears ticking, this is good. Because her eyes will not open, so maybe if she can think: she can get them back open.

"Okay, okay... Easily fixable Twilight, lets use our brain... Bathro-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

Twilight tucked and braced for impact, her brain scrambled and her eyes shot open. She tumbled and bumped down the wooden staircase, swearing every word the equine knew. She hit the bottom stair roughly, landing right on her left side. It knocked the wind right out of her, and she knew she heard a rib crack.

Twilight groaned, sitting up. She rubbed her forming bruises, and especially her side. Her body throbbed with pain, and she is the worst hypochondriac when she's off schedule and scrambling for control. That, and falling down stairs. Once she was convinced that nothing was broken, she stood up- much to her body's protest, she fell down the last stair.

"Oi! Miss! You aright?"

Twilight looked up to the unfamiliar voice, she saw a slightly limping Earth-Pony stallion coming towards her hastily. Spike was following close behind, Twilight didn't even have the energy to fuss at him anymore. She looked back at the limping stallion and observed him carefully, you can never be too careful when you live in a public place nowadays.

The stallion was a light brown pony, with a short and neat blonde mane and a matching short tail. He was wearing a tan turtleneck and horseshoes, his cutie mark was a stethoscope with the wire folded into a heart. The stallion was fit, like he keeps on his diet but unable to exercise vigorously. His posture was straight and forward, even while limping, he is definitely former military. His leg seems distressed, as there was a brace on it.

For a split second, Twilight was sure she saw another stallion sitting on the sofa but the brown stallion was blocking her view of him.

"I'm fine, don't worry, just a small slip of a- of-... it was just a tumble! Heh..." Twilight awkwardly and quickly shot out, she was still antsy to get back on schedule. It felt like chaos without her sense of time, and that needed to be fixed if she wants to keep the status of a healthy mare. Oh sweet Celestial Power she needs to find order, because she's a-going to lose her mind.

"You sure? You didn't land on your head?" The stallion inquired, Twilight appreciated his concern but she really was fine. Just. Schedule.

"Absolutely, yes, I'm fine. I didn't land on my head, thanks for your worrying but it's completely unneeded," Twilight tactfully said, trying not to offend him.

"...Right," The stallion blinked, "Do you need help getting of the ground... or...?"

"Oh, yeah, I got it." Twilight sat up and stood up, brushing herself off. There was no dust, so that means Spike done his chore at least.

"Joooooohn!" A voice whined, "CAN we just HURRY ALONG?! We got mysteries to solve!"

Twilight looked over 'John', allegedly since it sounds like a odd foal nickname. Twilight saw a stallion Pegasus, but this stallion looked different than the rest she's seen. There was this sort of field around him, like everything was his own little crime scene. The stallion was a very light grey, like rained on paper sort of color. His mane, in contrary to 'John', was messier and longer. His tail was also the same messy and slightly longer than John's tail. He wore a black dress coat, his cuff folded. He had a blue scar around his neck and tucked into the coat.

Maybe a bit attracti-.... No, bad brain. No.

Twilight's been seeing stallions differently lately this winter, it's annoying how the one part of her brain that drives her crazy doesn't do anything productive. Like stressing, ogling over stallions, and things like that. It's like her teenage angst that she's been trying to avoid like the plague when she was younger is finally catching up with her. And it's not fun.

John groaned, "One moment, please," he said politely turning to his colleague who was lazily flipping through a book of mysteries, "You wanted to take a rest! I got the injured leg and you're the one who needed to stop!"

"You see, John, that's where you're wrong," The stallion replied, "I wanted to stop to get something to eat, presumably something with some tea, but you needed a book about the Pony biology. So I decided to be a sport and stop in the library, let you get that book you so desperately need. I didn't hear any objection, so it was implied consent that we're both on board with the idea of stopping."

