Sherlock Holmes and the Rainbow Factory

It was raining in Canterlot, and a dark grey pony merely sat in his chair and smoked his pipe. The sounds of the rain on his roof only eased his mind. He closed his blue eyes momentarily. The sound of the water falling from the sky helped him clear his mind and think.

The peace was broken when the door banged open and John Watson trotted inside, standing on the mat just inside the door.

“Watson, what in Equestria are you doing here?” the earth pony demanded, standing up and held his pipe in his hoof. “You told me you had work to do at the hospital.”

The yellow-orange unicorn wore a raincoat that was now shedding all the water it had collected all over the mat. Same as his hat. Watson gave Holmes a serious look. “That’s just it. I was working in the hospital, and then the Inspector came. He wanted me to do an autopsy.”

“Well, that’s not entirely unusual.”

“But this is the third one. Same pattern. It’s murder, Holmes.”

“Murder?” That got Holmes’s attention, his ears standing straight up, blue eyes shining. He rushed to grab his coat and hat.

“Yes. The murder of pegasus children.”

Holmes frowned at that. “Then the perpetrator must be brought to justice even more so. Come now, my dear Watson.” The dark grey earth pony pushed passed his friend and trotted out into the rain.

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In the morgue, the atmosphere was grim as Holmes, Inspector Lestrade, and Watson gathered around a cold, metal table. A small filly lay upon the table, wings all out of whack, and no color in her being at all. Except her cutie mark, which was a bright golden peace sign with brilliant white wings. It was so bright in contrast of her dull, gray body.

Watson pulled back one of her eyelids to reveal that the irises held no color either. He looked to Holmes for answers.

Holmes shook his head, not sure of any answers quite yet. “What do you think caused this?”

Watson gently moved one of the wings to reveal incised wounds, and then he pointed out some injection wounds in the filly’s chest. “It appears she was operated on in some manner.” Then he held up a hoof. An abrasion wound was on the flesh just above the hoof, having rubbed away the fur. “She was restrained for it.”

Holmes leaned in to take a look at all the wounds present. “And the operation drained all her color.... Do we have a name yet?”

“Not yet. We are still analyzing DNA and such.”

Sherlock Holmes studied the body, taking in the wounds and damage to the body. “Her wings.... they have always been like that,” he said. “They are not broken.”

Watson looked astounded. He would never get used to his friend’s skills of deduction. He gave a nod. “Indeed. Upon examination, her messed up wings do not appear to be from injury. We suspect a birth defect.”

Holmes nodded, continuing to look over the body, memorizing everything about the victim. “And you said she is the third?”

Watson gave a nod. “Same pattern. And they aren’t random, like a serial killer. It seems all of the victims could not fly.”

Sherlock Holmes looked up as an earth pony rushed in to speak with the Inspector. The inspector’s eyes widened before he turned to Holmes and Watson. “Another body! Much closer to us than before!”

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A Pegasus colt lay on the ground before the group of ponies. He was devoid of all color, with the same wounds as the other filly. His wings were much too small to carry him into the air. Which helped Sherlock Holmes draw one conclusion.

“I do believe we have mercy killings on our hooves, gentlemen.” Then he thought for a moment. “But why do they dump the bodies in such obvious places? Do they wish to be caught?” He tapped his chin with his hoof, blue eyes focusing on nothing in particular. Then he attention was diverted to an object half buried a good ten horse lengths from the body. He trotted over to it and gestured for Watson to give him a hand.

Soon the object was unburied. It was a body bag that Watson carefully held up with his magic so not to leave hoofprints. Holmes pulled out his handy dandy magnifying glass and examined the piece of evidence. “Inspector, I believe you should take this to your labs and conduct a thorough search for mane fibers and hoofprints. This was very sloppily disposed of. Let’s see what else our culprit was sloppy about.”

When the Inspector and his men took the bag from Watson, Holmes turned to his doctor friend. “Let us return to my humble home. I have much to think over.”

Watson nodded. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to those poor children?”

“Whoever is doing this has professional equipment. No mere syringe will draw out the pigment of your fur and eyes. It’s a special device they are using, and we are going to find it. We find it, we find our killer.”

Watson trotted ahead a bit and turned his head to look back at Holmes. “Are you sure it is a bunch of mercy killings? What if it is a hate crime? You know that many pegasi hate those who fail to fly like they are supposed to.”

Holmes took a moment to think on that. The rain from earlier had been cleared by a team of pegasi, and now Celestia smiled down on them in warm rays. “It is pretty early in the investigation to determine who. But I have the belief that our profile will be another Pegasus.”

As the two turned the corner and started trotting down Baker Street. Holmes’s home came into view and they stopped short when they saw five mares gathered outside. Mrs. Hudson had gone out on a shopping trip and wasn't present to let the mares inside. “Goodness, it is the Mane 6!” Holmes exclaimed, galloping towards them.

Watson ran after him. “Looks like five to me!” He cried.

They quickly made their way over to the mares and Holmes offered a business like smile. “Hello, Ladies. Come inside and then you can tell me what I can help you with.”