Sherlock: The Magical Murders

Sherlock and John were escorted in a large, grand room, elegantly decorated and had two very well-made beds in it as well. They were both tired from spending the earlier part of the night practicing "pony manners and behaviors". Well, John was. Sherlock showed no signs of drowsiness, his face still in an emotionless state.

The room that they entered was their bedroom, and they were going sleep until the next afternoon so they could be fully rested. John gave a yawn and stretched. "Well, I sure am tired. Learning to fly is more tiresome than you think." He had more practice on Pegasus manners considering he was one himself. His flying practice lead to his body becoming covered in bruises and scrapes.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I think I shall get into bed too." He looked over John. You know, you should wash your scrapes, keep them from getting infected."

This confused the orange army doctor. "Um, okay. I guess I will." John walked outside the door but didn't go any farther. He walked in place for a bit, making his steps softer and softer to make anybody hearing think he was walking away. He peeked in the room. Sherlock worrying about his scrapes getting infected? That would never happen. That needed investigation.

Once the gray pony felt he was alone, he got up and looked in a nearby mirror. He stared at his reflection for quite a bit. He reached a hoof to his mane, moved it around and felt his muzzle, and then examined the hoof itself. He looked around at his own body, from his neck to his tail. John couldn't exactly figure out of anything was wrong with this until he noticed the odd thing out.

Sherlock was shaking slightly. Just slightly, but his eyes glimmered with doubt. Disbelief. These emotions never showed on his face; no emotions at all rarely showed unless you counted the times he was annoyed or acting annoying. But this was different altogether. He almost looked like he did on one of his previous cases that surprised John quite a lot.

Afraid. He looked, and, scarily, probably is afraid.

"Come in, John, I know you're out there."

His voice surprised him a bit, but John walked in and sat on a bed. "Sherlock, something's wrong with you. I haven't seen you like this-"

"You have John, and you know what I'm talking about." The consultive detective was correct. In one case, the duo had to solve a mystery about a giant, black hound, as big as a horse, with glowing, red eyes. Sherlock didn't believe in the 'dog'. But then, he saw him, or thought he saw him, with his own eyes, 'heard' it with his own ears. The detective usually trusted his senses, he relied on them to tell him the truth about what happened with anything.

But seeing the hound like that shook him up, made him afraid. It frightened him to experience his senses betraying him. And John could tell that was happening, only slightly, right now.

"Sherlock, listen, to me, it sounds like you're surprised by the current situation we're in. I am too, I've been complaining about it for all that we've been here, and-"

"Why them?"

The sudden response caught him off guard. "Why, what?"

"Why ponies? Not just that." He looked at John with a doubtful look on his face. "Why..... 'ponies'? I mean, changing into another creature would surprise anybody, but seriously? This looks like a 5-year old went crazy with crayons in a coloring book."

John tried to laugh at his joke, but he was being serious. "I keep believing that at any moment I might wake up from a dream, but I never, ever have dreams like this. I.... I sometimes believe, maybe I'm going..... crazy."

The detective felt an arm around his shoulder and saw John next to him on the bed. "Hey. Don't be like me, freaking out about this. Think about what's happening. You're in a weird place in a weird body, but you're with somebody you know, yours truly,  you're still an annoying know-it-all," this earned a smile from Sherlock, "and, there's murders going on! You love it when that happens."

He gave a snicker. "Yeah, I do." The two laughed quietly a bit and that seemed to settle the mood. John went to the other bed and laid down.

"See? Things aren't as bad as they seem. How about, I won't freak out about it if you won't? Okay?"

"Good night." He turned over facing away from John.

"Good night." John closed his eyes and let sleep overcome him.

Before Sherlock drifted off, he smiled. A small smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. John was his only friend. His only true friend. And he was grateful that he had such a great friend.