"Sherlock, I-"

"-wanted a book from the library, otherwise you would have stopped me in my tracks," Sherlock smirked, "Oh, and by the way Ms. Sparkle, I'm Sherlock Holmes. Pleased to read your easy to solve books."

"I'm going to assume Spike told you two my name already, so this feels a little less weird about you guys already knowing my name..." Twilight rubbed her forearm awkwardly.

"I hate you so much right now, Sherlock..." John mumbled,

"No you don't, because you're my friend," Sherlock dismissed, going back to the book.

All of a sudden.
A bright light blinded her momentarily, she flared up her horn and engulfed her eye sockets: protecting her from the light.

The stallions, and her surroundings, stripped away from her like an explosion just happened around her. The library voided of all colors, the stallions plus Spike on the ground, the light of day seemed to have faded into a somber darkness. The only colors present was the vibrant purple and pink on her body, and the harsh carmine red pools seeping around her hooves. Twilight's eyes widen in terror, her pupils shrunk, her irises darting all over.

She let out a cry when she saw Spike and the other stallions.

"Nonono!" Twilight instantly dove towards Spike, cradling him in her shaky, bloodstained hooves, she was trembling. Spike had multiple stab wounds, each stab seemed to rip in multiple directions. His body carved, mutilated. His mouth ripped into a morbid smile.
Twilight let out a sob, her heart dropped to her stomach.

There's a way to fix this, there's gotta be. Twilight thought, There gotta be SOME SPELL
She was frantic, hyperventilating, it was all so sudden! It couldn't be real! It couldn't! There's no spell that could just stop time like this! It's impossible!

Twilight turned to the two stallions and nearly gasped.
Both Sherlock and John suffered the same fate, except John's maw was ripped into a frown. While Sherlock's was ripped into a smile, ear to ear.
Twilight felt like she was going to vomit.

A shadow caught Twilight's eyes, and she flared up her horn. She switched off her mental Killswitch.

Twilight's entire body became engulfed in purple aura, sparks of pink electricity arced around her. Twilight's body was nothing but an outline of purple, that was growing in shape. In the size of the Princesses. She regained her physical form, her eyes were void of irises.

Her magic grew so powerful her purple fur grey white, her anger only doubled the power of her magic. Her mane and tail turning into naught but a flowing flame.

There was a silluette.

Of a finely dressed stallion.
With a red right hoof.

Twilight wasn't planning on letting his stallion get away, she charged up a blast with enough force to crack this mystery stallion's ribs.
But it didn't happen.

Twilight was frozen.
She couldn't move.

The stallion merely turned around and walked away. Out the door.

This.... isn't real... is it?

.......

Twilight got her answer by waking in her bed, the morning has barely started. She leaped out of bed and a sharp pained noise of a sleeping baby dragon emitted from beneath her. She looked down, and her hoof had practically stomped on Spike's tail. Spike's eyes shot open, and his mouth slowly parted as his body was recognizing the pain.

