I never considered my trot back home of any importance. I had taken this route before, many times since I started my job. It was as if my hooves knew where to go, and I was riding along, left to my own ponderings on what my life is and where it might be going. So, naturally, I don't particularly notice when there is a pony stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Oh my, I am deeply sorry," I heard myself say to the mare I nearly trampled along my way.

"It is quite alright," she replied, "I, myself, must also take some of the blame, as my mind was elsewhere." Then she looked at me. Not a glance a pony would give to an apologetic stranger on the road, not at all. She peered at every inch of me, immediately making me conscious of any hygienic missteps that might have come about this morning. I opened my mouth to protest-

"You don't have to think your cutie mark so literal, if it's not something you enjoy doing you shouldn't waste your time doing it," came a sudden and almost prophetic comment.

"Umm... excuse me?" I asked in bewilderment, and a slight bit of annoyance. I had never meant this pony before, the hat she was wearing would be hard to forget, and even if the hat was new, I felt that I would recognize how her eyes appeared to see more than could really exist.

"You are a locksmith, correct?" She asked, although it came with an almost matter-of-fact tone that showed how much confidence she had in the answer.

"I am, as you could probably tell by my cutie ma-" I suddenly realized the raincoat I was wearing today was completely covering my cutie mark, there was no way she could have seen it. "H-how did you-"

"How did I know? It is simplicity itself." She began. "At the neck of your raincoat I could just get a glimpse of the heat resistant rubber of the smock you are wearing, which, as a fashion choice, would make very little sense unless you worked as some kind of smith. The only place like that around here that closes around this time would be the locksmith's shop over on Hoofington Drive, or the armor smith's shop on the avenue across from it. Of course, working with small long objects like keys or parts to a padlock would leave small indentions at the base of the hoof much like the ones you appear to have, even though it seems you try to keep it under control with many manicures throughout the week."

The way she said it made it seem so simple. I almost felt stupid for not realizing it myself. "But...what you said about my cutie mark-"

"Again to the smock you are wearing. Although it is the uniform of your trade it appears to be under slight disrepair, and not in a way that comes about from a sudden tear or an unforeseen fall, no no no, around the neckline of your smock the rubber is coming undone from the hem, and it has slowly been doing so for a while as can be plainly seen by how it is much dirtier on the right side of the hole, and gradually gets cleaner farther to the left. this must mean the hole must have been there for a while, but the hem is slowly coming undone at the left end, uncovering more of the fabric that has yet to be toiled with grime. I would have just narrowed this down to a lack of hygiene on your part; however, as the previous statement of your many manicures will justify, you care deeply about how you look. This can be plainly seen in the time you've taken to style your mane, and the careful scrutiny you use to rid yourself of the dirt and sweat of a hard day at work. Now, with you caring so much about your appearance but making no effort to fix your uniform when in disrepair leads me to believe that you are very apathetic to the job you currently have. This left me with another question, however. Why keep a job you don't care about?"

This pony couldn't be real. She must have met me somewhere, at a party perhaps. I must have told her my life story...and simply forgot ever doing such a thing... this pony couldn't possibly be so cunning... could she? "Well how do you know I didn't just take the job because I needed money? You've never even seen my cutie mark so you couldn't know-"

"That, of course, was my first hypothesis, but considering your raincoat is a genuine Colt-de-Couture and is over four years old, which, had you been working that long in a smith's shop, you would have quite a lot of callouses on your hooves which you simply don't. So at the time of you getting this job, you must have had at least a fair income, which lead me to my next theory. You got your cutie mark. What is it? A key? A lock?"

"Umm... both... actually..."

"And you supposed this meant you had to be a smith. You had to work your frail hooves at the forges and you didn't much care for that did you?"

"Well, it was my destiny! What is a pony to do? Fight who she is?" I asserted. I wasn't quite sure why I was getting defensive. Perhaps I felt I finally discovered what I was supposed to do, and was having a hard time realizing I didn't have to be somepony I didn't enjoy being.

"Well, no... but you should perhaps learn not to let your cutie mark define what you mean, but to let yourself decide what it means."

"Thank you," I said with more than a hint of malice, "I'll certainly keep that in mind miss...?"

"Shadow Spade, and you might be?"

"I would've thought you would be able to figure that out on your own," I replied snarkily.

"Names are a difficult thing to deduce. They're abstract. I cannot look at your hooves and find your name, no more than I could look at the walls of the building and tell you the names of each brick."

"Well, my name is Silver Locks. And that," I added, pointing to a brick in a near wall, "is Carl." She giggled at my little joke. Somehow it seemed like she wasn't used to laughing, as she seemed almost ashamed of doing it. "Well, since I told you everything about me...or rather... you told me everything about me, why don't I learn a little bit about you?"

"If you observed me rather than just looked, you could probably learn more than I could tell you." I read the challenge in her voice and I prepared myself for it. I looked her up and down for something to deduce...anything... and after a while of staring at her wide-rimmed, ribbony hat, I decided to take a shot.

"Well...umm... you have a magnifying glass tucked into the ribbons of your hat so... you... read a lot..." The smile on her face grew a little bit. This was exceedingly comical to her. "And you don't look chubby so maybe you walk around a lot..." She was doing a terrible job at concealing her giggles. "So you must be a mail carrier, right?" At this point she broke out into a roaring laugh that seemed to be the first in a long time.

"I'm afraid not," she said, greatly wounding my ego, "I'm a detective working with the Baltimare Police Department. Or against the Baltimare Police Department. Depends on how cooperative they're being." She gave me a smile. "You know, a pony with an extensive knowledge of locks (and possibly how to bypass them) would be a very useful resource to have. Perhaps if you realize just how much you hate your job, you could come see me for one. Just visit me any time at 112 Confectioner's Drive."

"A job? You've barely even met me!" I asserted.

"Maybe, but I like you. And that's more than I can say about most ponies I meet."

With those words she left, my concerns about the matter becoming more incoherent as she trotted away. 112 Confectioner's Drive, I thought, Maybe if I'm not busy smithing tomorrow I'll pay her a visit.

Early next morning I handed my boss my resignation.

Author's Note

My first real attempt at a fanfiction. Kind of got inspired after seeing Rarity talk so lovingly about Shadow Spade in one of the newer episodes, and having read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, I felt obligated to write this. Review and critique would be much appreciated. I plan on editing chapter one to include Spade's and Silver's first adventure together, but for now, this was just something I whipped up in a night. So don't get used to these relatively short chapters.