Spike's shriek of pain echoed throughout town.
~~~~~~
Twilight was pacing in her room for hours, the dream seemed real. Too real.

But what does it mean?
Was it a sick joke from Princess Luna?

Or a mind twisting prediction?

"Spike! Take a letter... well, after you get some ice for that tail... heh..."

Spike glared at her, taking a quill and parchment gingerly.
"I said I was sorry!" Twilight pouted.

Spike snorted, obviously not really happy.

"Dear Princess Celestia..."

Chapter One: The Directions to Ponyville?

London

Jack breathed in the chilly air, he expelled the biting cold air from his lungs. It was winter, a dry winter, the Weather Pegasus team is delayed with the white lava they call snow. Jack hated snow worse than he hated her, it was just like her. Cold, unforgiving, beautiful, and numbing. Thank Luna for no snow, or Jack might loose it.

Jack was outside. Hunting.

Jack didn't know how to feel tonight.

If he could feel anything at all anymore.

It just seemed like everything he wore was hotter than the summer sun, it just felt heavier than normal. He was dressing locally, fashionably indistinguishable from the next Englishstud. A black suit with a black tie with a matching dress coat, helps hide his identity. To top it off, a short top hat.

Jack shuffled his coat closer to him as a sharp wind blows over, his hooves ominously clipping and clopping against the cobblestone.

clip clop... clip clop... clip clop... clip clop

Jack saw her finally, after weeks of searching.
There she was.

She was so beautiful...
A tannish pelt, brown mane in a curly ponytail, and her tail swaying back in forth.

She disgusted him.
She was what you call a prostitute.

She soils her own body for the pleasures of others, for a few coins.
She's impure.

Jack closed in.

Her emerald eyes widen at his presence, her ears twitched.
Jack removed his knife from it's scabbard.

She turned towards him, make up carefully done on her face.
Her eyes pulsed with fear.

Her mouth curled downwards, her jaws parted, she was going to scream.
Jack held his knife in his teeth, and he launched forward.

He knocked her down and pinned her down.
Jack flipped her on her belly.

Jack moved his knife to his hoof.
He pulled her hair upwards, she squealed in pain and cried in fear.

Jack grimaced in disgust.
He began to carve her neck.

Ponyville

Sherlock seemed to have lost focus, the world around him became fuzzy and blurry. The voices of those around him distorted, slurred, and ignored by the vigilante detective. This train ride was WAY too long for the detective's taste, and it was for some bullocks like meeting the princess for tea. Not everyone has tea with the Princesses, espically some vigilante detective like Sherlock Holmes.

Lost in thought, for the fifth time it seems.

This was unusual, as the detective is usually on alert and focusing on every detail there is imaginable. The detective wasn't sluggish, or tired, or drunk, or drugged. It was... something he couldn't explain, indescribable like a bad feeling or the perfect picture.

It was a horrible feeling to have, because it drives Sherlock's mind away from reality.

Sherlock slumped back into his seat, his eyes focusing again. His hooves were resting on the armrest of his seat and his hindlegs bucking the seat in front of him, much to the displeasure of the business mare ahead of him. No matter how many times she snapped at him, or threatened to get him kicked off the train, or worse, Sherlock was persistent in bucking her seat. Just to spite her.

A sharp hit to Sherlock's belly causes him to sit up straight and glare at the assailant, otherwise known as his partner.

"Seriously Sherlock, give her a rest," Watson, or John, growled. "She looks like a busy mare."

John was anything but your average pony,

"Well that's a problem!" Sherlock groaned, his midnight blue wings ached from being folded for hours. "I'm not! I'm bored! I wanted to fly there, but no, you wanted to show up on time."

"Sherlock, we would have been ahead of their schedule," John rolled his eyes, trying to keep it simple for Sherlock. "We could be punished for showing up too early!"

"That sounds better than being stuck on this bloody train ride." Sherlock crossed his forelegs across his chest, his cheeks puffed out. "I would rather solve theft cases than sitting around collecting dust!"

"It's not that bad, Sherlock," John sunk his face in his hooves in frustration, "It's just a couple of hours now."

"HOURS?!"

Sherlock's voice rang throughout the train cart, making various of passengers look behind them and stare at the dual.

"Sherlock, if you yell again on this train, I swear to Celestia..." John's hushed warning made even more eyes stare at the two, John's cheeks flushed red and sunk his head into his shoulders in an insecure attempt to hide away from the prying eyes. "Nevermind, just keep it down,"

"You literally have been summoned to appear in front of the princesses, how is that not exciting?!" John had stars in his eyes.

"When it cuts into the time where I can be solving crimes, you know?" Sherlock retorted, "Why didn't they just send a chariot?"

"Well, the chariots are usually for VIPs..." John began, pleased to have Sherlock asking a question that wasn't twisting his brain into spaghetti for once.

"And hella expensive," quipped Sherlock, "Also, that was a rhetorical question."

"Asshole."